Under a Firefly Moon

by Donna Kauffman

  Rather than laugh the suggestion off or refute her, he surprised her and quite soberly said, “Maybe.” He pushed to a stand then, surprising her with the sudden movement. He held out a hand. “Come on. Right now, we need to go save a certain town high up in the hills of the Blue Ridge.”

  She put her hat back on and stood without assistance, thinking she was feeling enough as it was. She didn’t need his touch to bombard her already overloaded senses. “Child’s play,” she said with a smile. “The most dangerous wildlife you’ll encounter here is an occasional black bear protecting her cubs.” She smiled. “And I doubt they’ll be attending any of the council meetings.”

  He smiled at that, but said, “Oh, I think Mr. Hammond might prove to be something of an obstacle.”

  Chey’s smile fell. “Yeah, me too. Even if we get every artist, winery, cidery, and farm owner to come together over this, we still won’t have near the clout or the financial resources he does.”

  “Oh, we have a very powerful resource,” Wyatt said. “It’s not the kind of currency with Benjamin Franklin’s face stamped on the front of it. It’s the kind that has millions of faces stamped on the front of it.”

  Chey smiled and started down the dock, liking that she didn’t have to shorten or slow down her typically ground-eating stride. They’d always been well-matched that way. Now that she understood him better, reminders like that, of who he’d been, who they had been together when they were younger, felt comforting rather than disconcerting. “Good thing,” she said, “because we don’t have piles of the Benjamin kind.”

  They reached the end of the ramp road where they’d both parked. Theirs were still the only vehicles in sight. She paused at the driver’s side door of her truck and turned back to him. “You don’t have to stay here,” she told him. “In the Falls, I mean. You worked hard for this break. A working break, I know, but . . . you should go and take it. We’ll figure this out.” She flashed a brief smile. “You haven’t met Addie Pearl. She doesn’t have a livestream, or whatever it’s called—heaven help us if she ever did—but when it comes to manning the helm, she makes Vivi look like a wilting wallflower.”

  “Well, now I have to stay,” he said, a teasing smile curving his lips, “just to meet her.” Despite the smile, his gaze was a lot more direct than it had been, and far more serious. “I want to stay,” he said, more quietly now. “And help.”

  She nodded. And help. He’d made sure to make that part clear. Not for any other reason. Which was a good thing. Wasn’t it?

  “It’s your call, but—” She looked down, took a moment deciding what she wanted to say, then met his gaze again. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk, too. So I could get to know you.”

  “You know me,” he said, equally quiet, gaze so intent.

  She shook her head. “No. I knew you, once upon a time. But not now. Not since you walked into my barn. Not just because you look different. Your energy is completely different, too, the confidence you exude now, as naturally as breathing, all of you . . . it threw me. Not good or bad, just . . . I couldn’t match this you with the boy I knew. You’d peek out once in a while, which was so disconcerting. Only . . . now that I know your story . . . it all makes sense. I meant what I said before—I’m happy for you, proud of what you’re doing. All of this is such a good thing. It just took talking to you for it to fall into place.”

  “Well,” he said, looking a bit taken aback, though she’d said all of it kindly, meant it kindly. “Now you know us both.”

  Her brief smile matched his. She nodded. “A little anyway.” Their gazes met and held for the longest time, and, looking into those crystal-blue depths, she saw eyes that had seen so much now. They were no longer innocent, if they ever had been, and yet they were so deeply, utterly familiar. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling a whole lot of things she really didn’t want to be feeling. Childhood things, daring, adventurous things . . . very adult things. “I guess I have a whole library full of videos to watch if I want to know you better.”

  “That’s only one part of me,” he said. “You know . . .” He drifted off, then shook his head. Now it was his turn to break eye contact, look away, maybe debate, as she had, what he wanted to say. When he looked back, his gaze was more penetrating, not less, so focused, she felt pinned by it. And the way that made her feel wasn’t at all bad.

  “You know the me that no one else does, Cheyenne. Not even Tory knows me like you do. That’s still me, too. A lot has changed, but it all came from who I was. That never changes.”

  She could feel the intensity emanating from him like a live, vital thing. She nodded but didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. “I missed you, Wy.” The words that had been dancing out to the tip of her tongue just leapt off before she could stop them. And with that breach, it was like the dam broke. “So much,” she whispered, horrified she’d said it the moment the words were out. More horrified still to hear the crack in her voice. Completely done in when she felt fully formed tears sting the corners of her eyes.

  “Aw, Chey,” he said, a throaty rasp in his voice, too. “I was wrong to leave things how I did. Wrong to just bomb you with my feelings, then not give you time to—”

  She shook her head, hard, as if willing him not to say anything else.

  “I read every e-mail. Listened to your voice mails. So many times. I kept them, first because I was hurt, and mad, at myself, at you. They motivated me to move on, to better myself. Later I kept them because I knew I’d made a huge mistake.” When she looked away, unable to bear the words, see the sheen that stole across his eyes, he lifted a hand, touched her chin to turn her gaze back to his. “Maybe the biggest mistake of my life.”

  His touch did her in entirely. The mere brush of his fingertips sent shudders of sensation rocketing to every pleasure point she had, shot her heart rate up so fast her chest pounded. She wanted to jerk away, yank open the truck door, turn the key, and drive and drive and drive. As far away from him as she could get.

  “Then I didn’t write you back, didn’t come back, because I thought it was too late. I was a man on a mission.”

  “So, maybe it wasn’t a mistake after all,” she managed.

  “It sure as hell feels like one.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth and she saw his throat work. The restrained energy she felt in response to the way he looked at her, so hungrily, made her gasp. The dark pupils of his eyes instantly expanded, swallowing up all that beautiful blue, swallowing her up with it.

  The punch of need she felt was so swift, her knees shook with the effort it took to hold still.

  His gaze lifted to hers again, searching, wanting, needing. Oh, so very, very, needy. “I knew if I saw you again, I’d be tempted to forget all about that, and do what I should have done the moment I got your first note, telling me how you felt, what you’d realized after I’d gone.”

  “What is that?” she asked, trembling as an entire lifetime of feelings rose up and threatened to burst free, all at once.

  As if it had been inevitable, that everything would eventually lead them to this exact moment, he slid his broad, warm, callused palms over her cheeks, sinking his fingertips into her hair, knocking her cowboy hat to the ground unheeded, as he cupped the back of her neck and lifted her mouth to his. While she did absolutely nothing to stop him.

  “This.”

  Chapter Six

  As colossal mistakes went, it was possibly the worst one he’d ever made. Worse than telling her he loved her, worse than walking away from her. And even knowing that did absolutely nothing to dampen the feeling of utter joy that filled him the moment her lips parted under his. It was revelatory, like nothing else he’d ever experienced, and it swamped him. Filling up all the empty spaces he hadn’t known still existed. He was kissing Cheyenne McCafferty, and it felt like the whole world had just woken up . . . and bloomed.

  Home. Finally. Those were the two words that kept echoing inside his head. He’d traveled to the four corners of the earth try
ing to find his place on it. When he’d kept going, and going . . . and going, he’d told himself his place was on all of it. But he’d known, had always known, his place was right here, in front of her. Wherever that happened to be.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, slid his hands to her shoulders, and pulled her gently into his arms. He wanted more. So much more. He wanted it all. All of her. Her body, yes, but so much more than that. He wanted her sharp mind, her bold laughter, her teasing gibes and clever remarks, her insights and advice. Her love.

  He rested his cheek on top of her head. “I should probably make an apology for that. But not a single part of me is sorry.”

  His knees might have buckled just a bit with relief when she slipped her arms around his waist and stayed in the circle of his arms. She rested her forehead on his chest, gaze cast downward. “I’m not asking for one,” she said quietly.

  He lifted his head and nudged her until she looked up and met his gaze. “Hi,” he said, his smile meant to charm her. He didn’t do a single thing to try to hide what he was feeling. “I’m Wyatt Reed. You remind me of a girl I used to know.”

  Relief again when she responded in kind. “Funny. I knew a guy with that same name.” Her lips twitched. “You’re nothing like him, though.”

  His brows rose. “Oh?”

  She shook her head, her smile bemused, her eyes lighting up with that mischievous glint he knew so well. “He would never have done what you just did.”

  “Too scared?” Wyatt asked.

  She shook her head again. “Too stupid.”

  He winced even as he chuckled. “Then he for sure didn’t deserve you.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Good thing I’m nothing like him, then.”

  Her smile slid from mischievous to downright devilish. Then she shocked the hell out of him by sliding her hand to the back of his neck and nudging his mouth down to hers. “That’s what I was thinking.” And this time, she took him.

  Colossal mistake? Or the best thing you’ve ever done?

  Yeah, he had no idea, but he was too busy letting her kiss the socks off him to care.

  She broke the kiss that time, her eyes still twinkling as she beamed up at him. “Definitely nothing like him.”

  “I almost feel sorry for the poor guy.”

  “Don’t be,” she said. “He turned out all right.”

  He ducked his head, feeling flattered and chastened, all at the same time. “Chey—”

  “Don’t,” she said, quickly but not harshly. “I don’t want to—” She broke off, shook her head, then said, “Let’s just let this be . . . whatever it was, okay?”

  “You mean pretty damn perfect?”

  She smiled. “Well, that much was obvious.”

  He chuckled. “True.”

  “Also, I’ll be sharing that swear jar with you later.”

  “Worth it,” he said.

  “We should head back to the house,” she said. “For dinner and deliberation on how best to dismantle the plans of a determined, and possibly still soggy Mr. Paul Hammond.”

  Wyatt grimaced and said, “Yeah, I think that soggy part is going to cost us.”

  “Same.”

  He expected her to slip from his arms and climb into her truck. Once she decided on a course of action, typically the Cheyenne he knew wanted to get right on it.

  Only, she didn’t move. And he wasn’t all that motivated to let her go. To be honest, he didn’t want the chance to deliberate on the meaning of what had just happened, or what it might mean an hour from now, or tomorrow. Or the next day. On the very decent chance that once calmer heads and settled hormones prevailed, this was probably never going to happen again. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, quite yet.

  “Dinner,” she said, not moving so much as an inch.

  “We should,” he said.

  “I am hungry,” she said. Then her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  He groaned even as his body sent up a very enthusiastic yes vote. “Starved,” he agreed.

  “Right?”

  He didn’t even know who kissed whom first that time.

  By the time it ended, her back was up against the truck, and neither of them were breathing particularly smoothly.

  “So, I was wrong about one thing,” he said, basically panting and not ashamed of it.

  “Which was?” she managed, holding his waistband in a death grip, possibly as her only means of remaining upright.

  “The first kiss being perfect.” He braced one hand against the side of her truck, still sucking air. “Because that last one showed some marked improvement.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her tone musing even as she clung to him for support.

  He’d ducked his chin in an effort to find oxygen and turned his head to the side. “Just me then?”

  She shook her head. “Not necessarily. But more research might be in order.” She tipped her head back and blew a whistling breath through her lips. “Although that may have to wait.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “I think if we go in for another round right now, I’m either going to pass out, or . . .”

  His eyebrows lifted, and one corner of his mouth twitched. “Or?”

  “Do something really irresponsible in the bed of this truck.”

  He almost choked. “Yeah,” he managed. “Point taken.”

  “Actually, point not taken. Which was my point. As it were.”

  They wheeze-laughed, and she let out a raspy squeal when he opened her truck door, picked her up, and put her on the driver’s seat. He nudged her knees around so she faced the steering wheel, then closed the door. “Lock it,” he told her.

  “Good idea,” she said through the glass, and he heard the locks click into place.

  He turned to his truck, grinning like . . . well, like he’d never grinned before, when he heard the window power down behind him.

  “Wyatt.”

  That’s all she said. All she had to say. He turned, looked at her. And that’s all he had to do. Three long strides later he climbed up on the running board, slid his hand into her hair, and kissed her hard, fast, and oh so very deep.

  She slumped limply back in the seat when he let her go and hopped off the running board back to the ground. He scooped up her cowboy hat and plopped it on his head, shot her a wink, then whistled as he walked back to his truck.

  “I don’t think I should be driving under the influence,” she called out as he climbed into Tory’s truck. “Under the influence of Wyatt Reed.”

  “I think you’re the bad influence, Cheyenne McCafferty.”

  “Yeah, well, whaddya gonna do about it?” she taunted, just like she had when they were kids, only this was so very, very adult.

  He climbed in and closed the door, then lowered the window, tugged the brim of her hat down low, and shot her his own devilish grin. “Why, maybe we can discuss that over dessert, ma’am,” he said in his best cowboy drawl.

  “Don’t you ma’ am me,” she shot back, her giddy grin at complete odds with the stern order.

  Oh, I want to do a whole lot more than ma’am you, he thought, but for once, wisely refrained. “Dessert and deliberation,” he told her. “With a side of Blue Hollow moonlight. Miz McCafferty.”

  She tipped her fingers to her forehead in a brief salute. “That’s a date. Planet Wyatt.” She started to raise her window, then lowered it again. “And I’m going to want that hat back.”

  Now it was his turn to taunt. “Come and get it,” he shot back, then gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, Wyatt leaned back in his chair and carefully laid his linen napkin on the table next to his now empty plate. “Miss Ginger, I can’t recall a better meal in all my travels. Who knew supermodels had so many hidden talents.”

  Vivi beamed at the teasing and the heartfelt praise. “Sometimes you have to come home to get the food that fills the belly and soothes the soul, c
her,” she said, letting the New Orleans drawl of her childhood fill her voice.

  Wyatt grinned. “I don’t think there’s any part of me that’s not full right now.” He was proud of himself for not looking at Chey when he said that. He was proud of her for being at the dining room table in the first place. He’d have bet the funding for his next project that between the lake and the farm, she’d have managed to talk herself into thinking what had happened between them a few hours ago had been a mistake.

  Wasn’t it, though?

  He refused to give his little voice a toehold. Not yet. Yes, on the surface, it had been a phenomenally bad idea to pursue something—anything—with anyone, given where his life was. And yet, every part of him was still rejoicing. Vivi was right—sometimes you just had to come home. He was quite certain it was all going to come crashing down at some point, but he’d never felt the way he did at the moment, and frankly, he simply wasn’t ready to give up on that yet.

  There was still dessert and some moonlight to be attended to. Life would sort itself out. It always did. And rarely in the way he expected. One step at a time.

  “Dessert?” Vivi offered.

  “Did I see lavender-infused cupcakes with cream cheese frosting sitting out on the porch when I came in?” This from the fourth and final partner in the lavender farm endeavor.

  She was the youngest—midtwenties, with dark hair, big, red-framed glasses—an enthusiastic, charming conversationalist with a scary-smart intellect. He thought she was the perfect addition to their mission.

  “Indeed, you did,” Vivi said, then turned to him. “In all your travels, have you ever had lavender as part of the menu?”

  “I can’t say that I have.” They’d yet to talk about their plans for tackling the resort issue. Vivi had made it clear there would be no business talk over one of her meals. Instead, Hannah—with an affectionate gleam in her eyes—had asked Wyatt and Tory to share some childhood stories, preferably ones that featured Chey in a less than flattering light. The two had shared a few mild anecdotes, which Chey had taken as a challenge, sharing a few of her own in return. This had delighted all three of Chey’s partners. There had been laughter, plenty of ribbing, and possibly some good-natured name calling involved.