Forbidden Dreams Read online

  She relaxed. He might think of her as an heiress, but she sensed he wasn’t after money. “No? Why, you poor, deprived man.” As if poking a sore tooth, she added, “We’ll have to find you one with something to hide.”

  Her words elicited not a glimmer of secret knowledge on his face, or guilt, or even a spark of suspicion that maybe she could have something to hide. Either he was a superb actor or he truly did suspect nothing about her mother’s identity.

  Shell breathed much easier. It really was all right, she told herself. Leaning forward, she folded her arms on the table. “So, tell me where you’ve been since we were children. What kinds of exciting things have you done? You wanted to be an explorer, if I remember correctly. Tell me about your life.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been lots of places, done lots of things, though I was more what you’d call an adventurer than an explorer. Still, it’s been an … interesting life, so far.”

  “Earning scars,” she said quietly, not asking but letting him know she’d like to understand why and how he had them, if he wanted to share that information.

  He met her gaze steadily. “That too,” he said, declining to go into detail about them. “But no more. Now I spend my life—”

  He broke off as the dog leaped to her feet with a ferocious “Woof!” toenails scrabbling as she flung herself toward the door even before it was swept open and a red-faced man burst through. He was dripping from the brim of his grubby canvas hat to the toes of his equally grubby boots. As Jase watched, his hackles suddenly up and stiff, Shell, clearly unmindful of his condition, jumped to her feet with the same alacrity as the dog and flung herself into the man’s bear hug.

  “Shell!” the man exclaimed. “Wasn’t that a terrible night? I’m sorry I couldn’t get back. Are you all right?”

  Chapter Four

  JASE SAT RIGID, STRUGGLING not to leap up and pop the man a good one right between the eyes. What the hell was the matter with him? He had no right to object. Still, he didn’t mind a bit when Shell wriggled out of that embrace.

  “Ned, I’m all right,” she said. “What do you mean, you couldn’t get back? Were you away?”

  “Yes,” he said, jamming a hand through his hair and dislodging a confetti storm of sawdust. “Nola and I went into Sechelt last night to have dinner with her sister. We couldn’t get back because of all the trees across the road.”

  “Across the road?” Shell laughed. “Have you seen my front deck?”

  “I saw. And the crick’s washed out too. Took the bridge with it. There’s a Jeep with California plates”—Ned’s tone became scathing— “ass-end up right in the middle of it, and …” As Shell stepped aside, Ned appeared to have noticed Jase for the first time. “Oh. Yours, huh?”

  Holding the blanket around himself, Jase stood and limped to Shell’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder in a foolishly proprietary gesture. It pleased him to note that he was nearly a head taller than the other man. “Mine,” he said, not even trying to put any friendliness into his voice. He caught the look of startled surprise Shell bounced between him and the man she’d called Ned.

  Shell bit her lip, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or get mad. What the hell was going on here? On Ned’s part, of course, he was responding to those California license plates, but what could account for Jase’s prickly behavior? That icy stare should have frozen Ned’s wet clothes right to his frame.

  “Jase,” she said, “this is Ned Mason, my next door neighbor. Ned, meet Jason O’Keefe, an old friend from long ago.”

  Ned glared. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Jase said, and Shell almost expected him to add, Wanna make somethin’ of it? Quickly, she said, “Ned, you’re soaked from head to toe! What happened to you?”

  “Told you. Crick’s flooded and the bridge is gone. I discovered that on my way home this morning. With that wind last night, I figured it’d be bad, so as soon as it was daylight, I headed out. Lucky I had a chain saw in the back of the truck. I had to cut my way through. There were nineteen trees down in the mile and a half between the highway and the crick, and when I got to the bridge, that is where it used to be, I had to find a way across—most of it wading. That’s why it took me so long to get here.”

  He scowled from her to Jase and back. “Did you think I’d abandoned you?”

  “Oh, Ned, of course not. Nineteen trees? You must be worn out as well as soaked. Go on home and change, then come back and have some coffee and something to eat. Your house will be cold.”

  “Uh-uh.” Ned shook his head. “Nola and Grace made sure I got fed before I left the village this morning, and I’ve still got too much to do outside. The arbutus isn’t the only tree we lost out here by the beach. There’s a couple down between here and your—” He cast a suspicious glance at Jase, who had gone back to his chair and had his foot propped up again. “Between here and Ms. Harris’s place,” he went on, “and I want to get them out first thing, keep that path clear.”

  Shell glanced at her watch. “Mom won’t even be up yet,” she said, and grinned. “Don’t go using a chain saw over by their house, or you’ll have Kathleen outside throwing rocks at you. Their house is okay.” She gestured out a side window that gave a view around the shore of the semi-circular bay and another, larger house, with wisps of smoke coming from its chimney. “See? Fully intact. I checked that first thing. I haven’t had a minute to get out and see how yours fared, though. I just got up.”

  Ned shrugged and looked at his own watch. “Yeah. I guess you’re right about wakin’ up your mom. I’ve been out of bed so long, it feels like noon already. My house will be fine. Farther back from the water and in a bigger clearing.”

  He cast another look at Jase and his blanket, his sleep-tousled hair. “I managed to hook a bag and another case out of the back of that Jeep. Want ’em?”

  Jase’s face lit up. “They’re here?”

  Ned opened the door and tossed inside a soggy looking, battered leather tote; then, with more respect, handed Shell what looked like a laptop computer case. Behind her, Jase breathed out a long sigh of relief. He took the computer from her and set it on the table, wiping its case dry with one corner of his blanket.

  “I called Nola from up on the highway where there’s cell service and told her to call what’s-er-name,” Ned informed Shell, “that assistant of yours, and let her know you were stranded out here. I guess she can run the store okay for you.”

  “Of course she can. Ned, thanks.” Again wet as he was, Shell hugged him.

  “Not very friendly, is he?” Jase asked after Ned had left. “At least toward other men. He seemed pretty pally with you.”

  Shell heard the hard tension in his voice and stared at him in disbelief. “I’ve known Ned Mason since I was ten years old. He and his wife work for my mother and her friend, Kathleen. He’s a handyman, a gardener, a general fixer-upper, and is invaluable besides being a damned good friend. Nola, his wife, is my mother and Kathleen’s housekeeper. He looks upon himself as sort of an honorary uncle to me, I think.”

  Jase felt chastened. “Oh. Well, okay.”

  “Okay?” Shell planted her fists on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘okay’? Are you giving me permission to hug Ned?”

  He bit his lip, feeling more than just mildly uncomfortable under her furious glare. Hell, yes, he realized, that was exactly what I was doing, and with absolutely no right or reason. And it was crazy, as crazy as my reaction to seeing her in another man’s arms had been. His sister Jenny called what had just inexplicably happened to him a “testosterone fit.” He’d heard her use the term with an affectionate, derisive laugh, poking her husband in his slight paunch when she said it. His brother-in-law was the jealous type.

  Jase, absolutely, was not. It was simply that Shell’s eagerness to greet the other man had startled him, especially in light of the way she’d responded to his kiss only minutes before. He had not been jealous.

  “No, of course I’m not giving you permission,” he said. “Sorry
about that. Must have been some kind of atavistic instinct brought on by this time warp we’re in. A weird kind of need to protect an old girlfriend.”

  Shell’s nostrils flared. “Time warp?”

  Damn, he’d offended her again. “That’s what I thought in the night. You in that long gown with lace around the throat, the oil lamps, the rocking chair with its patchwork cushions. It was as if I’d traveled back a hundred years.” He smiled. “It was kind of a nice feeling.”

  As he said it, he knew it was true. He, who had sworn, after too many tours of duty in too many primitive places, never to live again without the amenities, had felt a strange affinity for Shell Landry’s particular time warp. “But obviously,” he went on, “it made me act as if I were living a hundred years in the past.”

  Shell’s anger abated with his apology, and she refilled their coffee mugs before sitting down. “Maybe you better stay out of time warps, then, if that’s what they do to you.”

  Laughter lit up his eyes. “How else can I find old girlfriends if I don’t employ time travel?”

  “You do a lot of it?” She grinned. “Isn’t it sort of dangerous, looking them up? Is that where you got all those scars?”

  The question was a definite challenge, but Jase refused to answer it. He’d rather not discuss his scars. And oddly enough, he realized that as long as he remained trapped in her time warp, he’d rather not have her know what he did now, either. Too many people, men and women alike, wanted to be friends with someone they saw as having a little bit of fame. It would be nice, he thought, if Shell could be his friend again simply because she liked him.

  But … it was dumb to go looking for friendship in a place where he had no intention of lingering, wasn’t it? He glanced out the window beside him. It revealed a sweep of grass littered with broken evergreen boughs and twigs, a wall of tangled brush, and a sliver of bright blue ocean with frothy whitecaps on it.

  It was the first time in more than five years he had looked out a window and not seen another building, and he wasn’t sure he liked the feeling of isolation it gave him.

  Isolation, the loneliness it bred. That was what was really dangerous. It led a man to do foolish, ill-considered things.

  Realizing she was still waiting for an answer about his scars, he glanced back at her. “I could have gotten them from old girlfriends. Old girlfriends can be dangerous.”

  After a moment she said, “I’m waiting to learn why you looked up this ‘old girlfriend,’ Jase, and why you suddenly remembered me and went to the trouble of seeking me out after more than twenty years.”

  He sighed. “Are you going to be offended when I confess that I didn’t really remember you? That for a long time I’d forgotten you and the summer we played together, until I ran across a picture of you? Even then, I probably wouldn’t have made a point of hunting you down if I hadn’t realized, later, that you were exactly the person I needed, the only one who could help me with something I … have to do.”

  Again, she tensed. She tried to hide it by sounding nonchalant. “Really? And what is that?” Jase looked at her, then down at the table where he had spilled the sugar what seemed like a long time ago. He pushed it into a small heap with the side of his thumb.

  Now, he knew, was the time to trust her instincts—and his own. She undoubtedly loved her grandmother as much as he had loved his. Surely, she’d be willing to help. Especially if it meant saving her grandmother from a harm greater than betrayal. Better, he thought, for Evelyn Landry to feel simply betrayed, than betrayed and bereft of a large portion of capital.

  But, and this was the cruncher, would Shell insist on running immediately to her father with what he had to tell her?

  Suddenly, he wasn’t certain this was the right approach. Maybe he’d be better off trying to get through to Evelyn Landry on his own. But how?

  He knew the success rate for that kind of operation. Chances were, the lady would deny any possibility of his being right and tell him to mind his own business. And why should she believe him over the man she was probably in love with? Even with an introduction, he knew he’d be scrambling in loose gravel, getting her to believe him.

  “Jase,” Shell said impatiently when he continued to look down at the table and play with the sugar. “I want answers.”

  He let out a long 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 gra
bbed 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 wait a minute. How could he have seen it, unless he’d had a North America-wide clipping service on her case before it was published? A lot of trouble to go to to track down a “girlfriend” who’d been less than seven years old the last time he’d seen her.

  “That was a year ago,” she said. “And since when do photos from the ‘around town’ type columns in our local papers make it by wire service all the way to Los Angeles? My father’s party simply wasn’t that important in the scheme of world affairs. Try another one, O’Keefe. That one didn’t quite fly.”

  “The clipping didn’t make it to Los Angeles,” he said. “I didn’t see it until a week ago, and it took me from then until yesterday to discover your address.”

  She felt hollow and frightened. “How—how did you get that?”

  He grinned evilly and brushed an imaginary mustache beneath his nose. “Ve haff our vays, ve schpies.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her. She pulled air in through a tight chest. Faint and far away, she could hear Ned working with a chain saw, clearing the road, making it possible to get this man off Piney Point as soon as the highways people put up another bridge. Hell, before that! When she’d first come to the point, they’d had to ford the creek, which must be how Ned had gotten here this morning. In the meantime, she’d simply have to be extremely careful. She might have known Jase O’Keefe when they were children, but that didn’t mean she had to trust him now. Or that she could.

  Jase gazed at her suddenly white face, where those freckles he’d remembered stood out too starkly, and her green eyes had grown too large. In that moment, she looked hunted as she tried to hide a frantic expression that bordered on panic. Astounded, he realized she was afraid. Afraid of him? But why?

  “All right,” she said tautly. “The hunt’s over. Now what do you want from me?”

  Absurdly, he wanted to gather her close and promise her that she had nothing to fear from him, or from anyone else as long as he was near. Equally absurdly, he wanted to promise always to be near.