Authors: Rita Rainville
Lady Moonlight (8 page)
He stood up, reached down and pulled her to her feet. "Little bird," he threatened softly, tucking her in the curve of his arm and directing her to the front door, "you're about to get your wings clipped."
"Resorting to threats so early in the game?"
He leaned back against the door, his green eyes taking in the amused anticipation on her face. He shook his head. "Promises. And you'll find that I take my promises very seriously."
Softly touching his thumb to her lower lip, he asked, "What time tomorrow?"
"Oh, no time," she replied after a moment, slowly turning her face away from the touch of his hand.
"I'm teaching a weaving class tomorrow night. And Wednesday," she continued before he could ask, "I'm fixing Terry his spareribs. He deserves them, even if his work was all for naught. They'll help console him for having to return all that stuff. Thursday evening Judy and I have an appointment with our accountant.
And Friday ...."
"Is mine. I'll be here at seven."
She eyed him stonily. "Have I ever told you just how much I enjoy being bossed around?"
"No." He grinned suddenly. "It's probably the only thing you haven't told me. But I'll give you all the time you want on Friday." Drawing her to him, he lowered his head. His lips brushed hers, strayed to an elusive dimple in her cheek and returned.
Minutes later, the door closed softly behind him.
Kara sagged against it, then jumped as he reminded her, "Lock the dead bolt. Now."
Orders again, she thought in irritation. The feeling intensified as she became aware of her ragged breathing, loud in the silent room.
❧
As he drove home, Dane's thoughts returned to the cheerful apartment. He still had the taste of Kara on his lips and the feel of her slight body against his. Friday. A long time to wait to hold an aggravating, captivating, maddening and enchanting woman in his arms. Of course, once she was his, she would settle down. She would understand that she couldn't run around risking life and limb, lopping off chunks of a man's remaining years with her hair-raising antics. Of course she would.
Dane turned the pickup through the entrance in the white adobe fence, drove slowly across the dirt yard and stopped in the shade of a scrub oak. The children, alerted by the sound of an unfamiliar vehicle, instinctively edged closer to each other. Then, recognizing Kara's silvery head, they swarmed around the truck like hummingbirds at a blossoming plant.
"Carina! Carina!"
"What are they saying?" Dane asked, puzzled-
Before Kara could reply, he recognized the word.
"They've never quite figured out my name," Kara said. "That's what they call me." She opened the door and slid to the ground.
Dane got out slowly on his side, watching as the children pressed close to her, clamoring for a hug, a kiss, a special touch. Carina, a variation of their word for love, affection. She had been well named.
He turned his attention to the building before him.
It was an adobe, thick walled and newly whitewashed. A large vegetable garden stood off to one side and extended behind the house. The area in front was dirt, carefully raked and very tidy. Everything, he noted, was as neat as the proverbial pin. As he turned to take in the rest of the grounds, Kara approached with the children and two adults in tow.
"Dane, I want you to meet Carmella, Juanito and the rest of the crew."
He looked at a large man with a neatly trimmed beard and steady eyes. A pretty, plump woman stood quietly beside him. After a moment of mutual regard, the three smiled and shook hands all around. Kara released a small sigh of relief.
"This part," she said with a smile, "requires some concentration." She brought each of the older children forward, one at a time. Emulating the adults, they stepped forward and gravely shook hands. "This is Ruben, Benito, Carmen, Maria, Oscar, Alberto and Elena. And these munchkins are Juanita, Stella, Alonzo, Eduardo and Elva."
Dane squatted down to be at eye level with the tots and, to his surprise, all but the smallest darted or staggered over, then reached up to hug him. The baby, still in Kara's arms, flirted with him, then buried her face in the curve of Kara's neck.
"You've now been hugged and stamped with approval. Would you like a tour of the place?"
"Yes. I thought you said there were ten."
"The family has grown in the last few days. Let's go this way," she said, following Juanito and Carmella.
"You should have seen this place when they bought it. It was a mess. I brought some of my hardier friends down for a weekend. We camped here and created miracles. And, of course, Juanito always works like a man possessed."
Dane was shown through the girls' and boys' dormitories, Spartanly furnished with bunk beds and threadbare blankets. The cement floors were bare, but spotless, and there was a stall shower at the end of each room. The dining room had two long tables with benches and several high chairs for the toddlers. A massive gas stove stood against one wall of the kitchen. Open shelves were filled with loaves of bread and canned goods. The rest of the rooms were much the same: bare walls, cement floors and little furniture. By rights, Dane thought, it should have been dismal and depressing. But it wasn't. Carmella's optimism, Juanito's determination, the happy chatter of the children - not to mention Kara's eagerness to spread largess from the racetrack, he decided wryly - made the rooms ring with laughter, contentment and hope.
Having shown off everything they possessed, the children began milling anxiously. "Trot out your Spanish," Kara directed Dane, "and assure them that we'll head for the beach in a few minutes. We just have to arrange the logistics."
Everyone agreed that the children would be safer in Dane's high-sided truck. Within minutes, a large chest filled with iced drinks and boxes of food were transferred to Juanito's flatbed truck with homemade wooden sides. Carmella and Kara each held a toddler.
"Okay." Kara grinned up at Dane. "We're ready.
Tell the big ones that they're responsible for the little ones, and if even one of them stands up or hangs over the side, we stop and come right back."
Before Dane had finished, kids of all sizes were crawling into the bed of his truck. The ones who couldn't make it on their own were handed in. The tailgate was secured and, within minutes, the two trucks were on the road.
"If you can't speak the language," Dane asked with interest, "how do you communicate with the kids?"
"Slowly, and with lots of body language. They don't seem very interested in the few words I know. Can't say that I blame them. The sum total of my knowledge is just about exhausted when I explain to out-of-state tourists that in Spanish a 7 is an h, and two ls are a y, which, of course, is why La Jolla is pronounced La Hoya."
"Have you ever considered taking a Spanish class?"
"Of course!" she replied in amazement. "l have taken them. Again and again. But nothing makes sense or sticks with me. Everything sounds the same. In class exercises someone would ask me how I felt and I'd tell them my name. Or they'd ask my name and I'd say I was fine. The kids point me out as the crazy lady who went to the store for eggs and asked for a dozen Thursdays." She grinned at his sudden crack of laughter.
"Admittedly, the words huevos and jueves look different on paper, but when I say them, they come out the same. I also made the mistake of memorizing a few questions to use in the shop with Spanish-speaking customers. Things like 'May I help you?' and 'Is there something in particular you would like to see?"'
"Why was that a mistake?"
Kara shifted Elva to her other shoulder and said simply, "Because they answered me. They were so delighted to hear something familiar, torrents of words poured out of them. They never stopped, even to breathe. They would call in their sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles who were waiting outside, and they would talk to me."
She looked up at him. "What I should have learned to say was, 'Stop! I only know how to count from one to ten,' or, 'You're not using any of the thirteen words I know. It wasn't funny at the time," she said, grinning despite herself. "Now, I point and raise a questioning eyebrow. If that doesn't work, we play charades. We have a good time, and no one seems to mind."
No, he thought, keeping close to the truck ahead of him and automatically coping with the heavier traffic, they wouldn't mind. He wasn't the only one drawn to her spontaneity and warmth. He wasn't the only one who watched for the smile that began in her eyes, curved her lips then illuminated her entire face. She attracted people to her with the same ease that a magnet drew metal filings.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. How many men had seen themselves reflected in her dark eyes as they bent to kiss her? How many had laced their fingers in her silvery hair and tugged her closer?
How many had lain beside her in a bed warm from their naked bodies and stroked her breasts, listened to her soft cries? How many had ...
"Dane? Hey, what's the matter? You look awfully grim for someone who's going to a beach party."
He shook his head, replying absently as he looked into her upturned eyes. Eyes fringed by absurdly long, dark lashes, eyes that shone with concern and . . . and what? Friendly acceptance? He didn't know what her eyes held, but he realized with a surge of exultation what they didn't hold. They lacked that gleam of unconscious sensuality, the look of knowledge, of experience. By God, he thought triumphantly, if there had been any, there hadn't been many. And now he was here. It's as simple as that, he thought. He was here. There would no longer be men in her life.
Only a man. Only him.
Kara cuddled the baby, talking soft nonsense to her, unaware that her fate was being decided by the man beside her.
❧
The afternoon passed in flurry of chaotic activity. The boys pulled an old blanket out of the truck, dumped firewood in it and, each hanging on to a corner, hauled it to an area away from the crowd.
Answering Dane's questioning look, Kara explained.
"We make a point of staying to ourselves because there are so many of us. It's easier to count heads every few minutes."
A soccer game was begun, but it soon turned into a jumbled version of boys-versus-girls touch football, with Dane the coach and captain of one team. Kara was called in to serve as the other captain when
Juanito decided he wanted to referee.
"You don't even know how to play," Kara objected. "How can you call a foul?"
"I'll tell him when," Dane said with a straight face.
"Have you ever heard of a conflict of interest?"
Kara inquired.
"'What's the matter, tough stuff, afraid of the competition?"
"How can you even ask?" she wondered aloud. "I have a team I can't talk to, a rigged referee, and my opponent was probably a college all-star. That just makes it interesting." She turned away from Dane's lazy grin and motioned her team into a huddle.
The first play set the tone for the rest of the game.
Her girls treated the ball like a hot potato and finally tossed it to Kara. She yelped and started running.
Evading Dane's boys was the easy part. Clutching the ball, she looked around and saw Dane loping at an angle to intercept her. His expectant look filled her with determination. She decided she would make a touchdown or die in the attempt. At the same time, she wondered if she had retained any of the speed she had developed from her sprinting days in college.
Fairly flying over the sand, she heard the kids screeching behind her and, sooner than she'd thought possible, the thud of Dane's feet. Just as she thought she had made it, she was tackled and gently tumbled to the sand. When she stopped rolling, she was flat on her back, wrapped in Dane's arms, protected from the impact by his big body.
She looked up at him as his hands slid down and rested on her rounded bottom. Her glance rose a notch and she found herself staring at a circle of brown, grinning faces. Drawing in a deep breath, she yelled, "Foul! Referee, call a foul! We're playing touch," she muttered to Dane, "not tackle. Remember?"
"I'm touching," he said softly, tightening his grip. "Believe me, I'm touching."
"Where's the referee?" Kara called as she tried to wiggle out of Dane's embrace and immediately discovered that she was locked in place by his arms. The circle of faces parted, and she discovered Juanito with his back turned, intently watching a sea gull.
"Some help he is," she muttered.
Dane leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.
"He can't help you. No one can. This is just between us."
Kara had a sinking feeling that he wasn't talking about a football game. Ignoring the implication of his words, she prodded his shoulders. "Okay," she agreed briskly, "I'm beyond help. But, you, coach, have a problem. You've set a terrific example for these grinning little wretches. They're going to try tackling each other, and we'll have an epidemic of broken bones. Before they get any ideas, you get on your feet and talk to them. Tell them you fell on me, tell them anything, but make sure they don't try it."
Dane sighed, reluctantly shifted his weight and stood up. Reaching down, he grasped Kara's hand and effortlessly pulled her upright. He gently smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear before turning away.
Kara watched as he squatted down and signaled for attention. He was gesturing and talking earnestly as she walked over to Carmella.
"Your man, he is muy guapo," Carmella said softly.
"Handsome is as handsome does," Kara answered. "Besides, he's not mine."
Carmella arched a disbelieving eyebrow that spoke volumes.
Kara was called back to the game before the interesting conversation could be developed. Whatever Dane had said was effective, she noted, because the game proceeded without even the most adventurous attempting a tackle.
The rest of the afternoon spun itself away as everyone headed for the water. The older children were sorted out by swimming ability and supervised by the men. Juanito worked with the non-swimmers, and Dane taught the others the trick to body surfing.
Kara and Carmella watched as the little ones staggered to the water's edge, squealed as waves lapped at their ankles and either plopped down in an inch of water or danced away as fast as their chubby legs would carry them.
Mealtime was a boisterous, messy affair. Wire coat hangers were carefully straightened out; then wieners were skewered on them and roasted over the bonfire.
The bobbing pieces of meat, ranging from raw to charred, were slapped between buns and slathered with mustard, catsup and salsa.
"I don't know how you do it every day," Kara said later to Carmella. Hunger had been temporarily assuaged, and the firelight was reflected on a circle of young, contented faces.
"God provides the time and energy," the other woman said serenely.
The moon was hanging high in the sky, casting its silvery glow over the water. The gentle waves broke softly on the sand and, for a moment, all that was heard was the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of mariachis, musicians strolling from one group to another, singing and playing guitars.
Ruben lay back, cupping his head in his hands, looking at the sky. Suddenly he nudged Alberto, pointed up and said something. Alberto looked, poked Carmen and repeated the words. Soon all of them were staring at the sky. They turned to Kara, chattering among themselves, and nodded in satisfaction.
"La senorita como la luz de la luna," they agreed.
Kara turned puzzled eyes to Juanito. Amusement lit his eyes as he explained. "They say your hair is the color of the moon. They have decided that tonight you are the lady of the moonlight."
" La senorita como la luz de la luna," they said once more in satisfaction.
"No, chicos," Dane said firmly. "Mi senorita."
Even Kara recognized the stressed possessive word.
Not the lady, but my lady. She turned dark, indignant eyes on him. But the hot words on her lips were stopped when he smiled, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.
Juanito's eyes met those of his wife, and he nodded.
Turning, he reached for his guitar and began strumming softly. Carmella sang, nodding for the others to join her.
"Born diplomats," Dane murmured in Kara's ear as his arm tightened.
Kara felt him wince as her elbow dug into his ribs.
"You're pushing, Logan," she whispered. "You'll get yours later."
"I can hardly wait."
Before long, the music lulled the babies to sleep.
Carmella looked around and said with a smile, "We should go before we have twelve sleeping ninos on our hands."
Yawning youngsters reluctantly piled into Dane's truck and were covered with blankets. Before the men had packed the supplies into the other truck, the children were asleep. When they reached the farm, the older ones were awakened and they groggily stumbled to their beds. The babies were tucked in without being disturbed.
Kara hugged Carmella and Juanito. "Good night. It was fun. We'll try it again soon."
The couple turned to Dane. "Come back and see us. Any time."
"Thanks, I'll do that." He nudged Kara toward the truck. As they drove out of the yard, they called one last good night and turned onto the road.
Kara's sigh combined fatigue and contentment.
Dane draped an arm around her shoulders and urged her closer. They were silent as they passed the huge, paved parking lots of the racetrack, rode through town and passed the Customs area.
Dane looked down at the windblown, silvery hair.
"Why so quiet?"
Kara stirred, wondering how she had ended up pressed against him from shoulder to knee. "Partly tired, partly thinking about Benito. There's something about him that bothers me, and I can't put my finger on it."
He dropped a hand on her thigh, gently kneading.
"Think out loud. Maybe between us we can piece it together."
"It's something about the way he moves. I was watching him play ball this afternoon. His coordination is off, his . . . responses are too slow. It worries me. I hope he doesn't have some awful degenerative disease."
"You're right," Dane said thoughtfully. "I didn't notice it while we were playing, but now that you mention it, I think there is something. I doubt that it's serious, though. When I was about his age, the kid next door to me was like that. Always getting zapped with baseballs, never able to catch a football. We thought he was just a klutz."
"What was it?"
Dane grinned. "He needed glasses. He never said anything because he thought everyone saw things fuzzy the way he did."
"Glasses!" Kara burst out in relief. "I never thought of that. I'll mention it the next time I see Carmella." She fell silent again, mentally adding the price of glasses to the cost of clothing for the two latest additions to the rapidly growing family.
"Now what?" Dane asked in resignation.
"Nothing. Well, almost nothing. No, nothing," she said decisively, remembering his unequivocal speech about helping people at their first meeting. He might have softened enough to help supervise a beach party, but she wasn't going to supply him with the material for another "patsy" lecture.
She was still brooding as she handed over her keys and watched him open her front door.
"I'd give a lot for a cup of coffee right now."
Kara eyed Dane suspiciously, remembering the last time he had invited himself in voicing the same desire.
"I mean it this time," he assured her as he strode toward the kitchen. "No instant or decaffeninated, though. It's been almost twelve hours since I've had any, and I want the real stuff, brewed. Do you have the makings?"
"Of course I do, but I don't especially want to make it," she said, wondering why this man always brought out the worst in her. Maybe, she decided, it was because tact never seemed to work. It took a bulldozer to make a dent in his hide. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm dirty and tired. I want to take a shower and go to bed."
She tried leading him to the front door and lost him at the dining-room table.
"What's this?" he asked, looking down at a jumble of photos spread all over the table.
Leaving the door with a reluctance he ignored, she came to a halt next to him. "My mother gave me a box full of old family photos. I'm trying to organize them chronologically; then I'll put them in an album."
"My God," he said suddenly, seeming to take in her appearance for the first time. "You do look like you've been through the wars." He turned her around and gave her a gentle shove. "I'll make the coffee while you shower; then we can look at your pictures."
"You don't want to do that," she protested. "There's nothing worse than looking at pictures of people you've never met." She stopped for the simple reason that he was no longer there.
Listening to the noises coming from the kitchen, she finally shrugged and headed for the shower.
She was right, of course. Nothing put him to sleep faster than someone reaching for a family photo album. But for the first time in his life he was intensely curious about a woman. He wanted to know everything about her. Was her hair that silvery shade when she was a child? Did she like bananas, ever wear braces? Was she accident-prone? Did she always have a penchant for the underdog? How old was she when she started dating? Had her smile always been so blinding? What was her favorite color, flavor of ice cream, sport? Did she cry at sad movies?
Of course she did, he decided, pulling down coffee mugs. She probably also cried at those with moments of triumph or tenderness, or happy endings. While waiting for the coffee, he found the cream and lifted the lids of various containers. The last one yielded what looked like homemade chocolate chip cookies.
He filled a small bowl with a handful and took everything to the cluttered table.