Dreamcatcher Read Online Free

getting all wet,” she says.
    â€œI’m from upstate,” he says. “We grow em tough up there.”
    â€œYou think you can find them, don’t you?” she asks.
    Pete shrugs. “Maybe. I’m good at finding things. Always have been.”
    â€œDo you know something I don’t?” she asks.
    No bounce, no play, he thinks. I know that much, ma’am.
    â€œNope,” he says. “Not yet.”
    They walk into the pharmacy, and the bell over the door jingles. The girl behind the counter looks up from her magazine. At three-twenty on a rainy late-September afternoon, the pharmacy is deserted except for the three of them down here and Mr. Diller up behind the prescription counter.
    â€œHi, Pete,” the counter-girl says.
    â€œYo, Cathy, how’s it going?”
    â€œOh, you know—slow.” She looks at the brunette. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I checked around again, but I didn’t find them.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Trish says with a wan smile. “This gentleman has agreed to give me a ride to my appointment.”
    â€œWell,” Cathy says, “Pete’s okay, but I don’t think I’d go so far as to call him a gentleman. ”
    â€œYou want to watch what you say, darlin,” Pete tells her with a grin. “There’s a Rexall just down 302 in Naples.” Then he glances up at the clock. Time has sped up for him, too. That’s okay, that makes a nice change.
    Pete looks back at Trish. “You came here first. For the aspirin.”
    â€œThat’s right. I got a bottle of Anacin. Then I had some time to kill, so—”
    â€œI know, you got a coffee next door at Christie’s, then went across to Renny’s.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou didn’t take your aspirin with hot coffee, did you?”
    â€œNo, I had a bottle of Poland water in my car.” She points out the window at a green Taurus. “I took them with some of that. But I checked the seat, too, Mr.—Pete. I also checked the ignition.” She gives him an impatient look which says, I know what you’re thinking: daffy woman.
    â€œJust one more question,” he says. “If I find your car keys, would you go out to dinner with me? Icould meet you at The West Wharf. It’s on the road between here and—”
    â€œI know The West Wharf,” she says, looking amused in spite of her distress. At the counter, Cathy isn’t even pretending to read her magazine. This is better than Redbook, by far. “How do you know I’m not married, or something?”
    â€œNo wedding ring,” he replies promptly, although he hasn’t even looked at her hands yet, not closely, anyway. “Besides, I was just talking about fried clams, cole slaw, and strawberry shortcake, not a lifetime commitment.”
    She looks at the clock. “Pete . . . Mr. Moore . . . I’m afraid that at this minute I have absolutely no interest in flirting. If you want to give me a ride, I would be very happy to have dinner with you. But—”
    â€œThat’s good enough for me,” he says. “But you’ll be driving your own car, I think, so I’ll meet you. Would five-thirty be okay?”
    â€œYes, fine, but—”
    â€œOkay.” Pete feels happy. That’s good; happy is good. A lot of days these last couple of years he hasn’t felt within a holler of happy, and he doesn’t know why. Too many late and soggy nights cruising the bars along 302 between here and North Conway? Okay, but is that all? Maybe not, but this isn’t the time to think about it. The lady has an appointment to keep. If she keeps it and sells the house, who knows how lucky Pete Moore might get? And even if he doesn’t get lucky, he’s going to be able to help her. He feels it.
    â€œI’m going to do something a little weird now,” hesays, “but don’t let it