Moonlight and Shadows (3 page)

Even in his anger, though, he felt pity for
his friend. Running away never solved anything, and running away
with somebody else’s money only made the problem worse.

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to have
Smitty tracked down and arrested. Somehow he’d have to make good on
the job. He looked at the destruction with a new eye and decided
some of the materials were salvageable. With his insurance, a
little cash out of his own pocket, and by pulling in some favors,
he should be able to fulfill Lila Singer’s wildest dreams of space.
All he had to do was talk the lady into giving him a chance.

He turned toward the kitchen, but got no
farther than three steps. The quiet, muffled sounds coming from
somewhere in the house were horrifying and unmistakable. She was
crying.

Sighing, he cast his eyes toward the blue
Colorado sky peeking through the few remaining beams. Now what? he
wondered, feeling helplessly in over his head. Tears had never been
his forte, and Lila Singer’s tears seemed to be affecting him more
than most.

You never should have kissed her, Jack, he
told himself, no matter how big the moon was last September. Now,
three months later, he felt incredibly foolish. Why hadn’t Smitty
told him she was a professor at the university? And an English
professor at that.

She certainly hadn’t wasted any time in
rattling off her credentials and her connections, when he arrived,
all of them first class. She’d taken the high road with him the
minute he’d stepped out of his truck. He didn’t blame her. Given
the same circumstances, he would have done the same thing. He
didn’t have any first-class credentials, though, and the only even
remotely intimidating connection he had was his brother-in-law the
policeman, whom she thankfully hadn’t called.

And she was crying.

Jack lowered his chin to his chest and
allowed himself another deep sigh. He felt like hell. He didn’t
want to face her tears and her four-hundred-fifty-dollar Tarzan
book. He didn’t want to face her Ph.D., and most of all he didn’t
want to face her big brown eyes and try to fast-talk her into
giving him a chance.

But business was business, and a guy had to
eat and keep a roof over his head. His glance strayed back up to
the sky. Which was more than Hudson and Smith had done for Lila
Singer.

Lila heard Jack Hudson call her name, and
she hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. Damn the man, did he
have to invade the privacy of her sitting room? She’d made it clear
where his place was, out there in the destruction of her office,
not in here, where her heart was breaking every time she looked at
Danny’s book. A wave of guilt rolled over her sadness, sharpening
both feelings. Another tear ran down her face.

She’d been so angry, and so concerned about
her damned computer, she hadn’t remembered his prized first edition
until she’d stumbled over it. She’d wanted to forget the pain of
Danny’s death, but not him, not the things he’d held dear.

Her fingers trailed over the blue cover.
Damp stains marred the cloth and loosened pieces of the gilt
edging, ruining the perfection that once had been. If she’d only
remembered sooner, before she’d wasted her time threatening Jack
Hudson and crying on the phone to her mother, she might have saved
the book.

She was going to forget that damn kiss and
sue his pants off. She was going to take his business, his home,
his truck, his—

“Dr. Singer?”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice
behind her.

“What?” She laid the book on a small,
ornately carved table and wiped her cheeks again, discreetly using
an edge of her cuff and keeping her back to him. Her position on
the floor in front of a matched pair of antique chairs helped to
hide the action.

“I’ve looked the office over,” he said, “and
it’s not as bad as it seemed at first. You didn’t have your floor
covering down yet, so that’s going to save a lot. I’ve got a line
on some bigger windows than the ones you lost, more like what you
had in mind in the beginning.” That’s right, Jack, keep talking, he
told himself. He ran his pencil down his list of figures and notes,
trying to ignore how vulnerable she looked sitting on the rug with
her legs beneath her. “I can have the walls and the roof back up by
New Year’s Eve, personally guaranteed work done by me. I’ll call my
window supplier today. I don’t think he’ll want to see me on
Christmas, but I’ll drive down to Denver the day after. My
liability insurance should cover any personal item losses, and if
it doesn’t, I will.”

As he talked, Lila slowly turned her head to
look over her shoulder at him. It seemed the least amount of
consideration she needed to expend on a man she was going to ruin.
Sniffling, she gazed disdainfully at him.

“If you’d rather sue me than let me try to
make it right,” he continued, “I’ll understand, no hard feelings.
But I’d really like the chance to fix this, to build you the room
we talked about last fall, to put some space into your house and
the Rockies right in your lap.”

He’d remembered, Lila thought, her disdain
slipping a little. He’d remembered about the mountains. She shifted
to one side and gave him more of her attention, maybe too much
more. There was something innately masculine about him, standing
there in his work boots and faded jeans, wearing an unpressed white
shirt and a rumpled tie obviously meant to impress her. She wasn’t
accustomed to having strange men in her house, and his presence
made her feel awkward in a way she hadn’t felt in years. He’d had
no business kissing her last fall—no matter how wondrous that kiss
remained in her memory. It had gotten their relationship off to a
bad start, especially since she was now being forced to sue
him.

“I’ve got a few ideas you won’t find in any
store-bought plans,” he went on, “and I’ll give them to you at cost
of materials, free labor, no bull.” His boots were wet, she
noticed, but he was careful not to stand on her imported Turkish
rug. That was hardly the consummate sign of gentility, but it was a
point in his favor. “By Valentine’s Day,” he said, “I can have you
sitting in two hundred square feet of the office of your
dreams.”

“You’ve already had that chance,” she
informed him, working a trace of coolness into her tone.

Jack felt the ice and warmed to the
challenge. “I know up to this point Hudson and Smith have been
about the worst thing to happen to you, but it’s just Hudson
Construction now, and I can guarantee you won’t find a better man
to clean up the mess and get those walls back where they belong,
and in record time. You don’t owe me anything, but I owe you, and
if we’ve got our assets all tied up in a lawsuit, it’s going to be
pretty tough for either one of us to get what we want.”

There were a few too many “wes”
flying
around the room to suit Lila. “You’re the one with the problem, Mr.
Hudson.”

“I know that. Jack.”

“What?” She shot him a quizzical look.

“Jack. My name is Jack.”

“I know your name, Mr. Hudson,” she said,
dropping her gaze and absently smoothing her gray tweed slacks. She
hoped she wouldn’t have to get any ruder to make her point. He was
starting to unnerve her. She should have called her lawyer and let
him deal with Jack Hudson.

When he didn’t respond, she hazarded another
quick glance at him. He didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by her
discourtesy. In fact, she didn’t think he’d heard her little
riposte. He stood quiet and still, his gaze riveted to a place
somewhere beyond and above her head. Even before she turned, she
knew exactly what had captured his attention.

It wasn’t black lace at all, Jack thought,
staring at the life-size photograph hanging between two high
windows. It was white gauze, streamers of it, as sheer and light as
threads could be and still hold together as cloth. They swirled
around her body, caressing ivory satin skin, barely covering the
peaks of her breasts, catching on the lowest curve of her hip,
exposing a midriff a man could believe in.

Jack believed. He’d been on the verge of
conversion months before under a harvest moon, and the photograph
of her looking more like his fantasies than even his own
imagination could conjure up brought him completely into the
fold.

Silver glitter graced her shoulders. Her
riotous tumble of ebony curls was windblown and dappled with
moonbeams. She was poised on tiptoe in profile, bending slightly
forward at the waist, holding a wand of rainbow light to chase away
the night mists and bestow her favors.

She was magic. The photographer had known
it; the photographer had known her
, intimately.
Jack
had no doubts of that.
Anyone might have captured the texture of her skin. Anyone might
have dreamed up the lighting effects that made her shine in the
mysterious darkness of the woodland setting. No one but a lover,
though, brought such a look to a woman’s face. He felt like a
voyeur, and still he couldn’t look away.

A flood of embarrassment pooled in Lila’s
cheeks and spread across her face. Thousands of people had seen
Danny’s photograph of her—it had been on exhibit in New York just
last year in a retrospective of his work—but she didn’t recall
anyone taking such a sensual interest in it. Or maybe she was
misinterpreting the intensity she saw in Jack Hudson’s clear hazel
eyes. Or maybe she wasn’t. She wasn’t sure, except of the intensity
itself,

“Yes, well . . . Jack,” she said, pushing
herself off the floor. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work something
out.” The strangeness of the words brought her up short. Damn, she
thought. He had her on the run, on the defensive when all the facts
were stacked in her favor.

Jack had seen enough. He was some kind of
fool all right. He’d fantasized about Lila Singer for three months,
and all the while she’d been with some guy who could make her look
like that. It was starting out to be a real lousy Christmas. If her
Ph.D. and the construction fiasco hadn’t convinced him to forget
his romantic intentions, the look on her face in the photograph
came damn close. But some dreams died hard.

Lila stopped herself from retracting her
words, a subtle change in Jack’s gaze giving her pause. Defeat
lingered there, a thoughtful defeat, a carefully weighed and
accepted defeat, and despite her anger at him, she was surprised.
Nothing in their encounters had led her to believe he was a man who
knew much about defeat. On the contrary, he’d come across as one of
the most arrogant, confident men she’d ever met.

She knew the smart move was to get rid of
him, yet she hesitated.

Jack knew he might as well leave, yet he
didn’t.

“I—”

“I—”

They both spoke at once, but Jack was the
first to grin. What the hell? he thought. He couldn’t lose what
he’d never had.

“I’d like you to give me a chance,” he said.
“One week. If you don’t like the work at that point, you’re welcome
to sue me.”

There was absolutely no moon showing in the
morning sky, nothing to blame it on except a budding curiosity Lila
found impossible to deny.

“You’ve got a deal.” She stuck out her hand
and was rewarded with his strong, warm grip.

She’d survived some of the worst life had to
offer. She’d certainly survive a few hours and days here and there
of Jack Hudson’s company, as long as he kept his distance. And as
long as she kept hers.

The unexpected thought startled her, and she
quickly dropped his hand. Say what she might, she hadn’t forgotten
what it had felt like to be kissed by him. She hadn’t forgotten how
she’d clung to him, or the taste of him on her lips.

“You’ll—you’ll have to excuse me, Mr.
Hudson,” she stammered, backing away from him. “I need to get over
to my parents’. I’d appreciate it if you could fix the hole in my
house before you leave.”

Jack nodded, wishing she hadn’t released his
hand and wondering what the color staining her cheeks meant. Maybe
he was wrong about the photographer. Even the possibility was
enough to lift his spirits. One thing was certain, though. He’d
just bought himself enough time to find out.

New Year’s Eve, Lila thought with a pained
sigh. She pulled up next to the Hudson Construction truck and
braked to a slow halt. Who would have thought he’d work on New
Year’s Eve? Didn’t everyone else in the world besides her have
something big planned for New Year’s Eve?

She should be used to him by now, but she
wasn’t. Not even close. An all too familiar queasiness invaded her
stomach.

She’d bowed out early on her parents’ yearly
countdown and had planned on a quiet evening at home, reminiscing,
reading Blake or Shakespeare, maybe allowing a few tears in her
wine. She had hoped on this one day to avoid the curious awareness
Jack Hudson’s presence had aroused in her all week.

It wasn’t to be. True to his word, he hadn’t
let up, even on the holidays. In one week he’d given her more
office than Dale Smith had in three months. She had more windows,
bigger windows, compliments of Hudson Construction. Something that
looked suspiciously like a skylight was taking shape in her roof,
compliments of Hudson Construction. A delicate French door had
taken the place of her cheap glass and metal sliding abomination,
compliments of Hudson Construction. All the work was beautifully
conceived and executed, a cut above anything else she’d seen. The
man was an artist with a two-by-four and a handful of nails. She’d
known an hour after he’d started that she wasn’t going to sue him.
She just hoped she didn’t bankrupt him.

She stepped out of her Jeep and felt a bevy
of snowflakes blow up under her wool skirt and melt on her knees.
She’d ask him to leave, that was all. She’d just ask him to leave.
It was her house, even if he had practically been living there
since Christmas.

She closed the driver’s door and stood for a
moment in the falling snow, watching him through the windows. He
had
practically moved in on her. He was there first thing in
the morning, offering doughnuts she always declined. He’d taken to
keeping a six-pack of beer in her refrigerator, after he’d asked
and she hadn’t had the nerve to tell him no. Twice he’d asked to
use her microwave to heat his supper. And he’d worked nonstop,
hammer falling in cadence, tape measure snapping, saw buzzing
through lumber.