Mind Games

“You didn’t have a team for Endon.”

“No, but I’d been working on it—off and on—for three years. And I had the concept, the basic storyline, for years more. It’s like Milken’s going to bring in their music department, and voices. I’m fine with that. I’m actually thrilled with that. But I don’t want to just design, then turn it over, get called in when there’s a hitch or glitch.”

What did she want? To be good at what she did, and get even better. And to imagine people in a space like this, like the Foxes’ Den, enjoying what she created.

“I want … basically what I’m getting with Endon. I design and develop a game, they take it, improve it—adjust or change anything that needs it. Package it, promote it. I don’t know if that’s realistic, but—”

“We’ll find out. What else?”

“I need to work here. That’s the only deal-breaker for me. I’m not moving to New York or Seattle.”

“Are you willing to travel to New York or Seattle, if and when a face-to-face is needed?”

“Sure. Most of what I do I can do right here, but I can travel when and if. I just won’t move away for a job. Not for any job, Rem, even this one. And this one is…” She closed her eyes. “Oh boy, this one.”

Then she looked at her brother again. “But I need this place, this place where I first dreamed about Endon, where I feel rooted. I need Grammie. She always helps anchor me.”

“Then we’ll get you those things.”

She started to laugh, then didn’t because she actually believed he would. “What do you want, Rem?”

“I’m doing what I want, and I’m going to get better at it.”

The fact that he nearly echoed her thoughts struck her deep.

At the core, she realized, they were so much the same.

“After I do,” he continued, “after college, I want to take three or four weeks and travel all over Europe.”

“And eat snails in France?”

“Bet your ass—but I’m skipping the beret and ascot. Probably,” he qualified.

“Either way, we need a picture.”

“I’ll make sure it’s family gallery worthy. Then I want to come back home, maybe get my MBA, full-time business manager, part-time farmhand.”

He shot her his grin. “Tailor-made for me. Build that house one of these days, and find the lucky girl I want to share it with me.”

Thea grinned back. “What does she look like?”

“To be determined, but must love dogs.”

“A given. Speaking of dogs, I’ve ignored them, and Grammie, longer than I meant to. I’ll get back to this tonight.”

When she had the quiet again.

* * *

And when she had the quiet again, she held on to it until nearly two in the morning. She spent a chunk of that time with her software and sketches, translating her image of Tye Smith, wanderer and warrior, from paper to screen.

Of course, he needed a horse, but not just any horse. A warhorse. Dilis. Dilis the loyal and true.

By the time she’d determined the size, shape, color, personality of the horse, her mind blurred enough for her to admit she needed to stop.

More, she knew, would come to her in dreams.

* * *