Wish on the Moon

CHAPTER ONE

Mitchell Riley stabbed at the doorbell,
wondering what he'd find behind the door. Hopefully, Laura Marie
Applegate Sanders. He'd seen her high school graduation picture.
He'd heard enough about her to know she'd been a hellion as a
teenager. Six years ago, she'd broken her father's heart. Now, if
Mitch could convince her, she was going to help mend it.

He jabbed the bell again and impatiently
thrust his hands into the pockets of his gray leather jacket. Ray
Applegate had filled a yawning hole in Mitch's life. The older man
gave him encouragement, trust, and belief in himself. Mitch smiled,
remembering hours spent with Ray as they worked at the jeweler's
bench. If not for Ray Applegate, Mitch's designs would still be
stacked in a pile collecting dust. He would do anything for the man
who'd taken the place of the father who'd pushed Mitch away again
and again. He owed Ray more than he could ever repay.

The door to the two-story colonial finally
opened. Mitch stared. Laura's high school picture taken eight years
ago hadn't begun to prepare him for the woman standing before him.
Her wavy, layered, shoulder-length hair drew his eyes first. It was
the color of the late October leaves scattering the
sidewalk--burnished gold with the radiance of the sun and a bit of
glow from the moon.

She had a piquant face, a small nose, a
delicately pointed chin. And eyes. Gray eyes so big and wide he
could almost fall into them. She couldn't be more than
five-foot-three. So this was the irrepressible, irresponsible
Laura. Her tie-dyed sweatshirt and ragged well-washed jeans seemed
in character with the girl Ray had described.

Her tone was friendly, her smile welcoming.
"Can I help you?"

Her eyes had gone from the scar on his face,
down the breadth of his chest, then back up to his eyes and stayed
there. Most people stared longer at the line down his cheek. He was
used to it. Once, the scar had been a source of torment because it
had made him different. Now it was simply part of him.

Just then a whirlwind came barreling out the
door and wrapped around Laura's legs. "Is it the pizza man?"

Laura ruffled the child's dark brown page
boy. "No, poppet. Not yet."

"But I'm hungry! I want to eat now." She
looked up at Mitch. "Who are you? What's that mark on your
face?"

"Mandy!" Laura gave him an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry. She's so curious about everything--"

"It's all right." Mitch's sense of purpose
shifted as he peered down at the little girl. Children laid life
flat on the table, and he respected her curiosity. "I had an
accident when I was a boy, and my name's Mitch Riley. What's
yours?"

She seemed satisfied by his brief
explanation. "Mandy Sanders." She pushed away from Laura.

Mitch's eyes swerved to Laura. For some
reason he'd never expected her to have a child, not with her
penchant for following her own whims. The way Ray had talked about
her, Mitch had expected to find Laura living in a loft with her
artist husband, leaving responsibility outside the door.

Of course, maybe the child wasn't hers.

"She's your daughter?"

Laura laughed. "Yep. Since before she was
born."

Her laugh reminded him of the tinkling silver
bells his mother always hung on the door at Christmas. What a
notion, Riley! Remember who this woman is. Remember how she hurt
her father.

"Mommy sang to me when I was in her tummy.
She told me."

Apparently Mandy had learned spontaneity from
her mother. From what he'd heard, Laura was a master at it. He
grinned at the little girl to encourage her. A few minutes of
uninhibited honesty from a child could go a lot farther than a two
hour conversation with an adult. "What else did she tell you?"

"That Daddy used to rub her tummy and talk to
me. I don't have a daddy anymore. He's in heaven. But I have George
and Anne. And Puffball."

Laura didn't seem embarrassed. "Why don't you
help Anne and George fix the salad while I find out how I can help
Mr. Riley?"

"He can come in and sit down."

Laura gave her daughter a little nudge. "He
probably doesn't want to. Go on. I'll be in soon."

With a last glance at Mitch, Mandy took
off.

Mitch paused to absorb the information he'd
just garnered. Doug Sanders was dead. Laura's father didn't know.
Who were George and Anne? And why in heaven's name was he wondering
what it would be like to run his hand over Laura's stomach?

Mitch stared straight into Laura's eyes,
angry with himself because she distracted him. He was here to give
Ray the best possible chance for recovery. His wayward thoughts
made him brisk. "It's not a good idea for her to be so friendly
with strangers."

"She's only four and a half and has an idea
that everyone wants to be a friend. I hate to disillusion her."

"You might have to for her own
protection."

Laura's eyes asked why he cared.
"Independence isn't a major crime center. But don't worry. I keep a
close eye on my daughter, Mr. Riley." Her gaze traveled over his
navy turtleneck and wool slacks as if looking for some reason for
his visit. "How can I help you?"

He didn't want to tell her his news while she
was standing at the door. "Maybe I should come in."

"I'm not as naive as my daughter. I don't let
strangers in the house."

"I need to talk to you about your
father."

Laura's face paled. "Who are you?"

Get ready, Riley. This is going to be a bumpy
ride. "I've been Ray's partner for four years."

"I...see. What is it you have to tell
me?"

Mitch looked over her shoulder but she made
no move to invite him inside. He plunged in knowing there was no
easy way to say it, no way to soften the words. "Ray's in the
hospital in critical care. He had a heart attack Wednesday."

Her mouth rounded to an O and she turned
white. Mitch clasped her shoulder gently, hoping her reaction meant
she still cared. "Are you okay?"

One of his fingers trapped a lock of hair. It
was silky. Her shoulder felt...fragile. His body responded,
startling him. He had to remind himself he was here for one reason
and one reason only. He dropped his hand.

Laura pulled in a bolstering breath. Her
voice was a soft whisper. "Maybe you'd better come in."

Mitch followed her into the living room.
Laura chose a rocker covered by a colorful patchwork quilt. His
gaze swept the room. It was a hodgepodge of furniture. Nothing
matched or coordinated. He parked on the black vinyl sofa. It
reminded him of an escapee from a bachelor loft. A huge gray cat
that looked as if it had mohair for fur was curled on a needlepoint
hassock in front of the window. The animal lifted its head, yawned,
then turned its nose sideways on its paws to go back to sleep. Was
this Puffball?

Voices and laughter from the kitchen wafted
into the living room while Mitch waited for Laura to speak.

Laura stared at her hands in her lap,
thinking about the night her father had disowned her. She couldn't
forgive him, but she didn't wish him harm. The shock of learning
her father was in the hospital rocked her in a way she hadn't
expected. It brought home the fact her dad was mortal and still her
father, although he didn't consider her his daughter.

Exactly what had happened to him? Guilt
grabbed her and along with fear made her tremble. Why hadn't she
tried to contact him after Doug's death?

Because her father's rejection could still
hurt her.

"Has my father been ill long?" she asked,
unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

Mitch unzipped his jacket and his voice
gentled, as if to protect her from further upset. "No. The doctor
gave him a clean bill of health six months ago. The heart attack
came on suddenly. I'm thankful it happened at the store so someone
was with him."

"You were there?"

He shook his head. "I was at the Harrisburg
store. Ray's assistant manager called 911."

"The Harrisburg store? Is that new?"

"Two years. Ray stays in York. I handle
Harrisburg."

She took another shaky breath. She had grown
up thinking she'd be her dad's partner. This Mitch person had taken
her place. Raising her head, she studied him. Tall, broad
shouldered, superbly fit. The long scar from his temple to jawline
added to his rugged appeal. She wondered how he'd gotten it as she
noted the quality clothes he wore and the blue lapis ring on his
finger. She couldn't tell his age. His jet black hair sprinkled
with strands of gray gave her no aid. Thirty-five?

How close was he to Ray Applegate? Had he
taken her place in her father's affection, along with her dream of
working beside him?

"How did you find me?" Her father didn't even
have her current address.

"I found your social security number on some
old records. Search engines and data bases are great now."

She felt violated at the idea of a stranger
finding out her private information. But was anything really
private now?

As if he sensed her thoughts, he assured her,
"I didn't intend to be intrusive, Mrs. Sanders. I had to find you
fast. I didn't know your husband had died or that you have a
daughter."

Mitch's eyes were the color of an icy blue
lake, the specks of silver like spokes of a wheel. Did they lose
the sharpness when he was happy? Did the silver ever twinkle with
fun? She pushed the questions away because she'd never know.

"Why didn't you telephone instead of coming
here personally?" she asked.

"Because I want you to go back with me. Ray
is having a bypass surgery Monday morning. If you fly back to York
with me tomorrow, he can go into the operation with peace of mind."
Leave tomorrow? What if she lost her job?

What if she lost her father?

"Is there a problem?" he pressed.

"I manage a jewelry store. I don't know how
much time--"

"Do you understand this might be your last
chance to see your father alive?"

Seeing her father. What would it be like
facing him again after all these years? Would she see the same
frustration, the same disapproval, the same coldness on his face?
He'd thought raising a child meant laying down rules without
discussing them. He hadn't realized Laura needed hugs and kisses
and a father she could talk to, especially after her mother died.
Rules and expectations had been his way of dealing with her. She'd
rebelled.

Mitch's trip to Ohio to fetch her didn't seem
to jive. She couldn't imagine her father admitting he needed or
wanted anything--certainly not a reconciliation with her.

"Did my father send you?" she asked abruptly.
When Mitch didn't answer immediately, she had her answer. "He
didn't, did he? You came on your own. My father could care less if
he sees me."

Mitch shook his head. "That's not true. He's
too proud to admit he needs you there."

"You're assuming too much. He kicked me out
of his life. Are you saying he's ready to apologize for that?"

Mitch's voice took on an unexpectedly hard
edge. "What does he have to apologize for? He gave you everything.
And you--" He stopped and sighed. "None of that matters now. What
matters is giving Ray whatever support he needs to survive surgery
and recover."

Laura recognized Mitch Riley's reserve was
disapproval disguised. It was evident he had deep feelings for her
dad. She could only imagine what her father had told him. But as
he'd said, the past wasn't important now.

George came around the corner and perched on
the arm of her chair. "Everything all right?"

Her red-haired, lanky housemate was as
protective of her and Mandy as an older brother. He and Anne had
been close friends before Doug died, her family since. The three of
them now shared expenses, responsibilities, and good times.

"I'm fine," she answered, then introduced
George to Mitch and watched the two men size each other up.

"Mr. Riley is my father's partner," she told
him. "He wants me to fly home. My dad's having bypass surgery on
Monday."