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Hope sat up in her bed with a gasp.
She bent her knees, hugging them to her in the loneliness of her room.
In her dreams, Eric had been kissing her again. And she’d been kissing him back. The way it had always been with them. Mutual love. Equal longing.
She’d had this dream too many times to count, reliving the time when she and her husband were still together.
She’d loved Eric Granston nearly all her life. The boy he’d been. The man he’d become.
And she loved him still.
There was a place in her heart only Eric could fill.
Hope sighed, recalling her feelings from the night they’d parted. Her sense of being right.
She hadn’t realized that being “right” could feel so wrong…
KATHRYN ALEXANDER
writes inspirational romance because, having been a Christian for many years, she felt that incorporating the element of faith in the Lord into a romantic story line was a lovely and appropriate idea. After all, in a society where love for a lifetime is difficult to find, imagine discovering it, unexpectedly, as a gift sent from God.
Married to Kelly, her own personal love of a lifetime, Kathryn and her husband have one son, John, who is the proud owner of the family’s two house pests, Herbie the cat and Copper the dog.
Kathryn and her family have been members of their church for nearly five years, where she co-teaches a Sunday school class of active two-year-olds. She is now a stay-at-home mom who writes between car pooling, baby-sitting and applying bandages, when necessary.
The Forever Husband
Kathryn Alexander
For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than
our heart, and knoweth all things.
—I John 3:20
To Anne Canadeo,
editor extraordinaire.
Thank you for three beautiful books!
Eric smiled at his wife and extended an arm to take her hand in his protective grasp, then pulled her gently into the boat with him. Hope had been watching from the sidelines, uncertain about joining her husband in the anchored, but unsteady vessel. But as he urged her into testing their new purchase, she came haphazardly into his arms with nervous laughter and, finally, a shriek sounding of certain catastrophe when the boat rocked sharply.
“Eric! Do something! We’re tipping over!”
His grip on her arms was as firm as it could be without hurting, and he steadied her before she slid her own desperate arms around his waist.
His smile was wide. “Don’t be afraid, Hope. You know how to swim if you need to.”
“But we’ll probably both drown because I’ll be too scared to let go of you! If this thing tips, we’re going down together,” she warned.
Eric laughed out loud, the sound of his voice mingling with the slap of water against the boat’s hull. On a sudden gust of October wind a swirl of autumn leaves blew from the lakeshore into the boat and around their feet.
“We’re going down together, huh?” Eric repeated in a solemn tone.
Hope loosened her clinging hold on him slightly, and tilted her head back in time to see the laughter fade from her husband’s eyes. Just then, the boat steadied some, although that did little to ease the rapid pace of Hope’s heart as she stared into the depths of Eric’s darkening gaze.
“Yes, you’re going with me,” she responded with a teasing smile. Then, lifting her hand to his chest, she touched the soft fabric of his shirt and watched Eric’s gaze lower to her mouth. He would kiss her; he always did when he had that look. But the waiting wasn’t easy, even after all the years.
“That’s where I want to be, Hope. With you…always.” His hands moved upward into her windblown hair, and he leaned toward her, as Hope raised herself up to meet his kiss. Eric’s warm mouth moved firmly against hers, taking and giving—both of them wanting more of the love they’d found in each other’s arms…
Hope woke up instantly, sitting up in her bed with a gasp. She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her in the loneliness of her room.
Eric had been kissing her again, and she’d been kissing him back—as it had always been with them. Mutual love; equal longing. She gave a soft sigh. She’d had this dream too many times to count. And it wasn’t a dream in the true sense of the word. Not fantasy or a capricious imagination at work in a sleep-filled mind. It was real. A clearly remembered incident replayed in her sleep. Over and over. A relived moment in time from when she and