Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) by Lawrence Kelter Read Free Book Online Page B

have a baby together.” He kissed me on the neck. I felt him nuzzling my cheek.
    I felt warm and tingly all over. My body went limp in his arms. “Take me back to bed. I don’t think I have the strength to stand.” I turned and kissed him full on the lips.
    “You are in bed.”
    “What?”
    “You are in bed.”
    My eyes snapped open. I was in still in bed and covered to the neck with the comforter. I was drenched in sweat and my heart was pounding. “You mean that I was—”
    “You were dreaming, Stephanie.”
    Oh damn! “It felt so real.”
    I had always been a notoriously vivid dreamer, but since becoming pregnant . . . oh dear Lord, my hormones were just running amuck. My dreams were even more intense and vivid. I had actually thought that I tasted Ma’s sauce, and I had been absolutely sure that I felt Gus’ muscular hands on me as he massaged my shoulders and neck. God, dreams can be such a tease.
    I pushed back the covers and began fanning myself with my hands. “I’m burning up.”
    Gus leaned over me and gently blew air on my neck. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he said in an affectionate tone.
    I looked up at his handsome face and realized that dreams may tease at times, but they can also provide a preview of reality.
    “Two things,” I said. “Make love to me and then take me out for breakfast.”

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Nick Sonellio strolled out onto the deck of his Staten Island home, put both hands on the redwood railing, and looked out at his backyard. The quarter-acre parcel was bordered on all sides by a white-picket fence that he had installed himself using a post-hole digger and his own two hands. The fence had held up for more than fifteen years.
    His wife Toni followed him out to the deck and placed her arms around his waist. “Come here, skinny,” she said, as she pulled him closer. He was still staring out at the yard as she examined his face adoringly.
    “So what do you think?” he asked.
    “Still handsome,” Toni replied. “You’re still my Nick.”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “Then what do you mean?”
    Sonellio turned to his wife of forty years and then glanced through the kitchen window at the oxygen tank on the floor. She followed his gaze. “Do you think I’ll make it through the summer?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she stated emphatically, “. . . and well past. Don’t be so gloomy. The oxygen is just there in case you need it. Have you used it so far?” She looked into his eyes beseechingly, already certain of his response.
    “No.”
    “So forget it’s even there. What do you want for breakfast? I went to the store and filled the refrigerator before you woke up.”
    He smiled at her tenderly and gave her a small kiss on the lips. “Nothing heavy, maybe toast and orange juice.”
    “Coming right up.”
    “I’ll give you a hand.”
    “Nonsense.” She gave him a smack on the behind. “Sit your keister down and breathe in some of that fresh Staten Island air.” She inhaled theatrically. “I think I can smell the kills today.”
    Sonellio laughed. “I can’t believe we had to come home from Maine—now that was fresh air.”
    “Maine? Who needs it? That was your dream, not mine. How long did you think I could clean trout and swat mosquitoes before I went absolutely bananas? We’re better off here, close to people we know.” She was still looking into his eyes when her courage failed. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. She pulled him close again. “You want to be near friends, don’t you?”
    Sonellio was tougher than his wife. He smiled for her benefit. “Sure, they’re okay,” he quipped. “So, are you going to make me breakfast or what?”
    “All right, I’m nothing more than a short-order cook around here anyway,” she said lightheartedly. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “Give me five minutes. I’ll rustle up your chow.”
    Sonellio followed his wife’s instructions. He filled his lungs with fresh air,