In a Moon Smile (21 page)

“Mr. Moore...” Chesney stammered quickly as Dalton walked toward the stairs. He turned and looked at her. “Are you happy here in Bean Blossom, Mr. Moore?”

“Yes,” Dalton said with a nod. “Most of the time, I'm very happy with my decision to come back here.”

“Is it lonely in the winter?” Chesney wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees against her chest.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Sometimes it is lonely here in the winter.” He stared hard at her. “Are you worried that you might not have made the right decision?”

“Of course not,” Chesney said quickly. “As I told you, I love my grandmother's home.”

“Then…”

“Oh it’s nothing,” she said. “I guess I worry that I’ll be isolated out here until spring. But I can survive that. It’s nothing serious.”

Why in the world did that question about winter escape my mouth? Why do I care if Dalton Moore is happy? Why am I asking if winter months are lonely for him? Of course, he isn't lonely in the winter. He has good old Rose, whoever she is, to go home to. And why am I so obsessed with kissing this man? I barely know him. I don’t want to know him. In fact, men should be the last thing on mind. What about the curse?

“I've always loved your grandmother's place.”

“What? You knew Grace?” Chesney stared at him, stunned.

“In a way,” Dalton said. Then he turned and disappeared up the stairs.

When Charlotte called, she was actually pleasant. So Chesney smiled to herself and took a seat on the porch swing while Charlotte began a detailed story of how Piper was taking her first steps and dragging pots and pans from kitchen cabinets.

“When can Cooper and I drive down to visit?” Charlotte asked.

Her sudden interest in Chesney and the renovation project she had so hatefully criticized caught her older sister off guard. “It’s probably best to wait until spring,” Chesney answered slowly. “Even though things are going well, I haven’t yet had time to furnish the guest bedrooms.” Chesney left out the fact that, even though she had been in Bean Blossom for more than three months, she still stretched out on the floor to snooze in a sleeping bag. She also left out the fact that she had ordered some pieces of furniture and browsed for antiques, but new beds were not on the hot list as priority purchases. She made a mental note to buy at least one bed. Next month Becca was returning, and she wouldn’t accept another week of snoozing on hardwood.

After they said good-bye, Chesney climbed the ladder to clean wainscoting in the library. She envisioned how beautiful the room would be, painted a soft color, decorated with plants and an overstuffed chair. In this room, she would lose herself in wonderful books when bad weather came to Bean Blossom. From these lovely floor-to-ceiling windows, she would watch the snow fall on the massive old trees and the meadow.

But Chesney didn’t allow herself to dream too long about the house and how it would comfort her through the long winter. Instead she returned to thoughts about Dalton. Somehow she had to stage a sneak attack. Now that she knew that Dalton actually knew Grace well enough to spend time here, Chesney was preoccupied with questions. After working here all summer, why hadn't Dalton mentioned that he was familiar with this house? Why did he seem so secretive? She was dying to know. And she was starving for a moment to sit with him, smile with him, get to know him.

That’s a very stupid wish when you have the lousy track record I happen to have with men. But as long as it’s strictly fantasy, that’s okay, right?

When Dalton entered the house through the back door, her chest tightened. Constantly, she reminded herself that she was absolutely not interested in a romantic relationship with Dalton Moore or anyone else. She reasoned that she found him interesting, that’s all. Just as she was interested in Ruby, the little bird of a lady at the post office. On Wednesday mornings, she made it a point to walk down the lane to chit chat with O’Dell, the very old man who walked every Wednesday morning while his wife attended Bible study. And she was interested in Neetie, Grace’s longtime friend. She loved people. And Dalton Moore fell into that category of people who had interesting stories to tell, right?

Oh bullshit. You never dream at night about French kissing O’Dell.

Dalton walked into the parlor with a furry, wiggly something tucked under his arm. “I brought you a buddy,” he said with a smile.

The surprise, a fuzzy, white puppy, was then placed in Chesney’s anxious arms.

“Oh my goodness,” she laughed. “Is she really mine?” She pressed the sweet little body against her cheek.

“I thought you needed a little friend around here,” Dalton said.

“Where did you find her?” Chesney asked as the puppy grabbed hold of her hair. “I love puppies. How did you know?”

He smiled and blushed.

There is a definite sweetness about this man. A sweetness that I have never seen in other men I’ve spent time around. Why do I feel that Dalton Moore knows me so well? All we’ve done during these weeks is snap at each other and renovate this old house. Why do I feel an emotional flood of warmth toward the handyman? Maybe Bec and my family have been right all along. Maybe I really have lost my mind.

“You try, don’t you?” Dalton smiled at her and Chesney cocked her head, confused. “You try, but you aren’t really a cranky old witch,” Dalton said as he followed Chesney through the house.

“Cranky old witch?” she laughed.

“You pretend well. But you're not all rough and tough, Ms. Blake,” Dalton said. “Your eyes don't match your sarcastic mouth.”

“I'm not sure how to respond to that, Mr. Moore.” Chesney said as she balanced the puppy on her open hand and cooed at her sweet face. She gently placed the dog on the floor and watched her scramble across the kitchen floor with a discarded sock in her mouth.

“Why don't you show me that you have a heart?” he asked.

With a pounding heart, Chesney looked up at Dalton and swallowed hard. “How might I show you that?”

“Why don’t you start by calling me by my first name?”

“And why don't you do the same?” Chesney smiled. “That way, I will know that you aren’t actually an ass in a tool belt.”

“Whoa,” he grinned. “You’re harsh.” He walked over to the counter and smiled. “I'll get the coffee.”

Chesney sat on the floor with the puppy on her lap. “She's beautiful. I love her. Thank you so much.”

Dalton moved across the room and perched on an empty crate with his coffee mug cradled between both hands. “I’m glad you like her, Chesney.”

Oh my gosh, the sound of my name in his mouth…it makes me want to marry him!

“What do you think you'll name her?” Dalton asked as he watched the puppy nibble on her fingers.

“Hmm, I'll have to think about that,” Chesney said. “Names are very important, you know.”

Though Dalton assumed she was considering a name for the puppy, Chesney was actually thinking about his comment, that she presented herself as a “cranky old witch with a sarcastic mouth.” She considered telling Dalton the truth; that her heart was bruised. That she wanted to be totally in control of her life. That her life had been spent doing what other people wanted her to do. She even thought about telling Dalton Moore that her relationship with Jack had changed her. That she was sick of jumping in and out of bad relationships and now wanted to be a hermit. Yes, she might be lonely as a hermit living alone on Chesney Ridge. But at least her heart would be safe.

But she said nothing.

A brief silence filled the room. Dalton seemed to sense that Chesney didn't plan to disclose personal feelings. So he changed the subject. “I'm still working on the plaster in the upstairs bedrooms.”

“That's a good plan,” She nodded. Then she hid a smile, relieved that their business as usual relationship had bounced back into the room. Another part of her heart ached, though. Sometimes she wanted to share the pain. Sometimes she wanted to know if Dalton also had pain. Well of course, he had experienced pain. Or maybe she assumed too much about him. “Maybe the window replacements can be next on the list,” she said.

“Right,” Dalton nodded. “That can be the plan.” As he moved closer to pet the puppy, his fingers barely brushed hers. Static was in the air. Chesney wanted to tell Dalton that she was terribly attracted to him. She wanted to ask if he felt the same. She wanted him to know that, until he came to Chesney Ridge, any issue about the male gender was of no interest to her. She wanted to know about this mysterious woman named Rose. She wanted to roll all over him on this dusty floor, kiss him deeply, unbutton his shirt, rake her fingers through his hair. In a hurry to escape the absurdity of her thoughts, Chesney quickly stood. “I think I'll walk by the pond.”

Dalton looked up, puzzled. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” she lied. “I think the puppy needs a potty break.” Her legs felt stiff and shaky as she walked out the backdoor and across the meadow. Happily, the puppy trailed close behind, hopping through the high weeds and tumbling against Chesney’s bare legs. She felt dizzy, as if her mind was somehow fogged by stifling so many feelings. “What is wrong with me?” she whispered. “I don't even know this man. But every day, my heart races when I see him. This ridiculous reaction has happened since the day I hired him.” She stood still, taking in the view of the rich, green meadow. “It doesn't make sense,” Chesney said as she made her way around the pond. “Try to be sensible. You're only reacting this way because he's so different from Jack.”

The words sounded good. But did those words explain these intense feelings? It was certainly true that Dalton was nothing like Jack. But something else was different. Chesney did not want to admit it to herself. But she felt drawn to Dalton. Fate seemed to be involved here. From the first day he trudged into the house, she wanted to know him. She wanted to hold him, kiss him.

You’re just a little bit lonely, idiot. You will be fine. Stop getting psychotic.

While the puppy loped through overgrown beds of wildflowers, Chesney stared at the murky pond water. She thought about Jack, rushing through his apartment with his briefcase in one hand and his cell phone glued to his ear. Why hadn’t she been honest with herself during the courtship and engagement? Had she ever truly wanted to marry him? Why did she emotionally seal over to pretend that she loved him enough to be his wife?

What in the world is wrong with me? I want so badly to please everyone else that I pretended to be something I wasn’t. How could I ever be sure of my feelings?

Chesney sat down in the tall grass and tossed some small pebbles from the bank into the water. She remembered that dreadful weekend last year when Madelyn and Charlotte insisted on the marathon shopping trip for a bridal gown. Like a pouty child, Chesney lagged behind them on purpose and talked incessantly on her cell phone. Her avoidance techniques had not been successful. They were both in a wedding day frenzy while Chesney wanted only to sneak away, run away and pretend she wasn’t trapped.

“You look like a princess,” Charlotte said after she and Madelyn forced Chesney to model a busy, puffy gown with lace and tiers on the skirt. All the lace itched Chesney’s skin and made her heart hurt. She faked menstrual cramps to escape the bridal shop nightmare.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well, Chezzie,” Charlotte had said fondly. “But don’t worry. We have time to shop again. We won’t stop shopping until we find the perfect dress. The moment you see your reflection, you will immediately know that it’s the dress you are meant to wear. So don’t worry. Take some Midol then take a nap with your heating pad on your stomach.”

Just as Chesney wondered if her guilt might make her puke, her mother smiled and placed her hand under her oldest daughter’s chin. “We'll never worry about you again,” Madelyn had said tearfully. “Chesney darling, your father and I know that Jack will give you everything you could ever want.”

“You were wrong, Mom,” Chesney whispered now as tears filled her eyes. “Jack never gave me much of anything. I never got much of his time. He didn't give much affection, either. A wedding would not have changed that. I was never loved for who I am. And now I know, or maybe I always knew, that Jack wasn’t the only one who lied about his heart. I lied, too.”

A week after they were engaged, Jack and Chesney sat across from each other at a popular winery. As he suggested a honeymoon in Paris, she tried to fall in love with his brown eyes. She wanted desperately to believe that she was as important to Jack as his business and his bank account. Right there, in the midst of making honeymoon plans, Jack answered his cell phone.

“Go ahead and order the wine, darling,” He said as he pushed away from the table. That softness in his eyes disappeared as he fumbled in his suit coat pocket for a pad and paper. “I need to accept this phone call.”

“But Jack...” Chesney was suddenly crushed.

“Don't be a child, Chesney,” he snapped. “I need to take this call. Go ahead, order the wine. I’ll be back. ”

As Jack walked outside with his phone stuck to his ear, tears filled her eyes. The big diamond on her hand did nothing to change the dread rolling around in the pit of her stomach.

I don't want a husband like Jack. I want someone who feels his emotions. I want to be engaged to a guy who would never consider interrupting intimate moments to accept business calls. Jack is not the romantic, passionate man I dreamed about loving. But I can’t back out now. My friends and family would be devastated if I walked out on what seems from the outside to be a fairytale.