Treasure Me by Christine Nolfi Page B

bad dreams wake you?”
    He surprised her when he nodded. “The same dream, actually. Only it’s more like a play-by-play.” He held up his plate. “Should we dine upstairs?”
    “Good idea.” She snapped off the light and followed him to the stairwell. “What do you mean, play-by-play?”
    From over his shoulder, he gave her a long look. Nothing casual in his eyes—she was asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Touché . But something touched her heart, a fleeting emotion. Hugh wasn’t like any man she’d ever met—he seemed stable, grounded in ways she didn’t understand. He might even be likeable.
    Was the flirtatious and fast-talking reporter plagued by nightmares?
    If so, she wanted to know why.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 6
     
     
    Meade peered out the window with misgiving as Finney barreled across the porch of Anthony Perini’s house.
    Calling Finney hadn’t been easy. The woman didn’t talk. She stampeded through conversations. Yet at half past midnight Meade couldn’t think of anyone else to call.
    The cook stomped into the circular foyer without knocking.
    “Are you nuts?” The words came out in a hiss, presumably to avoid waking Blossom. “Where are you going this late at night? I was asleep when you called.”
    “Doze on the couch until I get back.” When the cook glared, Meade added, “It is an emergency.”
    Finney gave her the once-over, taking in the turquoise knit top Meade had thrown on after she’d hung up with her father. “You’re dressed awfully nice for an emergency. If you’re meeting someone, I’ll kill you for messing with my sleep cycle.”
    Did Finney think she had a date? “I’m not seeing a man,” Meade snapped, and then reconsidered. “Actually, I am seeing a man, but not like you think. Not that it’s your affair.”
    “Don’t use a high-and-mighty tone with me. Women like you draw men like flies to a manure heap. If you think I’ll watch Blossom while you’re out at all hours—”
    The tirade came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the tinkling bells on Melbourne’s collar. The poodle trotted into the foyer and the cook stared at him with palpable distaste.
    “Is the rat staying while you’re gone?” Melbourne stopped beside her, his furry ears perked, and Finney moved back. “If he tries to mark me, you won’t be putting him out for stud service. Not after I’m through with him.”
    “I’ll put him in his cage, all right?”
    “With a muzzle? I don’t need him yipping.”
    Meade prayed for patience. She’d had a long day. After escaping the office, she arrived at the house to find Blossom filling the place with ear shattering hip-hop. She nearly blew out her larynx before the music was turned down. Blossom insisted on making a strange dinner of Cocoa Puffs and fried chicken, which was probably common fare among the teen set. Once the girl trudged upstairs, Meade tried practicing yoga to regain her center. She’d been about to drag herself to bed when her father had called in such an agitated state she’d felt compelled to drive out to the town of Goose Grove to check on him.
    Wrenching a promise from Finney not to harm Melbourne, Meade started on the lonely drive. An autumn moon sat above the tilled farmlands, fat and golden. This close to Lake Erie the temperature was near freezing, the sparkle of water visible between thick stands of trees. Reaching Belfair Lane, she drove with trepidation toward the mansion.
    In the moonlight, the large brick Tudor looked like an abandoned fortress. Huge urns, which held massive blooms during Meade’s childhood, stood empty with chips and cracks glinting in the cold light. The windows of the mansion, wrought iron between panes speckled with rust, wore a greasy film of pollen and soot. On the rolling lawn, piles of maple leaves were stiff with November frost.
    Regret tightened her throat at everything lost fourteen years ago. Every year since then seemed to whittle away more of the estate’s glamour