Finding the Dream (Dream Trilogy 3)

Laura rested her head against Margo's shoulder. "Her diary," she murmured. "She put her diary in with her treasures, locked away. Poor girl."

"I always thought I'd feel thrilled when we found it." Kate reached into the box, stroked a finger over the amber beads. "I just feel sad. She hid away everything that was important to her in this little box and left it behind."

"You shouldn't feel sad." Laura laid the open diary on her lap. "She wanted us to find it and to open it again. I like to think it had to wait until all three of us faced something we thought we couldn't face. But we did. We have."

She reached out, took each of their hands in hers. "And we should put these in the shop, in a special case."

"We couldn't sell any of it," Margo murmured. "We couldn't sell Seraphina's treasures."

"No, not to sell." Laura smiled at the simple box. "To let other people dream."

Michael left the rubble of his living room just as it was. He was going to stand in the shower and drown out the aches and pains. After he'd had a drink. In fact, now that he thought of it, getting piss-faced drunk was probably a much happier way to drown out the pain.

He bypassed beer and took out a bottle of Jameson's. As he poured a tumbler half full, he ignored the insistent knocking on his door.

"Go the fuck away," he muttered and took one long swallow. It did little to improve his mood when Ann Sullivan pushed open his door.

"Well, I see you're already drowning your sorrows in the middle of this chaos." She set down a box on the counter and frowned at the destruction. "I wouldn't have thought there'd be this much damage. We lost only a few breakables at the main house."

"Laura did most of it." He lifted his glass again as Ann pursed her lips.

"Did she? It's rare for her to let her temper loose, but a wicked one it can be. Well, sit down, we'll tend to you before we clean up the mess."

"I don't want to clean it up, and I don't want to be tended to. Go away."

She merely reached into the box and took out a covered plate. "Mrs. Williamson sent you food. I asked her to let me come instead. She's worried about you."

"Nothing to worry about." He studied his hands. "I've had worse."

"I've no doubt, but you'll sit down and let me clean those cuts." She set a basin, bottles, bandages on the counter.

"I can take care of myself." He lifted the glass, peered at the level of whiskey. "I've already made a start."

In her no-nonsense style, Ann came around the counter and shoved him into a chair. "Sit when you're told."

"Shit." He rubbed his shoulder where she'd pushed. It burned like fire.

"And keep a civil tongue in your head." She busied herself filling the basin with hot water. "Got infection brewing already, I've no doubt. The sense of a bean is what you've got." She snatched one of his hands and got to work.

"If you're going to play Nurse Nancy, at least—goddamn, that hurts."

"I imagine. Don't you swear at me, Michael Fury." Her eyes stung when she saw just how badly he'd damaged his hands, but her movements remained brisk and not particularly sympathetic. "This'll bite some."

The burn of the antiseptic that she generously poured over op

en wounds made his eyes cross and filled the air with wild blue curses.

"You've a raw Irish tongue. Reminds me of my Uncle Shamus. What part does your family come from?"

"Galway. Goddamn it, why don't you just use battery acid and be done with it?"

"Big, strong man like you, whining over a little peroxide and alcohol. Take another drink, then, as I haven't a bullet for you to bite on."

It scored his pride, as she'd meant it to. Michael tipped back the glass and scowled at her. He decided to brood while she wrapped gauze over his hands.

"Done?" he demanded.

"With those, for the time being. You'll want to keep the bandages dry and they'll need to be changed regular since I assume you'll be as stubborn as Miss Laura about a doctor."