What could it hurt?
“I’ll wear it,” she said, trying to sound gracious.
Cassie leaned forward and hugged her. “I knew you would,” she said and bounced off the bed. Her short, thick brown hair swung around her face. “I’ll go tell Aunt Charity. Won’t she be surprised?”
“Probably not,” Chloe muttered when she was alone. Aunt Charity had a sixth sense about these things. No doubt the older woman figured she already knew whom Chloe was going to dream about.
“I’m not going to dream about anyone,” she said aloud as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, then slipped out of her jeans. “It’s just a nightgown. It has no mystic powers. It’s now the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake! No one believes that kind of thing.”
She unfastened her bra and tossed the garment onto the floor, then picked up the nightgown. The cotton was cool to her touch and she shivered involuntarily.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. But she hesitated before pulling the soft fabric over her head. What if the legend was true? What if she was really going to dream about the man she was destined to love? What if—“What if people have been abducted by aliens lurking in cornfields?” she asked aloud.
“Oh, I don’t think those stories are true,” her aunt said as she entered the bedroom. Charity raised dark eyebrows. “So how much did Cassie have to twist your arm to get you to wear it tonight?”
Chloe shrugged as she smoothed the nightgown in place. “Not too much. I figure it’s an inevitable rite of passage for Bradley women, as inescapable as birthdays and taxes. I’m just sorry she’s going to be disappointed in the morning.”
“Yes,” Charity said as she moved to the bed and pulled back the covers. “It will be sad. Cassie is one of those rare types who is a true believer. There aren’t many left.”
Chloe had turned twenty-five that very day, but suddenly she felt like a ten-year-old with a favorite relative staring at a less than perfect report card, all the while telling her the low grades were fine, as long as she’d tried her best.
“You can’t tell me you believe in the legend,” Chloe said as she plopped down on the edge of her bed.
Charity settled next to her. The older woman was of average height with the Wright family’s dark eyes and hair. She had to be in her mid-fifties, but she could have easily passed for someone a dozen years younger.
“I’ve traveled all around the world,” Charity reminded her. “I’ve seen many amazing things. As for magic and legends?” She shrugged. “Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t?”
Chloe snorted indelicately. “Give me a break. So you’re saying that this nightgown is several hundred years old and is magical?”
“You never know.”
Chloe fingered the soft cotton. “It’s in pretty good shape for an antique.”
“So am I, dear.” Charity patted her hand.
“You’re hardly an antique.” She drew in a deep breath. “It would be nice if it were all true, but I just can’t take that step of faith.”
“That’s the reporter in you.”
“Agreed. But someone in this family has to be practical. Between you and Cassie, you’ve always got your heads in the clouds.”
“I’m back,” Cassie announced as she bounded back in the room. She held something in her hand and before Chloe could figure out what it was, she tossed it in the air. Dozens of red, pink and cream rose petals drifted over Chloe, Aunt Charity and the bed.
“My contribution,” her sister said with a smile as she settled in the small wingback chair by the closet door.
Chloe pulled rose petals from her hair. Her irritation faded in the presence of such loving support. Who was she to fight against tradition?
“You win,” she said as she stood up.
Charity rose as well. “It’s best, dear. You’ll see.” She waited until Chloe climbed into bed, then tucked in the covers. “Sleep well.”
When she’d left, Cassie moved close and crouched down. “Dream of someone wonderful,” she instructed. “Rich and handsome and very loving.” Her wide dark eyes softened at the thought. “Someone who will want to be with you forever.”
“What a romantic,” Chloe teased. “I’ll do my best.”
Cassie straightened. “In the morning, I want details. Lots of them.”
“I promise. Oh, and thanks for the party. It was great.”
Her sister smiled. “My pleasure.” She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Chloe leaned up on one elbow and clicked off the lamp, then settled onto the bed that had been hers since she’d turned thirteen. The room had been decorated several times, but except for three years in high school, she’d slept here her whole life. Everything about the room, the house and even the town was familiar to her. Yet tonight, it all felt different.
“Atmosphere,” she told herself softly. It was all the talk of magic and legends. Even a confirmed cynic like her was bound to be affected.
She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. Memories from her twenty-fifth-birthday party drifted through her mind and made her smile. She’d wanted something small, friends and family only. Cassie and Aunt Charity had prepared dinner. The presents had been mostly gag gifts, which she preferred. Nothing sentimental for her.
She had a busy week planned at the magazine. She mentally listed all she had to do in the next few days.
As her mind relaxed and she started to get sleepy, thoughts of the legend intruded. According to family lore, several centuries ago a young woman had saved an old gypsy from certain death. In return the gypsy had given her a magic nightgown. If the women in her family—the Bradley family—wore this nightgown the night of their twenty-fifth birthday, they would dream of the man they were destined to marry. The union would be long and happy.
“Yeah, right,” Chloe muttered as she turned on her side. “He’ll probably come riding up on a white horse and sweep me away.”
She knew exactly what she was going to dream about—what she always dreamed about. Nothing. Her nights were as quiet and uneventful as an empty drawer and that was just how she liked them. The nightgown wasn’t magic. The legend wasn’t real. And she was suddenly very, very sleepy.
* * *
HE APPEARED OUT of the darkness, not on a white horse, but in a Jeep that roared up the side of the mountain.
“This isn’t happening,” Chloe told herself even as anticipation filled her. She clung to the side of the rocks as the wind whipped at her hair and made the hem of her nightgown snap like a sail.
“Nightgown?” She stared down at herself. Dear Lord, she was naked except for a thin layer of lacy cotton. What on earth?
“You’re dreaming,” she told herself. “That’s all. Just dreaming. Go with it and you’ll be fine.”
But the reassurance didn’t keep her heart from pounding as the Jeep drew closer. The man inside stopped it a scant two feet from her, then climbed out.
He was tall—substantially taller than her five feet nine inches—and lean. “At least he’s really good-looking,” Chloe said to herself. “I mean if I have to dream about some strange guy, I don’t want him to look like the king of the nerds or something.”
The man didn’t speak. Instead he walked over to her, ripped off his shirt, then pulled her hard against his gleaming chest.
“I like this,” she said, feeling the masculine length of his body pressing into hers.
“Hush, love.