What Dreams May Come by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online

conscious of since first seeing Kelly. Not a new sensation, of course, but this time it was more than usually unnerving. The outward changes in her were minor ones, but justenough to make her seem slightly out of focus to him. Her hair was shorter and the coppery color more gold than he remembered; her face was more delicate, her violet eyes guarded, her smile brief and tentative. She seemed to him more slender, yet he didn't remember her breasts being so full or her legs so long.
    It was like looking at a photo that was a little blurred, as if snapped during motion. His memories of her were strongly fixed in his mind, and none of them quite matched the reality.
    He managed to shake off the disquieting feeling, knowing that only time could make past and present merge. Finishing in the bedroom, he decided to do what he'd told Kelly he would—explore the house and grounds.
    In the car parked just off the narrow road, the man tapped his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel as he watched a delivery van pull out of the winding driveway and head toward Portland. When it was out of sight, he turned his gaze to the rooftop just visible in the distance through the trees. He hadn't had a chance to explore the place yet, because she hadn't left since he'd been watching.
    And now she wasn't alone. He'd known she would come straight here once she found out her lover had survived the coma, and he wasn't surprised that Mitchell had come here as well. In a way, he was even pleased by that. At least now the bastard was out in the open instead of tucked away in some hospital.
    He hated failure. He should have gotten to her long before this, but she seemed to know justwhen to run. It made him mad as hell. He'd been amusing himself so far, enjoying her fear, pleased each time she bolted like a scared rabbit. But it was time to teach her the final lesson now. It was a matter of pride.
    Kelly looked up as she heard a knock at the door of her new office, and wasn't surprised when Mitch poked his head in. But she was surprised to realize that it was dark outside, and she was surprised to feel a surge of some unidentifiable emotion as she looked at his lean face, the dark eye and rakish black eye patch and crooked smile.
    "It's after seven," he said. "I dug out those cookbooks and tried my hand at baked chicken. How's your nerve?"
    Despite herself, Kelly had to smile. "My nerve is fine," she said. "And I have a cast-iron stomach."
    "Then I'll go put the rolls in the oven. Ten minutes?"
    She nodded, and sat gazing at the closed door after he'd gone. Neatly arranged on its section of the three-piece desk, the computer hummed as it digested the basic programming she'd fed into it during the last hours. On a second section the printer was hooked up but silent, since it had as yet no work to do. In front of Kelly on the third section were stacks of files and graphs and reference books. All around the desk, in chairs and on the floor, were a number of boxes and cartons containing more equipment and supplies.
    Kelly leaned back in her new and very comfortable office chair, lifting one hand to massage the back of her neck. The strain she'd felt since Mitch's arrival hadn't diminished, but she'd managed tofocus her mind on the work, and that had helped at least a little.
    I see we have a lot to talk about.
    That was what she dreaded. The talking. Reopening old wounds and feeling the pain again. All the questions he would no doubt ask about the last ten years, and the answers she didn't want to give him. She knew it was necessary, but she didn't want to relive the emotions. And she didn't want to feel new ones.
    She had loved him as only the very young can love, without shadows, trusting and totally absorbed and completely without fear. She had loved him passionately, yet physical desire had been just awakening in her, the bloom of it shyly unfolding and unsure of itself. Mitch's desire had excited and intrigued her, but her starry dreams had included