Dancing in the Moonlight

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “You’re not responsible for what happened to you,” he went on, his voice low. “But you are to blame if you don’t grab that second chance you were given and run with it.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not doing much running these days.”

  “Walk, hop or crawl on your hands and knees if you have to. But move forward. That’s all you can do, sweetheart. It’s all any of us can do.”

  His words seemed to resonate deep in her heart, and she absorbed them there. He was right. Absolutely right. She thought of her nightly climb up those steep stairs to her bedroom, of how many nights she’d wanted to give up and curl up on the couch.

  But she’d gone.

  She’d started walking much faster than the doctors at Walter Reed thought prudent; she’d gone on when the physical therapy exercises had left her exhausted and shaking; she’d forced herself to do things around the ranch that were probably beyond what she should have been doing.

  On the physical side, she had been pushing herself from the first time they helped her out of bed at Walter Reed.

  But emotionally, mentally, she had retreated from anything that posed a risk. Nursing, for instance. All this time she’d been telling herself it was the physical challenge she couldn’t handle anymore. But as she sat there in her mother’s hideaway, she realized her real block against returning to medicine was her own fear of failure.

  She loved being a nurse-practitioner. As careers go, it had been rewarding and challenging and she had never wanted to do anything else.

  But because she loved it so much, she had been deeply afraid of failing at it, that she wouldn’t be able to handle the physical and mental strain of it anymore.

  That terrible fear of failure was holding her back, preventing her from even daring to attempt the things that used to provide her with such satisfaction.

  How many other things had she avoided even trying since her injury, simply because she was afraid to fail at them?

  Walk, hop or crawl on your hands and knees if you have to, he said. She would, she resolved.

  Now that it seemed as if Guillermo would be returning to the ranch, she resolved to look into going back to being a nurse, even if only for a few hours a week.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to focus on helping other people deal with their problems for a while instead of focusing wholly on her own?

  “Maybe you should have thought about psychiatry as a specialty,” she murmured. “You’re very good with crazy people.”

  “You’re not crazy,” he said. “What you’re dealing with seems perfectly normal to me. If you could survive the trauma you’ve endured without facing some of these issues, then I would have found you a good mental health specialist.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to write me a referral?”

  “Only your personal physician can do that, and I’m not your doctor, remember?” he teased.

  I’d certainly like to know what you are to me, she thought, but the answer to that question was still one of those frightening puzzles she was afraid to dig into too deeply.

  She settled closer to him, feeling the tension seep out of her like water from a wicker basket. She yawned a little and caught herself shivering at the same time.

  “We should get you back up to the house,” he murmured, his voice stirring her hair. “You’re cold.”

  “Not yet. Please?”

  “Let me throw another log on the fire, then.”

  “Mama usually keeps a blanket in the cupboard where I found the matches.”

  He rose and built up the fire a little, then returned to the chaise, pulling her close again and tucking the blanket around them both.

  She felt wrapped in a warm cocoon, as if the world outside this moment, beyond this small circle, didn’t exist.

  He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, and with a sigh she closed her eyes and let his heat and strength soothe her to sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When she woke, the fire was only glowing embers, the candles had guttered low in their holders, and through the trees she could see the Cold Creek was dark and quiet.

  The band members must have put away their instruments and gone home with the rest of the crowd.

  What time was it? she wondered, but she didn’t have a watch on and she couldn’t reach Jake’s to see its face.

  Jake.

  She was surrounded by him. Engulfed. His scent, masculine and citrusy, filled her senses, and she could feel his slow, even breathing beneath her cheek where she nestled against his chest.

  She lifted her face but couldn’t see much of him in the pale moonlight. His features were shrouded in shadow but she didn’t need light to make them out. She knew the curve of his lips, knew the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and the straight plane of his nose.

  One of his strong hands was tangled in her hair; the other held her close at the small of her back as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. She didn’t mind, she realized. She loved it here. She closed her eyes again and let her cheek settle against his shirt, careful not to wake him.

  He must have been so tired after enduring such a traumatic day. The death of a patient was never easy. She knew that sense of defeat, of failure, all too well. On those kinds of days she used to want to go home, shut the door, turn on loud, raucous music and hide away from the world.

  Yet Jake had come to take her to a party, then stayed to make sure she survived it.

  She sighed, snuggling closer. Oh, this was a dangerous pleasure. She wanted to stay here forever, wrapped in his arms. It would be so easy to forget the world existed outside their little haven. But it did. She could hear the water rushing over rocks in the creek, smell the sage and pine in the cool spring air.

  A strange and frightening tenderness seemed to take root inside her as she listened to his heart beat a comforting rhythm.

  How had Jake Dalton managed to become so important to her in such a short time? So very dear. It seemed like only a moment ago she had been fixing her flat tire on a deserted stretch of road, annoyed with him for stopping to help.

  A brief moment, yet a lifetime.

  She couldn’t seem to remember what her world had been like before he crashed his way back into it.

  Cold. Empty. Gray.

  She jerked her eyes open to stare at the darkened bowery, horrified and helpless as the truth seemed to pound into her brain with the relentless force of a jackhammer.

  She was in love with him.

  Her stomach knotted, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to hold in her instinctive moan.

  What have you done now, Magdalena?

  In love with Jake Dalton. How on earth had she let such a thing happen? Didn’t she have better sense than to allow herself to make such a drastic miscalculation?

  Her hand curled into a fist over his heart and she wanted to weep, but she screwed her eyes shut to hold in the tears.

  Maybe she didn’t love him, she tried to rationalize. Maybe she and her self-esteem had just been so battered and bruised by life and her ex-fiancé’s rejection that she’d turned to the first male who had paid her a little attention.

  She discarded that theory as soon as it popped into her mind. No. This was definitely love. It washed through her, strong and powerful and undeniable.

  Now what the heck was she supposed to do about it?

  Oh, this would never do. She couldn’t bear another rejection. Her poor heart would crack apart. But she didn’t see any way for this to end in anything but disaster.

  What did she have, anymore, to offer to a man like him? He was strong and healthy and decent. And she was a mess.

  She stretched out her gimpy leg as those damn phantom pains clawed at her.

  Who would want to willingly take on someone with her problems? She faced a lifetime of challenges. Medical expenses, prosthesis adjustments, lingering physical and psychological issues.

  Any sane man would run for the hills
when confronted with all that, even if he could manage to get beyond the obvious deformity of her missing limb.

  She let out a long, slow breath, her heart aching already in anticipation of the pain she knew was inevitable.

  Every instinct warned her to make a clean, solid break while she still had a chance, before she slipped further down this hazardous path. Starting now. It was foolish to indulge herself, to savor the pleasure of lying here in his arms when she knew what lay in store for her.

  So move, already, her inner voice suggested tartly.

  She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay curled up against him, feeling his slow breaths in her hair and his heartbeat beneath her fingertips and his solid strength against her.

  A few more moments, she told herself. Couldn’t she treat herself, just this once?

  Before she could answer that question, he stirred beneath her and she felt the tenor of his breathing change as he started to wake. She froze, trapped in his arms, cursing herself for not moving faster.

  Now she couldn’t break free as he tightened his hold and angled his head to give her a sleepy smile that curled her five remaining toes. She could swear she felt the missing ones clench, too.

  Phantom sensation, they called that. Different from phantom pain but just as disconcerting when she could swear she felt someone tickle a foot that was probably decomposing in a garbage dump in Kabul right now.

  “Hey, there.”

  “Hi.” She tried to shield her expression so he wouldn’t guess the tumult of her thoughts, the stunning revelation that had struck her while he slept. “I was just thinking I should try to wake you up so you could go home and stretch out on a decent bed.”

  “Why would I want to do that? My bed has nothing on this place. I haven’t slept that deeply in a long time. Maybe I’ll have to talk to Viv about renting her hideaway to me.”

  She forced a smile. “You might be a little cold out here in the middle of December.”

  “Not with you around,” he murmured.

  Something hot and bright flashed in his blue eyes like a brilliant firework exploding. Before she could brace herself against it, he dipped his head, and his mouth found hers.

  The tenderness in his kiss scrambled all her defenses like a radar jammer, and she couldn’t seem to remember all the many reasons she should put a stop to this. The man she loved held her in his arms and she could focus on nothing else.

  He pulled her across him and tangled one hand in her hair. As he drew her close, she could feel the hard ridge of his arousal near the apex of her thighs.

  Her breasts were full and achy where they pressed against his chest, and she wanted desperately to arch into him, to soak up his heat.

  Her inner voice warned her to stop, that this was too dangerous to her heart. She listened to it for perhaps half a second, then he licked and nibbled at her mouth and she was lost, giving herself up to the magic of the night and of Jake.

  They kissed forever, until her thoughts were a hazy blur of hunger and need. Until she couldn’t think of anything but him—his mouth hard and demanding, his hands exploring her skin, his body solid and comforting beneath her.

  Their hands explored each other through the frustrating layers of cloth, and she found it a relief when he shifted her beside him again on the wide chaise to work the intricacies of the buttons on her blouse.

  The sight of his strong hands on her small buttons struck her as immensely erotic and she paused to watch him as he pulled her shirt open, baring the lacy bra beneath. His thumb danced across one nipple, and it strained, pebbling against the soft cup.

  She couldn’t hold back a shiver at the torrent of sensation pouring through her.

  He paused, concern flitting across his lean, masculine features. “You’re cold. Let me put another log on the fire.”

  “No. Please. Don’t stop.” If he did, she knew she feared she would never be able to find the courage again.

  She reached for his face and drew him down to her, kissing him fiercely. He groaned and responded with the same hunger, his mouth tangling with hers and his hands exploring her curves.

  He pulled her shirt free and worked the clasp of her bra, until her breasts were free and exposed. Moonlight slanted over her, and he watched her for several long moments, his eyes hot and aroused.

  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His low voice plucked and strummed along her nerve endings.

  “Show me,” she murmured.

  He groaned and lowered his mouth to take one taut, aching nipple into his mouth. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding him to her while he touched and licked and teased, until she was consumed with the similar need to touch him and taste him.

  Her hands went to his shirt, and she pulled it free without bothering to work the buttons. His muscles were every bit as beautiful as they had felt through cloth, rippling and hard, and she couldn’t resist tracing her fingers across his pectorals.

  Even though she hadn’t reached them yet, his abdominals contracted at her featherlight touch on his chest and he let out a long, ragged breath and kissed her.

  She wanted to stay lost in his kiss, wanted to forget everything but the heat and wonder blooming to life inside her.

  She should have been expecting it, bracing herself for it, but before she quite realized what was happening, he reached a hand to the snap of her slacks and worked her zipper free.

  Cold, cruel reality slapped her and she froze, her heart racing as panic suddenly burst through her with the speed and force of a bullet. In a moment she would be naked and there would be nowhere to hide. The ugly plastic and metal prosthesis—the hardware she despised—would be laid bare for all the world.

  For Jake, anyway, and somehow that seemed far, far worse.

  The couldn’t do this. She couldn’t!

  Despising her cowardice but helpless to overcome it, she jerked away from him, nearly falling off the chaise in her hurry to escape. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her, of being open and exposed in front of him. She knew what she looked like without her clothes. Horrible. She wouldn’t be able to survive if he turned away from her.

  She scrambled to stand, holding on to the frame of the other chair until she could balance. Her shirt hung open and she leaned a hip against the chair for support so her fingers could work the buttons, but they fumbled as if the buttons were ten times larger than the holes they had to fit into.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t…I’m not…” She closed her eyes. “It’s late. We should both be in bed.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes in the moonlight but she could feel the heat of emotions vibrating off him.

  “Dammit, Maggie,” he growled. “What happened?”

  She gave up on the last few buttons and just held her shirt closed with her fist. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  He stood. With his shirt off, his skin gleamed in the moonlight. She had to curl her other hand into a fist at her side to keep from reaching for him, and she finally had to jerk her gaze away, miserable with herself.

  “Why did you stop me? You wanted that as much as I did. Don’t bother to lie and pretend you didn’t.”

  Knowing he was right, knowing she deserved his anger, she faced him without words, still breathing hard. She wanted to die, to curl up into a ball and disappear.

  “What happened? What did I do? Don’t you think I deserve to know that?” In the moonlight she saw his gaze narrow. “Was it because I was trying to undress you?”

  She had no answer to that, either, and she couldn’t bear to admit the truth, so again she said nothing.

  He apparently took her silence as confirmation and accurately guessed the reason. “It was. You didn’t want me to see you. What did you think I would do? Run screaming in the night if I happen to catch sight of your prosthesis? I know exactly what to expect. I’ve seen you with it and without it, remember?”

  “In a clinical situation,” she countered. “Not like this.’”

  “What the hell differe
nce does that make?” He reached for his own shirt, shoving his arms in the sleeves.

  “Everything.”

  If he didn’t understand, she couldn’t explain it to him. Having him look at her ugly, deformed stump as a physician had been tough enough for her to bear. She couldn’t endure this, to have him look at her in all her ugliness through a lover’s eyes.

  She didn’t want to be perfect. Only normal.

  She couldn’t stay here, in this place that had provided such a fleeting sanctuary, where she had discovered love and heartache all in one convenient package.

  With jerky movements she blew out the remaining candles and headed back along the gravel path toward the house, wanting only to be away from him.

  He didn’t give her the chance to escape quickly, as she supposed she knew he wouldn’t. He followed right behind her, a solid mass of angry male at her back.

  “How many reasons are you going to find to push me away, Maggie?” he growled, following while she moved as fast as she could across the uneven ground. “Haven’t I proved to you yet that I don’t give a damn about your missing parts?”

  “This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

  “It sure as hell is about me.”

  Sounding more furious than she’d ever heard him, he reached out a hand and stopped her just as they entered the glowing circle from the vapor light on the power pole near the house.

  “It is about me,” he repeated. “It’s about you not daring to trust me, about you comparing me to your bastard of a fiancé and thinking I will turn away from you, too, just when you need me. I won’t. I’m not like him. Can’t you see that?”

  Oh, yes. She couldn’t imagine two men more different. She thought she had loved Clay. She had agreed to marry him, for heaven’s sake. But what had seemed so powerful and real before she headed to Afghanistan so long ago seemed pale, insipid, compared to this raging storm inside her when she looked at Jake in the moonlight.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, to the ache starting to spread there, then let out a breath. “Go home, Jake,” she murmured.