What Dreams May Come by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online Page A

a white wedding dress and all the tradition that entailed; though he had made a number of decisions for both of them, he respected her wishes in that and agreed they should wait.
    It was one of her regrets.
    Shoving the memories violently away, Kelly began shutting the computer down. She neatened her desk as much as she could, then turned off the lamp and left the room. Mitch had turned on lamps through the house so that a welcoming light showed her the way to the kitchen, and she couldn't help but reflect on that small indication of not being alone. It was strangely comforting. And seductive. She'd been alone a long time.
    He had set the small table in the breakfast nook rather than the more imposing one in the dining room. Everything was neat, and appetizing scents filled the bright kitchen. Mitch was transferring golden rolls from a baking pan to a linen-linedwicker basket, whistling softly. He'd shed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his gray shirt up over his forearms, and despite his earlier comment, he looked as if he knew what he was doing.
    As Kelly came into the room and heard him whistling—an old habit when he was absorbed in something—she winced and said lightly, "I never had the nerve to tell you before, but you're tone deaf."
    He looked across the counter at her with a sudden gleam in his dark eye. "You're definitely not, as I remember. It must have driven you nuts."
    "Sometimes," she confessed.
    "Was I such an ogre that it took nerve to tell me?" His voice was as light as hers had been, but underneath was a very serious question.
    "No. I just didn't have much nerve."
    He continued to look at her for a moment, then said, "I found a bottle of wine. It's on the table. If you'll pour, we can dig into this feast."
    The wine was excellent—and the feast wasn't half bad. He might not have had much practice at cooking, but it was obvious Mitch could follow recipes. Kelly wasn't lying when she told him the food was delicious. And even though she hadn't felt very hungry, her appetite increased with the first taste of tender baked chicken. She ate more than usual.
    She felt some of her tension ease as well, but whether that was due to the food, the wine, or Mitch's easy and casual company, she couldn't have said. Sticking determinedly with the present, he asked her about the job she was doing for Cyrus Fortune, and seemed interested in the work.
    Prompted by his intelligent questions, she explained what was involved in writing a wide-ranging program for a company. He was most intrigued by the realization that by the time she finished her job, Kelly had to have learned virtually every function of the company.
    "It's really that involved?" he asked as they were finishing dessert—peach pie he'd discovered in the freezer.
    "Sure. For instance, it's easy to write a basic accounting program, but if the company involved has half a dozen sources of income, it gets a lot tougher. And if that same company has an eye to the future and wants to project their earnings years in advance, that's another complication." She shrugged. "Fortune's company is definitely going to be a challenge. From what I can gather so far, he's forming the Portland office as a base to consolidate a dozen different companies across the country. He wants a network, a solid link tying everything together."
    "Funny, he didn't look like an entrepreneur," Mitch commented.
    "Neither did Colonel Sanders."
    "Touché." Mitch smiled at her easily. "Why don't you take your coffee into the den while I clear up in here. "
    "You cooked. I should—"
    He shook his head. "Let me take over kitchen duties for a while. I could use the practice, and you're going to have your hands full writing Fortune's program."
    Kelly wasn't sure if Mitch was trying to make points or if he really did want to practice his domestic skills. You're getting cynical, she thought, and wasn't happy about that. She'd learned not to take anything or anyone at face value, but her own wariness