Once in a Blue Moon

by Linda Anderson

  Will took a second appraisal of the congenial man to whom he was talking. Buck Henry stood as tall as he, but they were of different build. If Will had to describe him briefly, he would say Buck looked like an impeccably dressed wooden ruler, “a thin rectangle.” Buck’s slender handsome face sat on a long neck and met slim squared shoulders, and so it went all the way down to his trim cordovan wing tipped shoes. He was painfully neat, and ran a hand across the top of his severe “army-issue”-type brush-cut hair from time to time.

  “How interesting,” said Will. “It’s nice to know Miss Rivers is available if I have questions. Could you direct me to the section I should be in?”

  “Sure. Go past fiction and turn right. Most of it is on the back wall in the history area.” He pointed to the rear of the library. “Addie discovered some handwritten stories, which were years old, and those are under lock and key. You’ll have to ask her about those.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Will shook hands with the man again, and turned away.

  But Buck Harvey didn’t move. “How long you going to be here?” he asked.

  Will thought it was none of the man’s business, but he stopped and turned around to say, “I’m not quite sure. Could take me two days, could take me a month.”

  “I see. I don’t think there is enough material for a month’s work.”

  “Well, I won’t know until I get into it, and I’ll probably do some traveling and story gathering on the back trails myself.”

  “You’d better let one of us know if you plan to do that. Some of the elder mountaineers are wary of strangers, and aren’t too friendly.”

  Will’s first opinion of this seemingly congenial man began to change. At first a friendly helpful person, Buck Harvey now seemed nosy, controlling, and perhaps even hostile.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Of course,” said Buck. A brief, big smile blazed across his face, then disappeared quickly. His duty to be friendly taken care of, Buck lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the door. “Good luck.”

  “Right,” said Will, and walked toward the aisle Buck had indicated. Eager to get to work, he started down the aisle, but the sound of Buck’s fading footsteps stopped, and Will looked over his shoulder to see what had halted the man.

  Buck raised his hand in farewell again. “Sorry, just wanted to be sure you were headed in the right direction.”

  Will nodded and walked on.

  When he reached the area he’d been looking for, he heard the faint sound of closing doors behind him and knew with an odd relief that Buck Harvey had finally left the library.

  He swiftly surveyed the three shelves holding the work he was interested in, realizing with excitement that he’d found a treasure trove. In front of him was a veritable feast of boxes, books, pamphlets, and note pads containing tales he could use in his lecture series, and material that he needed to complete his new book.

  Sorting through the books, Will chose three to start with, and gave the remainder of the material a wistful look. He couldn’t wait to delve into it all. He took the books to a nearby table, extracted pads and pen from his backpack, and sat down to work. A coffee-colored cat arrived to inspect his moccasins, sniff up and down his legs, and finally, purring intimately at Will’s friendly strokes, to curl under the table next to his feet as if they belonged together.

  Set to begin work, he riffled through one of the books, but had an odd sensation that he wasn’t alone, that someone watched him. He looked up to find a big, brawny, middle-aged man dressed in denim overalls and red flannel shirt observing him. He clutched a broom and dustpan. Will got the impression that the man was inspecting him, considering whether Will passed muster.

  “Hi,” said Will. “You must be the janitor. I’m Will Court.”

  The man said nothing, just continued to study him. Then he disappeared as quietly as he’d appeared. Will shrugged, and wondered how a huge, beefy guy wearing farm brogans could walk so silently. He shrugged again and focused on his books.

  Alone with his beloved work in the quiet library, Will soon was deep into the first of the volumes he’d picked, Forgotten Legends of the Appalachians. Laughter, and the high pitched voices of children hurrying through the area near the receiving desk and out the doors barely registered. He worked steadily, completely enamored with stories he’d never heard before.

  Thirst finally interfered with his concentration. It was time for a break, and he raised his head to look for a water fountain. He left his table to wander up and down several aisles, but found nothing, and finally entered the cleared space of the main area.

  Addie Rivers worked at the desk, her head bowed over books and papers. His soft-soled moccasins concealed his approach. She didn’t know that he watched her, and though it wasn’t fair, he took advantage of the opportunity and drank his fill of the picture she made.

  Autumn sun shone through the large window behind her, catching the coppery highlights in her hair that he’d noticed and appreciated earlier that morning. Her hair spilled softly over her cheek, hiding her smoky eyes, which disappointed him. Her eyes were what he remembered most from their encounter in the kitchen last night, her eyes and the way her graceful hands had moved so efficiently as she prepared the hot chocolate.

  She raked her hand through her hair in irritation, and shook her head. “Damn,” she muttered.

  Ah, ha, thought Will. The beautiful bookish lady has a bit of temper. The flickering flames that teased and licked at his groin flared higher. Not good, Will, not good. You’re here to work, not flirt with the librarian. But this is a vacation, too, a retreat, he reasoned with himself. Still not sufficient reason to be playing around with an engaged woman, Will.

  She tapped her pencil on the desk and the tat-a-tat-tat echoed loudly in the vast hushed room. It was chilly in the old house. She wore a cream cashmere turtleneck sweater. His heart hammered as he watched her stroke her arm up and down, up and down, warming herself, caressing the soft cashmere sensually, soothing her arm, and perhaps soothing herself.

  The phone on her desk rang, abruptly breaking the spell he’d cast around the two of them. He didn’t move as she picked up the receiver and lifted her gaze to notice him.

  She started and her eyes widened. “Hello, uh - Blue Springs Library.”

  He smiled, and her eyes grew wider.

  “Oh, hi, Mavis.” She listened to her caller while Will continued feasting his eyes on her face, the flawless cheeks, tinged with a faint pink now, the feathery eyebrows lifted in surprise at the sight of him, the sweep of her dark eyelashes as she closed her eyes for a second in response to a comment on the other end of the line.

  “No, Mavis, I’m positive Bradley didn’t take one of your pumpkins,” went the conversation. “We’re carving ours on Friday. Certainly. I would be delighted if you’d like to share some of your pumpkins with the children. Why don’t you come and help us carve? Okay. See you then.” She replaced the receiver.

  Shocked at Will Court’s sudden appearance, Addie realized that she had been staring at him for an embarrassing length of time.

  Still as a cat about to pounce, he didn’t move, didn’t alter his casual stance. Propped against the front section of Fiction A - M; his arms crossed, one foot cocked over the other, he stared right back at her. The acute blue of his eyes sped across the space between them, setting every nerve ending she possessed tingling with anxiety.

  She finally forced words out of her dry mouth. “Hello, Dr. Court. You surprised me.”

  “Sorry, Addie.” With a twist of his shoulder he pushed away from the bookshelf and came toward her. She held her breath, trying not to notice the way his soft faded jeans clung to wiry lean hips and long legs. He walked lazily, as if he had not a care in the world. Coffee followed close behind, tale waving arrogantly in the air as if this, at last, was another male he could relate to. “I thought you’d be expecting me.”

  What arrogance, she thought.<
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  “Oh, that’s right. You said you were in Blue Springs to do some research. Anything I can help you with?”

  “Yes, I think so. Your friend, Buck Harvey, said you were the curator of the Appalachian tales and legends collection. I understand you’re responsible for its fine reputation.”

  He placed his hands on her desk, and leaning toward her, supported himself on stiffened arms while he spoke. The sleeves of his sloppy navy blue cable knit sweater crumpled down over strong wrists and hands. Crisp dark hairs were scattered over the backs of his hands. A one day growth of dark beard stubbled his jaw, and Addie found it incredibly sexy. The gold earring glinted momentarily when he moved his head.

  What did he say? Oh, yes, her compilation of mountain stories. A fierce sense of ownership flared within her, which surprised her, and she found herself on the defensive. Other people had come to use the collection and she hadn’t reacted so vehemently. It was as if he had come to take a child away from her. What was there about Will Court that generated such strong feelings in her?

  “Why do you want to see that group of work in particular?” she asked, unable to keep the frost from her voice.

  He lifted his eyebrows at the tone of her voice. He removed his hands from her desk, and stood erect.

  “Perhaps I should explain. I teach American Literature at Yale, and my field of expertise is Appalachian folklore. I’ve written several books on the subject”

  “How did you find Blue Springs, Dr. Court? Our collection is considered one of the best, but it is not well known.”

  An indolent smile made its way leisurely across his angular face, and he stuck his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans. “I like to wander, Addie, and I especially like to wander when I’m searching for material. I don’t make arrangements. I discover more when I simply arrive somewhere. I spent a few weeks in Marysville last summer, and heard about the Blue Springs collection. So when it was time for my sabbatical, I came back this way.”

  To Addie’s dismay, she suddenly recalled that a Dr. William J. Court had written several impressive textbooks on Appalachian literature, its forms, origins, and history. She’d read one of his books three years ago when she’d first started her own selections. How could she have forgotten?

  This man had thrown her off-balance from the instant he’d opened the kitchen door last night. She’d been unable to think of anything except his eyes, the shock of black hair that fell across his brow, and her desire to sleep with the masculine aroma of him, to curl herself around it and hold it safe and soft around her all night long.

  She cleared her throat self-consciously. “I apologize, Dr. Court. I’m rather protective of the material, only because most people don’t appreciate its importance. I now remember reading one of your books several years ago. I’ll try to help in any way I can.”

  “Actually, I’m thirsty. I was looking for water.”

  “Sure” said Addie. She got up from behind the desk. “Go back to your work while I fetch a bottle of water from the kitchenette.”

  Addie got the water and made her way back to the corner where Dr. Will Court worked, with Coffee perfectly at home at his feet. The long maple table was piled with papers and books, and he seemed already engrossed in his work. A yellow pencil was clenched between his teeth while he wrote rapidly on a blue legal-size pad of paper with a ballpoint pen. The pad was a replica of the one she’d found on her desk this morning.

  Could Dr. Court have been in the library last night? Impossible. He’d arrived at Rivers Farm Bed and Breakfast while she was still at the library.

  She cleared her throat. He glanced up at her, and she could tell that for an instant he didn’t recognize her, and probably didn’t even know he sat in the Blue Springs Library. Addie guessed that he was in the back hollows of the mountains somewhere, maybe chasing revenuers, or telling tall tales around a fire, killing a “bar,” or kissing an innocent mountain lass.

  “Your water,” she said, and placed a paper napkin and the bottle on the table next to him.

  “Thank you,” he said. His eyes lightened as he focused on her and took a long swig of water. “Addie, this Bloody Mud Hollow story has a reference to a Simon Meredith, but I can’t find any further mention of him. Do you have anything else on the Meredith clan?”

  “Yes, I do, but it’s not included here because the Meredith history is in the genealogy section. We also have microfilm you can study, but I always start with books. Come, I’ll show you.”

  He unfolded his long lean body from behind the table and, in an ambling, lazy gait, followed her through several rows of stacks. Addie stopped in the center of a dim narrow aisle and ran her hand over volumes containing West Virginia’s families’ lineage.

  “Here we are. The Merediths are down here, I think.”

  She knelt to examine books and files on the bottom shelf. He knelt behind her, and stretched an arm across her shoulder to hold onto the shelf for balance and support. His shoulder touched hers, and if he extended his other arm he would have her enclosed, she thought nervously. Their fingers brushed as he too ran a hand over the contents. A peculiar lightness at her center almost drove her butt to the floor, and she heard her swift involuntary intake of breath.

  “Something wrong, Addie?”

  “No,” she said slowly, the word kind of falling out of her mouth like soft air.

  Luscious warmth spread low in her stomach and spiraled down where it shouldn’t. The lightness and warmth swelled until her inner thighs trembled. She grabbed the edge of the shelf and held on for dear life.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve turned two shades of white and back again.”

  He was so close behind her that his breath stirred her hair.

  “Really, I’m just fine,” she protested as she turned to look at him, and found his face inches from hers. He smiled that lazy, disturbing, but inviting smile again. Her eyelids fluttered and she felt light-headed.

  His smile faded. With gentle fingers he explored the contours of her face. “You’re beautiful, Addie Rivers.”

  Speechless and unable to move, Addie studied his rugged face.

  He rubbed his thumb lightly across her bottom lip, and whispered, “Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her.”

  The Two Gentlemen of Verona, recalled Addie hazily. Act Four, Scene Two.

  Weak with desire, curiosity, and a heady sense of adventure, Addie didn’t move as he closed the short distance between. His lips were rough and firm, and the coarseness of his stubbled chin sanded her chin. She collapsed to sit on the floor and Will went with her, never taking his lips from hers.

  “Dr. Court,” she said shakily, and meant to utter a ladylike protest, but found herself unable to say anything further.

  “Maybe you better call me Will, Addie,” he whispered against her cheek.

  He drew back to give her a penetrating look, and she knew immediate loss at the lack of his warmth against her cheek. She ached to kiss him, deep, and long, and hard.

  This is totally absurd, Adelaide Rivers. You’re sitting on the floor of the library engaged in dangerous flirtation with a man you just met - but, dear God, it feels so very right.

  Heart beating at breakneck speed, Addie leaned forward and kissed him. Will caught her to him, pulling her into his lap as the kiss deepened. His tongue prodded her lips and she drew it into her mouth, loving its demanding heat.

  “Addie. Addie, where are you?” Was someone calling her?

  The telephone rang on her desk up front, and someone called “Addie” again. Addie tried to fight her way to the surface of the drugged state she found herself immersed in, but was defeated by her strong craving for this man and his melting touch. She swam along through the hot, hazy, exciting currents Will created, lost in a world she’d only dreamed about.

  “Addie. Where the hell are you?” It was Joe calling, and Joe never cussed. The phone rang over and over, the intrusive noise reverberating through every nook and cranny of the
large house. She hadn’t switched on the answering machine. She didn’t care.

  Will withdrew from her mouth, kissed her on the temple, and said softly, “I think someone needs you.” “Yes, I, ah, better see what Joe wants.” Will got to his feet and helped her up. Addie’s head whirled and she leaned shakily against the shelves. She poked at her hair, blushing furiously all the while, and searched in vain through the pockets of her slacks for a tissue.

  Will, smiling, extracted a white handkerchief from a jeans pocket and tenderly erased from her face any traces of their kiss. “Okay?” “I don’t know” she said. Embarrassed, she tried to smile, but knew the result was lopsided.

  “Addie?” Joe’s voice was closer and she realized he was searching for her. The phone had stopped ringing.

  “It’s all right, you know. As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t done anything wrong, so don’t be embarrassed.” Will’s smile turned into a grin, a big delighted grin that creased his face from ear to ear. “In fact, I just had the best time I’ve ever had in a library, and I love libraries.”

  “I hear you, Joe. I’m coming,” she called.

  Will gave her a small wave and made his way quietly back to the Appalachia section. Addie took a deep breath, walked quickly to the front, and emerged from the aisle.

  Joe paced the area near her desk worriedly.

  “Joe, what on earth is so important? I was deep into some files in the back, I had to put them away before I did anything else.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she saw fear on his earnest face. “Thank God, Addie. I got worried when you didn’t answer.”

  “Something the matter, Joe?”

  He brought her to him briefly, gave her a quick self-conscious hug, and released her. “You’d better sit down. I have some bad news.”

  “Just spill it, Joe.”

  “Another member of your book group was found murdered last night. Jennifer Hatfield.”