Shooting the Moon

by Brenda Novak

  “The kind who doesn’t like to get dirty,” he replied smugly. “The kind who speaks through his nose and would never tackle you in a soft meadow and roll around kissing you in the grass, or tickle you until you could barely breathe. You certainly wouldn’t want anyone who made you laugh out loud.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she retorted. “How do you know I wouldn’t like to be tumbled in a meadow? By a man I admired and loved, I mean,” she added so she wouldn’t sound quite so eager.

  He dumped the paper onto the coffee table and stood. “How many men have you admired and loved?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Has anything spontaneous ever occurred?”

  Lauren backed up a step because he seemed to fill the room. “Maybe not often, but being tackled in a meadow is not the type of thing that happens to everyone. And it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me—”

  “It means you surround yourself with the type of people who are as worried about wrinkling their clothes as you are.”

  “I’m not worried about wrinkling my clothes!”

  He looked her up and down with obvious distaste. “Not those, anyway.”

  Again, Lauren felt hyper-conscious of her big-framed glasses and ugly clothes and wished she hadn’t been so determined to make herself unattractive this morning. But now that Harley had her primed for an argument, she wasn’t about to let him change the topic. “Appearances are nothing in the overall scheme of things. I know what’s important in life.”

  “Sure you do,” he said. “You and your father are so busy being proper and properly annoyed when someone else isn’t proper enough, that it’s a wonder you don’t explode.”

  Lauren stared up at him. Where was this coming from? A grudge that was ten years old? Well, she’d been an innocent bystander back then, and she wasn’t about to put up with Harley’s residual anger now.

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” she said. “The boundless wisdom of the common man. Well, so what if you’ve gone without? So what if you’ve had it rougher than I have? It’s not my fault you’ve always been poor, and you’re not going to make me feel guilty for it. Being deprived doesn’t make you a better person. And it doesn’t mean you’re any more in touch with all that pure and simple stuff than I am.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he countered, stepping toward her. “What if I’m not the one who’s been deprived? What if you are?”

  He was crowding her, but Lauren refused to back away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Gripping her upper arms, he glared down at her. “Have you slept outside on the ground, far from the city, just so you could see the stars? Or gone mountain-biking in a spring shower, when the rain’s so warm and gentle it feels like tears bathing your face? Or swum naked in the ocean at night, with the waves roaring in your ears and the moon shining off the water? Or made love on a beach in the light of a bonfire?”

  She blinked at him, her chest heaving, but it was difficult to remain angry when he was so close, and when her soul ached for the very things he described. “No,” she said.

  “No, what?”

  “No, I’ve never done any of those things. I’ve never gone biking in the rain or swum naked in the ocean. And the few times I’ve made love haven’t been very special. But that doesn’t mean my life isn’t a good one,” she said, only her voice cracked, and she prayed Harley wouldn’t be able to tell that she wasn’t half as confident as she wanted him to believe.

  “Why?” he said, his expression softening.

  “Why what?” she repeated, taken off guard.

  “Why haven’t the times you’ve made love been special?”

  It was a very personal question, something she’d never imagined discussing with him, but it struck at the heart of her insecurities and therefore demanded an answer. Why hadn’t she ever experienced the kind of intense emotion others described? She’d wanted to fall in love, especially with Damien. The commitment, the “you’re the only one for me” just hadn’t been there, so she’d put off a physical relationship with him and most of the other men who’d been interested in her.

  “You know what I looked like in high school,” she said with half a smile, to divert him from glimpsing her real, underlying fear—that she wasn’t capable of feeling as deeply as he was.

  “I know what you look like now,” he said. The pressure of his fingers eased and his hands fell away from her arms, but neither of them moved apart and the intensity in his face didn’t change. The nearness of his body, the warmth of it, beckoned her….

  “I might not have looked so bad after high school, but there’s always been my father’s expectations, and…” She let her words drift off as she gazed up at him, noting the clarity of his green eyes and the thick lashes that framed them, and the cowlick that forced his dark hair up and off his forehead. He had a single mark on his temple that might have been something left over from the chicken pox, and white even teeth that flashed at her when he spoke. In high school, his hair had been long, and he’d habitually shoved it out of his eyes….

  “And what?” he prompted, his voice now as soft as a caress.

  “And the fact that I’ve never found the right man,” she admitted.

  He tilted her chin, then hesitated as though assessing her response. When she did nothing, he slowly traced the outline of her lips, making them tingle and part, almost of their own accord. “So you’re holding out,” he breathed.

  Lauren nodded mutely and put a hand to his chest. Now that he was no longer holding her by the arms, she felt unsteady, as if she might fall if she didn’t hang on to him. But touching him only made her sway toward the heart that was beating so strong and sure beneath her palm.

  “I’ll have it all or nothing,” she managed to say over the rushing of blood in her ears, but before he could reply, Brandon came charging down the hall, and they jerked apart.

  “I’m finished,” her nephew announced, carrying a football in the crook of one arm. “Let’s go to the park.”

  THE PARK WAS ONLY fifteen minutes from Hillside Estates. Large and wooded at the south end, it smelled of damp earth and pine despite the heat.

  “Lucy is so cute,” Kimberly said, watching Tank help his daughter down the slide in the play area.

  Lauren nodded and stretched out on the blanket, hiding a smile. Considering Kimberly’s behavior over the past hour, Lauren had the sneaking suspicion Lucy wasn’t the only member of the Thompson party Kimberly found attractive. Despite the traumatic vomit incident in high school, Tank seemed to be running a close second. “Tank hasn’t changed much, has he?” she said to gauge her friend’s reaction.

  Kimberly shrugged, but Lauren knew her too well to buy into her indifference. “Not a lot,” she said. “He’s certainly not as handsome as Harley, but his look suits him. He reminds me of the guy on Roseanne.”

  “The guy who played her husband?”

  “Yeah. He’s a little overweight, but I can’t imagine him any other way.”

  Lauren bit the inside of her cheek to avoid a grin. “Umhum.”

  “Why are you acting so odd?” Kimberly demanded. “Like you’re hiding some sort of secret?”

  “I’m not hiding a secret,” Lauren told her. “You are. You like Tank.”

  Kimberly waved a dismissive hand at her. “Get out of here. No, I don’t.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. I haven’t seen you this starry-eyed since we met those two brothers in college, and you made me go out with the ugly one so you could date the cute one.” Lauren shivered in revulsion. “That guy had to be the worst kisser on earth.”

  “Well, I dated a few lemons for you, too,” Kimberly retorted.

  Lauren laughed, remembering some of the men in their lives. There’d been times when they hadn’t been nearly selective enough. “Come on,” she said. “Tank’s no body-builder, but if he asked you out tonight, you’d go.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Kimberly said, “He’s not my type
.” But she kept her eyes on the chip she was about to eat and wouldn’t look up.

  “Lucy’s your type,” Lauren prodded.

  Kimberly arched her brows and crunched the chip while gazing wistfully at Tank’s four-year-old. “That’s true. Lucy is definitely my type. I’d love to have a little girl just like her.”

  “Maybe you could get two for the price of one.”

  Kimberly’s face reddened, but the corners of her mouth started to twitch. “What about you?” she asked after a moment, in a voice that said she was impatient with her own transparency. “I’d accuse you of having the hots for Harley, but if you really liked him, I know you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that hideous outfit. Where’d you get that blouse, anyway? A secondhand store?”

  Lauren frowned at the outfit her Aunt Myrtle had sent her for her birthday. She’d regretted choosing it from the first moment she’d put it on, but she wouldn’t let herself change—because then she’d be admitting that she cared what Harley thought, that she wanted to impress him.

  At least she’d given up on the glasses and put in her contacts. “It doesn’t matter what I look like,” she said, unwilling to explain that the outfit was actually part of her plan to distance herself from Harley. Especially since it didn’t seem to be working.

  Kimberly shrugged. “Suit yourself. At least Harley and Brandon seem to be getting on well.”

  In between frequent interruptions when Harley turned the chicken cooking on the grill, father and son were throwing the football back and forth on the grass between the blanket and the play area. Lauren had been enjoying the sound of their voices as they called to each other and sprinted or dived for the ball. “Did you see that spiral?” Brandon would cry. “It was beautiful, Dad.”

  “See? You’ve got a good arm,” Harley would say, but from Lauren’s vantage point, it was Harley who had a good arm. And a great body. Watching him run around in shorts, his arms and chest flexing beneath his T-shirt as he caught and threw, made for an enjoyable show—one that left her feeling too warm, even though a cool breeze had started filtering through the shady trees.

  “I’m glad I let them be together,” Lauren said.

  “Even though you’ll have to pay the price?”

  “Even still.”

  Kimberly shoved the bag of chips away and leaned back to cross her legs at the ankle. “Your parents might not have checked out of the hotel this morning, but they could still be home as early as tomorrow. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did the best thing for Brandon.”

  “Really?” Lauren smiled at her friend and reached over to squeeze her arm. She felt bad that Kimberly’s marriage hadn’t worked out, but she was delighted to have her back in Portland. Life just wasn’t the same without her.

  “How’s the job hunt?” Lauren asked, hoping to distract herself from drooling over Harley.

  A pained expression crossed Kimberly’s face. “I’m afraid that in order to get a job, I’m going to have to actually apply.”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “But there’s no hurry, right?”

  “I thought you wanted to be busy. I thought your parents were driving you crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as putting on a pair of panty hose and going to one interview after another. In another couple of weeks, I think I’ll go back to Baer, Bower and Horton, anyway. They might be a little stuffy for my tastes, but most accountants are. And they like me well enough there. I think I can eventually make partner. When I left, they said the door would always be open.”

  “At least you’ve got that as an option.”

  “Aunt Lauren, come and play with us,” Brandon called.

  Lauren considered Harley and Brandon, who had both turned expectantly toward her, and glanced at Kimberly. “Do I really want to get out there and make myself look like an uncoordinated dork?”

  “Naw. You’ll get grass stains on your pants.”

  “I’m not afraid of getting dirty,” Lauren protested.

  Kimberly blinked at her in surprise. “I admit that ruining those pants wouldn’t be much of a pity, but—”

  “But nothing,” Lauren said and hopped up to prove to Harley that she could be as carefree as the next woman.

  LAUREN COULDN’T THROW worth anything. Harley scratched his head, then loped over to give her a few tips. If she could only remember to put the opposite foot forward when she extended her arm, she’d probably be able to throw a lot farther. It was definitely apparent that she’d spent her childhood reading books and not climbing trees.

  “Look, try this,” he said, modeling a solid throw. “See? You’re right-handed, so step forward on your left foot. That way you won’t throw your shoulder out trying to get the ball to me.”

  “Give it a try, Aunt Lauren,” Brandon yelled.

  Lauren wound up and heaved the ball to her nephew, but it was about the ugliest throw Harley had ever seen.

  “Was that any better?” she asked hopefully.

  “Er, yeah,” he said. “Just try to keep your elbow closer to your body.” Taking her arm, he started guiding her through the proper motion so she could get a feel for what she should be doing, but Tank looked up from swinging Lucy just then, and Harley let go of Lauren as quickly as if she’d burned him. While they were preparing the grill, Tank had mentioned that Damien had stopped by the apartment earlier and ranted and raved about Harley using Brandon to get close to Lauren. “He thinks you have a thing for Lauren,” Tank had said, laughing in amazement, “and you don’t even think she’s cute.” Harley had laughed, too, but he knew the joke was on him. After what Lauren had said in the living room about her love life, he’d imagined a hundred different ways to show her what she was missing—and that conversation had taken place only five hours ago.

  What I feel for her is just physical, and as fleeting as it is ironic, he told himself, but he had a hard time believing his interest was just physical when she was wearing old-lady clothes and no makeup and was such an embarrassment to women’s athletics.

  Brandon threw her a long spiral, and Harley backed away to give her room to field it. Lauren managed to catch it, with her arms and the aid of her body. She gave him a triumphant smile.

  “I catch better than I throw,” she explained, but Harley wasn’t too impressed with her ability on either end. He liked her enthusiasm, though. He liked that a lot. And he thought her smile was pretty damn cute.

  “Good job,” he said, wishing he was half as taken with any other woman in the park—or any other woman in the world, for that matter.

  She lobbed him the ball, he threw it to Brandon, and Brandon heaved her another long, spiral pass. Only this one was pretty far over her head. She started running backward and was so intent on the ball, Harley had the impulse to warn her about the uneven ground. But before he could get the words out, she reached up, bobbled the ball, dropped it and fell on top of it.

  “Aunt Lauren, are you okay?” Brandon cried, running toward her.

  Harley was the first at her side. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. At least not seriously,” she panted, but her brow was creased. Something hurt, and seeing her in pain was making Harley feel queasy himself.

  “What is it?” he coaxed.

  She didn’t answer for a moment. Rocking back and forth as though waiting for the pain to ease, she finally indicated her right ankle. “I wrenched it.”

  “Kimberly! Aunt Lauren broke her leg,” Brandon called.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” Kim asked, hurrying over, Tank and Lucy right behind her.

  Harley shook his head. “No need for an ambulance. I’ll carry her to her car and take her to the emergency room to have an X-ray. Any chance you could stay here with Brandon? The chicken’s not quite done, and there’s no need for the rest of you to miss the picnic.”

  “Is that okay with you, Lauren?” Kimberly asked.

  Lauren no
dded, her face now pale, but Brandon immediately protested.

  “I don’t want to stay here!”

  “You haven’t had anything to eat,” Harley told him.

  “I don’t care. I want to go to the hospital with you.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital,” Lauren said. “I just sprained my ankle, no big deal. I’ll take it easy for a few days, and everything will be fine.” She tried to get up but collapsed back onto the ground when her ankle wouldn’t support even a portion of her weight.

  Harley bent to examine the injury. “I think we should have a doctor look at it.”

  “It’s better to be safe,” Kimberly chimed in. “You want it to heal right, Lauren. Let Harley run you over to the hospital. Tank and I will take good care of Brandon while you’re gone.” She put a hand on Brandon’s neck. “You’ll stay with us, won’t you, Bran? And help us keep an eye on Lucy? Your father and Lauren will be back before you know it.”

  “Okay,” Brandon relented.

  Lauren blew a stray wisp of hair out of her face. “I guess a trip to the hospital is what I get for trying to show off my football prowess,” she said with a smile, but it seemed to Harley that her attempt at humor was aimed at keeping them from realizing just how much pain she was in.

  “You nearly had the ball, too, Aunt Lauren. You were doing really good,” Brandon told her, which was an absolute lie and everyone knew it. But his son’s desire to make Lauren feel better brought a smile to Harley’s lips. Lauren had done well by Brandon. He might not have had much of a mother, but he had a great aunt, and it was obvious they loved each other very much.

  A second later, Harley’s smile disappeared as he remembered the conversation he’d had with his own mother just last night. “I can’t wait until you take Brandon away from those snooty Worthingtons,” she’d said gleefully, an echo of his own feelings—once. But everything had changed. How could he take Brandon away from Lauren now?

  Then again, how could he leave him behind?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I DON’T SUPPOSE you’d let me take you to the hospital on my bike,” Harley said, the devilish glint in his eyes telling Lauren he was teasing, possibly to distract her from the pain. But he didn’t need to do anything special by way of distraction. Being carried in the cradle of his arms was more than enough.