Can't Fight the Moonlight

by Barbara Freethy

  Maybe there was more wrong with her than even Dr. Westcott knew.

  On the other hand, there was something about the set of her profile that reminded him a little of himself. He'd withdrawn from the world after his mom passed away from cancer. It was the only way he knew how to deal with the well-wishers who really just pissed him off with words that made no sense to him.

  "You know," he said, thinking he'd just found a way to connect to her. "I lost my mom when I was eleven, just a few years older than you. I didn't like it when people tried to make me feel better. I really hated when they said things like she's in a better place, or she's watching down on you from heaven. I didn't think any place without me could be better, and I didn't want her watching me; I wanted her to be there with me." He realized that he'd never expressed those thoughts out loud until now.

  "You're never going to forget your mother, and you'll always miss her," he continued. "But I do know that your mom would want you to be happy again, and I'm certain that she'd want me to make sure you had a good life."

  Actually, he didn't know that at all.

  If Justine had wanted him to be part of Ashlyn's life, wouldn't she have included him in it while she was alive? Maybe he was the last person she would want raising her daughter.

  He looked over at Ashlyn again. She'd turned her head, but not in his direction. Now, she was looking out the side window. Was the fact that she'd moved at all a good sign or a bad one? Or was he just going to drive himself crazy by analyzing every tiny movement?

  Probably the latter, he decided.

  With a sigh, he turned on the radio and hoped the music would take some of the tension away.

  Thirty minutes later, after a stop at Rocco's to pick up pizza, salad and garlic chips, Jeremy drove home, thinking that he had another silent, uneventful Friday night in front of him.

  His life had certainly turned completely upside down, he thought, wondering if it would ever go back to right-side up.

  As he parked in front of his house, he was surprised to see a car in the driveway next door. The house had been empty since he'd moved in, and the neighbor on the other side had told him that the owner had passed away a few months earlier.

  He was even more surprised when he realized that a woman was standing on the roof of that house, outside a second-story window, and was waving her arms to get his attention.

  He quickly got out of the car.

  "I need help," she yelled.

  He could see that. The trellis next to the house was in pieces in the yard. She'd obviously climbed up to the second floor before the fragile frame of wood had given way.

  "I thought the window would open all the way, but it's stuck," she explained, motioning her hand to the window behind her that was open about three inches. "Can you help me? I can't get in, and I can't get down. Do you have a ladder?"

  He glanced back at Ashlyn, who had gotten out of the car and was watching their interaction. She actually seemed somewhat interested in the blonde woman trapped on the roof next door.

  He looked back at the woman. "I might. Who are you?" He moved closer to her house, noting that the woman was prettier than he'd first realized. She had wavy blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and a really great body displayed in a pair of shorts and a knit shirt that clung to her breasts.

  "I'm Mia Callaway. This is my Aunt Carly's house. She died last month, and I've come to clean out her house."

  "Why don't you have a key?"

  "I do have a key, but it didn't work."

  "So you decided to climb onto the roof?"

  She made a face. "It wasn't the best idea I've ever had. I saw the window ajar and thought I could pop it open and save myself a trip to the locksmith. It was a long drive down here, and I was tired."

  "Where did you come from?"

  "San Francisco. Look, we can chat, but I'd rather do it down there or in the house. So what do you say, can you help me out?"

  "I'll see if there's a ladder in my garage."

  "You don't know?"

  "I rented the house two weeks ago. I haven't looked all that closely at the garage." He turned back to Ashlyn, who'd also moved closer but was still about ten feet away from him. "I need to help Mia get off the roof. I'm going to get a ladder out of the garage. Do you want to wait in the house? I'll let you in and then come back."

  He was expecting her to nod and run toward their house, because so far she hadn't shown much interest in anyone, which had made him feel marginally better, since her dislike didn't seem to be only focused on him.

  Instead, she shook her head and sat down on the grass right where she was standing.

  "Okay, I'll grab the ladder. You stay right there," he said.

  "I'll keep an eye on her," Mia offered. "What's your name, sweetie?"

  He saw Ashlyn look in Mia's direction, but she didn't answer.

  "Her name is Ashlyn," he said, then walked down the short driveway to the garage.

  "You have a very pretty name," Mia said. "I like your long dark hair, too."

  He appreciated Mia's effort to engage Ashlyn, even though she was getting absolutely nothing back.

  As he pulled the ladder off the wall, he winced, his left shoulder protesting the movement and the weight, a reminder of how far he was from his normal state of health. He shifted the ladder to his right side and walked next door. He managed to get the ladder up against the house with a minimal amount of effort and pain.

  "All right, there you go," he said.

  "Thanks." She moved forward and then paused, as she peered over the side. "It looks a lot higher when you get closer to the edge."

  "Seriously? You're nervous to come down?" he asked in amazement. "You climbed up what was probably a fifty-year-old trellis without a second thought."

  "Well, I've had time to have second thoughts," she retorted. "But I can do this. I just have to take the first step. It's going to be fine. I won't fall. It's not like I've never been on a ladder before."

  "Hey, I've got a pizza that's getting cold. Are you done with the pep talk?" He wondered how he'd gotten stuck with a woman who wouldn't shut up and a kid who wouldn't say a word—talk about extremes.

  "I'm just being careful. I won't fall, will I?" Her worried gaze sought his.

  "I just heard you say you won't, and I believe you." He put both of his hands on the ladder. "First step is the hardest."

  "Right."

  Despite her answer, she didn't move.

  He hesitated and then climbed up the ladder until he was close to the roof. "Take my hand." He held out his right hand, happy again that it was his left shoulder that had been ripped apart.

  "I might knock us both off the ladder," she said doubtfully.

  "You won't."

  "Are you sure?"

  "You're going to have to trust me."

  She took a breath and then put her hand into his. Her fingers were warm and soft, and he felt the strangest sensation in the pit of his stomach as his gaze met hers. He was startled by the blue of her eyes; the kind of blue that mirrored the deepest part of the sea. A man could drown in those eyes, but that man was not going to be him, he told himself firmly. He had enough problems in his life without adding a woman into the mix, especially a woman who seemed a little too impulsive for her own good.

  He held onto her hand while she awkwardly climbed onto the ladder, and then he let go so he could get down. When he hit the ground, he kept a careful eye on her as she made her way safely down.

  She took the last step with a relieved sigh and a triumphant smile. "Made it."

  She acted like she'd just breached the summit of Mount Everest.

  "Yes, that was quite the feat," he drawled. "Maybe next time come up with a better plan for coming down before you go up."

  "My plan was to open the window, get in the house, and then come downstairs and open the front door. I usually do plan out everything, but I decided when I came to Angel's Bay that I was going to shake things up, be more spontaneous."


  "Well, you did that."

  "Thanks for your help, Mr…"

  "Holt—Jeremy Holt. So what's next? You're still not in the house."

  "Right. I'll call a locksmith and see if I can get someone out here before it gets dark."

  The sun was falling fast. She had about ten minutes of light left, and he doubted she would find a locksmith to come out quickly at six thirty on a Friday night, but he'd let her deal with that.

  While she called the locksmith, he gave Ashlyn a smile. "I'll put the ladder away and then we can go inside and eat. Do you want to get the food out of the car?"

  His question brought her to her feet, and she ran toward the car while he moved down the driveway.

  When he closed the garage door, he was surprised to see Ashlyn walking toward Mia's house instead of their front door. She paused right in front of Mia, waiting for her to get off the phone, then she lifted up the pizza box with the salad bag on top like an offering to the gods.

  "That smells good," Mia said, glancing past Ashlyn to Jeremy. "You should go and have your dinner."

  That was his thought exactly, but Ashlyn seemed to be entranced by Mia. He didn't know what was happening with his daughter, but he thought he should go with it.

  "Why don't you come next door and have some pizza with us while you wait for the locksmith?" he suggested.

  Surprise flashed across her face. "Really? I wouldn't want to impose."

  "All evidence to the contrary," he said dryly. "Feeding you will take less effort than getting you off the roof. I think Ashlyn would like you to join us."

  Mia looked at Ashlyn. "Do you want to share your pizza with me?"

  The little girl nodded.

  "Then I'm going to say thank-you," Mia said. "I'm starving. I didn't want to stop on my way down. I got kind of a late start, and I wanted to get here before dark."

  He led the way to his house, with Mia and Ashlyn following close behind.

  Once inside, he said, "Why don't you wash your hands, Ash? We'll be in the kitchen."

  Ashlyn handed the food to him, then ran up the stairs. It was the fastest he'd ever seen her move.

  "The locksmith said it would be about an hour," Mia told him, as they walked down the hall and entered the kitchen.

  "That should give you enough time to eat."

  "Are you sure there's enough?"

  "We have plenty. Ashlyn won't eat more than one piece, and even I can't finish off an extra-large pizza by myself." He pulled out the salad and garlic chips and put them on the table along with the pizza. "What do you want to drink?"

  "Anything is fine."

  "Water, milk, orange juice and apple juice is about all I have."

  "Water is good."

  She looked around the room while he grabbed a water out of the refrigerator.

  "Have you lived here long?" she asked.

  "Just two weeks. It's a rental."

  "Oh, that makes sense. I thought an older couple lived here."

  "Apparently, they moved out a few months back and decided to keep it as a rental."

  She nodded and sat down at the table. He could see the questions gathering in her eyes, and it didn't take long for the first one to reach her lips.

  "So I don't want to pry," she began.

  "Ashlyn lost her mother two months ago. She's dealing with grief and trauma. Those emotions seem to have stolen her voice."

  "I'm so sorry," she said, compassion entering her pretty blue eyes. "That's terrible. You both must be devastated."

  "Ashlyn's mother and I weren't together," he said, realizing she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. "I actually didn't even know I had a child until last month."

  "Really? She didn't tell you?"

  "No. Ashlyn and I have been together for three weeks, one week in San Francisco and two weeks here. She didn't have any other relatives to take her."

  "Well, I'm sure she's lucky to have you."

  "So far, she doesn't act like she feels lucky, but that doesn't matter. I just want her to get better, talk again, smile, laugh, and be a normal little kid."

  "You'll get there," she said, as he sat down across from her.

  He wished he felt as confident.

  "So her mother never told you she was pregnant?" Mia continued. "Was your relationship over before she found out?"

  "It wasn't a relationship. It was a hook-up: my twenty-first birthday, her spring break, a lot of tequila."

  Mia nodded in understanding. "Got it. I'm surprised that she didn't tell you, though. It must have been difficult for her to be a single mother at twenty-one. What about her parents?"

  "All I know is that they've been deceased for some time." He paused. "Justine put my name on the birth certificate, but she never tried to find me, and I doubt I'll ever know why."

  "Would you have been difficult to find?"

  "I was in the Army, so difficult, yes, but not impossible. I asked Ashlyn if her mom had told her about me, and she just stared back at me with those big brown eyes of hers that should be full of life but aren't. Anyway, she might not like me, but she seems quite drawn to you."

  "I was always good with kids. As a teenager, with a not-so-great social life, I made a lot of money babysitting."

  He had a difficult time believing she'd had any lack of a social life. She was pretty, friendly, and had a killer body that he appreciated even more now that she was sitting in his lighted kitchen. He tried to shake that thought out of his head. "So you said you're here to clean out your aunt's house?"

  "Yes. Aunt Carly died unexpectedly in an accident. She was a world traveler and quite a collector. I haven't been in her house in years, but I remember it being filled to the brim with all kinds of things: statues, carvings, paintings, old books, and scarves. She loved scarves—she wore them every day. She loved jewelry, too—the older the better. I bet she has some pieces that are a hundred years old."

  "Sounds like you're about to open a treasure chest," he said, seeing the light of anticipation in her eyes.

  She smiled. "It feels a little like that. But I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I loved my aunt. She and I were soul mates. We had a special connection. She introduced me to art; she taught me how to paint. She inspired me so much. I am really going to miss her. The only thing that gives me peace is that she died having an adventure. She was always about living life to the fullest. She used to give me a hard time, asking me what I was waiting for, when I was going to start living…"

  Her voice trailed away as a shadow entered her eyes. She looked at him with pain now in her gaze. "I don't know what I was waiting for, what I'm still waiting for. How do you decide when it's time to stay on the path of certainty or jump into the unknown?"

  "Interesting question for a woman who had trouble coming down a ladder," he said. "For you, I think the path of certainty might be the only choice."

  She made a little face at him. "I was speaking metaphorically."

  "I find it's better to live in reality, not metaphoric possibilities."

  "That's probably a good idea. I climbed up to the roof, because I was trying to be more bold, take more chances, not just wait for someone to rescue me."

  "And yet—"

  "I know you had to rescue me," she said, cutting him off. "But that wasn't supposed to happen."

  "That's the thing with taking chances; you don't know what will happen. Most people would say that's what makes taking a chance exciting."

  "I know my aunt would say that." She sighed. "I don't know why I just told you all that about myself. I guess five hours on the road with only myself to talk to has loosened my tongue."

  "I don't know why I told you anything, either, but I guess living with a kid who acts like I'm invisible has made me appreciate conversation more than I used to."

  "Be careful what you wish for. Once Ashlyn starts talking, she might never shut up."

  "I look forward to that day. How long do you think you'll be in Angel's Bay?"

  "A few weeks. I have some ti
me and there's no better place than Angel's Bay in the summer. It looks like you and I are going to be neighbors for a while, Jeremy."

  She gave him a smile that literally stopped his breath. "Great," he muttered.

  She laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to be a problem. I'm usually quite responsible—all evidence to the contrary."

  He couldn't help smiling as she threw his words back in his face. He realized that it was probably the first time he'd felt amused by anything in over six weeks, and as he found himself unable to look away from her sparkling eyes, he realized that Mia Callaway was going to be a problem, a beautiful and quite possibly irresistible problem. But he had enough on his plate without throwing a woman into the mix, didn't he?

  Chapter Three

  It was the strangest dinner she'd ever had, Mia thought, as she finished up her second slice of pizza and looked across the table at her companions. Ashlyn had eaten one slice quite slowly and spent the rest of the time staring at Mia. It was a very intense stare, too, questioning in some way that Mia couldn't begin to understand.

  She wondered if she reminded Ashlyn of her mother, if that was why the little girl seemed so fascinated by her. Or maybe it was just that she was female, and Ashlyn felt more comfortable with her than with the strange man who'd shown up at her door saying he was her father.

  Mia couldn't imagine how that would have felt. She'd been lucky to grow up with solid parents, wonderful siblings, and an amazing extended family. But this little girl had apparently been raised by a single mom, suffered a terrible loss, and had been handed off to a man she never met. No wonder she didn't want to talk. She probably had no idea what to say to her father.

  Mia's gaze drifted across the table to Jeremy Holt. He was more than a little attractive in a rough-edged kind of way. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, much like his daughter, but there was no waifish softness about him. His short-sleeved T-shirt revealed muscular arms and a broad chest, and his jeans clung to a frame that didn't appear to have an ounce of fat on it. He was tan, too, his skin darkened by the sun. She got the feeling that he spent a lot of time outside, and she couldn't help wondering what he actually did for a living. Maybe it was time to find out.