Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

love your name?  I do.  I have to confess that you are all I can think about.  Does that scare you?  I hope not. I won’t ask you if you found out anything on the LaVerdures.  I know you haven’t had time, and besides, that’s not what I’m really interested in.  If you find something, that’s great.  And if you don’t, that’s okay too.  It’s you I care about.  I can’t get those kisses we shared out of my mind.  Your lips were so soft and sweet.  I can’t wait to get back home, see you again and kiss you some more.  Yeah – that’s right and you had better get used to the idea.  You do want to see me, don’t you?  That will be awhile, I’m afraid.  We laid over in Germany for two days.  It was snowing on the mountaintop.  I’ve attached a photo for you to see.  I was thinking about you when they took the picture.  Can you tell?  Let me hear from you, please.  I’ll be waiting.  And hoping.  Take care of yourself.

Patrick.   

Opening the attachment, she gazed at his picture.  God, he was so good looking.  Smack!  She couldn’t help it, she kissed his likeness, leaving an imprint of her lips right in the middle of her computer screen.  Bouncing up, she let herself celebrate.  “He likes me!  He really likes me!”  She ran to her phone, wanting to call someone and share, but Tammany was still at work, so she texted her instead - only two words.  HE EMAILED!  She would understand.  Tammany had taken great pride in the fact that Savannah had gone on a ‘near date’.  Besides, it didn’t matter if she had anyone to celebrate with or not, she was still over the moon!  Setting the phone back down, she ran and made a cup of coffee to calm her nerves and settled down to answer his email.

Patrick.  I like your name, too.  It’s strong . . . and sexy.  Like you.  No, the idea that you are thinking about me isn’t scary – but the fact that I can’t get you off my mind is quite terrifying.  I have relived every moment of the time we spent together – over and over. 

No, I haven’t found anything yet on the name you gave me.  But I’m about to start looking again as soon as I finish this email to you.

And yes, I want to see you again.  I’d love to see you again.  It might not be the wisest thing for either of us, but I can’t deny that it is what I want.  I know it’s a long time off, but if you’ll call me when you arrive, I’ll prepare a meal for you.  Does that sound ok? 

I have to admit that I want more of your kisses.  Since we’re talking in emails, I find that I’m more inclined to share the whole truth with you.  Okay?  Here it goes; I kissed the photograph you sent me.  You are an exceptionally good-looking man and very sweet and kind.  Thank you for sending it to me.  I’ll cherish it.  Would you like me to send a photograph of myself?  If you want one, I’ll send it.  And I can’t wait to hear from you again.  I’ll try to have information to share with you the next time we talk.  Please take care of yourself.  I’ll be praying for your safety.

Savannah

Hearing from him and being able to communicate with him made Savannah only want to please him more, so she began to pour through her resources to see what she could find.  It wasn’t long before she hit pay dirt.  “Yes!” Here it was in black and white.  Oh, it was just a start, but at least this clue would give her an idea of where to look next.

(Pierre LaVerdure, a French Huguenot came to England and married an Englishwoman named Prescila Melanson.  Pierre LaVerdure later moved to Acadia with Sir Thomas Temple during the occupation by the English.  Two of LaVerdure’s sons took their mother's name – Melanson - and chose to remain in Acadia while the third son, John, kept the name LaVerdure and immigrated to Boston.)

So, Patrick had been looking for the wrong name.  LaVerdure wasn’t familiar to Savannah, but Melanson or Melancon was as common a name in Louisiana as Smith or Jones in any other part of the country.

Refusing to wait another moment, she shot off another email to Patrick to share with him her good news.  And then she sat and waited – and waited - for a response and when it didn’t come she was so disappointed.

*****

“Look here, Patrick.  Look what I found!” Jayco walked around the jeep and held up a black lab puppy.  “She’s half starved.  What do you want me to do with her?”

“You might as well shoot her,” Hawke grimaced.  “It’d be more humane.  She’ll just starve to death out here.”

“Give me that dog,” Patrick held his arms out.  No one was going to shoot any puppies while he was around.  He cradled the little dog to his chest.  “Poor little mite.  What’s your name, Girl?”

“You’re Irish, why don’t you name her an Irish name.” Hawke drained a beer, and then stared at the dog as if deep in thought.

Patrick didn’t contradict him.  He was only part Irish, the rest was English and French, but it didn’t really matter.  “She doesn’t look like a Colleen.”  He rubbed the small dog’s head and thought about what he had to offer her to eat from his rations.

“Ciara means black in Gaelic, why don’t you name her Ciara.”  Hawke raised his beer bottle and pointed to the small black dog.

“That’s a good name, Philip.”  Patrick thought a lot of Phillip Hawke.  He was as honest and reliable as the day was long.  The man was a rock, physically formidable and the kind of a marine that you wanted at your side.  Hawke was his spotter and he trusted