What Dreams May Come (19 page)

Worried by that realization, he had called the investigator in Texas who had been helping him and suggested he go openly to Brad's office and find out for certain if he was there. In the meantime, Boyd decided that Brad would neither have brought a weapon registered to him from Texas, nor purchased one here in Oregon in his own name. So he called his policeman friend in Portland and they began checking the likely places.

Gun laws were strict, but to a man like Brad West, who was used to buying what he wanted, difficulties could be overcome. He had bought the big Magnum from a pawnshop the day before.

And once Boyd knew that a man matching Brad's description—right down to the charming smile— had bought a gun, he wasted no time in persuading his friend to accompany him back to the house. Increasingly worried, he had called Mitch from
the car when they were still minutes from the house.

They'd made it just in time. Since a policeman had witnessed the fact that Bradford West had attempted to kill his ex-wife, no charges would be filed, even if an autopsy proved that it had been her bullet that had killed him.

Kelly didn't really care. She knew Mitch was concerned about her emotional state, but she hadn't had a chance to reassure him that she was fine. Taking the opportunity now, she said, "I won't have nightmares, you know."

"He didn't give you a choice," Mitch said quietly.

She wondered if that was why she felt nothing at all about Brad's death. "When I first started taking lessons at a pistol range, I thought I'd never be able to point that gun at a person.
Even him.
But today . . . well, I didn't feel hate or even a need for revenge. I just knew I wouldn't let him win."

Mitch tossed the gauze pad onto the coffee table and drew her into his arms. "He can never hurt you again."

"Or you. He meant to kill us both. I finally realized, while he was talking out there, that he literally couldn't live with the knowledge that another man had bested him. That's the way he saw it. No matter what he did, I ... couldn't let go of you. It frustrated him that his—his rival was a ghost, but it was a hundred times worse when you were a flesh-and-blood reality. He watched us," she added softly.
"In the conservatory."

His arms tightening around her, Mitch said, "I know. I heard part of what he said to you out there."

"It made me sick, that he'd done that. He made
so many things dirty, even words. I couldn't bear it that he'd tried to make us dirty too."

Mitch released her and rose from the couch, then took her hand and drew her up as well. He led her from the room. When she realized where he was taking her, her hand trembled in his.

"Mitch—"

He took her into the conservatory and eased her gently down on the chaise. "We're alone, sweetheart, I promise you. Nobody's watching us. There's no threat."

The late afternoon sunlight was shining through the glass all around them, making the plants glow emerald. The French doors were standing open so that a cool, moist breeze rustled through the leaves, and the ocean was a distant whisper.

"Mitch, I don't know if I can—"

"Shhh."
He kissed her, apparently untroubled by any pain in his swollen, cut lip. He kissed her slowly and deeply, teasing her mouth until she relaxed and began to respond. Guiding her to lie back on the cushions, he slipped one hand underneath her blouse and stroked her side, still kissing her.

Kelly lost all awareness of everything except him and the heat rising inside her. She murmured a protest when his mouth left hers, then eagerly helped him get rid of her blouse and the camisole. She didn't know which of them had removed his shirt, but his smooth, hard skin was under her seeking hands, and she could feel his muscles moving with the sinuous power she loved. His mouth was on her breasts, and the heavy jeans slid free of her with the wisp of panties, and there was another muffled noise that might have been his pants being cast aside. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, each hotter than the last, and throaty sounds welled up and escaped her.

She felt his mouth moving lower, making her stomach quiver in tiny surges of electric delight. He was murmuring soft, rough things against her flesh, blunt sex words and tender love words, and the combination was so starkly intimate that it made her excitement spiral out of control. Then his heated caresses moved lower still, and she cried out when he found the aching fullness of her. Her body was out of her control again, and she was helpless to do anything except endure the burning wash of feelings. She was submerged in them, then lifting, trembling like a wild thing on the crest of a final huge wave. . . .

He rose above her and she cradled him frantically, her need pulsing through her with a primitive demand. She felt the slow, hot push inside her, and moaned as her body accepted him like a part of itself. He kissed her as his weight settled fully on her, roughly now and with fierce hunger, tangling his fingers in her hair, and she was kissing him with the same uncontrolled desire as she writhed beneath him.

Mitch had totally forgotten that the initial point of this had been to remove the taint of West's voyeuristic observance of their earlier lovemaking. As always, his desire for her had swamped every rational thought, carrying him along on a tide so devastating he half expected it to kill him. Her body clasped his with soft heat and slick tightness in a caress he would have happily died for, and she was moving with him, taking him so completely that they seemed a single being, striving together in a blinding white silence until the
light splintered and the silence was filled with raw sounds of stark ecstasy.

His first coherent thought was that the damned chaise was so narrow he couldn't lie beside her
and he didn't think he could bear to leave her completely. Forcing his drained muscles to support him, he eased himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. Her lovely face was rosy, and a sleepy half smile was on her lips. He kissed her tenderly, and soft purple eyes opened to gaze seriously into his.

"I've wanted to say it for days now, but I couldn't --until it was finished with him. That chapter
did
have to be ended. I had to stop running." Her voice was grave.

"I know."

Her smile changed, became so tender it almost stopped his heart. "I didn't think I'd ever be whole again. Then I opened the door and saw you there . . . and I began to realize that something inside me
had
waited for you. I love you, Mitch. I think I've loved you all my life."

He felt his throat close up even as some deeper part of him went suddenly still. So long . . . He'd waited so long to hear the words. And it was like being freed from a prison, watching the gate open and seeing before him a wonderful freedom. For the first time, he truly understood what love meant.

Holding a hand, not chaining a soul.

"I love you too, baby. God, I love you so much."

"Forever?" she whispered.

Whatever fate had in store for them, he knew nothing would alter that.
"Forever."

She insisted that he soak in a hot bath that night, pointing out that his day had been more than usually active,
then
displayed an unexpected talent by giving him a massage that left him in a condition best described as boneless. He found the strength to hold her when she climbed into bed beside him.

And for the first time in more than a year, he slept through the night without stirring.

"Mitch?" Kelly returned to the den after answering the front-door bell, a slight frown between her brows. She was carrying a large manila envelope from which she'd extracted a sheaf of papers, and a smaller, legal-sized envelope.

"What's up?" He rose from rebuilding the fire and joined her as she sat down on the couch.

Nearly a week had passed since the shooting, and they'd made several trips into Portland for explanations and depositions and the like. The newspapers had finally relegated to back
pages
their follow-ups to the story. The police and district attorney had closed the case. This was the first peaceful day Kelly and Mitch had had together since then, and their morning had been interrupted by a Federal Express delivery.

"It's from my attorney in Baltimore," she murmured, still frowning as she read the cover letter. "He sent
all the
realtor's paperwork on the house. He isn't happy that he had to find out I was living here in the house from the realtor."

"Why should that worry him?" Mitch asked curiously.

"That's what I'm trying to— Oh. Oh, I see. He's been holding a letter that he was supposed to send to me as soon as I was in residence here. It was given to him the same time as—" Her eyes widened as she finished reading her lawyer's letter. Setting that and the other papers aside, she looked at the sealed legal-sized envelope that had been sent along,
then
lifted her gaze to Mitch.

"It's from your father."

"What?"

Kelly shrugged. "Maybe now we'll find out why he left me the house."

"I am curious about that," Mitch admitted, watching as she pried open the flap of the envelope. He saw her pull a slightly smaller envelope out, but didn't notice anything odd about it until she held it up for him to see.

On the front, written in a bold, rather heavy hand, were the names Kelly Russell and John Mitchell.

"Maybe you should open it," she murmured, handing him the envelope.

Mitch nodded and did so, more than a little puzzled. He recognized his father's handwriting, and automatically noted the date at the top of the first page of the letter; this had been written a month before Hugh Mitchell's death.

" 'Dear
Kelly and John—' " Mitch broke off abruptly, adding almost to himself, "He's the only one who called me John."

Kelly half turned to watch his face, hoping with everything inside her that this letter wouldn't be something that would hurt Mitch. "If you want to read it to yourself," she began, but he shook his head with a quick smile.

"It's addressed to both of us."

She nodded and waited silently.

Mitch cleared his throat and continued reading aloud.
" 'I
don't ask your forgiveness; I'm told some things are meant to be, and that if my actions had been different, the end would still be the same. Perhaps I need to believe that, whether or not it's true. But I do want to tell you both I'm sorry my attitude made it harder for you.

" 'By
now, John, I'm sure you've come to understand what a complex emotion love is. I wish I had understood sooner. I hope you learned something from my mistakes, and choose not to repeat them. Saying that you love is easy, but living up to those simple words is the most difficult thing you'll ever do.
And the finest.
I failed in that, but I believe you won't. Just remember that to love and be loved is the most important thing in life.' "

Mitch drew a deep breath.
" 'Kelly
, I'm sorry we never met. Whatever you may believe, I never hated you. I was afraid of losing John as I lost his mother, never realizing until too late that I had driven them both away with my possessiveness. I hope you can understand, and believe there was no malice in my objection to your marriage.

" 'As
I write this letter, you, John, are still in a coma, and Kelly is struggling to go on with her life. The doctors tell me there's no hope my son will ever recover, and my attorneys are aghast at the instructions I have demanded they follow. I wonder myself if I have allowed false hope to ease the guilt and despair I've felt for so long. But I'm a hard-headed businessman, John, you know that, and hardly prone to believe in fantasies.

" 'Is
this a fantasy, that you're reading my words? No. You are reading them.
You and Kelly, together,
in the house where you spent so many happy summers.
It isn't summer there now, is it?
Late winter, perhaps, or early spring.
And the two of you have found each other again, despite fate.

" 'Or
. . . because of fate. Some things are planned, I'm told, and I believe that. Some people are meant to be together, and I believe that as well. Perhaps I need faith of some kind at this very late stage of my life, but I think it is rather that I at last understand the power of love.

" 'Be
kind to each other.' "

Mitch refolded the letter carefully,
then
looked at Kelly. "I—don't quite know what to make of that."

"Neither do
I
." She felt shaken on her own account, and was conscious of a deep compassion for Hugh Mitchell. "Did you notice that twice he used the phrase 'I'm told' as if . . .
"

"As if someone were standing there explaining to him how you and I would be together," Mitch agreed slowly. "Maybe that's why he left you this house, so that I could find you."

"But how could he be so certain you'd come out of the coma? The doctors weren't giving him any hope, he said that. But he
knew.
He knew you'd be all right, that we'd be here. He arranged to have this sent as soon as I was living here, and I've been in the house only a couple of weeks; how did he know I wouldn't live here years ago, long before you came? And it is late winter, and we read his letter. ..."

Mitch slipped an arm around her and held her close. "I don't know, sweetheart. But, as he said, he
wasn't
a man to believe in fantasy, I do know that; he wasn't an irrational or sentimental man. He would have believed the doctors—unless someone else convinced him they were wrong. Apparently, someone did."

"Who?
A priest?
What he said about some things being meant to be—"

"No, he wasn't religious. At least not that I remember. I don't know, Kelly. I just don't know."

She didn't know either. But she felt better now about Mitch's father, and she was glad he'd written the letter—whatever his beliefs had been. Mitch had been robbed of the chance to say good-bye to his father, to put things right between them, and the letter had helped ease that pain.