The phone by the bed rang, startling her so much that she sat bolt upright, then grabbed the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Welcome home, Little Witch. Sleep well and sweet dreams." Click. The connection was broken. As she thoughtfully replaced the receiver, she could hear echoes of the humour in his voice. So he found it amusing, did he? But in spite of it all, she slept soundly.
As the days, then the weeks, passed, she was busier than she had ever been before in her life. She didn't see McKinnon, and her fantasy wasn't repeated, though it was never very far from her mind. Sometimes when she was settled in bed, she was tempted to send some energy to McKinnon, but the knowledge of his superior strength held her back.
She couldn't control her dreams when she was asleep, though, and many mornings she would awaken, aware of having had highly erotic dreams and that McKinnon was there with her. She had studied astral projection and knew it was possible to share dreams, but didn't want to explore it further just now.
As the time passed, the weather warmed up, leaves came out full, flowers bloomed and died, to be replaced by other, later flowers. Charly was delighted to find a variety of blooms appearing and disappearing in her flowerbeds. She spent hours digging around them, pruning shrubs, and setting out some tomato plants amongst the flowers.
Today was Friday, the end of June and she was going to inspect McKinnon's farm. Would he be there? Had he set out his file on purpose? Had someone else set it out? Maybe he didn't even know she was coming over.
She had taken special care with her appearance this morning. Her western boots were gleaming with polish, her jumpsuit was pressed with knife-blade sharpness, and her hair had been braided and coiled in a coronet.
She had decided to leave McKinnon's farm until last, just in case he wanted to spend some time with her. It had puzzled her greatly that he had made no attempt to see her since she had moved into his house. They had become so close in such a short time, like very old friends, and she just couldn't understand his continuing silence.
* * *
McKinnon had good reason for his distance from her. He had been in the feed mill one day waiting on an order to be filled when Joe Corrigan, a fellow director, and not one of his favourite people, came up to him.
"I hear you have our little Inspector tucked away in a nest in the country. Cozy. Following your wife's footsteps, are you?"