In a Moon Smile

by Coner, Sherri

  “I don’t think you sound corny,” Dalton smiled. “I think you sound like one of those very rare, pure-hearted women who love deeply when they finally find the courage to love.”

  Hmmm. Were they still talking about her career? Or was Dalton trying to trick her into talking about her shitty love life? Whatever he was trying to do, she was not falling for it. “So anyway, my work is a big, important part of my life,” Chesney said quickly, almost breathlessly. Maybe she was too anxious to fill in the empty space between them. She was too haunted by her man curse to risk silence. He might try to dig through personal feelings and Chesney had already made up her mind. The handyman was not allowed to poke around anymore in her head.

  “Your novels always have a happy ending, don’t they?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Chesney nodded. “Always a happy ending. I like to dream, too, you know. And I want everything in my dream world to be all about rainbows and cupcakes. No infidelity. No liars or manipulators, either.”

  “I think that’s wonderful,” Dalton smiled again. “Hey, did I ever tell you that several of the women in town were already your fans? But since you’ve moved to Chesney Ridge, they have started their own book club.”

  “Really?” Chesney pressed her lips together and forced a smile. She didn’t know the thought would leave her pursed lips, but it escaped with no warning. “I always wished that I could celebrate my success with Grace. Not a single day goes by that I don’t wish I could talk to her or hug her or laugh with her again.”

  Dalton reached across the seat for Chesney’s hand, which was buried in her puppy’s fur. He seemed to study the petite, calloused hand covered completely by his own. Chesney silently stared at Dalton’s hand on top of hers.

  “Grace sees you, Chez,” he said. “I believe that.” He squeezed her hand gently. Chesney tried to breathe, but her body felt mushy. An odd, never-experienced wanting washed over her. Dalton placed her hand on the truck seat and stroked the top of her knuckles with his thumb. It was an amazing feeling. She closed her eyes to zero in on the electric jolt that moved from her hand to her arm and straight down her spinal cord. Conversations with Becca about past sexual experiences floated through Chesney’s mind. She had never reacted so physically and emotionally to any other man’s touch. The gentle caress of his thumb on her knuckles made her chest ache.

  Dalton then returned his hand to the steering wheel, eyes on the road. Chesney hung on to the warmth of his touch, wishing she knew what Dalton was trying to say with that gesture or if she was reading too much into it. From a narrow hairpin curve, Dalton turned onto a freshly graveled drive. Maybe a half mile from the road, Chesney saw his residence. Next to a wooden mailbox nearly overcome by big, pink snowball bushes, Dalton passed a hand-carved but unreadable sign hanging from the mailbox. He lived in a tidy two-story house with a brick porch. A lone rocking chair was on the porch, near a rather neglected looking pot of red geraniums. A neat white fence bordered the pasture near a large white barn looming to the left. Hoping he didn’t notice, Chesney’s eyes swept across the scene. This was where Dalton rested every evening after leaving her home. He sat there on the porch. He baled hay in that field and tended horses in that barn. These were the other dimensions of Dalton that she had never known. She braced for the meeting with Rose. In fact, Chesney already felt guilty that she was attracted to another woman's man. She envied Rose for claiming the heart of such a dimensional guy. She envied Rose for the evenings she shared dinner or a stroll through the woods with Dalton. Rose knew the sensation of her skin against Dalton’s. Rose knew the passionate heat of his body melting against her own.

  Stop it, Chesney. Stop that train of thought right now. You’re on your way to soft porn.

  Blossom hopped along excitedly as Chesney followed Dalton across the barn lot. She wondered if Rose was peeking out the window right this moment, watching Chesney lust after her man. Shame pinched at her chest and Chesney forced her eyes to the ground.

  Stop looking at his handsome hind-end. Rose isn’t stupid, you know. If she’s looking out the window, she will immediately know that you are staring at her man’s beautiful butt.

  “Let me check on the horses and I'll get you a cold drink,” Dalton said as they stepped into the barn.

  “That's okay,” Chesney said weakly.

  I would rather die of thirst than go inside your home and see the woman you make love to. I would rather drink from that trough over there than look into Rose’s eyes while she looks into yours.

  She blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the barn. Dalton filled a bucket with water and walked over to a stall. “Here you go, Rose,” he said.

  Chesney zeroed in on Dalton's voice. Did he say 'Rose?' She scooped Blossom into her arms and joined him next to the stall. A chestnut mare gracefully took a drink while her newborn colt lazed in the straw beside her. “This little girl was born this morning,” Dalton said softly as he stepped into the stall. He knelt down and ran his hand along the colt's velvet mane. “Isn't Rose's little girl beautiful? I’m thinking since she was born during that awful storm this morning that I might just call her ‘Stormy.’” He turned to smile at Chesney, who was stunned and silent.

  “Did you say Rose?” Chesney asked before she thought. “Is this Rose? I mean, this horse is named Rose?”

  “Yeah,” Dalton nodded then looked at her, confused. “Why?”

  “I…I...thought...”

  First, he grinned. Then he laughed aloud. “You thought Rose was a woman? Like a girlfriend?”

  Feeling her cheeks go fire engine red, Chesney only nodded. Delighted with her embarrassment, Dalton’s eyes danced. “Why would you care, anyway?”

  “I didn’t say I cared,” Chesney snapped. “I said I misunderstood you. That’s all.”

  “Is that all there is to it?” Dalton stepped out of the stall and faced her, close enough for her to see a few stray chest hairs peeking from the collar of his tee shirt. “Let’s see,” he said as he leaned against the stall and his eyes seemed to immediately read every single lusty thought his employer had ever entertained about him. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” he said slowly. “You thought Rose was my girlfriend. But now that I tell you Rose is one of my horses, you…”

  “What are you trying to say?” Chesney could hardly look at him. Her face was burning off.

  “When I explained that Rose is my mare instead of my woman, you looked, maybe relieved,” Dalton said.

  “Oh that’s silly,” Chesney nervously backed away, forcing a fake smile. Mortified, she felt the need to put some physical space between herself and the handyman. She could not trust herself to keep her hands fisted at her sides. Especially at this particular moment, when every nerve ending in her body wanted to touch him, kiss him, taste him. “Honestly Dalton, why would I care if you have a girlfriend? Or what you name your horse?” Her voice sounded maybe an octave lower than a squeaky toy and Chesney reminded herself again that she was a lousy liar and an awful actress.

  “When you discovered that Rose is my old mare, the expression on your face certainly seemed to tell a different story.” Dalton reached toward her and tucked a runaway curl behind her ear. “What about that, Chesney?”

  At that moment, she mustered the courage to look directly into his beautiful eyes. But the lusty feelings vanished. Chesney stumbled backward, suddenly overcome with a realization she did not expect or understand. She knew why now. It was suddenly apparent. She was drawn to the mystery man's face in Grace’s photo album because Dalton Moore's eyes were the exact same blue. Her stomach stirred uncomfortably. What did this mean?

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Feeling shaky and stunned, she tried to calm down. “I guess I'm just tired.”

  Though he looked at her for a confused moment, Dalton dropped the interrogation. “Do you mind driving my truck back to Chesney Ridge?” he asked. “I'll drive the tractor.”

  She nodded and walked numbly to the driver side of D
alton’s truck. She opened the door and plopped Blossom on the seat next to her. Dalton climbed on the tractor, waved with a smile and drove slowly toward the two-lane road, en route to Chesney Ridge. What about those blue eyes? Why did she feel that Dalton was keeping some kind of secret from her? What was going on?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even though her efforts were initially serious, Chesney no longer obsessed as often about keeping the handyman at a safe distance. Those walls she tried so hard to keep intact had grown jagged. The truth was that Dalton Moore had become her friend. They laughed often. They shared funny stories from childhood. She could depend on him and trust him.

  Oh my God, I could also love this man with everything I am. But the man curse keeps my heart in check. I would never risk our friendship to try at love. I already know I would fail.

  So Chesney focused on the positives, and there were many. She enjoyed the warmth they now showed one another. He counted on her to start the coffee every morning before he arrived. And she counted on Dalton to show up with still-warm pastries from Cathy’s Café along with the morning newspaper. Their mornings began in the happy new kitchen, skimming the headlines and discussing world events between jokes. By noon, Chesney made salads and cold cuts to share for lunch. As autumn began to cool the afternoons, they sometimes lunched outside under a shade tree.

  He felt like a good friend. He felt like the kind of guy Chesney could call in the middle of the night if the water heater blew up. These traits were important to her, not just because Dalton had become so important in her life but also because she didn’t feel as alone. She didn’t want to, but many times every day and every evening too, Chesney caught herself thinking about how Dalton’s rough, calloused hands might feel on her body. She wondered what his warm breath would be like against her neck. She certainly had no business wishing that Dalton would make wild love to her on the sun-drenched dock by the pond. And she obviously should stop thinking about sharing a morning shower with the handyman. But the truth of the matter was that Chesney was downright overcome with lust. Never in her life had she been so completely consumed with want. Her skin actually ached to be touched and kissed, not just by any man, it was this man.

  Every time Chesney fought off those damn daydreams, however, another one popped into her head. Nine times out of ten, the new love scene was steamier than the last, steamy enough to make her blush. Chesney had a sneaky suspicion that her horribly neglected body was exactly the reason she was more nervous, awkward and downright dangerous. She was a walking accident and she guessed it was all related to the fact that she was totally preoccupied with thoughts of wild monkey sex with Mr. Moore.

  “Damn it to hell,” Chesney yelled at the top of her lungs when she accidentally stepped barefoot into a glob of paint. Sage green oozed between her toes as she puffed out her cheeks, feeling the need for a blood-curdling primal scream. When she leaned against the wall to wipe the paint off her foot, Chesney somehow scratched her side on an exposed nail near the stairway.

  What in the hell is wrong with me? For heaven’s sake, I need to start wearing a helmet and a bubble suit.

  “What’s the problem?” Suddenly Dalton’s handsome face peeked around the corner. He surveyed the scene, choked back a belly laugh and managed to ask with a straight face if his employer was injured.

  “I thought you were working on the roof,” Chesney mumbled as she bent over to swipe at her green painted foot.

  “Before I climb up on the roof I wanted to see how the library shelves look since I sanded them yesterday,” Dalton made his way across the room and Chesney watched as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans for a rag. Then he moved close and gently took her foot into his hand. As he wiped at the paint, Chesney rested her hand on his shoulder to keep her balance.

  Oh my God I love to stare at the back of his lovely tanned neck.

  “That was a new one,” Dalton said softly as he dabbed at the bottom of her foot.

  “What are you talking about?” Inside, Chesney tried to ignore the chills that now raced through her body. As stupid as it sounded, watching Dalton wipe paint off her foot had become extremely erotic. She nearly moaned, for heaven’s sake, when he swiped at the smooth spot around her ankle.

  “Damn it to hell,” Dalton looked up at her and grinned. “Never heard anyone shout that before.”

  “Maybe I invented it,” Chesney said with a shrug. “Feel free to use it if you like.”

  Once the paint was wiped off, Dalton stood and made eye contact with his clumsy boss. He turned her to the side and gently lifted Chesney’s shirt to inspect the scratch.

  A surge of fire rumbled around in her stomach as Chesney stood perfectly still, watching Dalton inspect the nasty, jagged abrasion which was now bleeding. She had never wanted a man ever before like she wanted this man. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to snap out of this sexual trance.

  Don’t tremble. Don’t. Do. It. Keep breathing. You stabbed yourself on a nail. That’s all. This is not sexual. Nothing about this moment is sexual.

  “That’s pretty nasty looking,” Dalton’s voice interrupted Chesney’s intimate moment. “It’s also bleeding a little bit, Chez. Do you remember when you last had a tetanus shot?”

  Are you kidding me? With your hands on my skin, Dalton, I can’t even remember my name!

  His fingertips very lightly traced her side and she involuntarily shivered.

  Get it together, virgin chick. Breathe.

  “Remind me to look in my truck for some antiseptic cream,” Dalton said in a near whisper. “I’m sure I have some in the first-aid kit.”

  Chesney hated the thought but she absolutely had to get away from this man’s touch. She was trembling inside. If she couldn’t get control of herself, she would have to fake a seizure or something just to prevent Dalton Moore from knowing how lusty she felt.

  “Okay, well, I will try to remember that,” Chesney yanked her shirt down and moved away from Dalton. But not before he traced the edge of the cut as it crossed the bottom of her rib cage. And saw her shiver.

  Oh, damn it to hell.

  Dalton smiled wickedly and she pretended not to notice.

  “Okay, well,” Chesney cleared her throat and nervously backed away. “Back to work then, right? We’ve got lots to do. Yep. We sure do...so…umm…no more accidents for the rest of the day. ”

  Shut the hell up, motor mouth! Thank goodness your deserted vagina can’t blab, too. You would look like an even bigger fool! Stop talking. Zip those lips, chick.

  Thankfully, a surprise call from Becca took Chesney’s mind off the heat of Dalton’s hands. She had to work more diligently to switch off the pornographic video now playing in her head. Starring Dalton and herself of course, the movie in Chesney’s mind was a vivid High Definition flick filled with lots of coitus in lots of weird places.

  To chase the porn away, Chesney snatched at the phone. She also pretended not to notice that Dalton had removed his shirt before climbing the ladder to access the roof. “Thank goodness you’re calling, Bec,” Chesney sighed.

  “Is everything okay?” Becca asked quickly. “You sound a little bit breathless or hurried.”

  Don’t worry, Bec. I am panting a little bit because in my sick and twisted head, I have had sex all day with the handyman.

  “Everything is great,” Chesney gushed. “But I definitely need a break. I’ve had a difficult morning.”

  Though I have stepped in paint and stabbed myself with a rusty nail, the drama has not been enough to divert my attention from my sexually challenged vagina. If you really must know, Becca, my mind has taken up residence in the ghetto of kinkiness. I have happily skipped the cutesy love-me-darling stuff and moved immediately to hair puller intercourse with a couple of good spankings thrown in for good measure!

  Chesney propped the phone between her ear and shoulder while she walked into the kitchen to pour herself a tall glass of iced tea. “So tell me all your news, Bec,” she sighed. “I miss you
so much. And oh, did I tell you I have a puppy? She’s adorable. By the way, I also have some furniture.”

  “Slow down,” Becca laughed. “You’re talking about twenty things at once!”

  “Okay so let’s start over,” Chesney laughed. “Tell me first how you’re doing.”

  “Well I have a surprise for you,” Becca said. “I flew into Indianapolis, rented a car and I'm actually ten minutes away from your paint-chipped front door at Chesney Ridge.”

  “Are you kidding?” Chesney squealed happily.

  “I'll be right there,” Becca said and the phone went dead.

  Rushing through the house, Chesney straightened pillows and rugs. She lit a couple of candles to offset the fresh paint smell. Earlier this morning, she finished painting the trim in the hallway so that meant that most of the downstairs was completely redone. Even the windows had been replaced and polished. Becca’s bedroom was now completely decorated with buttery yellow walls and an amazing work of wrought iron art to serve as the bed frame. Chesney wanted Becca to fall in love with the tranquility and charm.

  She dabbed on some mascara and a tiny slick of gloss across her lips before stepping outside to climb the ladder. Once she reached the shingles, Chesney blinked hard, admiring Dalton’s gorgeous, shirtless chest. As he worked in the hot sun, perspiration glistened on his taut stomach and muscular arms. A beat-up old radio blasted hits from the 80s, so Dalton could not hear Chesney calling his name. That meant she could grab a few more moments of good old fashioned voyeurism before Dalton finally noticed her standing on the ladder. Now that she actually had a legitimate excuse, sort of, to be here at the top of the ladder, where she could stare at Dalton’s chest, Chesney felt panic rising fast.

  What in the world did I want to say to Dalton? Definitely not that I am willing right this moment to get shingle burns all over my butt if he wants to ravage me right there beside the chimney. It’s definitely not that I want to be the mother of his children. Maybe I should say that he happens to have the most amazing chest I have ever seen in my life. If the stars would align perfectly so I could get a close-up shot of my handyman’s body while he bends over in those tight jeans, I would then be ready to go to heaven. Oh, shit. Oh, Shit. Why in the hell did I climb this damn ladder?