by Alison Kent
And then she turned and ran as fast as she could for the car, giggling at the sound of Angel’s steps pounding behind her, giggling even louder at the sound of her future falling perfectly into place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Six weeks later…
Luna stood behind the island in the loft’s sectioned-off kitchen, adding more wineglasses to those already in use. When she and her mother had worked up the guest list for tonight’s reception, she’d never expected a one-hundred-percent affirmative response. And looking out at the crowd in the loft now, she was pretty sure there were more people here than had been invited.
She didn’t mind. Except for the fear they would run out of food and drink. But having this large a turnout—yes, there were definitely more people here than invitations had gone out—thrilled her. Not for her sake but for Angelo’s. He’d been gone from Hope Springs a long time. His return would no doubt raise questions, as would his marrying Luna after being back less than a week.
Tonight, she hoped, would answer the biggest: Was their marriage some kind of stunt, meant to draw attention to the Caffey-Gatlin Academy, or were they truly in love? She couldn’t imagine that anyone seeing them together could doubt the veracity of the emotions binding them, emotions that were true and pure and too strong to doubt. Emotions that left her weak in the knees with their power.
“What are you doing back here?” Kaylie asked, joining her in the kitchen and taking the glasses from her hands. “You’re the guest of honor. You’re supposed to be mingling. Go mingle,” she added, having slipped behind Luna to nudge her with her hip.
“I can’t mingle. I’m the hostess,” Luna said, but she mostly didn’t want to mingle because she was enjoying watching everyone else do it. She thought back to the day so many volunteers had come to clean the yard at the arts center, to the love the people of Hope Springs still had for the Caffeys, how even Merrilee Gatlin’s machinations hadn’t been able to destroy it. How she herself was so very proud to be part of the family, even while saddened by the refusal of Angelo’s parents to forgive and accept. She hoped someday soon…
“You can and you will,” Kaylie was insisting. “Having the reception here does not make you the hostess. It was just a matter of logistics. If not for the construction, I would’ve insisted we use my house. And if not for the smell of sheep, we could’ve used the farm. Now go. Mingle. Show off that rock that puts mine to shame.”
“It does not,” Luna said, looking again at the ring Angelo had surprised her with in Vegas. It was an amazing ring for a Vermont cabinetmaker who couldn’t afford decent T-shirts—though she was quite the fan of his indecent ones… “You’re right. It does,” she said, just as her mother arrived.
“Julietta.” Kaylie set down the glasses to give Luna’s mother a hug. “You look amazing. How’re you feeling?”
“About ten thousand times better than I was a month ago,” Luna’s mother said, her dark hair pulled back in an elegant braid, color high on her cheekbones. “When they say the first trimester is the worst? Believe them,” she said, and Luna smiled at the thought of the crackers she’d brought to school for Sierra.
Kaylie looked from mother to daughter. “I’m threatening your girl here with bodily harm if she doesn’t get out there and enjoy her night.”
Luna tried to object, but her mother interrupted. “I saw her back here and came to see what she was doing. So, what are you doing?”
“I was just getting more wineglasses—”
Her mother took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the main room. “You let me and Kaylie do that. Your job is to enjoy your guests. And your new husband.”
Luna tried not to blush. Her parents had been ecstatic to get her call from Las Vegas telling them she and Angelo were now man and wife. And by the time they’d returned to Hope Springs, her mother and Kaylie had already cooked up this get-together to celebrate.
But it was still strange to think of herself as her mother’s married daughter. “Fine. I’m going. But you might want to start washing what glasses you can. I’m not sure we’ll have enough to get through the night otherwise.”
The first person she ran into as she circled the kitchen island into the loft’s main room surprised her. She’d sent him and his parents an invitation, but doubted any of the three would come.
“Luna. Congratulations. I wish nothing but the best for you and Angelo.”
“Thank you, Oliver,” she said, offering her cheek when he leaned to kiss it. “I’m so glad you came. And I’m so, so glad you’re going to be part of the arts center.” His doing so was the best way she could think of to honor Oscar. “That makes me happy.”
“Good,” he said. “And I appreciate you sending the invitation for tonight. I would’ve hated to miss the party of the year.” His smile was teasing, but genuine, no malice in sight. “This is some place. I knew the warehouses had been gutted for residential use, but I had no idea so much finishing work had been done. The brick walls, they’re original?”
“They are. It’s one of my favorite things. I’m just sorry I won’t get to enjoy them as much as I’d thought.”
“Why’s that?” he asked as he lifted his drink.
“We’re converting the barn on the Caffey property into a house, so I’ll use the loft just for weaving.” She glanced around the cavernous room, still mostly empty save for two lamps, two lamp tables, the sofa, TV, and the bed from her room at the farm. And the strands of tiny white lights dangling from the beams overhead. “We’re staying here temporarily. But since Angel’s at the center most of the time, and I don’t need anything but my loom when I’m working, we decided to rough it instead of decorating here, then decorating there.”
“Makes sense,” he said, then glanced around the room. “Where is your husband? I wanted to say hello, but I haven’t seen him since I got here.”
“Last I knew he was with my father, over near my loom.” She looked that way, catching a glimpse of Angelo’s black hair. It hung loose to his shoulders, and he’d given in to her wishes when she’d begged him this morning not to shave. The breeze through the open windows stirred the strands, and the light from the full moon, and that of the street lamps shining in, cast his profile in dangerous shadow.
She thought back to what her mother had said, and wished everyone gone. She was through celebrating. She wanted to enjoy her husband.
“There he is,” Oliver was saying. “Good to see you again. And I mean that,” he said, adding an, “Excuse me,” to the woman arriving as he left.
Luna pulled Tennessee Keller’s sister into a big hug. “Indiana. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Who cares about that?” the other woman said. “Tell me everything you know about that man.”
Luna laughed. “That was Oliver Gatlin. Merrilee and Orville’s oldest son.”
“He’s tall, and dark, and handsome… and I hope single?”
“As far as I know,” Luna said, her attention snagged this time by movement at her side, and she smiled as her gaze connected with that of the boy who’d been raised by wolves.
Will Bowman lifted his empty wineglass in greeting, his slash of dark hair falling over his brow and obscuring one of his eyes. “Ms. Keller. Mrs. Caffey. And how strange does that sound? Mrs. Caffey.”
“I happen to think it sounds lovely,” Indy said, the pulse at the base of her throat thumping visibly when Will turned his gaze on her—where it stayed while he handed Luna his glass, saying, “Point me to a bottle.”
“Kaylie just kicked me out of the kitchen, but c’mon. I’ll find you a corkscrew.”
Indy and Will followed her back that way, where she grabbed a bottle and a corkscrew from the island before her mother or Kaylie could object. Then, at the sound of the elevator engaging again, Luna looked over to see who else had arrived, because she couldn’t imagine who it might be.
She swore everyone who lived in Hope Springs had already crowded into her loft. Thank goodness she hadn’t moved all of
her things into the space before she and Angelo had taken off for Mexico—then Las Vegas. And if that week in Las Vegas hadn’t been the best she’d ever known…
Luna Meadows Caffey.
Who knew Angelo had it in him to be so spontaneous? Who knew she had it in her to abandon everything for the love of her life?
The couple who exited the elevator were young, and no one Luna recognized. The man couldn’t have been more than twenty, and perhaps still even a teen. The woman wasn’t much older. Both had dark hair. Both were beautiful, with a touch of Latin heritage evident in their cheekbones. Both had eyes that reminded her of Angelo…
“Oh. Oh. Oh,” she said, shoving the wine bottle and corkscrew she held into Will’s hands, then hurrying into the main room and signaling frantically for her husband. He was still near her loom talking to her father and Oliver Gatlin, but, as if sensing her anxiousness, looked up and caught her gaze.
She motioned toward the elevator, and he glanced that way, going completely still before shoving his wineglass into her father’s hand and taking off for the front of the room, dodging clusters of milling guests in his haste to reach the door. He beat her there, and she heard him call, “Felix! Teresa!” seconds before he wrapped his arms around both of his siblings at once.
He buried his head and his shoulders shook, and Felix and Teresa cried with him, the three creating a picture that left no one, even those who hadn’t known the family, unmoved. They stood in a group hug for what seemed like ages, but couldn’t have been more than a minute or two at most. Finally he stepped back and lifted his head, looking for Luna and waving her over.
“I’m sure you both remember Luna.”
“Of course,” Teresa said, leaning close to kiss Luna’s cheek. “You always made cleaning the kitchen so much easier, since I had less to do with you there helping.”
Luna laughed. “It was so quiet at home that hanging out with all of you felt like a day at Six Flags,” she said to Teresa, then turned to Felix. “And you. It’s like looking at Angelo all over again. I can’t believe you’ve grown up.”
“You cut your hair,” Felix said. “I’ve always pictured you with it long.”
“It was long until a couple of months ago,” Angelo said, looking from Luna to his brother, then his sister, his voice hopeful as he asked, “’Milio and Isi? Did they come with you? Or Mom and Dad?”
“It’s just us,” Teresa said, and Felix shook his head. “We don’t see them much. Isi and ’Milio. And Mom and Dad, well. You know. You were there.”
Angelo nodded, swallowed. “Yeah. It’s okay. I’m so glad to see both of you. I’d hoped to see you in September, but we didn’t stay long.”
“Mom told us. About Sierra. The baby. Her and Oscar getting married,” Teresa said, her voice catching on the last word. “The music you’re playing…”
Angelo nodded, his throat working. “It’s Sierra and Oscar. A piece they wrote. We found the CD in the tree house,” he said, and that’s when Felix broke, too, tears welling and threatening to fall.
Luna stepped in, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Listen. Why don’t you go back to the bedroom area behind the kitchen? Angelo knows where. Y’all can talk. I’ll get my mom and Kaylie to start winding things down.”
Teresa nodded. Felix did, too. Angelo threaded his fingers into Luna’s hair and pulled her to him, kissing her cheek and whispering, “I love you, wife,” against her ear. She watched him walk away, an arm slung around the shoulders of both siblings, hugging close one, then the other as they made their way through the crowd.
She joined them twenty minutes later, having left her parents along with Kaylie and Ten to finish up in the main room. All three of the Caffey siblings sat on the bed, Felix cross-legged and hunched over, Teresa’s legs tucked to her side as she leaned against one of the footboard’s tall posts. Angelo sat propped against the headboard, and Luna crawled up to join him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
She rested a hand on his thigh. “So I’m guessing this is what you did with the invitation you asked me for?”
Angelo nodded. “Felix and I have stayed in touch. The day the family moved, he asked if he could write. I gave him my address, and he used that of one of his friends so our parents never knew.”
“When I heard Mom and Dad talking about the property being foreclosed on, I wrote and told Angelo,” Felix said, toying with the laces on his shoe. “Angelo never got a chance to get out anything he might’ve wanted the day we moved.”
A mystery solved, Luna mused, glancing from younger brother up to older. “I always wondered how you knew I’d bought the property. You never said.”
“I can keep secrets, too, you know,” he told her, then dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose.
She looked back to his brother and sister. “I’m so glad you came. And you’ll stay, yes? A few days, at least? I’d love for you both to see what we’ve done with the house, and what we’re doing with the barn. We want you to stay as long as you can. You will, won’t you?”
By the time she finished, both of Angelo’s siblings were looking at her and smiling, Angelo chuckling deep in his chest. She glanced from one to the other to the other, her mouth pulling into an answering grin. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just telling these two how you’re like a dog with a bone once you get an idea in your head,” her husband said, gesturing toward the others with one hand.
“I’m pretty sure I learned that trick from you,” she told him, leaning against him, loving him, knowing that whatever happened with the rest of her life, she would have this man with her—which made every epic thing they’d gone through to get here seem like nothing at all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Robyn Arouty
Alison Kent is the author of more than fifty published works, including her debut novel, Call Me, which she sold live on CBS’s 48 Hours, in an episode called “Isn’t It Romantic?” Her novels A Long, Hard Ride and Striptease were both finalists for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, while The Beach Alibi was honored by the national Quill Awards, and No Limits was elected by Cosmopolitan as a Red Hot Read. The author of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Writing Erotic Romance and a veteran blogger, Alison decided long ago that if there’s a better career than writing, she doesn’t want to know about it. She lives in her native Texas with her geologist husband and a passel of pets.
Read on for a sneak peek of Alison Kent’s next Hope Springs novel.
The Sweetness of Honey
Available Fall 2014 on Amazon.com
CHAPTER ONE
The bees were what had sold her. The bees and Hiram Glass. The lovely octogenarian had tended the hives for years, selling the honey at the same farmer’s market where she sold root vegetables, and vine vegetables, and leafy greens, and the years the weather cooperated, strawberries the size of her fist.
She would leave the back of the plot where their busy hives thrived untouched; these days, honeybees faced so many obstacles as it was. That would allow more than enough room for the expansion of IJK Gardens—though the Hope Springs, Texas, property would be more of an annex since the greenhouse in Buda that served as her bread and butter was forty miles away. It was a nice bit of separation. Business from pleasure from play.
The annex would be her baby, her indulgence, the heirloom vegetables she’d grow here her specialty. They would cost more to cultivate, requiring higher prices, but the demand was equally high. Consumers determined to avoid genetically modified foods would pay for quality produce. And pay for the honey from her bees.
Her bees. The words made Indiana Keller smile. Even now, standing across Three Wishes Road, in the Caffey-Gatlin Academy driveway, she could hear them. She had to close her eyes, and be very still, and hold her breath, and bow the muscles of her imagination, but the hum was there, a soft busy vibration of work being done.
Work had been her life for years now. Work kept her sane. Work left her no time for a
personal life. Work was her savior and most of the time her friend. An easy one to keep. Demanding yet constantly loyal, and in the end, she was the boss. That was the part she liked best. Calling the shots. Taking charge had helped her through some very dark days.
Those days were long gone. And with this new venture calling her name… She couldn’t believe the gorgeously overgrown and scruffy acreage across the street was hers, all hers, and there was absolutely no rush to get done all the things she wanted to do. As long as her impatience didn’t get in the way, she could take her time with the tilling and the planting and the cottage, and all the things she needed to learn about the bees.
Just as the thought entertained her, a new sort of buzzing set up along her spine. Not one she heard, but felt. An awareness. A clear breach of her private communion. What she heard were footsteps crunching the driveway’s gravel, and she flexed her fingers, then rubbed at her palms where her nails had dug deep. The steps drew closer, and they were firm, heavy, most likely belonging to a man. Possibly Angelo Caffey. Or a member of her brother’s construction crew.
But neither was who came to a stop beside her.
“Can I help you with something?” the man asked, smelling earthy, salty. Privileged.
“No. I’m fine,” she said without looking over. She knew who he was, but doubted he remembered her.
“Are you a friend of Hiram’s?”
“I am, yes. Why?”
“Because friends of Hiram know he’s not one for trespassing. He says it’s bad for the bees. Strangers disturb them.”
No doubt he knew as well as she that Hiram had moved before the property sold. And that the bees deterred most strangers. And yet she’d parked in the driveway across the street. As bold as she pleased. “And you are?”
“Not a stranger,” he said, that privilege again.
“Then that makes two of us.”