Half Moon Hill (10 page)

“Is it?” Jenny asked. “You think so? Because I feel like a basket case.”

She was clearly embarrassed, and it didn’t help that she and Anna barely knew each other, so Anna wanted to put her at ease. “Of course. I mean, when you want something and aren’t sure how to get it, it can be . . . hard to hold yourself together all the time.”

Jenny’s eyes softened as she said, “You sound like you know.”

“Maybe,” Anna said.

Then Jenny flinched, as if suddenly remembering something else. “Oh Anna—God, I’m so selfish. I mean, you’ve been through so much, and . . .”

But Anna shook her head. The two situations really couldn’t be compared. “You’re allowed to be upset, Jenny. I’m sure I would be, too, in your situation.”

Jenny sighed, looked a little appreciative, a little awkward. Then she asked, “How do you do it, Anna? How do you stay so strong even when you’re going through something hard?”

Anna drew in a breath, thought about the question. “Maybe some of it is just a good act,” she admitted. “And maybe some of it is finding other things to focus on. Maybe it’s about . . . looking for new directions or something.”

Jenny nodded, and appeared to be weighing the idea. “New directions. Like buying your house and turning it into a bed-and-breakfast.”

Anna nodded. Though . . . maybe “new direction” was just a prettier way of saying “distraction.” After all, even coming to Destiny—which had seemed so brave in ways—had probably at heart just been a distraction from her mother’s death. And maybe it had only opened up new problems from which she’d then needed more distractions. And . . . now that she thought about it, even the house was now requiring still
more
distractions—or the guy helping her fix up the house was anyway. And it occurred to her that maybe seeking out distraction after distraction meant she wasn’t really ever facing her issues—but at least it kept her moving forward in some way, kept her from crumbling.

“Well,” Jenny said, “maybe I’ll . . . try to think about that. Maybe find some way to apply it.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the answer,” Anna encouraged her.

Jenny reached out, squeezed her hand, and made her feel like she’d actually said something worthwhile. “Thanks, Anna. And sorry to pull you into my troubles when I’m sure you have enough to deal with already.”

Anna just shook her head. “I don’t mind, really.” And the truth was, just like with Duke, maybe it was comforting on some level to find out other people had problems, too. Even someone whose life looked as perfect from the outside as Jenny Brody’s.

Jenny motioned to the front of the store. “I should get back to the girls.” Then she offered a smile. “Come hang out with us.”

And Anna took a deep breath. This should be easy. Easier than she’d let it be so far. So she said a quiet “Okay,” then followed Jenny up the center aisle of bookshelves. She still felt every bit the outsider, but maybe it was time to start taking baby steps to change that.

As they emerged into the open area at the front of the shop, Tessa was saying to Amy, “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you until you find somebody else. It’s just that my business is finally doing so well that time has become an issue.”

Amy sighed. “I knew this day was coming—I was just hoping I was wrong. I’ve so loved having you here the last few years.”

“What’s happening?” Jenny asked.

The other girls looked up, and Amy said, “Tessa’s quitting.” Tessa worked part-time at Under the Covers, but even Anna had tuned in to the fact that since Tessa’s interior decorating business was picking up steam, she’d probably quit her bookstore job soon.

Though Tessa sneered, managing to look pretty even with her nose scrunched. “Quitting, blegh—that sounds so ugly. I’ve loved working here.”

“Oh, I know,” Amy said. “But I knew it couldn’t last forever. I’ll just need to find someone to take your place.”

And then, very slowly, as the idea apparently began to blossom in Amy’s head, she turned to peer up at Anna. “Um, any chance
you
want a job?” She raised her eyebrows hopefully. “It wouldn’t have to be forever. And it’s only part-time. And it’s kind of fun—just ask Tessa.”

Tessa smiled up at her. “It really is. And . . . if you don’t mind my saying, Anna, I know you’re eager to get the inn open, but it might do you some good to get out of that house more. It’s made you . . . quieter than you used to be when you first moved here.”

“And it would be a good way to get to know more people,” Rachel suggested. “I mean, you’re making your home here and starting a business, so getting to know the locals would be a good idea, don’t you think?”

Hell. Anna couldn’t argue with the logic, any of it, because it was all so true.

And there was a bigger reason staring her in the face right now, too, that no one knew about: Duke Dawson. If she started spending some afternoons or weekend days minding the shop for Amy, it would be that much less time she’d spend with
him
, that much less time she’d have to worry about how hard it was to look him in the eye—or about . . . wanting to kiss her outlaw biker neighbor-in-the-woods.

So even if a brand new job right in the heart of Destiny was, in one way, the last thing Anna wanted—in another, it seemed perfect. The perfect . . . new direction. Or distraction. Whatever. “Um, okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

And as Amy clapped her hands and let out a happy little squeal, Anna took the opportunity to look at Jenny, standing next to her, and quietly say, “See? New directions. They’re everywhere when you start looking.”

Of course, that made her sound so much more together than if Jenny knew the whole truth behind her reason for so easily accepting Amy’s job offer:
I need a distraction from the scary guy at my house who I keep wanting to kiss. Bad.

R
achel Farris Romo stood in the living room of the old family farmhouse she shared with her husband, staring into the large mirror near the front door. Her skin looked pasty, and too pale for summer. And her stomach still wasn’t right, no matter what she kept telling people. She supposed she’d been trying to will it away because she’d found at certain times in life that actually worked—she’d willed away a terrible virus in time for the prom back in high school. And—also in high school—she’d once willed away a hickey from Russell Jamison before her mother saw it. But this—whatever it was—didn’t seem to be a matter of will.

Not much in life got Rachel down—she didn’t let it. So the fact that this illness kept hanging on—and was starting to deplete her spirits—was more than a little troubling. She’d gotten married just last summer—to the man of her dreams, Mike Romo. She’d returned to her hometown and couldn’t be happier. She and Mike helped her grandmother Edna run the family apple orchard which would one day be theirs. There’d been a time when she couldn’t have imagined any of those things happening, and now that they had—now that she felt she’d found where she belonged in life . . . well, what if something was really wrong? What if this was something serious?

Don’t think that way—it’s crazy. Fate wouldn’t do that to you.

But fate does that to good, happy people all the time.

Just then the front door opened and Mike walked in wearing his police uniform and looking grouchy after a long shift. But Rachel was used to her big, tough cop husband’s gruffness—and she took pride in being one of the few people who could take it in stride. Dealing with a little gruffness was worth it for all she got in return.

But he’d caught her off guard and she knew she’d just looked up at him like someone caught committing a crime.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” But she sounded guilty even to her own ears.

He just tilted his head, gave her a look. Early in their relationship, trust had been a bit of an issue for them—like the time she’d snuck out to Duke Dawson’s biker bar with Tessa so Tessa could “casually run into” Mike’s brother, Lucky—and though her small deceptions were long in the past, she supposed suspicious behavior brought them back to mind. “What’s going on here, Rachel?” he asked in a lecturing tone. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She shook her head, then glanced back to her reflection in the mirror, downcast. Mike was the one person she could be the most open with, but she didn’t want to tell him about this—she didn’t want to make him worry. “It’s nothing really. It’s just . . .”

And then a wave of nausea came over her and she had to reach out to the sofa table beneath the mirror in order to keep her balance.

When she raised her gaze back to his, she knew he understood. “You’re sick again.”

“Or still,” she admitted. “Depending upon how you look at it.”

“I’m sorry you’re still feeling bad, honey,” he said, concern washing over his expression as he moved toward her.

Rachel sighed and knew she had no choice but to just come clean with him. “It’s not so much being sick that bothers me as . . .” She’d dropped her gaze again but now lifted it back to his face. “I guess it’s starting to worry me a little. It’s been a few weeks. And a stomach bug shouldn’t last that long.”

Mike moved forward, drawing her into the strong embrace that always made her feel comforted, safe. It helped. “I’m sure it’s nothing big,” he murmured near her ear. “But maybe it’s time we get you to the doctor.”

Rachel
hated
going to the doctor, and in fact, she’d probably been there less than most people because she was usually very healthy. Maybe that was why this had her worried. And Mike was surely right—it was nothing. But she looked up and gave a small, acknowledging nod.

“Where’s Shakespeare?” Mike asked then. Their big fat tabby cat, adopted from Amy’s bookstore soon after they’d met.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Why?”

“Cuddling with him always makes you feel better when anything’s wrong,” he said. “Thought maybe you two could curl up on the couch while I make something light for dinner that won’t bother your stomach. How’s that sound?”

She managed a small smile for him, even through another light wave of nausea. “Perfect,” she said. She’d never thought about it, but Shakespeare did usually take her mind off her troubles. Though when had she become such a cat person? Well, about the same time she’d become a small town person, and a person who loved Mike Romo.

Coming back to the little town where she’d grown up—and promptly abandoned after high school—had brought her so many blessings that it was hard to imagine still living the old life she’d left behind in the city. Now she just hoped she’d get to keep her new life in Destiny for lots of long, happy years to come.

D
uke stood on the same ladder Anna had nearly fallen from a couple of days ago, hammering a nail into a piece of wood he was using to replace a worn one. This place needed a lot of work, but it had good bones, as his dad used to say when evaluating whether it was smarter to rebuild something or just tear it down and start over.

And the solid structure underneath all the disrepair made the work easier than it looked. He’d originally thought he might have to dismantle the whole wraparound porch and rebuild it from the ground up, but the underpinnings were sturdy, and that helped.

On one hand, it was a convenient time to dive in on the porch repairs—particularly the ones right outside the front door, and the steps that led to the yard, because Anna was gone and had been for hours. But on the other . . . Hell, he couldn’t deny that something in being here, in the work itself, was a little less satisfying knowing she wasn’t around.

Already, after working on the old Victorian with her for only a very short time, he realized that he looked forward to the parts of the day when they talked—even if Daisy got sassy with him. And he even missed times when she
wasn’t
working directly with him. Just knowing that he might see her walk to the mailbox or pass by a window, just knowing she was somewhere nearby, kept the hours, minutes . . . more interesting.

You are fucking ridiculous, dude.
He gave his head a short shake to try to clear it. He’d obviously been living in the woods too long if he got all worked up over just seeing a pretty girl check the mail.

Of course, he supposed things had escalated beyond the quiet, distant attraction he’d felt for her—during that haircut the other day. Damn. Every time she’d touched him, it had felt like an electric current shooting through his body. It hadn’t made any sense to him because . . . well, he’d been close to her before, and yeah, he’d felt something those times, too—but these had been such small touches. Her hand in his hair. Her fingers on his neck. And each time, it left a trail of fire. It had been all he could do to sit there and act natural, especially since he’d been slowly getting an erection. It had been like no other haircut he’d ever gotten, that was for sure.

And he hadn’t quite known it was a two-way street until a little later when he could have sworn she was going to kiss him. Even remembering that moment now sent a soft chill up his spine despite that it was eighty-five degrees outside and a hot May sun beat down on his newly shorn neck.

But he’d just sat there, hadn’t made a move. Because she was his best friend’s sister. And he knew she’d been through a lot herself. She’d been abducted at the age of five and had only found out about her real family last summer. He couldn’t even imagine going through something like that. So . . . she had a lot of baggage. And since God knew he had a lot, too, it just didn’t seem like a good combination—even just for some good, hot sex.

And turned out that had been a damn wise decision on his part, because that was when she’d backed away, ending it.

And he knew why, of course. The scar. She might have felt the same physical pull toward him that he’d been feeling toward her, but apparently when it came right down to it, when she’d seen how he really looked, even all tidied up—it wasn’t enough. She’d figured out that she couldn’t fix what was broken about his face, even with a haircut and a shave.

He’d known that all along, of course, so he wasn’t surprised.

But it had still stung. Maybe more than he’d expected.