Blue Moon Over Bliss Lake

by Cate Masters

  He pinched the bridge of his nose as the project manager’s excuses mounted. “All right, all right. I’ll be there tomorrow.” Damn it. So much for seeing Sierra. He wished he’d headed straight for The Sweet Spot after visiting Shotsie’s. He’d planned to ditch the guitar at his parents’ house then go to the shop. Instead, he’d have to book the next flight to San Diego.

  Should he call her? No, she’d think him pushy. She used to tease him about it when they were young. Back then, he had to be. Persistence can piss a hole through a rock, his dad always said. Or build a business.

  And he had. A thriving business. One that needed a little pushiness right about now.

  Booting up his laptop, he secured a ticket on a nine fifteen flight that night. The computer clock displayed two-fifty p.m. Time enough to pack his few belongings and swing by The Sweet Spot.

  The thought of seeing her lightened his mood. She always had that effect on him. Coming to depend on it again, he was all the more determined not to lose it a second time.

  He lifted the large overnight envelope that had arrived at his parents’ house that week. It contained more pages than he’d expected, but the long plane ride would provide him a chance to go over it thoroughly. He’d sign over everything he owned if it would free him of a loveless marriage.

  After shoving the envelope into his briefcase, he tossed the few toiletries and casual clothes he’d purchased into an overnight bag.

  His mom walked down the hall. “I’m going out, honey. Do you need anything?”

  “Actually, I’m on my way to the airport.”

  She backtracked to his door. “But you just got back.”

  “Something came up.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Oh. Will you be home for Christmas?”

  Home. It had a nice ring to it. “Before then. If you and Dad don’t mind, that is.”

  Her smile held no judgment, no conditions. “Honey, you know you can stay here as long as you like.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “And if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I know.” The thing he loved best about his parents—they gave, usually without being asked. Just like the O’Briens. Just like Sierra, though she sometimes gave too much of herself to others and not enough to herself.

  A brief kiss to his mother’s cheek and he grabbed his old football jacket. “See you soon, I hope.”

  She walked with him to the driveway. Before getting in her car, she called, “Have a safe trip, sweetie.”

  With a wave, he drove off. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” Greenery and strings of lights framed most windows of the businesses in town. Lighted angels, stars, and bells stretched across Main Street.

  He used to hate the over-commercialized holidays and blamed Bliss citizens for taking part. But he couldn’t deny the cheeriness of it all. On any given day, townspeople smiled and said hello to anyone passing by. When December rolled around, they were downright jolly. It had nothing to do with business, and everything to do with the spirit of the holidays.

  Sierra always loved that time of year. Her infectious joy had made it bearable for him back then. He’d looked forward to sharing it with her, sitting in front of the Christmas tree with spiked eggnog, watching the play of lights against the ceiling.

  Damn, he wished he didn’t have to leave. The sooner he got to San Diego, the sooner he could make sure the project became a deliverable product and return.

  Man, he couldn’t wait to see her again. His pulse raced at the thought, and he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.

  Had it only been five days since he’d left? Seemed like weeks, especially after telling Sierra he’d only be gone for three. Should’ve called her.

  He gripped the wheel. No, don’t overstep. Don’t rush her.

  The more time he spent with her, the harder it was to keep his head on straight. He wanted this to go exactly right, which meant letting it all fall into place on its own, slow and sure and strong. At the same time, he wanted to erase all those wasted years apart, to make a new start, and soon. Waiting practically killed him.

  He braked outside the coffee shop and headed for the door. Inside, Mrs. O’Brien chatted with an older couple.

  His fast entrance made the chime of the bell above the door brief. Much as he tried to maintain a cool composure, he couldn’t sit at the booth. Not until he knew.

  He made a beeline for her mother. “Hey, Mrs. O’Brien.”

  “Hi, Carter. Welcome back. Can I get you anything?”

  “Thanks, but no. Is your daughter working today?”

  She stacked dishes from a table and carried them to the front. “She’s home sick. Some sort of flu bug, poor thing. I’m going to bring her some soup and ginger ale.”

  Like a bee on honey, he followed. “Let me do it. You’re busy.”

  After a brief hesitation, she chuckled. “No, she sounds awful. You don’t want to be exposed.”

  “Yes, I do.” The good with the bad—how it was supposed to be.

  Skepticism crossed her face. “She’d be upset with me.”

  “I’ll take full blame. Please?”

  The woman sighed, and he had her.

  “I have a care package ready to go.”

  “Can you toss in a few sandwiches for me?” He pulled out his billfold.

  “Planning on staying awhile?”

  He attempted a smile. “I’m no Florence Nightingale, but yeah, I want to nurse her back to health.”

  “And then what?” Mrs. O’Brien’s stern expression gave a clear warning.

  Ah, so that was it. “That’s up to Sierra. I hope to convince her to let me stay longer. A lot longer.”

  Her face smoothed into pleasantness. “I’ll get those sandwiches. Put away your wallet.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. You’re doing me a favor. I’d have to close up early otherwise.” With skill born of years of experience, she wrapped the food and placed it in a pink bag with shop’s logo emblazoned on it. “You’ll find a key behind the evergreen in the planter by the front door. Give her my love.”

  And his too, hopefully. He took the bag and set it on the front seat of his car. An odd feeling settled over him, one of being watched. Scanning the area, he caught sight of a guy in an SUV parked down the street. A shadow behind the windshield, the man hardly moved. Waiting for Carter to drive so he could follow? Only one way to find out.

  Smooth as ever, the engine started. Carter checked for cars and foot traffic before easing the BMW out of the parking space and cruising past the SUV. The guy ducked his head, but gave himself away when they exchanged hard looks.

  Gotcha. Carter swung his BMW down a side street then took a series of turns that would put Escher to shame. Only after he was certain he’d lost the SUV did he head toward Sierra’s.

  Trepidation set in once he reached her front porch and found the key. Are you crazy? He’d take his chances.

  Stepping inside, he called, “Hello?”

  Silence. In fact, unnatural silence. After leaving the food in the small kitchen, he listened again for a response. Hearing none, he went to the end of the island and stood in the hallway.

  Tiny place. A bathroom off the kitchen, another room beyond that, probably a bedroom, door open. A pantry across from the kitchen and another possible bedroom, door closed.

  “Sierra?” he called more softly, in case she was sleeping.

  Still no answer, so he crept to the bedroom with the open door. At first, the jumble of blankets appeared unoccupied. Then he spied her hand on the pillow.

  “Sierra?” He kept his voice low, so as not to startle her.

  Not only did she not startle, she didn’t stir. He heaved a sigh. Okay, then. Work it is.

  With light steps, he headed to the front room, removed the laptop from the case, and set up on the kitchen island. Thickening darkness outside dimmed the interior, so he switched on a few lights.

  Rustling noises s
ounded from down the hall. Good, she’s awake.

  The light went on in the bathroom, and the door creaked halfway shut. “Mom, I told you not to bother. Canned soup isn’t that bad. And I can’t taste anything anyway.”

  His argument died before he could voice it. The toilet flushed then shuffling footsteps neared.

  She rounded the corner and rubbed her eyes. “I should eat something, I guess.”

  “What are you hungry for? Soup or sandwiches?”

  Eyes still covered, she froze and peeked through her fingers. Her mouth flew open.

  He shrugged in apology. “I told you I’d be back.”

  With a small squeal, she whirled, then disappeared.

  That went well. He followed with halting steps. “So, you’re not glad to see me?”

  “No.” Her hoarse voice cracked. “Not like this. I look horrendous. Like Medusa’s cousin.”

  “You look beautiful to me.” He stopped outside her bedroom. “I’m going to stay until you’re better.” Carl would have to muddle through without him for a few days more.

  The blanket shifted. “I can take care of myself.”

  “You’re sick. You need me.” He hoped she would eventually, anyway.

  A cough came from beneath the covers. “I’ve managed fine without you for ten years.”

  He ventured a few feet inside. “Have you? Because I haven’t. I’m not going to let you get away from me again.”

  She peeked out. “I’m not the one who’s going anywhere.”

  At least she didn’t tell him to leave. “All I want is a fighting chance.”

  “Fighting chance.” She harrumphed and blew her nose. “I had plenty of those with Ted.”

  Anger rushed up, and he clenched his hands into fists. “He didn’t hurt you.”

  She lowered the blanket to her chin. “Not physically. He had anger management issues.”

  No sense asking about Ted’s drinking; it would only dredge up more pain. He eased onto the end of the bed and waited.

  Miserable, she sat up against the headboard and hugged a pillow. “He lost his job the year before he died. No one would hire him.”

  Ironic, when Carter always looked for good employees. “Wish I’d known. I’d have given him a job.”

  Her look held mistrust, worry. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  Neither did Carter. “All right.” He stood and tucked the comforter around her. “Rest. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

  “As long as you’re here, I could use some soup.” Hair mussed, she glared up at him.

  God, she really was beautiful even without makeup. If only he could wake up beside her, see her like that every day. “I’ll heat up the chicken soup your mom sent. Anything else?”

  “I could use some tea, please.”

  He practically bounded to the kitchen. After everything was prepared, he arranged it on a tray, cursing himself for not thinking of buying flowers, the first thing most people thought of when visiting the sick. To make up for it, he poured milk into a creamer and set it on the tray beside the sugar bowl. What else? Crackers. He raided the pantry, found saltines, and fanned them onto a napkin. Satisfied, he carried it down the hall. “Your dinner, milady.”

  She smoothed the blankets on her lap and set the tray there. “And lunch and breakfast.”

  “You haven’t eaten all day?”

  “I haven’t had much of an appetite.” She sampled some soup. “Not since the article about your charity works. Really nice, Carter.”

  “What article?” He hadn’t kept up with the news, but this didn’t sound good.

  She shot him a glare. “In the business section of the newspaper? About millionaire Carter Grove giving thousands—an exaggeration, by the way—toward the operation for the homeless man’s dog? Seriously, it doesn’t ring a bell?”

  “No, I had no idea.”

  “No one interviewed you? I thought it was weird you disappeared afterward.”

  “That day? I went to Shotsie’s, not for an interview.”

  “To the music store?” She shook her head as if it made no sense.

  He’d be e-mailing the newspaper later that day. “Ask her. She’ll tell you.” But please wait until after I play for you.

  Clearly unhappy, she spooned more soup into her mouth.

  Watching her eat, he became hungry, too, but not for soup. “Good?”

  Sullen, she said, “Wish I could taste it. Didn’t you have some?”

  “Your mom sent some sandwiches, too. I’ll have one later.” When she’d finished, he lifted the tray. “Need anything else?”

  She scooted back and hugged the covers against her. “I forgot the cold medicine. Can you get it from the bathroom?”

  “Be right back.” Exchanging the tray for the medicine, he measured some of the liquid out and handed it to her.

  She drank it dutifully and rested her head back on the pillow. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Surprisingly, he meant it. He’d never before taken care of anyone, but it felt good. Really good.

  Her eyes closed and she murmured something unintelligible.

  He tucked the comforter around her. His anger built about what she’d told him. If he’d had any clue about Ted, he’d have ripped his head off. She deserved romance and decadent pampering.

  All the things he’d also forgotten how to give a woman.

  While she slept, he canceled his flight and hotel, shot off an e-mail to Carl, then got down to more important business. He Googled most romantic ways to show a girl you love her. Half the sites in the list of results proved to be crap, but a few had the basic foundation for romance. Think of what she needs, advised one, and give it to her. Add something personal to make it mean something.

  He strolled back and forth across her living room. What did she need? Besides a bigger house?

  He stared out the window. Twinkling lights framed the homes within view. It wasn’t like her not to have any decorations, especially a Christmas tree. He’d go buy her one, a real evergreen. Her mother would know where she stored the trimmings. In high school, Sierra had loved lots of decorations.

  Her parents’ house across the way shone with them. He jogged to their front door and rang the bell.

  Mrs. O’Brien opened it. “Carter. Is Sierra all right?”

  “She’s sleeping. She had some soup earlier, and said to tell you thanks.”

  She tilted her head. “Thanks, and that she’d get me back later, huh?”

  “No, she was really grateful.” He cleared his throat. “I wondered if you knew where she stored her holiday decorations?”

  “Oh, honey, she sold or gave away most of her old things. When she came home, she brought only her clothes and a few personal items. She wanted to start over fresh. Leave the bad memories behind.”

  “I understand. Thanks.” Knowing what he now knew about her life, Carter understood all too well. Poor Sierra. And how brave of her to start her life over like that. Brave and smart.

  Time for him to do the same. A clean slate would give them the foundation they both needed.

  ***

  A thud against the side of the house roused Sierra. She squinted toward the window. Damn cold medicine kept her head foggy. Footsteps clunked up a ladder, and a string of lights scraped the glass.

  Good old Dad. He had to be hanging Christmas lights for her, probably after spending all day putting up lights on The Sweet Spot and his own house. Why couldn’t she be lucky enough to find such a great guy?

  Carter’s a great guy.

  For now, at least. He’d really surprised her, bringing soup. Relationships always began so well. Time seemed to sour most of them. Outside of Bliss, at least.

  Mom and Dad had shared thirty-seven years of marriage—how did couples manage to stay together so long? And so happy? Her parents still beamed at each other, couldn’t pass the other by without a loving pat.

  The whole town was made up of such couples. Those who did split up had don
e so after moving away. She’d never noticed it as a kid, but now it struck her as strange.

  Maybe it was something in the water. Hope Carter and Barbara didn’t drink any. An image of them clinking champagne flutes in a hot tub startled her enough to sit up. It’s none of your business.

  From the living room, Chrissie Hynde sang the one song that used to haunt her over the holidays, about a lover who was gone, two thousand miles away. It always brought Carter to mind, even while she’d been married.

  Funny, her first Christmas without Ted, and she still thought only of Carter. When had he left? Probably not long after he’d seen her near-perfect imitation of a Gorgon. But he didn’t seem to notice when he brought me soup. In fact, he beamed at me like…. She sat straighter and clutched a pillow. Maybe there really was something in the water.

  The front door opened and closed. Rustling sounded, like someone hanging up their coat, and then the clunk of boots on the floor. He whistled along with the song as it ended.

  Wait. Dad doesn’t know that song.

  Carter appeared in the doorway. “Hey, you’re awake. Good, I have a surprise for you.”

  How could he smile at her when she looked so bad? Her hair a rat’s nest, no makeup. She raised the comforter to hide her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “I never left.”

  “Since when? How long have I been asleep?”

  He shrugged. “Since last night.”

  “But I thought you had to leave.”

  “I told you I’d take care of you. Are you up to a walk?” At her startled look, he added, “To the living room, that’s all.”

  “I am tired of lying around.”

  “Yeah, and a change of scenery will do you good.” He helped her into her robe and guided her past the kitchen and dining area.

  Softly flashing lights drew her to the wide Christmas tree strung with wooden beads resembling cranberries, brand new glass orbs and stars, and ornaments of all kinds. “How did you do all this?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it. Thank you.” Her breath caught as she looked closer at each decoration. “These are incredible.”