Once in a Blue Moon (51 page)

Sam tried not to
squirm. He tried to think of a flippant response, but was suddenly
overpowered by bitter self-hatred. Anything he wanted? Yeah, right.
His life was half over, he had nothing to show for it, and he knew
it.

His
brows pulled together. But
if
he could have anything he really wanted? He
glanced at Randall, then beyond him, spying Jeff talking to a group
of ladies, then down to his straining tux. His gaze turned to his
co-workers, none of whom ever took him seriously or gave him the
credit he deserved. Fierce, all-consuming desire gripped him. He
lifted his head, gazed directly into Pete’s eyes, and opened his
mouth. “I want everyone to respect me and I want the body of an
athlete.”

Silence. A horrible
dead silence. Then huge gulps of air, and laughter, hard and
uncontrolled. Carl slapped Sam on the shoulder and Sam fell against
Mark. Mark spilled his drink, Gary held his stomach, and Phillip
threw back his head and howled while Roger clung to his arm.
Laughter and more laughter. Even Randall, Mr. calm and controlled,
tried to bite back a smile. Sam didn’t look at Pete. Couldn’t.

Heat
crept into his face, swift and unrelenting, but Sam smiled tightly.
They thought he was joking. Fine. Why had he said anything? And
what had made him say
that
? Why tell these bozos anything,
let alone his innermost desires?

Finally, he turned to
Pete. He wasn’t laughing. If anything, his expression was more
alive, more vivid. Pete smiled, nodded as if in approval and leaned
forward to speak.

Carl slapped Sam on the
back again, Sam blinked, and the moment was gone. “Good one, Sam.”
Carl pointed across the room. “Look who’s talking to our wives.”
Sam’s head shot up to see Jeff with Emily and Cheryl. Carl bent to
whisper. “Come on. This might be your chance.”

As they left the group,
Sam followed Carl through the crowd. Glancing back he saw Pete
staring after him and a chill ran up his spine. What an oddball. He
turned away, and tried to concentrate on what he’d say to Jeff.

Reaching Emily, he slipped his arm around her waist and she
stiffened. He kissed her cheek. “It’s just me, Honey.” Did
she
want
to blow
this for him?

Sam glanced at Carl,
who took the hint and wrapped an arm around his wife, pulling her
away. “We’ll see you two later.” He winked, then whispered to
Cheryl as they made their way through the crowd.

Facing Jeff, Sam took a
deep breath. “Hi Jeff. Great party.”

Jeff clasped both hands
behind his reed-thin body in his customary position. His sandy-gray
head tilted back and he smiled, causing his eyes to nearly
disappear behind his half- glasses. “Are you having a good
time?”

“Yeah, sure, uh...great
party.” Sam cleared his throat. “I’ve been wondering what you
thought of my book? Did you get the chance to read it?” He smiled
and tried not to seem anxious.

Jeff glanced at Emily
and then back to Sam. “Don’t you think we should talk about this
after school starts?”

Sam’s stomach clenched.
“Well sure, but I just thought you could give me your initial
impression of the manuscript. What did you think?”

Jeff’s eyes flickered
to Emily once more, then he sighed. “Well, to tell you the truth,
Sam, the book is pretty much like a lot of other Civil War texts
already out. I think it could really benefit from some changes.
Spice it up. Make it more original. Why don’t you do that, then let
me see it again?”

Sam’s throat tightened
and heat crawled up his chest and into his neck and face. His
stomach twisted and he inhaled. “But I’ve already talked to an
editor about it. He wants to see it.” His voice was thin, reedy. He
coughed.

Jeff smiled. “Well, if
they want it now, they’ll want it after you’ve made improvements.”
He glanced at Sam’s tuxedo. “Better watch those brownies. Or take
up running like me.” He patted his own lean stomach. Someone called
Jeff’s name and he looked up, smiled and nodded. “Will you excuse
me? Enjoy the party.” He strode off.

Sam
closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing his fists to
unclench.
Rewrite it?
After all the time and effort he’d put into writing the
book?
When it was practically
perfect?

Emily lightly touched
his arm. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam looked into her
eyes and saw compassion there. Compassion he didn’t want or need.
Why hadn’t he waited until school started to question Jeff? Now his
wife thought he was a loser.

“Thanks,” he said
tersely. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” He placed his hand
on the small of her back and led her through the crowd toward the
buffet table.

She stopped. “Do you
want to talk about it?”

He inhaled. “About
what? The fact that I hate my job, my boss, my life? No, I don’t.”
He ignored the way her face tightened and pushed against her
slender back. “Come on.”

As they approached the
table, a voice shouted out, “Ten more minutes!” In ten minutes the
New Year started. Whoopee. Another year to slog through.

Carl and Cheryl were at
the table filling plates and Sam willed his face to relax. No need
to advertise the fact that his life was a disaster.

“Sam,” Carl shouted
against the growing noise. “What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you later,”
Sam shouted back.

Regardless of the lateness of the hour the buffet still had
plenty of food and Sam hadn’t eaten anything. He piled food on his
plate. Deliberately took two brownies.
Screw Jeff
. He made himself a turkey
sandwich, grabbed a few pickles and a handful of chips. Then looked
at the food and set the plate on the table with a disgusted shake
of his head. He wasn’t hungry. Even if he were, he shouldn’t eat
anything while wearing clothes three sizes too small.

What did Jeff mean,
spice it up? How could he spice up a history text book? What was
the big deal if it was like a lot of other books out there? That
was a given. History was history and it didn’t change. What did
Jeff want, a corrupted version?

He
lifted his head and immediately noticed Randall Barton. Talking,
laughing, carefree and happy. Sam’s mouth twisted. No doubt
Randall
was
happy. He was the boss’s Golden Boy. His work was always
considered original. And he ran marathons every year. Same hobby as
the boss. Tenure for him was just a matter of time.

Sam’s mouth set. He
needed this book published if he was to get tenure this year.
Publish or perish, an academic fact of life. It had been too long
since Sam had raked up any credits, and he didn’t have time to
rewrite.

His
eyes narrowed. Showing his manuscript to Jeff had been a courtesy,
nothing more. Come January second, he’d send his book to the
publisher.
As is.
If the board members were impressed with publication credits
then he could certainly impress them without any help from
Jeff.

He
scanned the room, spotted Pete Saunders and remembered the
resolution.
To have everyone’s respect and
the body of an athlete
. Yeah, right.
Either you had respect or you didn’t. And Sam didn’t. Had Randall
turned in the same manuscript, Jeff would have drooled all over
it.

Emily placed her hand
on his shoulder. “Just two minutes until midnight. Have you made
any New Year’s resolutions?”

He turned. Her eyes
were soft. Again. She always did have a thing for the underdog. For
losers. A sure way to deflate her anger toward anyone was to point
out what failures they were. Her expression said it all. Sam was a
major loser. She’d been ice cold for weeks, and now she watched him
with soft, caring eyes? He didn’t want or need her pity.

He
shrugged her hand off his shoulder as the crowd started the
countdown.
Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight!
Fifty-seven
!...” Yes, I made a few New
Year’s resolutions. Did you?”

Anger
chased across her features, as he knew it would. But even anger was
better than pity.
Fifty-one! Fifty!
Forty-nine! Forty-eight!
...The noise grew
as more voices joined the chanting, the artist crowd getting even
the stodgy professors and their spouses fired up and excited. He
leaned down so she could talk into his ear and still she had to
shout. “Yes, I’ve decided to take up art again!”

He
moved back to gaze into her face, lifting a brow.
Forty-two! Forty-one! Forty
!...” I thought you’d given up that nonsense.” He glanced
around. “Do you want to end up like these flakes?”

The
noise continued to swirl around them as her features tightened,
contorted. Fury blazed in her eyes, then slowly, very slowly, her
expression changed, leaving only sadness behind. Leaving Sam
unsettled. She leaned closer. “What about you? What are your New
Year’s resolutions?”
Twenty-nine!
Twenty-eight! Twenty-seven!
...

He
bent his head to inform her his resolution was to get his wife to
buy him a new tuxedo but was distracted by her sadness. They were
in a room full of people, they were communicating by shouting and
she was really looking at him. Seeing him. Acting as if his answer
truly mattered to her. His stomach clenched. The least he could
give was honesty. He studied her a moment longer, then leaned
down.
Nine! Eight!
Seven!
... “I want everyone to respect me
and I want the body of an athlete.”

Wanting to see her
face, Sam started to pull back. He needed to see if she understood,
if she grasped how important this actually was to him. But before
he had the chance, someone slapped his back. Hard.

Sam stumbled and turned
his head. Pete Saunders was there, impaling him with that piercing
black stare. Their gazes locked. Sam’s brows pulled together and he
tried to turn away. Couldn’t. He needed air. His heart thumped in
his chest. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out noise from the
crowd. Pete’s fingers tightened, gripped his shoulder in a hold so
tight Sam couldn’t have broken it if he’d tried.

He
sensed Emily’s confusion. Tried to wrench his gaze from Pete’s.
Tried to reassure her. Couldn’t move.
Three! Two! One!
...The crowd
exploded. Horns blasted, streamers flew, confetti fluttered, and
laugher erupted. But even the noise didn’t stop Sam from clearly
hearing Pete’s deep, rasping voice, speaking as if directly to his
soul. “
Happy New Year, Sam
Pierson
.” Then, almost silence but for his
heartbeat. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Pete smiled. A smile of
such affinity, compassion, and love, that Sam’s eyes widened. His
face relaxed, his mouth parted and he started to smile back, really
smile, when his chest clenched in pain.

If you’d like to read
more, go to
www.DianeDarcy.com

Excerpt from She’s Just
Right

Someone’s been
sleeping in his bed...

Once upon a time,
golden-haired realtor Honey Stevens fought with her fiancé before
leaving for a three-week business trip to a small Northern
California town. Following a map to the cabin in the woods where
her important clients insist she stay, she goes inside and--as
instructed--makes herself at home to await their arrival. What she
doesn’t know is that some local boys, intent on revenge, tampered
with the house numbers and she’s at the wrong place!

Divorced game warden
Trevor Baron comes home after a long, hard day on the job in
desperate need of peace, quiet, and a good hot meal. Instead he
finds someone has been eating his dinner, breaking his chair, and
sleeping in his bed.

...and she’s still
there!

It doesn’t take long
for Honey to realize the wrong man is capturing her heart. The
question is, can Trevor let go of the past enough to let his own
heart out of hibernation?

When did Happily Ever
After become so complicated?

By the light of the
moon Dylan Eley led, and his best friends Isaac and Seth followed
as they crept through the trees toward the log cabin house.

It
was cold, the trees were spooky, and when a noise sounded behind, a
rustle in the foliage, Isaac sucked in a harsh breath. “It’s
Him
!” he whispered.
“He’s found us!”

Dylan swallowed, his
heart pounded, and his grip tightened on the hammer in his hand. He
turned to scowl at his friend. “No, it’s not. We’re practically in
the country, right? It’s a stray cat or a skunk or something.
Besides, we rode our bikes past that building he was fixing in
town, remember?” His voice wavered slightly and he knew he was
trying to convince himself as well as his friends. “Let’s keep
going.”

Seth started to wheeze
and Dylan stopped again, turned, and put a finger to his mouth.
“Shh.”

His expression serious,
the moonlight glinting off round-framed glasses, Seth pulled out
his inhaler, sucked medicine in, held his breath, and nodded.

Dylan sighed. His
friends looked as spooked as he felt. “Come on. We can do this.
We’re twelve now, right? School’s almost out for the summer so
we’re practically seventh graders. We’re not afraid, right?”

After a moment Seth
nodded.

“I won’t be twelve ‘til
July,” mumbled Isaac.

Dylan snorted. “Close
enough. Now, come on.”

A dog barked nearby,
then stopped. Dylan listened for a moment, then started forward
again. Thankfully, the dog was fenced, or it would’ve come after
them by now. Goosebumps rose on his arms as he considered the
disaster that could have been. Any dog belonging to the game warden
would be extremely dangerous.