In a Moon Smile (26 page)

Oh, holy shit. Who in the hell does he think he is?

“Should I stretch out on the couch for a therapy session?” Chesney asked sarcastically.  Hurt floated through Dalton’s eyes and her cheeks stung with a mix of humiliation and a giant dose of guilt. “Sorry,” She said softly. This time it was Chesney who reached out. She placed her hand on Dalton’s arm for only a few seconds, just enough to send him some tenderness. Just long enough to soak the sun-kissed tan on his skin into her palm, then she put her hand back on her lap. “I am very sorry for the way I just behaved. I can assure you, Dalton, that I wasn't always a witch. I haven't always been so guarded. And for your information, I happen to be very inexperienced with this, um, new personality and attitude.”

“I can see that,” Dalton nodded. “I see it in your eyes.” Another long silence stretched into an uncomfortable limbo. Thoughtfully, he looked at her and said, “I was proud of the way you put that guy in his place. He seemed genuinely surprised that you stood up to him. He didn’t seem to expect you to do anything except what he requested.”

“Well he had good reason to expect me to give in. I'm not very good at standing up to people,” Chesney confessed. “That’s always been a huge problem in my life.”

“Really?” Dalton grinned now. His azure eyes sparkled with mischief. “You certainly don't seem to have a problem putting me in my place.”

Oh Dalton, if you only knew how much I would love to completely surrender to you…

She sighed and looked at Dalton with bashful eyes. “If you really must know, you've, um, well, you’ve been my experiment.”

“Hmm,” Dalton smiled faintly. “I will have to think about that confession for a while.” He looked out the kitchen window again and grinned. The sun was shining. “Since it has stopped raining for a while, let's drive out to my place and get the tractor.”

“Well...” Chesney tried to think fast. She didn't want to go.

“You can meet Rose,” Dalton said.

So far this morning, I have chased after a dead deer and been scared to death by a nest of water snakes. And now, you want to top off the hell with a trip to your house so I can meet the woman you love. Please. Just shoot me. Or better yet, go get the tractor and run over me with it.

“No, thanks,” Chesney said softly. “I'll just stay here and paint.”

“I don’t live very far away,” Dalton persisted. “And it's a pretty drive, I promise. Come on. Go with me, okay? We can take your puppy, too.”

“I don't think so,” Chesney said. “I should get busy around here.”

“Please come,” Dalton said as he gently tugged at her arm. “I'd really like for you to meet Rose.”

Oh, damn it. I don’t want to meet your woman. I would rather go swimming again with the water snakes.

As a longtime human noodle, Chesney couldn’t think of a way to escape so she allowed Dalton to pull her to her feet.

During the ride, I somehow need to get in the mood to get my heart stomped. Watching you interact with Rose should do the trick. Truthfully, I would rather undergo a couple of root canals and a pelvic exam every damn hour. But I have no backbone. So, okay, let’s go. Finish off my already half-dead self-esteem by introducing me to the woman who was lucky enough to snag your beautiful heart.

Side by side, they walked out to Dalton’s immaculate truck.

With her dog on her lap, Chesney daydreamed about a different type of ride in the country with this man. Under other circumstances, this could be a very romantic event. She imagined what it might be like if she scooted across the seat like a teenager, her thigh touching Dalton’s and their hearts and hormones pounding. Dalton smiled as he turned the key in the ignition. He had no clue that in her daydream, his face was already buried by now in her cleavage.

By the way, Dalton, in my daydreams I actually have an ample bosom not my
usual ironing
board with nipples.

“Got a name yet for your little friend?” he asked as he drove down the lane.

“Her name is Blossom,” Chesney smiled.

“I like that,” Dalton grinned.

“Sorry you had to witness yesterday's drama with Jack,” she said.

“Pushy guy, isn't he?” Dalton said. “He's not accustomed to losing.”

“That's right,” She nodded. “Jack is a sore loser.”

“That guy seemed to make you question your judgment,” Dalton said “It was probably difficult to stand your ground under such expert manipulation.”

Why are you re-hashing this? I don’t want to talk about Jack the moron.

Suddenly feeling like she might cry, Chesney’s only hope to avoid a big sob fest was to change the subject. “By the way, I didn't thank you for setting up my computer. Last night I finished my draft and sent it to Gloria early this morning.”

“Hey, good for you,” Dalton smiled broadly and her heart melted right into her soggy sneakers. “Tell me about your career,” he coaxed. “What is it like to be a writer?”

Chesney leaned back against the smooth leather seat to ponder the question. She struggled for words to express how she felt about writing. She didn't recall a man ever asking about her career. In fact, most men didn’t take her work seriously.

“Tell me why you love to write,” Dalton prompted as if she might have forgotten the question.

“When I sit down to write,” she started and stopped, thoughtful. “When I write, I can go anywhere and be anyone.” Chesney’s heart pounded hard in her ears as emotion gathered in her throat. “I give life to the characters in my head. I give my readers entertainment and dreams and happy moments.” She rolled the passenger truck window down enough for the breeze to cool her face. “Some people think writing romance novels is a hokey, corny kind of thing. But you know what, Dalton Moore? There are lots of lonely, disappointed women in the world. I like to hope my books make their hearts beat happier. I like to hope they can forget about a difficult day just by opening one of my books.”

“I don’t think you sound corny,” Dalton smiled. “I think you sound like one of those very rare, pure-hearted women who love deeply when they finally find the courage to love.”

Hmmm. Were they still talking about her career? Or was Dalton trying to trick her into talking about her shitty love life? Whatever he was trying to do, she was not falling for it. “So anyway, my work is a big, important part of my life,” Chesney said quickly, almost breathlessly. Maybe she was too anxious to fill in the empty space between them. She was too haunted by her man curse to risk silence. He might try to dig through personal feelings and Chesney had already made up her mind. The handyman was not allowed to poke around anymore in her head.

“Your novels always have a happy ending, don’t they?” he asked.

“Of course,” Chesney nodded. “Always a happy ending. I like to dream, too, you know. And I want everything in my dream world to be all about rainbows and cupcakes. No infidelity. No liars or manipulators, either.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” Dalton smiled again. “Hey, did I ever tell you that several of the women in town were already your fans? But since you’ve moved to Chesney Ridge, they have started their own book club.”

“Really?” Chesney pressed her lips together and forced a smile. She didn’t know the thought would leave her pursed lips, but it escaped with no warning. “I always wished that I could celebrate my success with Grace. Not a single day goes by that I don’t wish I could talk to her or hug her or laugh with her again.”

Dalton reached across the seat for Chesney’s hand, which was buried in her puppy’s fur. He seemed to study the petite, calloused hand covered completely by his own. Chesney silently stared at Dalton’s hand on top of hers.

“Grace sees you, Chez,” he said. “I believe that.” He squeezed her hand gently. Chesney tried to breathe, but her body felt mushy. An odd, never-experienced wanting washed over her. Dalton placed her hand on the truck seat and stroked the top of her knuckles with his thumb. It was an amazing feeling. She closed her eyes to zero in on the electric jolt that moved from her hand to her arm and straight down her spinal cord. Conversations with Becca about past sexual experiences floated through Chesney’s mind. She had never reacted so physically and emotionally to any other man’s touch. The gentle caress of his thumb on her knuckles made her chest ache.

Dalton then returned his hand to the steering wheel, eyes on the road. Chesney hung on to the warmth of his touch, wishing she knew what Dalton was trying to say with that gesture or if she was reading too much into it. From a narrow hairpin curve, Dalton turned onto a freshly graveled drive. Maybe a half mile from the road, Chesney saw his residence. Next to a wooden mailbox nearly overcome by big, pink snowball bushes, Dalton passed a hand-carved but unreadable sign hanging from the mailbox. He lived in a tidy two-story house with a brick porch. A lone rocking chair was on the porch, near a rather neglected looking pot of red geraniums. A neat white fence bordered the pasture near a large white barn looming to the left. Hoping he didn’t notice, Chesney’s eyes swept across the scene. This was where Dalton rested every evening after leaving her home. He sat there on the porch. He baled hay in that field and tended horses in that barn. These were the other dimensions of Dalton that she had never known. She braced for the meeting with Rose. In fact, Chesney already felt guilty that she was attracted to another woman's man. She envied Rose for claiming the heart of such a dimensional guy. She envied Rose for the evenings she shared dinner or a stroll through the woods with Dalton. Rose knew the sensation of her skin against Dalton’s. Rose knew the passionate heat of his body melting against her own.

Stop it, Chesney. Stop that train of thought right now. You’re on your way to soft porn.

Blossom hopped along excitedly as Chesney followed Dalton across the barn lot. She wondered if Rose was peeking out the window right this moment, watching Chesney lust after her man. Shame pinched at her chest and Chesney forced her eyes to the ground.

Stop looking at his handsome hind-end. Rose isn’t stupid, you know. If she’s looking out the window, she will immediately know that you are staring at her man’s beautiful butt.

“Let me check on the horses and I'll get you a cold drink,” Dalton said as they stepped into the barn.

“That's okay,” Chesney said weakly.

I would rather die of thirst than go inside your home and see the woman you make love to. I would rather drink from that trough over there than look into Rose’s eyes while she looks into yours.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the barn. Dalton filled a bucket with water and walked over to a stall. “Here you go, Rose,” he said.

Chesney zeroed in on Dalton's voice. Did he say 'Rose?' She scooped Blossom into her arms and joined him next to the stall. A chestnut mare gracefully took a drink while her newborn colt lazed in the straw beside her. “This little girl was born this morning,” Dalton said softly as he stepped into the stall. He knelt down and ran his hand along the colt's velvet mane. “Isn't Rose's little girl beautiful? I’m thinking since she was born during that awful storm this morning that I might just call her ‘Stormy.’” He turned to smile at Chesney, who was stunned and silent.

“Did you say Rose?” Chesney asked before she thought. “Is
this
Rose? I mean, this horse is named Rose?”

“Yeah,” Dalton nodded then looked at her, confused. “Why?”

“I…I...thought...”

First, he grinned. Then he laughed aloud. “You thought Rose was a woman? Like a girlfriend?”

Feeling her cheeks go fire engine red, Chesney only nodded. Delighted with her embarrassment, Dalton’s eyes danced. “Why would you care, anyway?”

“I didn’t say I cared,” Chesney snapped. “I said I misunderstood you. That’s all.”

“Is that all there is to it?” Dalton stepped out of the stall and faced her, close enough for her to see a few stray chest hairs peeking from the collar of his tee shirt. “Let’s see,” he said as he leaned against the stall and his eyes seemed to immediately read every single lusty thought his employer had ever entertained about him. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” he said slowly. “You thought Rose was my girlfriend. But now that I tell you Rose is one of my horses, you…”

“What are you trying to say?” Chesney could hardly look at him. Her face was burning off.

“When I explained that Rose is my mare instead of my woman, you looked, maybe relieved,” Dalton said.

“Oh that’s silly,” Chesney nervously backed away, forcing a fake smile. Mortified, she felt the need to put some physical space between herself and the handyman. She could not trust herself to keep her hands fisted at her sides. Especially at this particular moment, when every nerve ending in her body wanted to touch him, kiss him, taste him. “Honestly Dalton, why would I care if you have a girlfriend? Or what you name your horse?” Her voice sounded maybe an octave lower than a squeaky toy and Chesney reminded herself again that she was a lousy liar and an awful actress.

“When you discovered that Rose is my old mare, the expression on your face certainly seemed to tell a different story.” Dalton reached toward her and tucked a runaway curl behind her ear. “What about that, Chesney?”

At that moment, she mustered the courage to look directly into his beautiful eyes. But the lusty feelings vanished. Chesney stumbled backward, suddenly overcome with a realization she did not expect or understand. She knew why now. It was suddenly apparent. She was drawn to the mystery man's face in Grace’s photo album because Dalton Moore's eyes were the exact same blue. Her stomach stirred uncomfortably. What did this mean?