Excerpt of Dreamcatcher by Dinah McCall

Chapter One

Present Day West Virginia

"Catch her! She's going to fall!"

Detective Jefferson Dupree turned at the shout just in time to see the young woman teetering at the edge of the makeshift stage set up in the center of the park.

He lunged, arms outstretched, and took the weight of her body against his as they both tumbled to the ground. There was little time for him to register her softness and the subtle scent of her perfume. Or how perfectly she seemed to fit within his embrace. There was only time to brace himself as he cushioned her body with his own.

Amanda had known she was going to fall. There was no time for shock or fear. Just the thought that it was going to be embarrassing as hell if she didn't die. Because only then would the fall have been forgivable. Congressmen's wives did not fall from stages in front of crowds of voters.

But the expected pain of landing on the ground didn't come. Instead she found herself cradled against a broad, thundering chest, and held so gently that for a heartbeat she wished never to move.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

Forgetting to feel embarrassed, she found herself lost in gentle, brown eyes that were shot through with just enough gold to remind her of warm whiskey. His nostrils were flared slightly from the strength he'd exerted in breaking her fall. His upper lip was sharply chiseled, the lower, full and sensual, but at the moment, twisted slightly in a grimace of pain.

Everything about him that she saw came and went within a millisecond, and then she thought, David is going to kill me.

In the moment when they stared into each other's eyes, something passed between them. Something swift. Sudden. Urgent. But it was never voiced.

From the corner of his eye, Jefferson Dupree saw David Potter dashing from the stage. Before he could find the breath or impetus to speak, the woman was yanked from his arms. He would have sworn that for an instant Amanda Potter had clung to him as if dodging her husband's hands. The moment he thought it he told himself he was a fool. She was married to one of West Virginia's brightest and most charming congressmen. Her world had to be just about perfect.

"Oh, my! I'm sorry," she whispered; and looked up into her husband's face, searching the handsome perfection for approval.

Dupree wasn't certain whom she'd just apologized to, but he assumed it would have been to him.

"No need to apologize," he said, brushing off his jacket and slacks. "I'm just glad I was here. Are you all right? That was quite a fall." Out of habit, he started to check her for injuries.

But Amanda Potter wasn't allowed to answer. She was busy being engulfed within her husband's embrace. Jefferson Dupree was shocked at the odd shaft of resentment he felt when he saw it happen. Moments ago it had been his arms that had sheltered her. It had been his chest she'd laid her head upon.

What the hell is wrong with you, Dupree? he asked himself.

He hardly knew this woman. The last thing he should be thinking was what was on his mind. The gathering crowd of concerned onlookers gave him time to regroup.

"I can't thank you enough," David Potter said, and shook the detective's hand, ever conscious of the flashbulbs going off around them. "You saved Amanda from a terrible fall, I'm sure."

"I was just in the right place at the right time," Dupree said, and smiled at Amanda, wishing he had the right to tuck the stray lock of chestnut hair away from her wide, frightened eyes and kiss the small red spot on her cheek that had collided with his chin.

Amanda smiled nervously and brushed at her clothing, unable to look either man in the face. All she had left of the moment was a lingering feeling of the way their bodies had collided and then joined, and the security of being held. Her face was suffused with a wild blush. Here they were in the middle of a public celebration, and she'd made a fool of herself, as well as ruined David's speech. He was going to be furious.

She shrugged. What else was new.

"Darling . . . tell me you're all right?" David's hand cupped her cheek as he tilted her face toward him.

She smiled at her husband, nodding without speak-ing as he carefully brushed at the dirt and grass stains on the sleeve of her pink suit.

His concern was appropriate, and his clean-cut, handsome face reflected his distress. Quickly he assured the members of the committee who'd staged the rally that it was certainly not their fault the end of the stage had collapsed. Accidents happened.

Dupree's hawk-like eyes narrowed as he watched David Potter cup his wife's elbow and usher her carefully toward a waiting car. Ever the politician, he was constantly assuring everyone they passed that Amanda was perfectly fine. With the skill of one to the manor born, he seated her inside, tucked the tail of her skirt in the car, and then slammed the door.

Amanda shuddered as the force reverberated within the confines of the car.

Waving to his constituents while mouthing platitudes, he motioned to the chauffeur behind the steering wheel, then smiled as they drove away.

Amanda felt the heat of David's occasional glance as Marcus Havasute, their chauffeur, wove through traffic. David's sigh of relief was evident as the massive iron gates of the family estate came into view.

"Thank God," he muttered. "We're home."

Amanda shuddered. Home didn't have the same connotation to her that it obviously did to him. Before she was ready to move, the car had pulled up to the door and stopped ...