Plain Jane by Fern Michaels Page B

done in over a month, she was going to stop by her godparents’ house. She needed to talk to someone, someone who would listen, be on her side, and still be objective. Trixie could be painfully objective. Fred, too.
    â€œEnough’s enough, Olive. I’ve had it. Let’s go to bed. I’m so tired I can’t think straight.” She yawned and stretched.
    The spaniel waited patiently until Jane turned the lights off before racing up the stairs. When she reached the top, she sat down on her haunches and barked as if to say, c’mon, c’mon, let’s go.
    Jane went through her bedtime regimen in record time, then grabbed a pair of clean pajamas out of her drawer, her “dream” pajamas she called them because of the fluffy white clouds printed on a sky-blue background. By the time she climbed into the big four-poster rice bed alongside Olive, she was already planning what to dream about—Mike Sorenson.

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    Jane rolled over and stretched out her hand to cuddle Olive. Just knowing the dog was beside her was comforting. Instead, her hand encountered the lumpy bedspread. Stirring uneasily, she opened one eye and saw Olive sitting on her haunches in front of the French doors that led out to the balcony. She was wiggling her head the way she did when Jane scratched her ears.
    â€œHello, Dr. Lewis,” a boyish voice said. “My name is Billy Jensen, and this is my dog, Jeeter. Jeeter likes Olive. They had a wonderful run earlier out by the well, but of course, you already know that.”
    Wearily, Jane propped herself up on her right elbow and stared at the boy and the dog standing by the door. “Who are you? How did you get in here? I locked the doors.” That was a stupid question, she told herself. This was a dream and anything could happen in a dream. It didn’t have to make sense. She yawned. “I’d appreciate it if you’d move on and let me get back to sleep. What time is it anyway?”
    â€œTime has no meaning to me. Or Jeeter.”
    â€œWell, it does to me. I have to get up early in the morning. So go away.”
    â€œJeeter is lonely. And so am I. I thought we might become friends.”
    â€œFine, but not tonight, okay? I’m really beat, and I want to dream about someone else.”
    â€œYes, I know. Your gentleman caller, Dr. Sorenson. He makes you act funny.”
    â€œFunny? Funny how?”
    â€œLike this,” he said, batting his eyes.
    â€œI beg your pardon, but I have never done that to anyone in my life. Dr. Sorenson and I are business associates. Nothing more. Now, please, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my dream. If I don’t get enough sleep, I’m grouchy.”
    â€œI know. I’ve seen how grouchy you can be.”
    â€œGo away!” Jane lay down on her back and closed her eyes.
    â€œI’ll leave, but first I want to tell you that I know what you did this evening. You shouldn’t do things like that. It’s too risky. And what was worse was that you locked Olive in the car. She couldn’t have helped you if you’d needed her.”
    â€œFor the record,” Jane said with growing impatience, “I didn’t lock the car door, and even if I did, Olive knows how to get it open.” Something about this dream was very undreamlike. She opened her eyes, blinked, and took a good long look at the youth standing by the French door. “Am I supposed to know you? You don’t look familiar. But I must have met you somewhere. . . . Dreams are manifestations of what happens in our daily lives. Olive, get over here.”
    â€œYou know who I am. I’m a spirit. I’m the one who took the Ramsey file out of your briefcase. You’ve known about me for a long time, but you’ve always refused to acknowledge me. You have Dr. Sorenson to thank for opening up our communication wavelengths.”
    Jane snorted. “So . . .