Champagne and Moonlight

by JoAnn Ross

  “I’m a doctor,” he reminded her, obviously affronted. “I’ve delivered babies.”

  “You’ve never been a father,” she returned. “I’m betting you’ll hit the floor before we get the first baby into Shiloh’s arms.”

  He harrumphed at that, much to the amusement of both women.

  Shiloh was amazed and more than a little relieved when her father didn’t blow up at the news of her pregnancy.

  “It’s not that weak-kneed professor, is it?”

  “No, Daddy. Matt is a doctor. In Paradise, Colorado. He’s very well thought of by everyone in town.”

  The General muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. “So, is he taking good care of you?”

  “Very good care.” Just when she thought she was off the hook, he asked, “Do you love this man, Shiloh?”

  He was the first person to ask her that question. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do. But then I’m afraid that I only want to love him, and—”

  “Well,” he interjected, in that deep, gruff voice that had terrified her as a child, “I raised both you and your sister to stand on your own two feet. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

  With that he professed a need to get back to the parade ground, where the seniors were rehearsing their graduation drill formation.

  Promising to keep him apprised of her condition, Shiloh hung up, feeling both relieved and a little let down. Although he’d never been a demonstrative person, and she understood that he’d been uncomfortable with her revealing her feelings, she’d expected him to show his concern—and his paternal love—by yelling. When he hadn’t, she was forced to wonder if perhaps he really didn’t love her as much as she’d always hoped.

  Sighing, she went back to work on a song she’d been writing that morning. As she wrote the lyrics, she poured out all the feelings she’d been keeping bottled up inside her. By the time she was finished the song—the ballad about a woman’s unrequited love—she was weeping again.

  Trust Matt to choose that moment to show up for his daily visit.

  “It’s hormones,” she assured him when he expressed concern over the tears.

  “Are you sure?” The way she was scrubbing at the moisture on her cheeks with the backs of her hands reminded Matt of an unhappy child. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close and tell her everything would be okay.

  “Positive.” It was definitely hormones, she told herself. That was all she would allow it to be.

  * * *

  Watching Catherine putting together the film festival, Shiloh realized where Matt had come by his proclivity for in-depth planning. Not only was the woman a whirlwind, she was the most organized individual Shiloh had ever met. And having grown up under the roof of a man who’d subjected his daughters to weekly room inspection, that was really saying something.

  Still, Shiloh was surprised when the festival not only proved a local success, but drew fans from all over the country, as well. Including a famous producer-director who’d come down from his ranch in Utah.

  “I’ve been working on a project I think would be perfect for you,” he said as he handed her his card.

  “You’re working on a story about a two-ton bimbo?” she asked with the smile that had lit up the Orpheum’s screen for the past three days.

  “Actually, it’s about a widowed young woman struggling to keep her family together when they lose their farm during the thirties dust bowl.”

  He was talking about a real role! Where she wouldn’t wear a ton of makeup, where she’d wear ugly clothes and look drawn and serious. It could, Shiloh thought, do for her career what The Burning Bed had done for Farrah Fawcett.

  “As I said, we’re still in the development stages,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a call when you’re ready to get back to work?”

  Promising him she’d do that, Shiloh was floating on air when another festival attendee suddenly appeared in front of her.

  “Dad?” She stared at him. “When did you get here?”

  “I showed up in time for the seal movie.” Furrows gathered in his forehead as he took in her expanding body, but blessedly, he didn’t bring up her now-obvious pregnancy in this public setting. “You were very good.” His tone revealed his surprise.

  “She was better than good.” Matt’s deep voice slipped beneath her skin, warming her blood. “She was great.” He put his left arm around what remained of her waist and held out his right. “Good evening, sir. You must be General Beauregard.”

  The General ignored the hand thrust his way. Beneath an ultrashort military haircut, his eyes were as hard as agates and his lantern jaw jutted out. “And you must be the son of a bitch who got my little girl in the family way.”

  Matt didn’t flinch. He met the General’s gaze with a level gaze of his own. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “We need to talk,” the General said. It was an order, couched in stone.

  “Yes, sir.” Matt’s tone remained as mild as his expression.

  “Daddy, please—”

  “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Even as he reassured her, Matt worried about the sudden pallor he hadn’t seen since her first trimester.

  He turned to the General. “If you don’t mind waiting, sir, I’d like to ask my parents to drive Shiloh to the hotel.”

  The General’s response was a harrumph that Matt took as consent.

  “Please, Daddy,” Shiloh begged when they were alone again, “don’t do anything to embarrass me.”

  “Seems you’ve already done that for yourself,” he grumbled. “I don’t understand you, Shiloh. I might have expected this from Savannah, but you’ve always been my good girl.”

  Taking affront at that—for both her own and Savannah’s sakes—she lifted her chin. “I made a mistake, granted. But I’m accepting responsibility for my actions.” She pressed her hands against her belly in an unconscious gesture of maternal protection. “And to tell you the truth, now that I am pregnant, I can’t regret it. Because I’m too happy about becoming a mother.”

  “An unwed mother. Dammit, Shiloh—”

  “Shiloh, dear,” a blessedly familiar voice interrupted smoothly, “you haven’t introduced me to your father.” Catherine held out a well-manicured hand. “You must be General Beauregard. I’m Catherine McCandless, Matthew’s mother. Shiloh has told us all so much about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  Shiloh watched in amazement as her father’s rigid, at-attention posture eased right in front of her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McCandless.” Stunning Shiloh further, he enclosed her slender hand in both of his. “I can see the resemblance. Your son has your eyes. But they’re a lot prettier on you.”

  While Shiloh continued to stare openmouthed, Catherine laughed in a musical way designed to charm. “I’ve heard about you Southern gentlemen,” she scolded lightly. “I’m so relieved to discover that your charm is not exaggerated.”

  While the General actually blushed, Catherine went in for the kill. “We’re having a little brunch tomorrow morning. Please tell me that you’ll come. I’d love to have you meet the rest of the family. Since we’re going to be related, in a way, by our precious grandchildren.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than have brunch with you, Mrs. McCandless. And, of course, your husband,” he added on an afterthought.

  “I’m so pleased. We’re getting together around eleven. Shiloh can show you the way.” She turned toward Matt, who’d just returned. “Darling, the General has agreed to come to brunch tomorrow. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Although he’d rather have been told that they were going to be visited by plague and pestilence, Matt forced a smile. “Sounds great.”

  It was at that moment that Shiloh admitted what her heart had been trying to tell her for weeks. She loved Matt McCandless. Madly, truly, deeply.

  “How did you do that?” Shiloh asked as she watched her father leave the auditorium with Matt. “I’ve never seen my fathe
r behave so—I don’t know—like a real person.”

  Catherine laughed. “You’re not the only actress in the family. I don’t like to boast, but I was lead scary tree in my third-grade production of Hansel and Gretel.”

  Laughing, Shiloh almost stopped worrying about what was happening between her father and the man she loved.

  It was much, much later when Matt showed up at the hotel. Worried about her working too hard, Dorothy had given her the nights of the festival off, which left Shiloh with nothing to do but pace the floor of the suite, waiting for his arrival.

  Recognizing his knock after all these weeks, she flung open the door. “Oh, my God.” She stared in disbelief as she reached up and touched the darkening circle around his beautiful gray eye. “I can’t believe my father hit you!”

  “He’s got one hell of a right hook for an older guy,” Matt said, rubbing his chin where another bruise was blossoming. “His left isn’t bad, either.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Even as she was aghast at her father’s overly macho behavior, another, more horrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t…I mean, I’d understand, but…you wouldn’t…”

  “Slug him back?” Matt shook his head. “Geez, you should know me better than that by now. In the first place, he’s at least thirty years older than me, which I’m not sure in his case really means anything. Your father is in amazing shape.”

  “He’s always prided himself on being able to do more one-armed push-ups than his men.”

  “That figures. But even so, age should count for something. And besides, I had to agree with his reasoning.”

  “You think he was right to hit you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t believe this!” With the exception of the strong sense of responsibility both men shared, Matt was nothing like her father. He was sweet, good-natured and demonstrative. He was not the kind of man to get into a fistfight.

  “If some jerk got our daughter pregnant, I’d want to punch his lights out, too,” Matt explained.

  “I can see wanting to,” Shiloh admitted. “But you’d never do it.” When Matt didn’t answer, she said, “You wouldn’t.”

  He shrugged, trying not to wince as he felt a sharp pain in his rib. Fortunately, the General had been content with three shots. Unfortunately, they’d all hit right on the mark. “Let’s hope we never have to put it to the test.” He sank down onto the couch. “I don’t suppose you have any ice?”

  “I’ll get it right away.” She hurried over to the apartment-size refrigerator, took out the tray and dumped the cubes into a towel.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” He laid his head back and pressed the towel against his eye.

  “What did he say to you?” Shiloh asked tentatively.

  “Mostly what you’d expect a man in his position to say. That if I didn’t marry you he’d cut out my heart and feed it to a pack of hungry coyotes.”

  “My father threatened to cut your heart out?”

  He opened his good eye. It was filled with humor. “He didn’t say that in so many words. But I got the drift.”

  “What did you say?” she asked, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

  “The typical things. That I was truly sorry, that I respected you more than any woman I’d ever met, that I had every intention of living up to my responsibilities, that I was a skunk, a scoundrel, a—”

  “No. What did you say about marriage?”

  Silence immediately settled over them. A pregnant silence, Shiloh thought. He sighed, took the towel from his eye, put it on the coffee table and turned toward her. “Shiloh, you have to understand my position. I’m the fourth generation of McCandlesses to go into medicine in Paradise.”

  “So?”

  “So, my roots go deep in the Rockies.”

  “I never thought you’d turn out to be a snob.” She stood up and walked over to the window. Although it was now officially spring, it had begun to snow. Illuminated in the yellow glow of the old-fashioned streetlights, the fat white flakes looked like drifting feathers.

  “A snob?” He stood up and crossed the room to stand behind her. “Where did that come from?”

  “Well, I realize that I’ve never really stayed in one place very long, but it wasn’t my fault. I mean my father was in the military, and—”

  “Shiloh.” He turned her around. “That wasn’t what I meant. What I was trying, apparently poorly, to say is that I have lifelong ties to Paradise. Responsibilities. I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to. Which,” he admitted, deciding it was time to be absolutely honest, “I don’t.”

  Shiloh didn’t know which was hurting more. Her pride or her heart. “Did you hear me asking you to?” she asked, afraid he’d think she was begging but unable to keep her feelings to herself any longer. “I understand you belong here, Matt.”

  “The same way you belong in Hollywood,” he reminded her gently.

  “That’s not necessarily true. I’ve been happier here than I’ve ever been in my life. I can’t imagine going back to that rat race.”

  “Of course you will,” he insisted. The eye that wasn’t rapidly swelling shut was shadowed with sadness. “Once the novelty of small-town life wears off, you’ll be dying to get back into the fast lane.”

  “I always hated the fast lane. And I was getting tired of acting, anyway. Really,” she insisted when he arched a brow. “I’m not getting any younger, and I know I’m never going to be Meg Ryan or Sandra Bullock—”

  “Personally, I think you’re better-looking than both of them put together.”

  “Thank you. But that’s not even half the battle in Hollywood. Everyone’s good-looking. Talent counts.”

  “And I suppose this is where you tell me that the producer who was here gave you his card because he thinks you’re the most untalented actress he’s ever seen on the silver screen?”

  “Actually, he did mention a part,” she admitted, remembering how only a few hours ago she’d been so excited by that small but oh-so-important recognition.

  “See?” He brushed her hair from her face with a touch both tender and full of regret. “This time in Paradise, as good as it seems, is like a part you’ve been playing, sweetheart. You’ve got a real life waiting for you outside these mountains.”

  It had been months since he’d held her like this. Weeks and weeks since he’d kissed her. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, desire stirred. She twined her fingers together around his neck and went up on her toes, until her mouth was a whisper away from his. “What if I want to make a life here? In Paradise? With you?”

  Didn’t she realize what she was doing? Of course she did, Matt knew. She was trying to seduce him. And, dammit, it was working. And why not, since he’d been having hot, sexy dreams about her for weeks.

  “Shiloh, this isn’t a good idea.” His hands slipped down, holding her hips, pressing her closer even as he struggled for emotional distance.

  “Kiss me and tell me that.” She brushed her lips against his. “Let me kiss you, then tell me that you haven’t been going as crazy as me.”

  When she traced a ring of fire around his grimly set lips with the tip of her tongue, Matt remembered, all too vividly, how crazy he’d felt that night. And why. “You know I can’t.”

  Greed and hunger twisted together in his gut. And lower. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to allow him to feast. She opened for him, instantly, eagerly. Matt felt her relieved breath leave her body on a ragged sigh. Her lips were parted and moist and receptive as he thrust his tongue between them, deep into her mouth. A moan, born of harsh need, was wrenched from deep in her throat. Matt thought it was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

  He was about to rip her top from her when he felt something inside her suddenly move.

  “My God,” he breathed, “is that—”

  “One of the babies,” she confirmed. Her breathing was still fast and labored, but her calm smile belonged on the Mona Lisa. “I’ll bet, from the wa
y you were kissing me, that it’s the girl.”

  He stood rigid as a stone, waiting. Seconds later, he felt the movement against his groin. Sexual hunger diminished, replaced by a primal feeling even stronger. And, he feared, more dangerous.

  “I know it’s a cliché, but that’s truly amazing.” He’d felt innumerable babies kick before. But none of those babies had been his. And that, Matt discovered, made all the difference. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” Shiloh said instantly. Truthfully.

  “Would you take your top off?”

  She only hesitated a moment, then, seeing the reassurance in his eyes, she lifted the cotton top over her head.

  Her maternity bra was not what he’d been expecting. “Black satin?”

  She blushed like a schoolgirl. “It’s from my sister, Savannah.”

  “Remind me to thank her.” As his eyes moved over her full breasts with all the impact of a caress, Shiloh began to tremble.

  “I will,” she whispered. From the way he was looking at her, like a starving man suddenly presented with his own private smorgasbord, she thought he was finally going to make love to her. But instead, he surprised her by dropping to his knees in front of her and running his hands over her taut stomach.

  “It’s so hard,” he murmured, as his palms skimmed over the pale, blue-veined flesh. He knew that at this stage in her pregnancy, her uterus would have expanded to her navel, yet somehow, because it was Shiloh, it all seemed new.

  “I’m getting stretch marks,” she complained.

  He trailed a fingertip over a faint white mark, then pressed his lips against the flesh his touch had already warmed. “Badges of courage,” he corrected, before proceeding to kiss every mark, until her flesh was as hot as a summer sun and her legs were trembling. As if stimulated by her tumultuous emotions, both babies began to kick.

  “Amazing,” he repeated. He spread his hands against her hard belly, enthralled by the movement beneath his fingertips. Looking down, Shiloh found the contrast between his dark hand and her pale skin incredibly sensual.