Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

The lights were out, but Cynthia was still awake, wondering what had taken him so long. He told her of his meeting with Donnie's father.

"Let's just leave it alone and let it work itself out," she said with a sigh as she snuggled against him. "Pleasant dreams," she added. "And try not to dream about hanging women."

They were quiet for a sometime but could sense from each other's movements that neither was asleep. Finally, Dean spoke. "What are your dreams like?" he asked.

"I don't remember most of them," she whispered. "When I do, they're nice dreams. I dream about you. And us. Often we're in wacky places, places like the house where I grew up or schools I attended when I was a kid. Places neither of us has ever been together."

"In my dreams I'm usually in trouble. I don't mean monsters are chasing me but I have a deadline or there's some unfinished business. I'm no hero in my dreams. Sort of the opposite. Like if I'm in a ball game, I'm the one who has the ground ball roll between my legs."

"That's insecurity. Most people wouldn't buy David Dean as an insecure guy."

"What about his wife? Is she insecure, too?"

"Not any more. I'm getting to know my guy a little more each day. And loving him all the more with the increased knowledge. You're my security. My flannel guy."

Dean never even heard Gladys Turnbull's muffled alarm clock. The next thing he knew it was morning.