Forever Spring Read Free

seat. To his amazement, he found his hands steady as he poured coffee into the two cups. Applying mind over matter, he had his responsive body under control by the time she sat down opposite him.
    “Smells delicious,” he murmured, inhaling the aroma of the hot croissants.
    “Help yourself,” she invited. “There’s butter and preserves.” She indicated the containers with a flick of her hand as she reached for her cup.
    “Not joining me?” Paul asked, breaking one of the crescent-shaped rolls.
    “No.” Karen shook her head. “I’m on a perpetual diet, and midafternoon croissants are not a part of it.” Lifting her cup, she sipped at the steaming black coffee.
    “Diet?” Paul paused in the act of slathering wild-strawberry preserves onto a piece of the roll. His frowning gaze made a brief survey of the upper half of her body; his memory retained a clear vision of the lower half. “You don’t need to diet.” The sincerity of his tone was proof that he was not merely being gallant.
    “Oh, but I do.” Karen’s smile held an odd, bitter slant. “I love to cook and I love to eat,” she said in a flat voice. “I pay for my indulgence in pounds... usually around my hips.”
    Personally, Paul considered her rounded hips uncomfortably alluring. Prudently he kept his thoughts to himself. “My problem’s the direct opposite,” he said for the sake of conversation. “I often forget to eat, and I have to remind myself to do so to keep from losing weight.” He popped the bite of roll into his mouth and chewed with relish.
    Her expression mocking, Karen cradled her cup in her palms and leaned back in her chair. “I should have such a problem,” she drawled, tilting her cup in a silent salute. Her gaze boldly noted the breadth of his shoulders and chest and the evidence of well-developed muscles beneath his bulky knit sweater.
    “For all the lack of nourishment, you appear to be in great shape.”
    Paul’s smile was wry. “For my age, you mean?” “For any age,” she retorted. “How old are you?” There was a hint of challenge in her voice.
    “I’ll never see fifty again.” Paul smiled at her look of genuine astonishment and tossed her challenge back at her. “How old are you?”
    “I’ll never see thirty again,” she said in a dry tone. “As a matter of fact, I celebrated my thirty-seventh birthday last Tuesday.”
    Something, some infinitesimal inflection in her voice, alerted Paul. “Alone?” he guessed.
    Karen hesitated, then sighed. “Yes.”
    “You have no family?” Paul probed gently, not sure exactly why he was bothering.
    “I have two sons,” she said brightly—too brightly. “They’re away at school. I.. .received lovely birthday cards from them.” Her smile was as bright as her tone, and as suspect. “Do you have children?” she asked swiftly, allowing him no time to question her further.
    “Yes, two also,” Paul answered. “I have a son and a daughter, both grown and married.” Memory softened his expression.
    “Grandchildren?” Karen guessed.
    Paul’s smile was gentle. “Yes, a six-week-old grandson from my son and daughter-in-law, and my daughter is currently a lady-in-waiting. The child is due at Christmas, on or about their first wedding anniversary.”
    “That’s nice,” she murmured, blinking as she glanced away. “I love babies.”
    Once again, Paul became alert to an odd tone in her voice. For a moment she looked so lost, so unhappy, that he had to squash the urge to go to her and draw her into his arms. “Your husband?” he asked very softly.
    “I’m divorced.” She turned to look at him as she stood up. The vulnerability was gone; an invisible curtain had been drawn, concealing her feelings. “If you’ve finished, I’ll show you to your room.” Her voice was steady, free of inflection.
    Paul had the strange sensation of having been shoved outside, into the deepening dusk and frigid wind. The sensation disturbed him more than a little. Why