Harvest Moon (2 page)

But he did have a father—a man whom he despised. But Oscar Spencer had spent the last ten years of his life dying from a disease that had ravaged his body; a disease that left him racked with pain and suffering; a man whose last days on earth he could have helped make comfortable because of his medical training.

Slipping out of his jacket, Aaron placed it over the back of a plush armchair. He hadn’t spoken to Oscar, and his father had forbade anyone linked to him to contact his last surviving relative. A wry smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. Whatever Oscar’s reason for not contacting him no longer mattered.

“And that suits me just fine,” he whispered between clenched teeth.
Now, we’re even
, he added silently.

It took an hour for him to put away his clothes, shave, shower and change into a pair of black slacks, an oatmeal-hued, short-sleeved silk shirt and a pair of black, Italian-made loafers. He dimmed a lamp on one of the bedside tables, closed the door to the bedroom and made his way down the hallway to the staircase leading to the main level.

It was apparent his father hadn’t spared any expense when he purchased and furnished the sprawling house for his young wife. Priceless, colorful handwoven rugs covered wood floors, and the tapestries covering the seat and back cushions of various chairs, chaises, and settees were exquisite. Walking into the living room, he ran his fingers over a side table boasting a marble inlaid surface. The dark-green, gold-veined marble was the perfect complement for the surrounding gleaming oak.

His footsteps were silent on a sand and ocher blend print rug as he moved over to a hand-carved, Mexican stone fireplace. He stared at a pair of massive, gilded candlesticks flanking an ornate ormolu clock resting atop the mantel. The candlesticks and clock were a bit too fancy for his more Spartan taste.

His gaze shifted upward and he stared into the mirror hanging above the mantel, seeing the reflection of his stepmother standing under the arched entrance to the living room. He went completely still, wondering how long had she been there.

His pulse quickened as he noted the ethereal slimness of her body in a black, floor-length slip dress and the cloud of ebony curls falling over her bare shoulders and down her back.

Turning slowly, he watched her walk into the room, seemingly floating toward him and closing the distance between them within seconds. An unfamiliar tightening in his groin caused him to gasp, and his eyes seemed to darken with an emotion he knew was lust. His body’s violent reaction had betrayed him. It had been a long time—in fact years—since the mere sight of a woman had aroused him physically. He prided himself on his iron-willed control. Women who set out to seduce him always failed in their attempts to get him to commit to a future with them.

Regina was different, because she was seducing him unknowingly. She stood two feet away, golden light from an overhead chandelier shimmering on her exposed, velvety flesh. Transfixed, he inhaled the hauntingly clean smell of her body. The scent was reminiscent of the lingering fragrance of a refreshing rain shower. His penetrating gaze searched her face, lingering on her lips. She had not applied any makeup except to outline her lush mouth in a vermilion-red.

Perfect
, he mused.
Incredibly perfect
. It was no wonder his father had been drawn to her. Regina Spencer was a temptress—a modern-day Delilah. What man could resist her once she set out to lure him into her beguiling web?

Arching a sculpted eyebrow, he wondered if she was aware of her seductive powers. If she was, he pitied the hapless man who would become her next victim. There was one thing for certain—he would not be the one.

She managed a forced smile, offering him an enchanting display of matching dimples in her silken cheeks. “I don’t know whether you’re hungry, but I had the cook prepare a simple repast. We’ll dine on the patio,” she said, not giving him time to accept or decline her invitation.

Turning gracefully, she walked out of the living room, leaving him to follow. He followed numbly, staring at the wealth of curling black hair falling to her narrow waist.

Regina led him outdoors to a patio overlooking the lighted courtyard. A small, round table had been set for two. A dozen blackened antique iron lanterns, suspended from stanchions, bathed the space in a warm yellow glow. She extended her left hand, and the light caught the circle of diamonds on her third finger.

“Please be seated.”

He did not sit, but walked around the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, permitting him to seat her.

Aaron lingered over her head, feasting on the soft swell of her breasts rising above the dress’s décolletage and the sensual fragrance of her body before he reluctantly rounded the table and sat down opposite her.

She removed the cover of a soup bowl, watching Aaron follow suit. It was only a week ago that she had shared her last supper with Oscar. There were days when he hadn’t been able to tolerate eating solid food, but he awoke one morning complaining that he was hungry. They’d shared breakfast in his bedroom, and an early supper on the patio. Oscar was more animated than he had been in weeks. They’d laughed and danced together, humming to their own music before he returned to bed, complaining of
fatigue. That night was the last time his feet would ever touch a solid surface.

Aaron spooned the rich, flavorful fish soup into his mouth, watching his stepmother closely. She ate as if in a trance, and he knew she went through the motions because it was necessary to sustain her life. Laying aside his spoon, he reached over and picked up a bottle of chilled white wine.

“Regina?” Her head came up quickly. “May I serve you some wine?”

“No, thank you.” Her husky voice had dropped an octave, and he was enthralled with its cloaking pitch. “I don’t drink.” She picked up a goblet with mineral water and took a sip.

Tilting his head at an angle, he narrowed his gaze. “Are you recovering?”

She laughed softly, the sound floating up in the warm, summer night air. “No. I just have no tolerance for anything alcoholic.”

“How does it affect you?”

“Migraine.”

He nodded. “That’s enough reason not to drink.”

They ate in silence, both content to listen to the strumming of a flamenco guitar. After twenty minutes a woman joined the guitarist, her clear, lilting voice lifting in song and sending chills throughout Aaron’s body. He had forgotten why he’d flown from Brazil to Mexico. He wanted the reason to be different from the fact that he would bury his father without having cleared his conscience, to let Oscar Spencer know how deeply he had hurt him. And if he had to sit across from Regina, he didn’t want it to be because she was his stepmother. He didn’t want to be reminded that she had and still belonged to his father—a man he had not forgiven for his deceit, not even in death.

He finished the fish entree, dabbing his lips with a cloth napkin while watching his stepmother. There was a weariness about her that should not have been apparent with someone her age. And he wondered about that. She said his father had been
ill for ten years, which meant she probably had been in her early twenties when she and Oscar had become involved with each other.

How could she?
he mused. How could she sleep with a man old enough to be her father, possibly her grandfather? What was there about Oscar Spencer that young women could not resist? Had Oscar seduced her, or had Regina seduced him? There were a lot of questions he needed answers to with regard to Oscar and Regina’s marriage, but he decided they could wait.

“Where did my father die?”

She went completely still. It was the first time Aaron had mentioned Oscar, and she had to remind herself the reason she was meeting with Aaron Spencer was because Oscar had died.

“He was at home. He did not want to die in a hospital.”

“You said he did not suffer.”

She shook her head. “No. His doctor made certain he wasn’t in any pain toward the end.” Aaron sat motionless, staring at her, his expression impassive. Her gaze narrowed. “Do you think I would’ve permitted my husband to suffer more than was necessary, Dr. Spencer?”

“Aaron,” he chided in a deep, quiet tone. “I’d prefer that you call me by my name.”

“Then Aaron it is.”

Placing his elbows on the table, he rested his chin on a clenched fist. “Did my father give you any specific instructions on how he wanted to be buried?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Aaron.”

“And you didn’t answer mine,
Regina
.”

The strain of caring for a sick husband for the past eight years suddenly overwhelmed her, and she wanted to scream at Aaron Spencer that he had no right to question her role as wife and caretaker. Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with deep drafts of nighttime mountain air. All she wanted was for it to be over; she wanted to bury Oscar and leave Mexico—forever.

Opening her eyes, she glared at him. “He’d talked about being cremated. Then said he’d allow me to make that decision.”

Vertical lines appeared between Aaron’s eyes. “Have you considered cremating him?”

“No.”

He nodded, seemingly letting out his breath in relief. “Where do you intend to bury him?”

“I thought I’d leave that up to you.”

“I won’t make that decision. You’re his wife.”

“And you’re his son,” she retorted. “You and Oscar share bloodlines. Don’t you have a family plot somewhere?”

Raising his chin, he averted his gaze. “No. My mother was buried in Chicago, her parents in South Carolina and her only sibling in Bahia.”

“How about Oscar’s family?”

“He was an only child. He has a few distant cousins, but he lost contact with them years ago.”

Running a hand through her hair, Regina pushed a wealth of curls off her forehead. “Then we’ll bury him here at
El Cielo
. He will be closer—to…heaven.”

Her voice quivered as she struggled to regain control of her fragile emotions. She would not permit anyone to see her cry. She would do what she had been doing for years—she would grieve in private.

Rising to her feet, she placed her napkin beside a plate of untouched salad. Aaron also stood up. “I’m sorry, Aaron, but I must retire. Please stay and finish your meal.”

She took a step, but he reached out, his fingers snaking around her wrist and halting her departure. “There’s one thing I
need
to know,” he said in a dangerously soft voice.

For the second time since she had come face-to-face with Aaron Spencer, Regina registered the fiery brand of his touch. “What is that?”

“Did you love my father when you married him?”

She flinched, then squared her shoulders. He was just like all the rest. Everyone thought she had married Oscar for his fame, or for his money. Her head came around slowly as she tilted her chin to stare up at the man standing inches from her.

“I did not love him when I married him,” she answered as honestly as she could. “But I did fall in love with him before he died. And I made certain to tell him I loved him—every day. Is there anything else you
need
to know?”

Aaron released her wrist, his gaze boring into hers. “That’s enough, for
now
.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Spencer,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing.

He opened his mouth to reprimand her about using his professional title, but swallowed back the words. At that moment he felt vulnerable because Regina Spencer disturbed him, disturbed him in ways that aroused old fears and uncertainties. He watched her until she disappeared into the house.

He would stay and bury his father, then leave Mexico and not look back. His life and his future were in Brazil, and that future did not include interacting with Oscar Spencer’s widow.

R
egina returned to her bedroom and changed out of the dress and into a pair of cotton eyelet pajamas. She much preferred sleeping nude, but had acquired the habit of wearing pajamas to bed because she had never known when she would be summoned to Oscar’s bedroom and she hadn’t wanted to waste time getting dressed.

Walking over to the French doors, she opened them and stepped out onto the second-story veranda. The calming silence of the Mexican night swallowed her whole, filling her with a peace she had not felt in years. The past ten years had changed her into someone who had become a stranger—even to herself.

She had missed a lot of milestones a woman her age should have experienced: dating, traveling with her girlfriends and attending parties. She had missed seeing her brother and sister grow into adolescence, and she felt detached from her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and her many cousins.

She met Oscar Spencer at seventeen, married him at nineteen
and he left her widowed at twenty-seven. She had given him a total of ten years of her young life, and she wondered about the next ten. For the first time in her life she was alone—alone to make decisions that would not include anyone but herself.

A soft chiming shattered her musings. Leaving the veranda, she returned to the bedroom to answer the telephone.
“Hola,”
she said softly.

“Cupcake.”

A bright smile softened her delicate features. “Daddy!”

Minutes after her husband died, she had called her parents and left a message with their housekeeper. The woman informed her that her family had gone up to West Palm Beach for a few days.

“We just got back and heard the news. How are you, Baby?”

“I’m fine, Daddy.”

“Hold on a minute, Cupcake. I can’t talk to you and your mother at the same time.”

Regina sank down to the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. Hearing her father’s voice reminded her of what was waiting for her once she tied up all of the loose ends of her life in Mexico; she never realized how much she missed her family until she heard their voices or they left after a visit. They had always come to see her in Mexico, because most times Oscar was too weak to travel more than a few miles from home.

Martin Cole’s soft, Southern drawl came through the wire again. “Your mother says you should expect us within two days.”

“No, Daddy, don’t. I don’t want you to come.”

“Why not? I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. Hasn’t Oscar Spencer taken enough from you?”

Biting down hard on her lower lip, she chose her words carefully. Her father still hadn’t forgiven her for marrying Oscar, and whenever he came to visit her and Oscar, it had been obvious he
afforded the older man a modicum of respect because of his age, not because he was her husband. Oscar had been twenty years her father’s senior.

“I’m not alone, Daddy. Oscar’s son is here. And after we bury him and settle the estate, then I’m coming home.”

There was a noticeable silence before Martin responded. “Are you coming home to visit?”

Her smile returned. “No. I’m coming back to stay.”

“I like the sound of that. Are you certain you don’t want your mother or me to come? She can come without me.”

“I want to handle this myself. I’ll keep in touch, and let you know when to expect me.”

“Okay, Baby. Let me put your mother on before she has a fit.”

Regina spent the next quarter of an hour talking to her mother. She laughed, the low, seductive sound of her voice filling the room when Parris Cole confided that seventeen-year-old Tyler Cole had shown a marked interest in a girl at his school.

“I can’t believe it,” she chuckled. “My little brother in love.”

“I wouldn’t call it love,” Parris countered. “But I must say that he’s quite infatuated with her.”

“Is she at least a nice girl, Mommy?”

“She’s lovely, but as quiet and shy as he is.”

Wincing, Regina shook her head. “Do they talk?”

“He spends hours on his phone with her.”

“I guess that means that they talk. How’s Ari?”

She missed her brother, but missed her sister more. They were thirteen years apart, and she did not know why but she felt more like Arianna’s mother than her older sister. Arianna called her every week to talk, and she usually wound up giving Ari advice about everything from interacting with her parents to dealing with the erratic behavior of her peers.

Parris offered an update on Arianna’s latest escapades. She
ended the call with a promise that she would contact all of the Coles for a family reunion once she confirmed a date for her return.

“As I told Daddy, I’m not certain how long it will be before Oscar’s estate is settled, but I’m hoping to be back within a month.”

“Today is August eighteenth. Which means we can expect you the middle of September,” Parris stated firmly.

“Let’s say October first.”

“I can’t wait, Angel. I don’t think you realize how much I’ve missed you.”

“I know, Mommy, because I’ve missed you more than I want to admit. But you know I had to fulfill my marriage vows.”

“And you did. Now it’s time for you to live.”

What she wanted to tell her mother was that she had been living, that marrying Oscar had been her choice and that she had loved him as much as Parris loved Martin. She had given Oscar Spencer eight years, eight years she did not regret.

She rang off, replaced the receiver in its cradle, then lay across the bed. Closing her eyes, smiling, she remembered the night the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences honored Oscar with his namesake for his directorial effort for
Silent Witness
.

She had crawled into bed with him and held him while he shed shameless tears of joy. She had not shared his joy, because she blamed the Academy for waiting until the brilliant director was sixty-seven, ill, and at the end of his career, to honor him. It was at that moment that she swore she would never make another film, but Oscar had persuaded her to accept one more—one more before she left the business for good. And his prediction had come true when he said he doubted whether she would complete more than three films.

Now, opening her eyes, she leaned over and turned a switch on the bedside lamp, leaving one bulb lit in the crystal base. There
was enough light for her to see the familiar objects in the room. Pulling a sheet up over her body, she closed her eyes and slept a dreamless sleep.

Regina overslept for the first time in years. The sun was up, the household stirring, while Aaron waited for her on the patio. He’d declined Rosa’s offer of breakfast, preferring to wait for her. He wanted to conclude the arrangements for his father’s funeral, then confirm his return trip to Brazil.

He had slept fitfully, his mind filled with painful and agonizing memories—memories of pain, rage and guilt. His father had wanted to explain his decision to marry Sharon, but he wouldn’t listen. He had turned his back on his father, knowing no amount of rationalizing could counter his deception.

His dark gaze was fixed on a small green lizard that had attached itself to the sand-colored wall. The tiny reptile was joined by another, and the two lizards regarded each other for a full minute before one scampered away.

He detected Regina’s approach seconds before he saw her. The familiar fragrance of her perfume wafted in the warm morning air, filling his sensitive nostrils. Rising to his feet, he stood, turned and stared numbly as she crossed the patio. His respiration quickened. She was awesome, more shockingly beautiful than he remembered.

She was elegantly attired in a black business suit with a slim skirt ending several inches above her knees. A fitted, hip-length jacket claimed a single button, calling attention to her tiny waist. A pair of black, patent leather pumps and a single strand of large, magnificent cultured pearls with matching earrings completed her attractive presentation.

Extending her right hand, Regina gave Aaron a bright smile. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

The wait was worth it
, he mused. “It’s all right. My body’s circadian rhythms still have not adjusted to your time zone.”
Ignoring her proffered hand, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good morning.”

Her eyes widened, and she pulled back. “Good morning,” she mumbled softly.

Aaron moved over to the table under the shade of a brightly colored umbrella, and pulled out a chair. She thanked him while allowing him to seat her. He circled the table and sat opposite her. What he had not been able to observe the night before was ardently displayed in the full sunlight.

She had brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a simple twist at the back of her head. Sleep had erased the slight puffiness under her eyes, and they gleamed like polished onyx. His mesmerized gaze catalogued the sweep of her naturally arching eyebrows, the delicate symmetry of her features, and the stubborn set of her rounded chin. Her face was slender, with cheekbones set high enough for her to be thought of as exotic.

Her gaze locked with his as each engaged in a silent examination of the other. She studied his face, feature by feature, wondering if he, too, had disapproved of his father marrying someone as young as she was.

“How old were you when you married Oscar?” he questioned softly, verbalizing her musings.

She arched an eyebrow. “Nineteen.”

He recoiled as if she had struck him. “And how long were you married?”

“Eight years.”

He frowned. “He was fifty years older than you.” He made it sound like an accusation instead of a fact.

Tilting her head, she stared down her nose at him. “Fifty years older than me, and twenty years older than my father.”

He couldn’t believe it.
She’s only twenty-seven
. He knew she was young, but he had hoped that she was at least in her thirties. He was thirty-seven—ten years older. That meant she was practically
still a child when she married Oscar. At least Sharon had been twenty-four, and a woman—a very experienced woman.

“Did your father object to you marrying a man so much older than you?”

“He couldn’t object. He didn’t know I was married until a week after Oscar and I had exchanged vows.”

“He disapproved?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not one to seek approval from anyone—especially my parents.”

Sitting up straighter, Aaron draped an arm over the back of his chair. He was intrigued with Regina Spencer, intrigued enough to want to know more about the woman who had seduced Oscar and had gotten him to marry her. And he did not want to deceive himself because he knew his father, regardless of his age, was a suitable catch for any woman. Not only had Oscar been considerate, gentle and brilliantly creative, but he also had been a very wealthy man.

There was no doubt Regina had married Oscar for his money. Why else would a nineteen-year-old girl marry an old, terminally ill man?

Whatever his suspicions, he knew they would be revealed at the reading of Oscar’s will. Only time would tell why she had married his father. She had admitted that she did not love Oscar when she married him, so it had to be for money.

Regina glanced at the watch on her wrist. “We’re scheduled to meet with the funeral director at eleven-thirty.”

Aaron looked at his own watch. It was after eight-thirty. “How long should it take us to get there?”

“We
should
make it within two hours, but one can never tell with the city traffic.” That meant they had to eat breakfast, then leave within half an hour. And as if on cue, Rosa appeared, pushing a serving cart filled with juice, fresh fruit, freshly baked bread and a steaming pot of strong, fragrant Mexican coffee.

Rosa placed the dishes on the table, then poured coffee into
translucent china cups painted with delicate blue flowers. “Will there be anything else, Señora?”

“Tell Jaime to have the car ready for nine-fifteen. Dr. Spencer and I will be going to the city.”

“
Sí
, Señora.”

Aaron waited until the housekeeper walked away, then turned his attention to Regina, studying her with a curious intensity. Everything about her indicated she had been spoiled and pampered. She issued orders to others as if she had been doing it for years. The night before she hadn’t waited for him to acknowledge whether he had wanted to eat when she said,
We’ll dine on the patio
. She had turned her back and walked away, expecting him to follow her. What surprised him was that he had—he’d followed her like someone in a trance.

And he had also spent a restless night dreaming—dreaming of the rare occasions when he shared more than two months in a given year with Oscar Spencer, and dreaming about the woman who had offered his father companionship during the last eight years of his life. And it was now—in the full sunlight—that he knew he wanted to know everything about Regina.

Buttering a slice of bread still warm from the oven, he said, “Where are you from?”

Regina, caught off guard by the questions, nearly spilled the cream she poured into her coffee cup. “Florida.”

He arched a questioning eyebrow. “You don’t sound as if you’re from the South.”

She took a sip of the rich, strong brew. It was perfect. She had grown to love coffee and everything about it: taste, smell, and its soothing properties.

Placing her cup on its saucer, she met Aaron’s questioning gaze. “I was born in New York, and spent the first nine and a half years of my life there. Then I moved to Florida. How about yourself?”

“My father didn’t tell you about me?”

She shook her head. “Your father did not discuss his past with me. I knew he’d been married twice before he married me, and that he had a son from his first marriage.”

A muscle flicked noticeably in Aaron’s left cheek, and at the same time his mouth tightened into a thinning line. It was apparent Oscar hadn’t told her the reason for their estrangement.

“I find that odd,” he remarked in a quiet tone.

“Odd? Why?”

“Because a husband and wife should not have secrets between them.”