"Matthews, Patricia - Goatman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matthews Patricia)

the dream was still in her mind, and her first reaction was wonder, as she
realized that in her dream, she had been much more frightened by the face of her
ex-husband than by the face of Goatman.

As she became conscious of the fact that Tray was not beside her, that she was
completely alone, a cold trickle of fear seemed to slide beneath the warm quilt
had lie against her belly.

She lay awake until dawn, but heard nothing unusual inside or outside the cabin.
As she got out of bed, still tired, she could not understand why she felt a
sense of disappointment.

Victor paid his weekly visit the next day, and when he asked about Tray, Moira
told him that Tray had wandered off, and had not come home. She didn't dare tell
him that the dog had been killed; she just didn't feel up to the pressure he
would put on her to leave the cabin, and come back to the city.

Even so, he was upset. "I don't like the idea of you being here alone," he said,
and she could see his real concern for her in his eyes. "It was bad enough with
just the dog, but at least I felt that you had some protection."

She shrugged and raised her hands. "Against what, Victor? Just what do you think
is going to harm me out here?"

As she said the words, a guilty shiver tingled up her spine, and she wondered at
herself, at her action. Tray's death had made her feel that she really might be
in physical danger; and yet, she couldn't bear the thought of leaving this
cabin, this place. She dismissed the thought and concentrated on using her charm
to sway Victor into being more accepting of her plans to stay.

"You can bring me another dog," she said, smiling at him, and touching his hand.
"A very large, fierce dog, if you wish."

She could tell that he still wasn't happy about her decision, but at least he
did not seem disposed to argue further.

That night she prepared herself for bed very carefully, telling herself that it
was because she needed a good night's sleep, and bedtime rituals could be very
important. In the glow of lantern light, she had a lovely bath before the fire.
Then she put on the long, old-fashioned lawn nightgown that felt so soft against
the skin. After that, she brushed her hair a hundred strokes, and then made a
pot of chamomile tea, sweetened with honey, which she drank with the last of the
almond cookies which Victor had brought her from the city.

When at last she crawled into bed, she felt very drowsy and relaxed. Settling
herself into the soft pillows, she felt safe and protected. As she sank into
sleep she wondered that she felt none of the nervousness or fear that had
plagued her the night before.

She knew she dreamed that night, because when she awoke the shadow of the dream