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Insightful and well educated. They create worlds filled with strong, passionate women and honorable, heroic

men. You should try reading some of them. Those female romance authors you disdain could definitely teach

you a thing or two about being a man.” She stood up and put her purse over her shoulder. “Good night, Dr.

Asher.” He started to stand, clearly struggling to say something. “No, please. Don’t get up. I want to

remember you just like this—confused and speechless. It’s a good look for you; it certainly beats patronizing

and chauvinistic.”

Grinning wickedly, she turned and sauntered lazily out of the dimly lit room.

She was still grinning as she strolled down the sidewalk. God, she was glad she’d told him off and walked out!

She had never been a wimpy, doormat kind of a woman; she had an extraordinarily low bullshit meter. God,

didn’t it just figure! He had seemed interesting and sexy at first. But like most men, he had turned out to be a

disappointment.

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Whispering through her subconscious was the thought that no man had been able to get close to her because

she had never been able to allow herself to share the secret that pulsed through her blood . . . but the thought

was fleeting, and she quickly stifled the stark honesty of it with a tipsy laugh and a little impromptu twirl in

the halo of light under a streetlamp.

She’d never actually walked out on a date before.

It was exhilarating!

Her steps slowed. Lately, she’d been thinking more and more that maybe she wasn’t meant to have a

permanent relationship. Maybe tonight had been the final sign she needed. Something like a modern omen.

She was different, and it was becoming more and more clear to her that there was no “right” man for her. He

didn’t exist. Oddly enough, the thought didn’t make her feel sad or lonely. Instead, it made her feel wise, like

she had come to a realization that her friends weren’t mature enough yet to understand. It gave her a sense of

release that was almost overwhelming.

Mikki walked past McGill’s, a popular local pub, and considered ducking in for a quick drink. But the door

opened and a current of noise rolled out, changing her mind. She didn’t feel like dealing with shouting above a

din of music just to order a drink. Plus, she’d probably had enough—not that that was a bad thing. She wasn’t

driving—she was flying! Mikki laughed and walked on, breathing in the cool October air.

As she left the business district and got closer to Woodward Park and her apartment, the buildings changed

from posh shops and restaurants to the stately old oil mansions that surrounded the park. Mikki loved this part

of Tulsa. It made her wish she had lived during the 1920s. She would have been a flapper. She would have cut

her hair short, worn loose beaded dresses that shimmied when she moved, had too much to drink and danced

all night. Between parties she would have crusaded for equal rights for women.

Kind of like she’d done tonight, she thought happily. Well, minus the dress, the haircut and the dancing. She

did a happy little skip step under the next light and laughed at herself. Maybe not minus the dancing. She’d

have to go back to the restaurant tomorrow night for dinner and get all the gory after-she-left details from

Blair and the gang.

The sidewalk was interrupted by the road forking in front of her. Mikki was at the juncture of where the

mansions gave way to Woodward Park. Here was where she usually crossed the street to her apartment.

Hesitating, Mikki looked into the park. She didn’t detect any strange shifts in perception that might signal one

of her episodes. Actually, until that moment she’d forgotten about the weirdness that had crept into her life

with her recent dreams.

“Just goes to prove dumping a man is good for what ails me,” she said pleasantly to herself.

And everything did look utterly normal. To d qy normalhe free-standing antique streetlights scattered

throughout Woodward Park speckled it with pools of creamy light. The wind whispered through the

well-tended oaks, calling softly the change of seasons and causing a cascade of leaves to scatter like

mini-tornados that had been taught to heel. And smack in the middle of it she could see the soft illumination

of the stage lights for the Performance in the Park rehearsal. Faintly she could hear the actress speaking her

lines . . .

“A little love is a joy in the house,

A little fire is a jewel against frost and darkness . . .”

She started to cross the street toward home but hesitated, looking longingly at the park, awash in light and

sound. It was so lovely. It looked like a magical oasis in the middle of the night—a special little sub-city of

her very own. A teasing breeze whisked from the park and twirled around her body, enticing her forward with

the cinnamon scent of autumn leaves.

Why not?

Mikki checked the time. It was only nine. The park and the rose gardens didn’t close till eleven. Nelly had

specifically told her to go on with her normal life. It was definitely normal for her to walk through the park

and visit her roses. She’d make her way around the rehearsing actors and then take a quick stroll through the

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gardens. She really should check on the roses that surrounded the construction site. She’d been concerned

that all the tromping of the workmen’s booted feet with their clumsy comings and goings was overstressing

the roses.

Mikki glanced up at the darkening sky, reminding herself that it was the night of the new moon. If the roses

needed help, what better time could she choose to give it to them?

She’d make one pass through the central tier and be sure the workers had cleaned up their mess and not

manhandled the roses. Then she’d go home, pour herself a glass of bedtime wine and curl up with a good

book . . . by a female author!

Or, her errant thoughts whispered enticingly, she could just go to sleep. Wouldn’t she rather revisit her dream

lover than do anything else?

With a supreme effort of will, she steered her mind away from that line of thinking. She couldn’t start living

life around her fantasies. Then she really would be crazy.

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CHAPTER SIX

MIKKI stepped into the crossroads between the park and the street and then onto the sidewalk that twisted

past the lovely waterfall-fed ponds that framed the north edge of Woodward Park. At the next fork in the

walkway she headed up and away from the northern street side, walking toward the central area of the park,

which was currently abuzz with activity around the raised stage that had only just been erected the night

before. Bits and pieces of poetic lines drifted around her, teasing her with snippets of the play.

“The holy fountains flow up from the earth,

the smoke of sacrifice flows up from the earth,

the eagle aicith,†nd the wild swan fly up from the earth, righteousness also

has flown up from the earth to the feet of the goddess . . .”

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