Moonlight in the Morning

by Jude Deveraux

  The last time she was home she’d tried to get Joey back to performing. But Sheila had declared the show “undignified,” so he didn’t do it anymore.

  Now, looking at the chainsaw pieces covering the dining table made Jecca smile. The sight had good memories for her—and it made her miss her dad and Joey. If they were there they’d put the thing back together in about nine and a half minutes.

  “Be careful,” Roan said as he came in carrying a load of wood. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  She took a moment before turning around. She’d heard that tone at least once a week all her childhood. It said, “You’re a girl. You couldn’t possibly know anything about tools.” Over the years she’d wiped many of those smug little smiles off men’s faces.

  When she turned to look at Roan, she was smiling.

  Tris was behind him. “Jecca’s dad—” he began, but cut off at her look.

  “Did you take it apart?” she asked, wide-eyed, innocent-sounding. It was the tone and expression she’d used on any man who assumed she didn’t know how to use a power tool. Their regulars, especially the contractors, loved to hear that tone. They knew what was coming. Jecca was going to show some MCP exactly what she did know asheng at tbout tools.

  Some of the contractors used Jecca to test new employees. They wanted to see how he’d react to being bested by a girl. When she did outsmart them, some men got angry—Joey’d slammed a left hook into the belly of one of them—but most men laughed at themselves.

  “Yeah,” Roan said in a gruff voice, “but it’s worn out. I need a new one.”

  Jecca knew that particular make and model of chainsaw, and it was less than a year old. It was her guess that Roan—college professor that he was—didn’t know how to use it. He’d probably tried to saw through a fence post but hadn’t detached the fence. If that was so, he was lucky to still have all his limbs.

  Roan turned to Tris. “I’ll have to drive into town tomorrow and get a new saw. I need to get the wood cut for the winter. It’ll be cold up here.”

  Tris was looking behind Roan at Jecca. He had an idea she was up to something, but he didn’t know what. He gave her a smile that let her know that whatever she did was all right with him.

  Fifteen

  Jecca couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the fact that she’d slept until eleven that morning, or maybe it was because Tris was so close but so far away. It wasn’t possible, but after just one night together, she missed him beside her.

  But then, her sleeplessness could have been caused by Tris’s cousin Roan. All through dinner he’d been quiet. She didn’t have to be told that silence wasn’t usual for the man. What college professor didn’t love to talk?

  She glanced across to the other bed, at Nell sleeping peacefully. Moonlight came in through the window and shone on the child’s pretty face. In spite of her nap in the car, she had been so tired she’d nearly fallen asleep at the table.

  Tris had carried her to bed, Jecca got her into pajamas, and they’d both kissed her good night. By the time Jecca got back to the living room, Roan had cleared the plates away and put them in the rickety old dishwasher.

  It should have been a time for the adults to sit around a fire and get to know each other, but that didn’t happen. Roan’s silence made Jecca feel awkward and that she wished she hadn’t come. After all, it was his house, and he had a right to choose his visitors. Maybe tomorrow she’d return to Mrs. Wingate’s and work on Kim’s ads.

  Not long after Roan excused himself to go to bed, so did Jecca. She gave Tris a quick kiss, then slipped into the bedroom with Nell. She quickly undressed, pulled on flannel pajamas, then lay there, staring at the ceiling.

  At midnight she gave up trying to sleep. That chainsaw on the dining table was haunting her. She put on her robe and slippers and tiptoed out into the living room.

  She didn’t want to turn on an overhead light for fear of waking anyone, but she did manage to pull an old floor lamp—circa 1952—near the table.

  For once she was glashengne, d that a do-it-yourselfer had tried to repair a machine, because Roan had left his toolbox at the end of the table. Opening it, she saw that the tools were basic, all of them bought in sets, so most of what he had was useless. But there was enough that she could do the job.

  One thing she’d taught herself was that when she was doing her artwork she couldn’t think bad thoughts. She’d learned that the hard way. Years ago, the day after one of the worst fights of the Sheila War, Jecca had done six watercolors, her homework.

  On Monday when her paintings had been critiqued by her drawing teacher, she’d been shocked to see that all her anger had gone into her work. If they’d been good she would have said seeing her father dueling with his daughter-in-law had been worth it. But the paintings were truly bad, the worst she’d ever done.

  As she started to reassemble the chainsaw, she tried to come up with ideas for Kim’s ad campaign. The familiarity of washers and screwdrivers and even the motor relaxed her, and she soon fell into a routine.

  “I use my orchids,” she heard and wasn’t surprised to see Tristan standing at the end of the table. He had on sweatpants and nothing else. They hung very, very low on his hips.

  “Use your orchids for what?” she managed to say.

  “When I want to calm myself down, I go to them.” He sat down across the table from her.

  “Why does your cousin dislike me?”

  “He thinks you’re going to break my heart.”

  “You told him that I’m going to leave?”

  “No,” Tris said. “He could see that you’re a city girl and they don’t stay in Edilean.”

  Jecca held up a crescent wrench and a bolt. “What part of me looks city?”

  “Maybe it was your jacket.”

  Smiling, Jecca told how Andrea had dropped a curling iron on it and singed the leather. Of course she couldn’t wear it again, so she tossed it to Jecca. “She was letting me know that she was too good to wear damaged goods, but I wasn’t. So that’s Roan’s problem?”

  “Yes.” Tris handed Jecca a short screwdriver when she reached for it. “He knows I wouldn’t bring anyone up here unless I was serious about her, so he’s concerned.”

  “You know I really can’t—”

  “Don’t say it,” Tris said. “I’ve heard it too many times. Would you like to go fishing tomorrow? And by that I mean I fish while you and Nell do art things.”

  She had the chain in her hands as she looked at him. “Not a bad idea. The lures could be yellow sapphires.”

  “Think they’ll catch more fish?”

  “More customers,” Jecca said.

  “Any chance you’ll get that thing put together before dawn?” he asked in a low voice as he stood up. It didn’t seem possible set="0em" but his sweatpants had fallen even lower on his hips.

  She knew what he meant by his question, and her eyes were riveted by his bare torso.

  “You know that first night when you felt my face?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “That felt so good that I thought maybe we could go into the moonlight and I could, well, feel your entire body.”

  She looked up at him. In the light of the single floor lamp, his eyes were like a blue fire.

  “Hold this!” she said, handing him one end of the heavy chain. “I’m going to beat Joey’s time.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I like your tone.”

  She finished putting the chainsaw together in just under four minutes. Maybe someday she’d brag to her brother that she’d at last beat his time. Except that she wouldn’t be able to tell him the circumstances of her speed.

  Tristan came around the table in an instant and pulled her into his arms. “Outside,” he murmured. There were too many people inside and they didn’t want to disturb them.

  Jecca was kissing his shoulders, his bare chest.

  He took her hand and led her to the front door, then outside. “Come on,” he whispered. “I
know where the moonlight dances with the flowers.”

  Yet again, she was following him through the dark, her trust in him complete. She heard night sounds around them and it felt oh so familiar. The sounds, the smells, the cool air, the darkness that surrounded them, Tris’s hand holding hers, all these were what had made her fall in love with him.

  At that thought, Jecca knew she should correct herself, but being with Tris in the dark was too sweet to want to think of anything but love.

  She smelled the flowers before she saw them. Whereas the area that she had seen around the cabin was mostly rough, here was an exquisite little garden. The moonlight did indeed dance on three small beds of white flowers that surrounded a patch of soft grass.

  “Come with me,” Tristan said as he held both her hands and led her into the enchanted little place. Once inside, he kissed her face, her neck, and his hands easily slipped the robe off her shoulders, then expertly unbuttoned her pajama top. The soft fabric slid away. When her bare skin touched his, she gasped.

  “You feel good,” he murmured. “Feel good, smell good, taste good.”

  He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply, his hand on her breast.

  She put her head back, surrendering her neck to his lips. He moved downward, his mouth on her breasts, her stomach. His hands followed so that her loose pants slowly slid down.

  Gently, he pulled her to the ground, and as he stretched out beside her, his kisses became more urgent, asking more of her.

  Jecca turned to him. She could feel how much he wanted her, and she put her leg over his bare hip. His skin was warm and smooth, and she wanted him desperately.

  When he entered her, she gave a long sigh of pleasure and wrapped her thighs around him, pulling him closer and closer to her.

  Even though it hadn’t been long since they’d made love, it felt as though it had been years. He seemed to feel the same urgency, the same need to be very close to her.

  When they reached a peak, Jecca put her mouth against his shoulder to keep from crying out.

  For a long while they lay together, their skin slightly damp, and just held each other.

  “Jecca,” he whispered, his breath soft on her ear, “I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

  The moonlight, the sweet scent of the flowers, the soft grass on her back, the cool night air, and most of all, Tristan’s skin on hers made her feel that she never wanted to leave this place and this moment. “This is the way I like you best,” she said.

  “Naked?” he asked as he rolled off of her and pulled her beside him, her head on his shoulder. “Skin on skin?”

  “No. I mean in the darkness, where I can see the real you, the man inside. Not Cupid or Ken or even the doctor, but you. The person I see with my senses other than my sight.”

  “The way you looked at me at Kim’s house?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “You were so dazzlingly beautiful in that tuxedo that I had to look hard to see the man underneath, to see the man I knew.”

  “And you liked him?” Tris’s tone was light, but he was holding his breath.

  “Yes,” she said as she turned her face up to his. “I like the man on the inside the best.” She paused for a moment. “But I must say that I’m glad the interior and the exterior match.”

  Tris couldn’t help laughing. “That’s just what Nell said,” and he explained about the two boys at her school.

  “I’m glad she can see that. She—Was that a drop of rain?”

  The rain started coming down quickly, and they were in a flurry to pull on their clothes and run back to the cabin. Tris leaped onto the side of the porch, under the railing, then hoisted Jecca up after him.

  “That’s going to make your arm sore tomorrow,” she said.

  “It was worth it,” he said as he kissed her and opened the door.

  Outside their bedrooms there was more kissing before they pulled away to go to their separate beds. Jecca was yawning when she closed the door and she was glad her robe had kept her pajamas dry so she wouldn’t have to take the time to change. As she climbed under the covers, she wondered if Tris’s sweatpants got wet. If so, would he remove them and sleep in the nude? It was a delicious thought. She turned onto her side and went to sleep, smiling.

  When she awoke it was barely daylight, and her first thought was to wonder how one small child could make so much noise. Blinking, Jecca turned to see Nell pushing her old iron cot out from the wall. The feet scraped on the floor and the. ̶the springs creaked.

  “What are you doing?” Jecca asked.

  “A Riley is missing,” Nell said.

  Jecca yawned. “What does that mean?”

  “One of my Riley dolls isn’t here. Alice is missing.”

  Jecca lifted up on one arm. There were so many stuffed animals and dolls in Nell’s bed that she almost didn’t have room to sleep. But Jecca remembered the importance of toys when she was a child. “Are you sure you got Riley out of the car?”

  “She’s Alice, but she’s a Riley doll,” Nell corrected.

  “Got it.” Jecca yawned again. “I bet she’s still in the car. The keys are—” Nell was already out the door.

  Jecca could see lights on in the living room, so it looked like the others were up. Considering what Roan thought of her, she thought it was better not to lie about in bed—as a city girl would do.

  She quickly dressed, made a trip to the bathroom, then went to the kitchen. A minute later, Roan came out of the bedroom.

  “There you are!” he boomed in his professor’s voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Jecca didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  “Did you do that?!” He pointed to the chainsaw, now put back together.

  “Yes,” she said cautiously.

  Roan strode across the room and lifted her in a bear hug. “And here I thought you were one of Tris’s Yeeww Girls.”

  She pushed at his shoulders, and he let her down. “What is a Yeeww Girl?”

  “You know,” he said, “they say ‘yeeww’ at everything. Bait a hook, hike a trail, fry the fish, it’s all yeeww.”

  Jecca laughed. “I grew up with my father and a brother I call Bulldog. If I’d ever yeewwed even once they’d still be laughing at me.”

  “So you only look like a city girl?”

  “I only look city to you people. New Yorkers think I’m fresh from the country.”

  Again Roan laughed. “What do you want for breakfast? We have—”

  “I found her!” Nell said as she burst in through the front door. She held up a very cute little doll dressed like Alice in Wonderland. “I have to put her to bed,” she said as she went to the bedroom and shut the door.

  Jecca looked at Roan. “Why don’t I make breakfast?” She glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Is Tris asleep?”

  “Yeah. Sleeps like the dead. When we were kids Colin and I used to throw a bucket of water on him to wake him up. How come you don’t know that about him?”

  “Because when I’m around, he doesn’t sleep.”

  Laughing, Roan shook his head. “Now I’m beginning to understand.” The kitchen was a long galley type, and he stepped between the two counters. “What can I do to help?”

  “Stay on that side,” she said. Having him there was like having a bear in the way. “Why don’t you sit at the counter and tell me about your book?” She’d guessed right when she thought he loved to talk because within seconds he was telling her in detail about the novel he was trying to write. For all that he looked like a mountain man, when he started talking, she knew he was a professor and was used to having a silent, adoring audience.

  While Jecca rummaged in the refrigerator for the crepe batter Lucy and Mrs. Wingate had sent, she listened to him. He said he wanted to write a series of mystery novels about a professor of philosophy who could figure out the mind of any criminal.

  Jecca got out the little nonstick skillet the ladies had sent—“Roan will only have cast iron,” they’d said�
�and put it on to heat. At first, Roan’s book sounded interesting.

  As Jecca began pouring batter and making crepes, Roan got more into his plot plan. His hero would reason with the criminals and outsmart them that way.

  “And of course he’d commit the fallacy of ignoratio elenchus.” Like the teacher he was, he explained that that was a point made that was irrelevant to the issue at hand. “But I—I mean my protagonist—would point out the error to him. As Thomas Aquinas used to say—” He lapsed into a lecture about philosophers.

  She so lost interest in what he was saying that her mind began to wander. She began to plan what she hoped to paint that day. When she got back to Edilean, she wanted to have some solid ideas of what to do for Kim’s ads.

  Roan’s voice droned on. Every other sentence he seemed to name-drop: Heidegger, John Locke, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer. Jecca had heard of some of them, but a lot of the people he named were unknown to her.

  When Nell opened the bedroom door, dragging a heavy cardboard box across the floor, Jecca was relieved. “I’m ready to go,” Nell said.

  Jecca placed the last of the crepes on the pile, turned off the stove, and went to her. Behind her, Roan at last stopped his monologue.

  “What is this?” Jecca asked, looking at the box.

  “My new art supplies.”

  Bending, Jecca looked inside the box. She had texted Tris a short list of supplies to get for Nell, a watercolor set of eight colors, three brushes, a pad of paper, and some colored pencils. What was in the big box were four of those big, expensive sets encased in beautiful wooden boxes—the kind given out at Christmas and rarely used. Half the supplies in them were unneeded.

  “This isn’t what I told him to get,” Jecca said in frustration as she opened the kits and looked inside. “These must have cost a fortune.”