Page 7 of Guardian

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“Argh!”

Winter yelled out in pain and stared at the blood spurting from the wound. The blade had been razor sharp, the aim perfect—if she’d wanted to cut her own index finger off. Which hadn’t been her intention. But the piece of the salami had slipped from her fingers when she’d tried to slice it thinly to make herself a sandwich.

“Goddamn it!”

Could she not do a single thing right today? First she’d overslept, then she’d almost burnt her hair with her hairdryer because she’d been distracted by a news report on the radio, and now this.

She ran to the other side of the kitchen and ripped open the top drawer. While she rummaged through it, she kept pressure on the injured finger so she wouldn’t drip blood all over the counter. Without success. She tore a sheet off the kitchen roll and wrapped it around her finger, soaking up the blood, while she continued to look for the Band-Aids she knew she’d placed in the drawer only a week earlier—since she’d exhausted her supply of first-aid materials after a similar mishap.

Well, she just wasn’t good with knives, or fire, or hammer and nail. Two left hands, her grandmother had commented many years earlier and suggested she find a job that didn’t require her to handle any tools.

“That’s just great,” Winter griped, ready to throw a fit when she suddenly spotted the box of Band-Aids in the farthest corner of the drawer.

With difficulty she managed to pull one Band-Aid from the box and remove it from its protective sleeve. More blood oozed from the wound, before she managed to seal it with the bandage. She continued to keep pressure on it, and after a minute or two, it seemed that the blood had started to clot.

Winter sighed and cleaned up the mess she’d made, wiping the blood drops from the counter, then looked back at her attempt at making a sandwich. Suddenly she wasn’t really that hungry anymore. She reached for the salami and looked at it.

“Uh, what the heck.” She bit into it, biting off a large piece and chewed. She wasn’t going to give slicing a second try.

She shoved the two slices of bread back into the bag and sealed it, when a sound startled her. Still chewing on the salami, she spun around and looked down the short hallway. The door that led to her shop was closed. She was sure that she’d hung the sign indicating that she was on a lunch break on the door. So why could she hear the old floorboards creaking in the shop? Had she forgotten to lock the door?

Winter wiped her hands on a towel, then marched to the connecting door and opened it. A tall man stood in the shop, his back turned to her as he looked at some of the drawings that hung on the walls. There was something familiar about him. She felt a spark of recognition ignite in her mind, yet no memory was forthcoming.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for lunch,” she said in a firm voice.

He turned confidently, as if he wasn’t at all surprised that he wasn’t alone anymore. Their eyes met. She froze, couldn’t move an inch. The spark of recognition she’d felt when looking at his back returned, this time stronger. As if she’d seen him somewhere, though she didn’t recognize his face.

And she would have. What living, breathing woman in her prime—and she was in her prime, despite the fact that she hadn’t dated much lately—would ever forget a face like his? Chiseled features, strong cheekbones, pronounced black eyebrows, a straight nose, short black hair, all underscoring his classic good looks. A chin that spoke of determination, yet lips that promised something different, something that didn’t jive with the stature of this man who looked like he belonged on an army recruiting poster. Army, yes, because his body was muscled, not in a bodybuilder kind of way, but like a man who’d seen combat. Everything about this man was hard, every muscle seemed to have a purpose, yet his lips were parted, betraying a softness, kindness, that lived inside him.

Nevertheless she saw that he was troubled. That he needed answers. That he needed them now. Couldn’t wait.

“Miss Collins? Miss Winter Collins?” he asked.

The timbre of his voice reverberated in her chest as if he’d used her ribs to make the sound. “Yes,” she murmured, feeling breathless all of a sudden.

She tried to shake off the feeling of lightheadedness. Why did she suddenly feel so dazed? She’d met good-looking men before and had never been so tongue-tied. Somehow she knew her reaction to him had nothing to do with his looks, but with the feeling of recognition.

He saved you in your dream.

It couldn’t be. She knew lots about dreams, about the fact that you couldn’t dream of a face you’d never seen before. That dreams were merely a way for your mind to work through the things you’d experienced during the day. But she also knew that her nightmares were different. That they showed her things that couldn’t possibly exist. But if he was the man from her nightmare, the man who’d slain the green-eyed monsters, then why was he standing in her shop now?

She wasn’t in the middle of one of her nightmares. She hadn’t felt the pain that preluded them. She knew she was lucid. She had to be wrong about him. He was just another customer. One who’d clearly not seen the sign in the door that said she was on her lunch break.

“Take a seat,” she blurted out, even though she’d planned to tell him to come back after her break.

“A seat?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her.

She pointed to the table and the two chairs. “Yes, for your tarot reading. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you have questions. What’s your name?”

“Logan,” he said slowly, walking toward the table even slower, as if he was reconsidering his visit.

She’d seen that hesitation in first-time clients before. It had taken all their courage to come, and then, when they were inside the shop, they faltered and left. But Logan didn’t strike her as the kind of person whose courage suddenly left him. No, it was something else. As if somehow he didn’t really want to know the answer to his question.

Winter sat down and waited until Logan had taken the seat opposite her. “The reading is forty dollars. I hope that’s okay?”

He nodded. “No problem.”