Dancing in the Moonlight (13 page)

“You dismissing me for the day, boss?”

She shoved her gloves in her pocket and stood, hoping he didn’t notice she had to leverage herself up using the line wheel.

“Yeah. I think we’re both beat.” She paused. “Uh, thank you for your help today. We got a lot done.”

He stood, looking pleased at her words. “You’re welcome.”

He studied her intently in the fading sunlight, and she could feel herself flush under his scrutiny.

“So would you agree I have kept our bargain all day? No nagging, no harassing, no badgering you to take it easy, right?”

She made a face. “I suppose, though a few times there it looked like your head was going to explode with the effort it was taking to keep your mouth shut.”

“But I did, didn’t I? I didn’t say a word, so that means you agree to let me take you somewhere tomorrow
night. I believe your exact words were,
I’ll go wherever you want.
Am I right?”

She clenched her jaw, wondering if this is what a field mouse felt like just before an owl swooped. “You know you are,” she muttered.

“So we have a deal, then. You’re not going to back out on me, find some hidden loophole or something?”

“Jeez, Dalton. Do you need me to sign a frigging contract? It’s just a date!”

“I’m only making sure we’re clear.”

“I said I would go and I’ll go.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, then. Wear something comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes, hating that he could talk so casually about something that filled her with dread.

She opened her mouth to try answering in the same vein, but before she could get the words out, he scooped her into his arms and headed toward the house.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Put me down!”

“Forget it. I’ve kept my mouth shut all day just like you asked. And now you’re damn well going to sit down and take off the prosthesis that’s been killing you since noon.”

“No fair. This is a deal breaker, Dalton! You promised.”

“Too late. You already said you’d go with me. A soldier’s word is her bond, right?”

She had two choices, as she saw it. She could throw a fit and force the issue. Or she could try to salvage a little dignity and wait until he set her down before ripping into him.

She decided on the second choice and contented herself with fuming the rest of the way, trying hard not
to focus on how warm and comforting and solid his arms felt around her.

She was growing entirely too used to this, to him and his concern for her, and it scared her senseless. What would she do when this phase of his passed—as she had no doubt it would—and he grew tired of dealing with her assorted physical and emotional problems?

He would break her heart into jagged shards. Didn’t she have enough broken pieces right now?

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Put me down,” she grumbled, even as she fought her body’s instinctive urge to snuggle into his warmth and solid strength.

“Almost there,” he said. She couldn’t figure out how he didn’t even sound breathless.

Just as they approached the house, she heard a car engine. Her mother’s car pulled to a stop in front of the house and an instant later Viviana rushed out, her eyes panicky and her features tight with worry.

Too late, she realized how it must look to Viviana to find Jake carrying her.

“What is it? What has happened to her?”

“Nothing, Viv,” Jake answered calmly. “Everything’s just fine. I’m only making sure your daughter takes a rest.”

His patients probably found comfort from those soothing tones, but they seemed to have the opposite effect on her. She curled her fists to keep from slugging him.

It worked well enough for her mother, though. Viviana let out a sigh of relief. “I thought perhaps she fell again.”

He raised an eyebrow at the last word and gave Maggie a hard look but said nothing, to her vast relief. She didn’t want to have to explain about the balance issues that still plagued her when she was tired.

“You can put me down anytime now,” she snapped.

“Now why would I want to do that?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled, though she didn’t miss the amusement in his gaze.

“You have any idea how many ways the Army teaches you to emasculate a man?” she asked idly.

He laughed. “A fair few, I’d guess.”

He didn’t seem threatened in the least as he carried her up the porch steps and into the house. In the living room, he lowered her to the couch, then stepped back, leaving her oddly, irrationally bereft.

Viviana had followed them and she stood in the doorway, watching their interaction with eyes still dark with worry.

“I’d ask you to let me take a look at your leg,” Jake said, “but I don’t want to risk you calling me a pervert again in front of your mother.”

She felt color soak her cheeks as Viviana’s worry changed to surprised laughter.

“Shut up, Dalton,” Maggie snapped.

“Lena, your manners! Jacob, will you stay for dinner? I will have it fixed in only a moment.”

“Can’t tonight. Sorry. But Maggie and I are going out tomorrow. I told her six-thirty.”

As she watched, a strange look passed between them, and Viviana nodded. “Good. Good. I will be sure she at
least washes her face and brushes her hair before you are to come for her.”

Feeling dusty and disheveled and about eight years old, she wanted to storm out in a huff and leave them to their jolly friendliness but she wasn’t quite certain she trusted her leg to hold her.

She had to be content with folding her arms across her chest and glaring at both of them.

She was further dismayed when Jake smiled at her with a strange, almost tender expression.

“Good night, then. See you tomorrow. Six-thirty sharp.”

Before she knew what he intended, he stepped forward and planted a hard, fierce kiss on her mouth, right there in front of her mother.

Just when she was beginning to feel light-headed, he stepped back, shoved on his Stetson and sauntered out of the room. She could swear as he walked out of the house she could hear him whistling, the bastard.

She shifted her gaze to her mother and found Viviana beaming at her. Damn. Just what she needed, for Viviana to take that kiss as permission to fill her mind with all kinds of unreasonable things.

“He is taken with you.” Viviana’s eyes sparkled.

“He’s only hanging around out of pity,” she voiced out loud what her heart had been telling her all along.

Viviana frowned, planting hands on her petite hips. “Stop it! This is not true.”

“Why else would he develop this sudden interest?”

“Not sudden. You just never see it before.”

She paused in the middle of rolling up her pant leg so she could get rid of the prosthesis. “See what?”

“Jacob. He has always had the interest.” Her mother’s voice was brisk. “Always he asks of you. How you are, what you are doing. Every time he would see me, he would ask of you.”

What was she supposed to think of that? She let out a breath as she worked to doff her prosthesis. Though she preferred taking it off in the privacy of her bedroom, the long day and strenuous activities she’d engaged in had lowered her pain threshold and she couldn’t wait.

Nothing. His questions meant nothing. He was a polite person, probably only looking for some topic of conversation with her mother.

“I’m an interesting medical case. That’s all.”

Her expression solemn, Viviana watched her remove the prosthesis. After she set it aside with an almost painful rush of relief, Viviana sat beside her on the couch and touched her hand.

“When your commander from the Army called to tell me about the attack and that you were very hurt, we did know not your condition or even if you would live. Marjorie came to be with me that night while we waited to hear, and Jacob came with his mother. Lena, never have I seen a man so upset. Marjorie and I cried and cried, we were so worried for you. Jacob was strong for us, but his eyes! They were shocked and sad and…and lost.”

Viviana paused and she touched Maggie’s hand again. “Then they called again to tell me you would lose part of your leg and we cried more. But Jacob, he made us ashamed. He told us to stop being sad for you. He sat in that chair there and said, ‘A foot is only a foot.
She will survive now. She will live, and that is the only thing that matters.’”

She barely had time for that to sink in when Viviana pressed her warm, soft cheek to hers. “He was only part right,
niña
. You survive. But you do not live. My heart, still it worries for you.”

“I’m fine, Mama.”

Her mother didn’t look convinced, but she let the subject drop. “I will fix you something to eat and then you will rest.” Viviana bustled from the room before Maggie could tell her she wasn’t hungry.

After she left, Maggie leaned her head against the high-backed sofa and tried not to think about Jake, but it proved an impossible task, like trying not to think about a tooth that ached. He filled her mind, her senses, and she couldn’t seem to think about anything else.

A
t twenty-five minutes past six, Jake drove under the archway over the drive to Rancho de la Luna, his shoulders tight with exhaustion and his mood dark and dismal as a January storm.

Under other circumstances he would have called things off with Maggie tonight and rescheduled for a better day when he felt more in the mood. But events were out of his hands and he knew he had no choice.

The day had started out badly, with an early-morning call from one of his patients’ wives that her husband was having a hard time breathing. By the time he arrived at their house five minutes later, just ahead of the ambulance crew, Wilford Cranwinkle had stopped breathing altogether and his wife, Bertie, had been frantic.

Heart attack, he’d quickly determined. A bad one, much worse than the one Wilford had suffered two years earlier that had led to behavior and diet changes.

Jake had ridden the ambulance with Wilford to the hospital in Idaho Falls, trying everything he and the paramedics could to save the man’s life, to no avail.

By the time Bertie arrived, the task of telling her that her husband of forty-two years had not survived fell to Jake.

It had been a bitter day, the kind of terrible loss that made him question whether he could have done more—and even if he ever should have become a physician in the first place.

He also couldn’t help but remember that fall day more than nineteen years earlier when he and Maggie had tried and failed to save another heart attack victim.

Some days it seemed the ghost of Hank Dalton followed him around everywhere, whispering in his ear what a poor excuse for a doctor he was, how he was a miserable excuse for a son, how he would never amount to any kind of stockman if he couldn’t yank his nose out of a damn book.

As he’d been showering and changing to prepare to pick up Maggie, he also couldn’t help thinking how his efforts to pierce her hard, prickly shell reminded him painfully of his youth and adolescence spent trying so hard to win his father’s approval.

She pushed him away at every turn, blocking his every attempt to reach through her defenses to the woman inside.

Tonight, for instance, he half expected her to back out
and refuse to go with him. The mood he was in, he almost wanted her to, just so he could vent some of the raging emotions inside him by the physical act of hauling her to his SUV.

He turned off his engine and sat for a moment trying to let the soft beauty of the Luna seep through his turmoil to calm him. The ranch was lovely in the gathering twilight, with its breathtaking view of the Tetons’ west edge, the stately row of cottonwoods lining the creek, those unique silver-gray cattle quietly grazing in the fields.

It was a perfect evening for what was in store, he thought as he climbed out, unseasonably mild for late April with the lush smell of growth and life in the air.

Hoping his exhaustion didn’t show in his eyes, he climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell. He could hear her slow steps approaching the door, and a moment later it swung open.

In an instant the breath seemed to leave his chest in a rush. She wore a loose, flowing pair of pants and a gauzy white shirt that made her dusky skin look sultry and exotic.

Her hair was a mass of soft curls that instantly made him want to bury his face in them, and she wore several bangle bracelets and long, dangly earrings.

It was the first time in recent memory he’d seen her dressed as a girly-girl. She looked as lovely and intoxicating as the spring evening, and with a little start of surprise, he realized all the dark memories of the day had started to recede. They were still there but they seemed suddenly as distant as the moon that gave her ranch its name.

When he said nothing, only continued to stare,
Maggie squirmed. “You said wear something comfortable. This is comfortable.”

Her belligerent tone finally pierced his daze. Beneath her truculence, she seemed apprehensive, and he wondered at it.

“You look perfect,” he murmured, then couldn’t seem to help himself. He twisted her fingers in his, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She smelled divine, some kind of perfume that reminded him of standing in his sister-in-law’s flower garden, and he wanted to dip his face into her neck and inhale.

He forced himself to refrain, and as he stepped back he had the satisfaction of seeing she looked even more adorably flustered.

“Is your mother around?” he asked, knowing perfectly well she wasn’t.

Maggie frowned and tried to withdraw her hand. He held firm. “No. She left a few hours ago. She said she was visiting a friend, though she wouldn’t tell me who. I wondered if it was Guillermo, but she wouldn’t say. She’s been acting very strange today. All week, really.”

It took a great effort to keep his expression blandly innocent. “Really?”

“Taking phone calls at all hours of the day and night, running off on mysterious errands she won’t explain, accepting package deliveries she won’t let me see.”

“Maybe she has a boyfriend.”

Her jaw went slack as she processed that possibility. “Why on earth would you say that? Do you know something I don’t?”

He thought of his own suspicions about Viviana but decided Maggie wasn’t quite ready for them. “Sorry. Forget I said anything. Are you ready, then?”

She looked distracted, and he knew she was still dwelling on the possibility of Viviana entering the dating scene.

“I…Yes. I just need a jacket.”

“What about your sticks?” He gestured to her forearm crutches, propped against a chair.

She made a face. “Am I going to need them?”

“You never know. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

With a sigh she grabbed them. “I’ve really come to hate these things. Someday I’m going to invent a comfortable pair of crutches.”

He took them from her and offered his other arm to her. After a moment’s hesitation she slipped her arm through his, and he wanted to tuck her against him and hang on forever.

“So where are we going?” she asked on their slow way down the porch steps.

“Sorry. Can’t tell you that.”

“Why on earth not?”

“You’ll see. Just be patient.”

She didn’t look very thrilled with his answer, just as he had an uncomfortable suspicion she wouldn’t be very thrilled about their ultimate destination.

He couldn’t worry about that. It was out of his hands, he reminded himself again as he helped her into the Durango, impressed by her technique of sitting first then twisting her legs around so she didn’t have to put weight on her foot.

After he slipped the crutches in the back, he climbed in and then headed down the driveway.

They were almost to the road when she reached a hand out and touched his arm. The spontaneous gesture surprised him enough that he almost didn’t stop in time to miss a minivan heading up the road to the Cold Creek. The traffic was much heavier than normal in that direction, and he could only hope she didn’t notice.

“Is something wrong?”

He stared. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Your eyes. They seem distracted and you’re not your usual annoyingly cheerful self.”

He thought of the terrible task of telling Bertie her husband was gone, of the sense of failure that sat cold and bitter in his gut. Not wanting to put a damper on the evening, he opened his mouth to offer some polite lie but the words tangled in his throat.

The urge to confide in her was too overwhelming to resist. “I lost a patient today. Will Cranwinkle. Heart attack.”

She touched his arm again. “Oh, Jake. I’m so sorry.”

“I rode the ambulance to Idaho Falls with him, trying to shock him but we could never get a rhythm.”

Her eyes were dark with compassion and he wanted to drown in them. “The last thing you probably feel like doing is socializing tonight. I don’t mind if you take me home. We can do this another time.”

He shook his head. “You’re not getting out of this that easily. We’re going. This is exactly where I need to be.”

“What about where you
want
to be?”

“That, too. I promise, I wouldn’t be anywhere else tonight.”

He turned east, heading up the box canyon instead of down toward town. She made a sound of surprise. The only thing in this direction was the Cold Creek.

“I need to make a quick stop. Do you mind?”

A muscle flexed in her jaw, and he could tell she
did
mind but she only shrugged again. “You’re driving.”

She didn’t look very thrilled about it but she said nothing more, though her features looked increasingly baffled as they reached the ranch entrance. Cars were parked along both sides of the road, and one whole pasture was filled with more parked cars.

“What’s happening? Are we crashing some kind of party?”

Despite the lingering ache in his chest over the day’s events, he had to smile. “You could say that.”

They drove under the arch, decorated in red, white and blue bunting. She still looked baffled until they approached the ranch house, where a huge banner Bud Watkins down at the sign shop in town had made up read in giant letters “Welcome Home Lt. Cruz. Pine Gulch Salutes You.”

Under it stood just about everyone in town—men, women, children—smiling and waving at them.

She stared at the crowd, her eyes wide. “Did you do this?”

He searched her features but he couldn’t tell whether that tremor in her voice stemmed from shock or from anger. “I can’t take much credit, I have to admit. Or blame, if it comes to that. Your mother and mine were
behind the whole thing. I was only charged with delivering you here at the appointed hour.”

He pulled up in the parking space set aside for her and walked around the SUV to help her out. When he saw the jumbled mix of emotions in her eyes, he paused in the open door of the Durango and shifted to block her from the crowd’s view.

“I don’t want this, Jake.” The distress in her voice matched her eyes. “I’m not some kind of hero. I can’t go out there and pretend otherwise. I’m a mess. You know I am. Physically, emotionally, all of it.”

He grabbed her hands and held them tight. “You don’t see yourself as we all do, sweetheart. This town is bursting with pride for you.”

“For what? I returned a cripple! Everyone can see that. I can’t even take a damn shower without it turning into a major production!”

“Maggie—”

“I didn’t come home to be embraced and applauded by my hometown. I came to Pine Gulch to hide away from life, because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Her eyes glittered, and he hoped like hell she didn’t start to cry. He knew she would hate that more than anything, to break down in front of the whole town.

A heavy weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He knew whatever he said was of vital importance, and he tried to choose his words with the utmost care.

“You can say what you want, but I don’t believe you came home because you had nowhere else,” he said quietly. “You came home because you knew this was where you belonged, a place where you knew you
would be loved and supported while you try to adjust to the changes in your life. People in this town want to celebrate what you did over there and the fact that you’ve returned. Your
mother
wants to celebrate your return. Don’t break her heart, Maggie.”

She shifted her gaze past him to where Viviana stood, her hands clasped together at her chest and worry in her dark eyes. He held his breath, watching indecision flicker across her features for just an instant. She let out a long sigh, then nodded slowly, her eyes resolute.

She pasted on a smile—a little frayed around the edges but a smile nevertheless—and gripped the doorjamb to pull herself out, her shoulders stiff and determined.

If he hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with her, he knew as he watched her face her fears that he would have tumbled headlong and hard at that moment.

She had never felt less like celebrating. But for the next hour Maggie forced herself to smile and make small talk and to ignore the stubborn pains in her leg as she moved from group to group.

It was a lovely night for a party, she had to admit, the twilight sweetly scented and just cool enough to be refreshing. The Daltons had strung lights in the trees, and more bunting hung from every horizontal space. Everything looked warm and welcoming.

She hadn’t been to the Cold Creek in years, and she’d forgotten how beautiful the gardens were. Marjorie and her mother had that in common, she remembered, their love of growing things. Perhaps that had been one of the things they’d built their friendship on.

She knew Jake’s mother didn’t live on the ranch anymore, she owned a house in town where she lived with her second husband, so perhaps Wade Dalton’s new wife was the gardener in the family. Whoever created it and maintained it, the gardens were lovely and peaceful.

On a makeshift wooden floor under the swaying branches of a weeping willow, locals danced to the music of a country music band that included Mr. Benson, the high school choir director, Myron Potter, who owned the hardware store, and a pretty girl with a dulcet voice Maggie could vaguely recall babysitting eons ago.