Twice in a Blue Moon (14 page)

“I walked away. I tried to ignore her, avoid her. But Lissette...she wasn't used to not getting her way. She was relentless. Everywhere I turned, she was there. Still, I'd have kept my head if it weren't for that damned innocent beauty. It was an undeniable force, pulling me to her. Like I was walking in a trance, and the ordinary world around me no longer mattered. Because, when I was with her, it was as if that bubble closed around us both. The world was shiny and perfect. A place where princesses and commoners
could
live happily ever after.”

He snorted, an ugly sound.

Indigo waited, not wanting to hear the rest while at the same time held by the story, the vision and the pain in his eyes.

“But the simple act of touching that bubble shatters it. And there is no going back. There is no forgiveness for ruining something so precious. You're doomed. Not only in others' eyes, but worse, in your own.

“When the everyday world rushes in, it leaves not a princess, but an ordinary woman. A woman with all the foibles of adulthood and none of the maturity. With the bubble gone from around Lissette, I could see what had been there all along—a beautiful, spoiled, entitled daughter of a rich man.”

When he lifted his eyes, Indigo realized with a start that Danovan knew the loss she lived every day. He knew it because he'd experienced it. Hers was for a person she'd known well. His was for a person who'd never existed.

“So when she told me she was pregnant, I asked her to marry me, thinking maybe this was penance I could give for what I'd taken. Her mother cried. Her father hit me. But eventually, they had to give their blessing. Lissette wanted me, and they never could deny her anything.” He heaved a deep sigh. “We were married in the biggest wedding the Central Valley had ever seen. A wedding befitting royalty. Sixteen attendants, three flower girls and a full mass.

“I wanted to relocate. I thought that if I could get her away from her family and start fresh, just the two of us, we'd have a chance. But she had no intention of leaving Camelot to live a normal life on a commoner's salary. Not like her parents would have supported that, even if she'd wanted to—they had an heir on the way.” He spoke from between clenched jaws.

“I refused to move into her parents' house. She refused to live in town. We ended up moving into an apartment over the garage. That was only the first of a long line of disagreements. We argued our way through the months of her pregnancy. About her parents, her friends, my expectations. By the time the baby was due, we were married in name only. She spent more time in her parents' home than in ours, and God help me, I was relieved.

“But then the baby was born.” Wonder broke on his face, remembering. “We named her Esperanza—hope—and that's just what she was to us. She was magical, changing my in-laws from sullen adversaries to soft-hearted, doting grandparents. Esperanza was such a beautiful, happy baby that Lissette transformed as well, into a luminous Madonna. It was a charmed time. And Esperanza brought me hope, too. Hope that Lissette and I could put aside the past and start over. I had plans...”

He seemed to remember she was there. He glanced over, straightened in his chair, and shook his head. “But it didn't last. Things got worse. Much worse. Lissette had turned back into the spoiled, immature person she'd been, and my in-laws again became the enemy. But this time, Lissette was firmly in their camp, and when Esperanza died, whatever hope was left died with her.

“Along with a piece of me. Maybe the best piece. God, if I could just see Esperanza again. Touch her...”

It hurt Indigo to see him, head bowed, looking broken. She gave up her resolve and laid a hand over his, and they sat in silence.

His voice, when it came, was hushed. “See, you and I are not so different. It's not easy to face your mistakes and dare to hope again. But we're both doing just that.”

When he stood, she found herself standing beside him. He took her hand. “I wanted you to know. You're not alone.” His fingers came under her chin. He lifted her face. With a simple tilt of his head, his lips were on hers, just as desperate and needy as hers had been last night.

She knew she should draw back. But she couldn't turn away from this raw human longing to connect—she knew it too well. She tried to tell him in her kiss that he, too, wasn't alone. That it was all right to put the past down.

But then all her altruistic thoughts swirled away when her own need rose. Her arms went around his neck, and she buried her hands in his hair. Her breath labored as something in her chest opened. His arms tightened around her, fusing the length of her against him, and still, it wasn't close enough.

What are you doing? You are a widow. Harry...

Shocked to the deepest bruise of her battered heart, she pulled away.

A fleeting look of pain crossed his face. “Indigo, we've both made mistakes. Mine worse than yours. But we've paid for them. We deserve more good than what we've had. I've decided that I'm not giving up on hope.” He ran the backs of his fingers lightly down her cheek. “I'm hoping you won't, either.”

Did she dare?
She knew what Harry would say. He'd tell her it was time to stop mourning and move on, to grab hold of life and savor it, just as he had. But she was afraid. Dare she trust her own misguided compass? Drop her caution and give in to the yearning inside her? Share his hope?

When she was with this man, she wanted to. She wanted to so badly.

She took his hand. “I don't know if I can, but I'm going to try. I promise you, I'll try.” She wasn't sure if she was promising Danovan—or Harry.

“That's all either of us can do.” He squeezed her hand and didn't let go.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
T
CLOSING
TIME
a week later, Indigo looked up from her computer. Danovan once more stood at her office door, wearing jeans, a tight T-shirt and a hopeful look.

“Hi,” she said then went back to typing an email to a potential customer who'd asked about their Harvest Moon Cab.

“We need to go to the fair.”

“Hang on one second.” She typed her name at the bottom, proofread the email and hit Send. “Now, what were you saying?” She logged out of email and shut down the computer.

“Are you available tonight?”

“Tonight?” Her heart revved.

Smiling, he nodded.

After his revelation last week, the uneasiness between them had lessened. Well, business-wise, anyway. Like horses in harness, they were getting used to pulling together. They'd mowed their way through the should-have-been-done-long-ago list and were working on the should-have-been-done-yesterday one.

And she was beginning to feel comfortable with her duties in the vineyard, too. Not so with her sales duties. She'd signed the Judas photo of her and Harry on the Oscars red carpet and dropped it in the mail to Bernard. She felt like a coward, but she wasn't strong enough to deliver it in person and watch him fawn over it. As much as they needed the business, she half hoped he wouldn't place another order. The thought of walking into that restaurant again made her stomach burn.

“Well?” Danovan shrugged.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Danovan DiCarlo, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Nope. This is work. The Santa Maria County Fair hosts the Central Valley Wine Competition every year. The entries had to be sent in months before you took over The Widow, so we're not entered, but we need to scope out the competition.” He leaned against the jamb and put his hands in his pockets. “But if you want to ride the Ferris wheel, I could probably be talked into it.” He glanced out her window, then to the dog bed under it—anywhere but at her.

She'd never seen him shy before. He was always so in control and sure of himself. “Fine. As long as it's not a date.”

“It's not.” His smile was slow and deadly. “If you don't want it to be.”

She wasn't sure of anything with this man. But her heart gave a silly skip anyway. She really did love county fairs. “It's going to cost you. I haven't had cotton candy in ages.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Okay, but it'll be a few minutes. I need to feed Barney, let him out, then change.”

* * *

T
HE
SUN
HAD
just set when they stepped out of Danovan's Land Rover and walked across the parking lot of the Santa Maria County Fairgrounds. When they reached the admission booth, she pulled out her cash.

“I've got this.” Danovan reached for his back pocket.

She touched his forearm to stop him. “Not a date, remember?” She stepped to the window. “Besides, this is a business write-off.”

Grumbling under his breath, he accepted the event pamphlet from the ticket taker, and they stepped through the turnstiles. Once inside, he stopped to study the map.

Indigo took in the scene as people flowed around them. Lights winked on along the causeway and on the rides, lending a magical quality to the deepening dusk. A fresh breeze laced with the smells of popcorn, sugar and gasoline exhaust brushed her face, lifting the sleeves of her blousy top. Laughter, screaming and the
chug-whine
of laboring engines came from the midway ahead. She closed her eyes to absorb the moment. Anticipation fizzed in her blood, and excitement tap-danced in her stomach.

An almost forgotten feeling unfurled, filling her chest with what felt a little like recklessness. It seemed forever since she'd enjoyed a simple pleasure. The heavy mantle of sorrow and responsibility slid off her shoulders to fall in a black heap at her feet. She knew she'd put it on again later, but for now, she felt lighter. Younger. She bounced on her toes. “Hurry up. What's first?”

He looked up and froze, staring as if he'd been hit in the head and was trying to gather his scattered chickens. His crooked grin spread like sweet butter. “Hold your horses, little lady. Business first.” He squinted past the lights, then took her hand, gesturing with the pamphlet in his other. “The exhibitor's hall is over this way.”

She remembered the hand that now enveloped hers—large, callused and comfortable. The heat spread up her arm, and when it hit the anticipation in her chest, it burst into a sparkle of happiness. She'd forgotten what that felt like too. She let him lead her past the causeway to the low red barn buildings to the right.

They stepped into the one with the Central Coast Wine Competition sign and found a long cement-floored room with rough wood walls. Tables festooned with wine and unmanned displays from local wineries competed for the attention of the strolling crowd. People spoke in whispers as if they were in church. Serious stuff, this.

Indigo took out her phone and snapped photos, getting ideas for a new show display. The display she'd found in a closet in her office was dated and shopworn.

“Well, Danovan DiCarlo.” A fat man in a golf shirt with the logo of the Carbondale Winery on the pocket stopped in front of them. “I'm surprised you'd have the guts to show your face here, after—”

“Yeah, great seeing you, too, Stan.” Scowling, Danovan locked onto her arm and propelled her across the room.

“Wait, who was that?” She craned her neck, but the crowd moved, obscuring her view. “What was that about?”

Danovan perused a display. “Stan Barclay. When I was at Bacchanal, we destroyed his Cab in a statewide competition. He obviously holds a grudge.”

“Well, that's not very professional.” She walked to the next display.
What had that guy been about to say to Danovan?
The nugget of unease that she'd buried in the back of her mind grew, rubbing some of the fun off the evening.

“Oh, but of course.” Danovan's sarcastic lilt wore cement overshoes.

They stopped in front of the most elaborate display of all. A floor-to-ceiling booth panorama put you in a vineyard with the setting sun casting a golden tint to the grape leaves, robust bunches of green peeping from under them. In the center, a table draped in casually rumpled gold velvet displayed five bottles of wine, each wearing the distinctive Bacchanal label—and a showy blue ribbon.

When Danovan didn't move, she tugged at his elbow. “That's only because we didn't enter. We'll take them next year.”

The grim set to his mouth told her he planned on it.

They walked out of the building. The raucous noise from the midway washed away the refined atmosphere, but not the anger rolling off her companion.

“Next year.” Danovan strode so fast she had to trot to keep up. “We'll have a nice display, but one that doesn't take away from the real star—the wine. A slender, dark bottle, showing off the deep, rich berry blush.” He traced the form as if it were a woman's body. “Can't you just see it? A gold foil label, heavy black script. DiCarlo Select Merlot.”

He wasn't kidding about the ambition part.
“Oh, really?”

He seemed to come back to himself. And his audience. “Oh, I didn't mean to...I mean, you, of course, get to name...”

She couldn't step on him. After all, he was working his ass off for less money than he made at his last job. She could pay anyone to do the work, but she couldn't pay someone to care. And Danovan DiCarlo, for all his faults, cared. Maybe allowing him to name a wine he perfected wouldn't be out of the question.

Besides, dreams didn't cost a thing. Dreams were good. She smiled. “No worries. First, let's have a good crush this fall. Then we'll worry about naming our amazing product.” She took a step toward the delicious smell coming from the midway, pulling Danovan with her. “Ohhhh, kettle corn!”

A corn dog, popcorn and ice cream cone later, they strolled the games alley, watching the easy marks attempt to win cheap sawdust-stuffed animals for their girlfriends. Indigo took a bite of cotton candy. “Hmm. This is so good it's sinful.”

“It gives me a sugar rush just watching you eat it. Don't you know that adults aren't supposed to consume that crap?” He pointed. “Hey, you want me to win you a jelly glass?”

“Nah. It would get an inferiority complex, mixed in with all Uncle Bob's wineglasses. And, in regards to your last point, I'm not an adult. Not tonight. I'm reliving my childhood, and— Oh my God!”

“What?” His head swiveled, looking for trouble.

“They've got a Centrifuge! I love that ride.”

He eyed the cylinder and the dizzy teens spilling from the narrow door. “You do?” He glanced to her almost empty cotton candy cone. “You may want to wait—”

“Oh, I'm totally doing that.” She dropped the cone in the trash, dusted her hands and shot him a challenging look. “You scared?”

“Honey, Daring is my middle name.” He growled deep in his throat, grabbed her hand and marched to the ticket booth.

“Danovan Daring DiCarlo. That has a nice cadence.”
Did I just giggle?
Jesus, she hadn't giggled since she was a teen. Well, screw it. There'd be time enough for responsibility tomorrow. Tonight, she was cutting loose.

She noticed the women they passed and how their gazes paused on Danovan as if savoring
. Well, eat your hearts out, ladies.
For tonight, anyway, her hand felt right in his. She'd worry about the rest tomorrow.

Harry.
She stumbled a bit, then caught herself. The image of him smiling fondly floated through her mind. She gritted her teeth. Harry would approve. She just knew he would.

Since she'd left Hollywood—no, earlier than that, after Harry died—she'd felt lost, misplaced.

Tonight, for the first time since, she felt natural. Herself. Maybe she was finding her footing again. Maybe the winery could be somewhere she actually fit.
Maybe.

She shoved the thoughts behind her and tightened her grip on Danovan's hand. Tomorrow would be soon enough for grown-up thoughts. Tonight, she was going to
feel.

But ten minutes later, she bent over, hands on her knees, wishing she could
stop
feeling. “I think I'm going to throw up.” Her stomach was in full gale warning, with ten-foot swells.

Danovan rubbed light circles on her back. “I told you riding that thing wasn't a good idea after all that junk food.”

“Please.” She swallowed the corn dog, cotton candy, popcorn pollution that crawled up her throat. “Don't mention food.”

They stood tucked in a dark niche between rides. The smell of exhaust blew over her in a greasy wave. She fanned her hands in front of her face.
Getting sick does not make a good impression on a first date.
She squinted up at him. “Is this a first date?”

He chuckled and kept rubbing her back. “Not if you hurl, it's not.”

She moaned. “Oh, great, no pressure.”

“Here, I know what'll help.” He took her hand and led her into the darkened field behind the fairgrounds. He stood behind her. “Look at the light on that barn over there. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“You just keep watching that. You have motion sickness.”

She puffed out a shaky breath. “How do you know?”

“My sister never wanted to sit next to a stranger, so she dragged me on every roller coaster within driving distance, growing up.” His hands rested, feather-light, on her shoulders. “The best thing is to focus on something that's anchored and stable. Just breathe deep and watch that light.”

She did. In ten minutes, the waves in her stomach calmed, and the vertigo sledgehammer quit pounding the inside of her skull. As long as she didn't think about food, she felt better. And the solid wall of him, bracing her back, helped. “I think I'm okay now.” She stepped away.

“Good. No more rides for you tonight, missy.”

“Believe me, I'm done. You ready to head back?”

“Sure. Let's go.” He put a hand under her elbow to help her across the uneven ground.

Once home, he insisted on driving her up the hill to the cabin. The table lamp she'd left on in the great room was a beacon as he walked her to the door. She unlocked it, then turned. “Thanks, Danovan, I had a good time, in spite of—”

His lips cut her off, slanting over hers. It was a tentative kiss for all its brashness. A warm brush, an invitation, before he withdrew to look at her, his eyes full of questions.

It was dark. They were alone. Maybe she could pretend, just a few moments longer, that she was undamaged, young, immune, carefree. She didn't lean in to him as much as just relaxed, allowing the attraction to pull her to him.

Their first kisses had had agendas. Not this one. She explored his mouth, tasting the alluring sweetness of freedom. He was as addicting as all the sugar she'd indulged in tonight. She craved that rush.

He took her lips as if he owned them, then withdrew, stretching out the cord between them. The drawing strengthened it, so when he returned, they both wanted more.

His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her against him. She put her hands on his chest, reveling in the pliant muscle under the lean scrap of cotton.

The cord thickened to rope, then to cable, as he took her mouth again.

His breath, heavy in her ear, loosened something deep in the floor of her pelvis. Something that had been strung taut for a long, long time. Languid warmth swirled until she felt swollen with it.

She dug her fingers into his cotton shirt and clung as he took—and she gave. His hands in her back pockets held her close, against the rod-hard length of him. She wanted to get closer. Had to get closer. Without asking her brain, her hips twisted against him. The delicious friction pulled a moan from her chest. Her muscles clenched deep inside.