Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2)

by Tess Thompson

  Thus, on my second morning in Idaho I didn’t witness the dark dawn slip away, pushed aside by morning light. It was only Blue Mountain’s son and the silent sound of falling snow.

  Chapter 22

  THE LONG WEEKEND evaporated and suddenly it was Sunday. Sam had agreed to take the job, after some encouragement from me, and for the remainder of the long weekend Kevan and Ciaran helped him get settled into his new cottage. They spent time showing him the extent of his duties, with Ciaran agreeing to answer any questions that came along in the weeks that were to come. Henry had agreed that we should stay at least another week, so we could make sure Sam was settled comfortably, but I suspected it had more to do with Mrs. Pennington than worry over Sam. Henry and I both felt Sam was in good hands with Ciaran remaining in Peregrine until the end of the calendar year. The rest of my Thanksgiving weekend days were filled with snowball fights, hot cocoa, competitive Scrabble games, reading on the couch, and Blythe’s delicious meals. At night Ciaran snuck into the guesthouse.

  On Sunday morning, Ciaran took Blythe, Kevan and all the kids, including Cole and Rori, to the airport in Hailey. Kevan encouraged me to stay in the big house and to drive his Range Rover if I needed, but I decided to stay in my small, temporary house instead. Already it had started to feel like home to me, and I didn’t want to amble about the big house all by myself anyway.

  When Ciaran left for the airport, he promised to be back in an hour or two so that he could take me to Moonstone’s to begin our makeover, knowing I wasn’t able to drive yet, per the doctor’s instructions.

  As promised, he arrived by mid-morning and drove me into town, although he declined to come inside the inn, saying he wanted to get a workout in and asking that I call him when I was finished. After lingering over a kiss, I jumped from his truck and headed inside to the lobby. Moonstone was sitting at her desk talking on the phone. The voices of Henry and Mrs. Pennington carried in from the parlor, and when I peeped in to say hello, they were sitting next to one another with a newspaper spread out over the coffee table, with several half-eaten scones on a plate. As I neared, I saw they were working on a crossword puzzle. They looked up as I approached.

  “We hear there’s a makeover today.” Mrs. Pennington smiled, holding a pen like a baton between two fingers. “Perhaps I should be next.”

  At the same time, Henry and I said, “You don’t need one.”

  She smiled. “Well, how nice of you to say.”

  Henry gestured toward the upstairs as I perched on the side of the coffee table. “Ida came by with her tools but remembered at the last second she’d forgotten something.”

  “I’ll do Moonstone’s makeup first. I hope this Ida knows what she’s doing. Forgetting something isn’t a great sign,” I said. All Moonstone needed was a bad color and cut on top of what she already had going on top of her crazy, lovable head.

  “Not that I would know one way or the other.” Henry lowered his voice. “But since you mentioned it, she is a bit on the jittery side. I noticed it the first time we met her, but today she seems even more so.”

  “Jittery?” I made a face. “That doesn’t sound good.” Was this just Henry being grumpy as usual? “Like shaky hands?”

  “No, he means more mentally jittery,” said Mrs. Pennington. “Fragile might be the better word.”

  “Miss Heywood.” Henry set aside the paper. “On another matter.”

  “Yes, Henry?”

  “When would you like to return home?” he asked.

  I hesitated. Mrs. Pennington put down her pen and picked up a fork, spearing the corner of a scone.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t feel like I want to leave here anytime soon.” I went on to tell them that I’d seen Sam that morning helping Ciaran stack firewood. “He seems fine, and Ciaran’s here to look after him so he doesn’t really need us to stay longer than a week, I suppose.”

  Henry patted my hand. “You’ve done a good thing, Miss Heywood. I’m proud of you.”

  “Henry. A compliment?” I asked. I kept my voice light but a lump had formed in my throat. Was I this desperate for a father figure’s approval? Pathetic.

  Mrs. Pennington, without meeting my eyes, pulled the fork from the speared scone and brought it to her mouth, as if to take a bite. Did she realize there was nothing on it?

  “What is it,” I asked. “Is there something you want to ask me?”

  “The thing is, Miss Heywood, is that I’m thinking of staying longer than a week.” Henry’s eyes darted to Mrs. Pennington. “We’ve taken a fancy to the place and would like to stay through the winter.”

  “We?” I asked, teasing

  “Well, yes, we.” Mrs. Pennington’s cheeks were flushed as she looked over at me. “I’d already thought I might stay awhile, and now that I’ve met Henry, I have even more motivation to do so. Moonstone gave me a wonderful rate if we commit to staying until March.”

  “But, I’m worried, Miss Heywood, about sending you home alone. I feel responsible for you, it seems.”

  “There are flights out of Hailey, Henry,” I said. “It’s no problem.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Miss Heywood.”

  “What he means, Bliss, is that he’s worried about sending you back to Portland without a job or friends. We both feel strongly that it would be good for you to consider also staying the winter.”

  I stared at them, suddenly feeling eight years old in front of my parents. It felt good. “I could use a rest, I suppose.”

  “A rest? This doesn’t sound like you, Miss Heywood,” said Henry.

  “But maybe it should.” I turned to Mrs. Pennington. “How can I expect to make changes in my life if I just go back to the same life?” Nothing different than the day before. Was that the phrase Blythe had used to describe our father once? It was time to do something different than the day before. I wasn’t certain what, only that I must in order to survive. “I can think here. It’s so quiet. Maybe I can figure out what I want if I stay a couple of months.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Mrs. Pennington, patting my hand. “Good girl.”

  “And Henry’s right. I don’t have anything to go home to.” But there was the problem of Ciaran. The longer I stayed, the less likely it was to feel like a fling and more like a relationship.

  “But what about the young man?” asked Henry.

  I smiled. “We’re just having fun. I doubt he’ll stay after the first of the year. Maybe I’ll be ready to go then, too. Don’t worry, I have it all under control.”

  Mrs. Pennington squeezed my hand. “Just be careful, dear. Our heads have a disturbing way of not listening to our hearts.”

  “And Ciaran Lanigan is bad news,” said Henry. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been through enough.”

  “Henry, you’re getting soft on me.” I gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “Does this mean you’re officially adopting me?”

  Mrs. Pennington laughed. “I’ll have my attorney send the papers right away.”

  From in the lobby, I heard Moonstone hang up the phone. “Have to run. Makeover time starts now,” I said.

  “Good luck, dear,” said Mrs. Pennington.

  I waved my fingers in the air. “Not to worry, this is what I’m born to do.”

  I found Moonstone standing at her desk, staring straight ahead. Should I interrupt her? Was she having a vision? Her eyes fluttered, then she went perfectly still for a second before shaking her head like she’d suddenly remembered something. She looked over at me, blankly at first, until her expression rearranged into one of recognition. She held out her arms. “Bliss, I’m like a kid at Christmas.” Coming out from behind her desk, she pulled me into her ample chest and squeezed me. As instructed, she’d scrubbed her face clean of makeup.

  “Game on?” I held out my bag with my makeup kit.

  “Game on.”

 
I had her sit behind her desk and asked if she had brought her own makeup, which she had. My plan was to use as many of her own products as I could, so she wouldn’t have to purchase more and could duplicate what I’d done when she tried on her own. Using her foundation and a clean sponge, I put enough on for coverage, which wasn’t much as she had surprisingly beautiful and unflawed skin for a woman in her late forties. Maybe psychics didn’t go outside much, either? Giving instruction as I went, I added blush and a set of light brown and taupe eye shadows, complimented with brown eyeliner. After I added mascara, I handed her a mirror.

  “What do you think?”

  “I look amazing,” she said.

  “You really do.” The soft makeup brought out her eyes, and the way I’d evenly spread out the foundation gave her a dewy appearance.

  Just then, Ida came into the lobby, carrying a small bag. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Ida.

  Moonstone introduced us, reminding Ida that we’d met before, although there was no recognition in her eyes. To my surprise, Ida had a warm and soothing voice, in complete contrast to her appearance. “Your makeup looks very nice,” said Ida.

  “Thank you. I can’t wait to have you fix my hair.” Coming out from behind the desk, Moonstone smiled and clasped her hands over her ample chest. “Oh, Bliss, just one thing. While Ida’s working on my hair, would you mind hanging out near the lobby? I have an unexpected guest arriving in an hour or so.” She pointed at the desk. “I left her keys. Just show her to her room. I took care of everything else.”

  I agreed, happy to help in the cause of Operation Moonstone Makeover. We went up the stairs, past the antiques displayed in crowded clusters on the shelves: an old phone, a typewriter, glassware from the ’30s, a child’s wooden rocking horse, various books with tattered covers. She pointed down the hallway. “Ida, I thought we could use the room Blythe stayed in when she first came here. Good karma in there. But my new guest’s room is Room C. The guest’s assistant made the reservation and asked for the biggest room I had. I hope she won’t be disappointed.”

  “Is it someone just passing through, or are they visiting family here?” I couldn’t imagine staying here unless either one of those things were true.

  “She didn’t say. All I know is she asked for an unlimited stay. No checkout date, which is thrilling because I could use the money. The reservation is M. Madison.”

  All thoughts of this new guest left my mind when we walked into the room set aside for the cut and color. I knew immediately Mrs. Pennington was right about Ida’s fragility. It wasn’t merely that her unusually thin frame made her appear physically fragile; there was a skittish quality to her eyes, like a cornered animal unsure whether you were friend or foe, but ready to run either way. Regardless, her hands appeared steady, if not her mind, and that’s what mattered now. On the writing desk by the window, scissors, a comb, several round brushes, some product, and a hair dryer waited for their usefulness. A plastic robe, like those found at most salons, hung over the back of the chair.

  The room itself had the feeling of another era. A patchwork quilt with geometric shapes in several shades of pink covered the bed, in unity with an antique, brass bedframe. Delicate lamps with roses embroidered on their shades donned bedside tables on either side. Outside, Blue Mountain loomed in the distance. From wherever I was in Peregrine, the mountain was a reassuring presence.

  I explained to Ida my vision of changing Moonstone’s hair color to a rich auburn and cutting off six inches, so that it would fall at the tip of her shoulders. “She can wear it with curls or not,” I suggested. “Don’t you think, Ida?”

  She nodded, motioning for Moonstone to sit. After Ida had secured the wrap around Moonstone’s shoulders, she put her hands in that mass of thick, orange hair, holding several tufts out from her head like one of Medusa’s snakes. “Dye first. Cut second.” Moonstone, with an excited shine in her eyes, smiled at me as she followed Ida into the bathroom.

  I excused myself and went downstairs, remembering that I was to wait for the new guest’s arrival. The lobby and sitting room were empty but smelled of fresh coffee and baking cookies. Looking around, it occurred to me that at one time it must have been the formal dining room, as I could see the kitchen just through the next door. An older woman was bent over an oven, taking out a pan of cookies. Moonstone had mentioned a woman who not only cleaned rooms but baked the cookies and scones as well. This must be her.

  I wandered to the window. I wasn’t sure if this was the case with all Victorian dining rooms, but this one had a window seat built into the curve of a picture window, which looked out onto the small grocery store. It reminded me of the stores you see near recreational spots that sell ice and beer that always smelled of old wood and popsicles the minute you entered.

  I plopped onto the couch, wishing I could take my boots off, and close my eyes. The discarded newspaper was folded neatly on the coffee table, Mrs. Pennington’s abandoned pen next to it. Where had they gone, I wondered? Probably upstairs together, which led to a visual image of Ciaran tossing me onto the bed last night. Stay focused, I thought, feeling that familiar twinge between my legs at the mere thought of how he’d hovered over me, his voice thick with desire. You’re beautiful.

  I got up and ambled over to an antique bureau where Moonstone had left a self-service breakfast. Only several dry-looking scones on a plate remained, other than pots labeled coffee, hot water, and decaf. A basket held assorted teas. I thumbed through them, picking an apple-cinnamon packet, and wandered to the window. The street, clear of snow, was wet, and occasionally vehicles, mostly trucks, passed by with a dirty spray of water onto the white snow. Snowdrifts, presumably made by the plow earlier, were at least four feet high on either side of the road. I held the tea packet to my nose but could smell nothing through its thick packaging. I went to the bookshelf and ran my fingers along the paperbacks. Vacation-type reading material for the most part: mysteries, romances, thrillers. I imagined their owners over the years, reading them under the patchwork quilts late into the night, only to leave them here after they’d gone back to their real lives.

  I grabbed a romance from the shelf. Yesterday a mystery, today a romance—I chose not to examine that choice too closely as I made a cup of tea and settled onto the couch to read. I was five pages into the book—the heroine had just crashed her car and was wandering up to a poorly lit mansion to ask for help—no doubt her soon-to-be-lover, a troubled millionaire, awaited behind the heavy oak door—when I heard the ping of the bell that indicated someone had just come into the inn. Remembering my promise to Moonstone, I reluctantly got up and walked into the lobby.

  A slight woman, dressed in a black ski jacket, leggings and Idaho boots with flair (faux fur at the top) held a small suitcase in a gloved hand. Her head was covered entirely in a ski cap, black to match the rest of her outfit, and she wore sunglasses, without any indication of taking them off even though she’d just come into a dimly lit room.

  “Is Moonstone here?” the woman asked. Her voice sounded so familiar. Where had I heard it before?

  “Moonstone’s busy, but I have your key. Everything’s ready for you.”

  “Great.” She took off her glasses first, then her hat. Long, blonde hair fell about her shoulders. No makeup, except for a little mascara and lip gloss. Flawless skin. White teeth. A symmetrical face with small features, except for her eyes—round and blue, framed by dark lashes. She set her suitcase on the floor.

  It took me a split second to realize who she was: Hope Manning. Hope Manning, right in front of me. My mind tumbled to the next thought. Had she come to see Ciaran? My gut twisted with jealousy. Had she come to spend the week with him? Was there something between them? Had he lied to me? Did he know she was coming?

  Chapter 23

  HOPE MANNING GESTURED toward the desk, with a weary look that told me she knew I had quickly figured out who she was. “Let’s get to it then,
shall we? I believe the reservation is under M. Madison.”

  Scurrying behind the desk, I found the keys that Moonstone had left and handed them to her, telling her that I would take her up and show her the room.

  As I came around the desk, Hope started for the stairs, leaving her bag behind. Apparently I was to take it up with me in my temporary role as innkeeper! Just then, the front doorbell chimed and opened. A cold draft swept into the room. We both turned to look. Ciaran, dressed in jeans and a striped blue and white sweater, with hair wet from the shower. I caught a whiff of his cologne as he closed the door behind him.

  Hope let out a yelp and ran toward him, throwing her arms around him. “Surprise!”

  His arms went around her waist, as he caught my eye. I looked away, my stomach turning sour. So this is what jealousy felt like, I thought. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

  “I came to see you. Get away from the paparazzi.”

  “You know they’ll find you here, right? They always do. And it’ll fuel all the rumors.” He sounded irritated. I glanced at him. His expression matched his voice.

  “Not this time. I managed to get here without anyone finding out. They think I’m in France with you. We let out a false rumor that we were staying at the Four Seasons in Paris. The idiots are all camped outside the gates, driving the real guests insane, I’m sure. It’s been all over the rags. Have you not been keeping up?”

  He glanced over at me with a slight smile. “I’ve been busy.”

  She stepped away from him, turning to look at me as if seeing me for the first time, then turned back to him. “Busy?”

  He crossed the room to stand next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “This is Bliss.” He’d emphasized my name in a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that we were sleeping together. The writhing jealousy swirling around my gut subsided, replaced by warmth that ran the length of my legs.

  “I see.” A pink flush in the shape of an inkblot appeared on the left side of Hope’s neck. The vein that ran down her forehead swelled and became visible under her white skin, like she’d just done vigorous exercise. I’d seen it happen in certain highly emotional scenes I’d watched in her films.