Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One

by Jane Bonander

  Anna’d had enough. First Gretchen wanted to run her life by marrying her off to her fat old father, then Nicolas talked about her like she wasn’t even in the room. She stood up and put her fists on her hips.

  “I am not invisible!”

  Gretchen and Nicolas looked at her, appearing surprised at her outburst.

  “I don’t appreciate being discussed as if I were a chair to be re-covered. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” She felt heat on her neck and cheeks and knew she was getting red. “I don’t want anyone to patronize me, and I don’t need protection. Not from your father,” she said to Gretchen, “not from anyone.” She looked straight at Nicolas and became angrier when she saw the amusement in his eyes. “I can take care of myself!”

  Nicolas watched Anna storm from the room. Concetta had warned him about her malaise, but it looked like her spunk and energy had returned.

  He turned from the door and gave Gretchen a rakish grin. “Sassy little tart, isn’t she?”

  Gretchen slammed the newspaper on the table again. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “Me? Face it Gretch, the little schoolmarm doesn’t want to be courted by your dear papa.”

  “Nor does she want to be seen with the likes of you.” Gretchen’s nose was stuck so high in the air, Nicolas knew if it rained, she’d drown.

  He gave a careless shrug, but in all fairness, she was probably right. If it hadn’t been for him, Anna wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d never have gotten the fever from the children. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d be sitting in a safe, snug little house in Pine Valley, teaching a roomful of white children. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have lost the child and nearly bled to death.

  “Anyway,” Gretchen continued as she straightened the pillows on the sofa, unaware of his inner turmoil, “she doesn’t know what she wants. She should marry Papa. She really should. And Papa would be good to her.”

  Repulsion slopped through Nicolas like swill when he thought of Dolf Mueller having Anna. “Are you sure it isn’t because he sends a messenger out here almost daily, asking that you bring him something or do something for him? I think,” he said, his hand on his chin, “that you’re afraid your dear papa, out of loneliness, will want to come and live with you.”

  Gretchen glared at him. “That’s ridiculous. He’s still a virile man, and finds Anna very desirable.” She whisked past him. “Do what you’ve come to do and get it over with. Whenever you’re here, you cause nothing but trouble.”

  The minute Gretchen left, Nicolas’s facade fell away and he slumped into a yellow upholstered chair in the corner by the window.

  He rubbed his hands over his face and thumped his head back against the chair. Concetta had told him where Anna was. She’d told him how slowly Anna was recovering. She’d also told him Anna was pretending to have amnesia so she wouldn’t jeopardize his secret identity or the whereabouts of the children. What Concetta couldn’t have told him was how he’d feel when he saw Anna again.

  She was still pale and thin. But her hair had sparkled in the sunlight and her eyes had been warm. She was no longer the disheveled work-worn teacher whose clothes hung from her body in rags.

  He hauled himself out of the chair and went outside onto the porch. His gaze roamed the rows and rows of lush, green grape vines. Pride and frustration swelled through him. As he ran his fingers along the white wooden railing he’d painted the last time he’d been home, he knew this was a setting worthy of a woman like Anna. If she’d been here, nothing would have happened to her.

  And you probably wouldn’t have met her. He slammed the side of his fist against the railing. No, he wouldn’t have met her, but then he wouldn’t have hurt her.

  As he stepped off the porch and walked toward the stable, he knew he couldn’t expect her to return to the crude, rough life she’d led with the children. He had to let her go. Hell, he probably had no choice. No doubt she was packing already. Dammit, he couldn’t let her leave without first begging her forgiveness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nicolas opened the balcony door and paused, listening for sounds of movement from inside the house. It was quiet, except for the banging of his heart. The clock in the downstairs entry chimed twice as he slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He pulled in a breath, feasting on the delicate fragrance that was Anna.

  Moonlight flooded the room, and he stepped to the side of her bed. She was asleep, one arm under her pillow and the other tucked under the covers. He hunkered down beside the bed and touched her tousled hair. She looked like a little girl with the modest neckline of her nightgown ruffled up to her chin.

  He continued to touch her hair, brushing it away from her face. Suddenly she opened her eyes and gasped.

  “Shhh,” he whispered.

  She sat up slowly. “Nicolas?”

  Longing clawed at him. Seeing her earlier had reinforced his need for her. But seeing her now, so tiny and vulnerable in the bed, modestly holding the covers to her chest, reinforced his love for her. He turned away. Now that he was here, he didn’t know how to begin.

  She slid down in bed. “Nicolas?” she whispered. “I … I’m sorry Gretchen was so nasty to you this afternoon.”

  He remembered how sweet it had been to clasp her hand in his earlier in the day. He’d wanted to drag her into his arms and ask her to forgive him then and there.

  “Nicolas?”

  He hunkered down beside the bed. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “Fine, now that you’re here.”

  God, but she was beautiful. He touched her hair, then ran his fingers along the soft line of her jaw. “A simple ‘I’m sorry’ will never be enough to tell you how—”

  Her fingers came up and covered his mouth. “Shhh.” She gave him a languid, sleepy smile.

  He pulled her fingers into his and held them. “No. You have to let me say this. From the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted to hurt you, hate you, because of—”

  “Sarabeth,” she answered softly.

  “You know.” His heart lightened.

  “Concetta told me. I’m sorry she hurt you so, Nicolas. I would never hurt you like that.”

  Longing made his chest ache. He didn’t know how he was going to live the rest of his life without her.

  He pressed her palm to his cheek. “When you lost our child, I thought I’d lose you, too.”

  Her bottom lip quivered and she lowered her head.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, but she turned away. “You have every right to hate me—”

  “No.” She turned back, her face pinched in anguish. “I could never hate you, but …” She turned away again, pushing her hair from her face.

  Trepidation still sat on his heart. “What?” he asked softly.

  “This isn’t the first time.”

  A strange feeling passed over him. “The first time for what?”

  She ducked her head. “I was pregnant once before,” she whispered, her voice edged with shame.

  Nicolas felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. An urgent jealousy clamored over his skin. Unsure of what he might say, he swallowed hard and reached out for her.

  She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “Why would you even want to touch me?”

  Nicolas drew his hand back. He felt helpless, at odds with his own emotions. “Maybe … maybe you’d better tell me about it.”

  He listened as she haltingly told him of her mistake five years before, her father’s shame and her mother’s betrayal.

  When she’d finished, Nicolas no longer felt jealousy for a boy he didn’t know. Instead he thought he might kill the bastard if he ever laid eyes on him, for the pain the boy had caused Anna was more than he could bear. But he was also selfishly grateful. If the boy hadn’t run out on her, he would never have met her.

  Nicolas felt her hand on his chest.

&nb
sp; “Do you hate me so much?” she asked.

  He pulled her against him, her softness becalming him. “How can I hate you? Every time I look at you, you take my breath away.” He held her tight against him, pressing his nose into her soft hair, breathing in her secret, sleepy, musky fragrance.

  She shuddered against him. “Oh, Nicolas, I was so afraid once you heard what happened, you’d …”

  He kissed her hair. “What happened to you before has nothing to do with me. But what I’ve done to you, a saint couldn’t forgive.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he planted a kiss on her sweet lips.

  “I’ve done nothing but hurt you from the moment I saw you standing on that damned home station platform.” He pushed the hair from her eyes and smoothed it over her shoulders. “You were so proud, I wanted to believe you were just like all the white women I’d ever known. I expected it, and when you weren’t, I couldn’t handle it. I had to hurt you, or I was afraid I might fall in love with you.”

  She pulled away. “And did you?” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

  “Like a ton of rocks tumbling down the side of a mountain.”

  She went limp against him. “Oh, Nicolas.” She sobbed into his neck.

  Nicolas took her in his arms again and lay with her on the bed, holding her until she stopped crying. He breathed in her warm, sleepy smell and threaded his fingers through her hair. Her arms slid around his back.

  “If the truth were known,” he said against her hair, “somewhere inside my thick, dense skull, I probably fell in love with you when I saw you holding Summer that day in the schoolhouse.”

  He felt her smile against his neck. “You made her laugh, remember? It had taken me months to get her to respond to me the way she responded to you in a matter of days.”

  Anna pulled away and looked up at him. “Oh, how are the children? Are they all right?”

  He coaxed her back into his arms. “They’re fine. They’ve missed you.” He kissed her hair. But not as much as I have.

  She expelled a dreamy sigh. “I can’t believe you love me.”

  He ran his hand down over her soft bottom and gently pressed her closer. He felt a stirring in his loins, so he pulled away.

  “Nicolas?” She sounded disappointed.

  He gave her a chaste peck on the nose. It had been only two weeks since she’d lost the baby. He knew it was too soon. “Let’s not start something we can’t finish, love.”

  She sighed against his neck, her breath warm against his skin. “I’m sorry.”

  Her touch and her voice were enough to weaken his resolve about everything. It had been so easy to convince himself that she’d be better off without him. He was still convinced, but lying with her, even fully clothed, made him want her, nevertheless. He pushed against her soft mound, and she pushed back. A lusty warning light blinked in his head. “This is dangerous.”

  She pulled his shirt out of his pants and stroked his chest. “Just let me touch you. I won’t … make it worse.”

  He laughed quietly. “You’ll have to leave the room to keep that promise.” Her hands on his skin both soothed and tempted. He let her roam his chest, his rib cage, his stomach. When she touched his navel, he sucked in his breath.

  “I love the hair on your chest,” she murmured.

  He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, but said nothing.

  “I was so surprised,” she added dreamily, dragging her nails across his skin. “I thought all Indians had smooth, hairless chests.”

  Nicolas smiled in the darkness. “You can thank my father for that, sweetheart.”

  “Ummm. Thank you, Jean-Claude.” She moved her hand lower, rubbing the hair-covered skin above the waist of his pants, then dipping lower, beneath his waistband. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw the thick, black hair you have here,” she said in a dreamy voice.

  Potent, pulsating hunger filled his groin. “Anna, honey, you shouldn’t do that.”

  “It was after you rescued me from the bear,” she said, ignoring him. “You were wearing only that leather thing—”

  “Breechcloth,” he offered. Her dainty fingers were moving back and forth against his skin. “If you don’t stop touching me like that, I’m going to embarrass myself.”

  Her hand slid lower, cupping him. “Let me … let me love you,” she whispered. “Please?”

  Nicolas put his hand over hers. “It’s not fair to you.”

  She looked up at him, her eyelids heavy. “You can make it up to me another time.”

  He kissed her, unwilling to admit, even to himself, that he might never see her again. Their mouths opened and clung. Their tongues touched and teased. He moved his hand away, granting her permission.

  Anna awakened feeling warm and safe. The clock downstairs chimed five times as she turned and kissed Nicolas on the chin.

  “Good morning,” he whispered.

  She smiled and kissed him again. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

  He sighed and rolled onto his back, bringing his arms under his head.

  She raised herself on her elbow and looked down at him. He was staring at the ceiling.

  “What’s wrong?” She traced his eyebrows, nose, and lips with her finger.

  He shook his head.

  Anna snaked her hand beneath the covers and touched his warm, furry chest. The feeling of him next to her comforted her, and she snuggled down, wrapping her arm around him. She pressed her nose against the side of his neck and breathed, drawing the smell of him into her lungs. When he didn’t respond, she moved her hand lower.

  Before she touched him, he grabbed her hand and put it outside the covers.

  A trickle of dread seeped into her heart. “Something’s wrong.”

  He heaved a sigh and turned toward her, his fingers moving up to brush the hair from her face. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice a mere whisper.

  He ran one finger along the line of her jaw. “If things were different, I’d never let you go.”

  She sucked in a shaky breath. “What do you mean?”

  He swore and turned on his back again. “Do you have any plans?”

  “Plans?” Of course she had plans. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, planning their life together.

  “Anna, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice raspy with sorrow. “There’s nothing I want more in this world than to be with you. …”

  She was up on her elbow again, staring down at him. “You know that’s what I want, too.” She could barely breathe. Something awful was about to happen, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

  “But I can’t stand to see you hurt,” he finished.

  Anna reached out to touch him, then drew her hand back. “But … if we love each other—”

  “It isn’t enough!” he interrupted. “Dammit, loving you isn’t enough. Can’t you see that? I fell in love with you a week after I met you, and look what hell I’ve put you through.”

  Anna pressed her fingers against her trembling lips. He couldn’t mean it. “But nothing matters as long as we have our love,” she said, her voice quivering.

  He shifted on the bed and looked up at her. “Everything matters. Loving you is the easy part. I can’t risk your health again by letting you work like a plow horse in the mountains.”

  “But I don’t want anything else—”

  “I almost lost you.” He took her hands and squeezed. “Don’t you understand? Dammit, woman, I nearly killed you myself. I can’t hurt you anymore. You’re too precious to me. If I’d searched my whole life, I’d never find a woman more perfect for me than you are, but if I let you stay, I’ll kill you for sure.”

  Anna took his hand and brought it to her mouth, planting a kiss on his callused palm. “I’m really very strong,” she said softly, swallowing her tears. “I won’t get sick again, I promise.”

  He sat up and pulled her close. “I can’t risk it. And I don’t have a d
amned thing to offer you. Not now, maybe not ever. The vigilantes are getting closer every day. They want me dead, and anyone around me will be fair game, including the children. Including you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to him. “But you need me, Nicolas. I can help with the children.” The logic in her thinking spurred her on. “Wherever you decide to take the children, you’ll need me. They’ll need me.”

  “No.” His voice was a raspy sigh.

  She bit her lip, welcoming the pain. “What … what if I refuse to leave?”

  He swore softly. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  Anger at his stubborn nature ate at her. “Why must things always be done your way? What makes you think you’re always right?”

  “Can’t you just once do as I ask without questioning it?”

  “No.” She pulled away from him and presented him her back. How could he do this? It made no sense to her. It only made her sad, and very, very angry, and it left her with an aching, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  He touched her shoulder but she shrugged him off. “Sweetheart, hopefully one day everything will change. I’ll come for you, I promise.”

  Fresh tears stung the back of her eyes. “Well, I just might not be waiting around for you, Nicolas Gaspard.” She could feel him hesitate behind her. Then she heard him sigh and slide out of bed. She turned back over. He was still standing there, looking down at her. In the dim morning light she could see the pain on his face.

  “Anna, I’m sorry—”

  “Just leave.” She turned away again and listened as he left through the balcony door. She threw herself onto her stomach. If he thought his word was law, he was sadly mistaken. Yes, she’d made many mistakes in her life, as her father had predicted, but deep inside she knew that leaving Nicolas would be the biggest mistake of all. There had to be a way for them to work things out. There just had to be.

  Nicolas rode into the compound at dawn, but the gray clouds that hung low over the craggy mountain peaks made it seem much earlier. The watery wind chilled his skin, and the signs of impending storm depressed him.