Read Online Forbidden Dreams by Judy Griffith; Gill - Free Book Online

breath. They both laughed as his stomach growled. “Feed me,” he said, “then I’ll tell you.”
    “What?” she said, though she was already on her feet. “You lead up to something like that and then want to back off?”
    He shrugged. “With another cup of coffee and some food under my belt, it’ll be easier for me to explain.”
    “All right.” She turned to the stove with more enthusiasm than she liked. Shouldn’t she demand the explanation immediately? He could talk while she prepared some food. Why did she feel such intense relief at having it put off? What am I all of a sudden, some kind of ostrich?
    No, of course not, she comforted herself. She was simply hungry, too, and whether he’d been expected or not, remembered or not, Jase O’Keefe was a guest in her home and an old friend. The least she could do was give him breakfast.
    She topped off their mugs before poking through the dark refrigerator and pulling out things she knew wouldn’t keep long. Quickly, she made two sandwiches, cut them, and set them on plates. “Spaghetti sauce or ham?” she asked.
    He stared at her. “Spaghetti sauce? You make sandwiches out of cold spaghetti sauce?”
    She handed him the ham and sat down again. “Sure. Why not?” She took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I like spaghetti-sauce sandwiches. They cover most of the food groups—in here I have ground beef, vegetables, grains.” She flicked a fingernail at a lumpy thing on what he assumed was multi-grain bread. Indicating his sandwich, she said, “Eat, O’Keefe.”
    He finished off the sandwich so quickly, she knew he’d been famished. She made him another, which he demolished with slightly less speed and more relish, then sat back in her chair, eyeing him steadily.
    “Okay,” she said, “how about that explanation ?”
    Her manner added, And it better be good .
    He drew a deep breath, shoved his plate aside, and leaned one elbow on the table. “You remember my grandmother?”
    She chewed her lower lip, perplexed. What could any of this have to do with his grandmother? “I … think so.” She cast her mind back to that summer she and Jase had played together. He’d been staying with his grandmother in her cottage. All that she recalled was an impression of a small, busy lady who never seemed to stop moving. “Is she … ?”
    “She died two years ago.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m sure you miss her.”
    “Yes.” Again, he hesitated, scratching his bristly chin with one thumbnail as he studied her. “I was going through a box in her house, and I found a picture of us from that summer. We were both hanging by our knees from the branch of a tree. Gran had dated and labeled it, ‘Jase and his little friend Shirley (Shell) Landry, playing possum.’ ”
    “But,” she said, “since that was twenty-three years ago and several thousand miles away in another country, how in the world did you track me down here? And why?” She fixed him with a suspicious look. “ ‘Track down’ being the phrase you used last night.”
    “Yes.” He swallowed hard and went on. “Once I saw your name and remembered you, you kept cropping up everywhere.”
    Shell’s well-honed instincts for danger sprang up. “Excuse me, but I keep a very low profile. I do not ‘crop up’ everywhere, or anywhere except in my bookstore.”
    “And at your father’s annual Christmas bash.” She stared, and he went on. “You were photographed with your grandmother arriving for that party last year—”
    “Damn! I hate newspapers!” she exploded, sitting straight up and slamming her hand flat onto the table, jangling cups and spoons. “Poking, prying, invading people’s privacy, never letting up for—”
    Seeing his concerned frown, she grabbed for control, struggling to even out her breathing and gulping back what could have turned into a tirade. But she silently continued to condemn the gossipy reporter who’d had that picture published, and Jase for having seen it. But