Half Moon Hill: A Destiny Novel

by Toni Blake

  She couldn’t see it in the dark, though, unfortunately. Oh well, I’ll see it in the morning.

  As she lay down to sleep, she found herself remembering times she’d spent with Duke—particular moments that had seemed special.

  But if they weren’t special to him, why should they be special to me?

  The next morning, she got up determined to feel better—for good, not just for a few distracting minutes here and there. Her life was great, after all. She was financially comfortable, a piece of security not everyone possessed. She had a loving family of her own now. She was forming strong friendships and making a home here. She would soon open her own business. And she could even make a cobbler now!

  And she had a handsome hometown boy ready and willing to take a big place in her life—she could feel that. And she’d noticed more than one pair of envious female eyes on her last night.

  I have it all. And I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m fabulous!

  And now I’m going to go outside and see my new clapboard siding.

  Rising from the kitchen table, she placed her cereal bowl in the sink and headed for the front door. Descending the steps, she walked out into the yard where she could take in the whole house. And wow—the yellow was all she’d hoped. Sunshiny and happy and cheerful! With freshly painted white shutters already back in place, too, it was the first time she could almost envision what the house was going to look like when it was finally done. Soon she would at last be ready to open her bed-and-breakfast!

  It was then that her eyes were drawn to the left—Duke had just come from the woods, ready for another day of work. And he looked so . . . simply sexy in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, a light, unshaven stubble on his chin, the haircut she’d given him beginning to grow out just a bit. He was starting to look kind of rugged again. In a good way. And she melted a little, all over, at the mere sight of him.

  But more than just her physical reaction, seeing him now affected her another way, as well. It hit her that . . . in a sense, he’d always be here. Always. Because he was making her house over, from top to bottom. He was working hard every single day just to turn it from a drab old house into a bright, comfortable, friendly home. And yes, she’d agreed to pay him, but . . . she knew that wasn’t why he was doing it; she knew he didn’t need the money. And that made him far more than just some hired contractor. His work here, she knew, was a labor of love. Of some kind. And no matter how badly he’d hurt her, she’d always have that.

  She didn’t know if he saw her, but he crossed the driveway in front of the garage and headed toward the back of the house, not acknowledging her.

  And without taking the time to weigh it, she called to him, “It looks great!”

  He stopped, peered across the yard.

  Then after a moment, he changed direction and walked toward her.

  As he grew closer, she felt the need to tell him again. “It looks great, Duke. I really love it.”

  He met her gaze only briefly, then they both glanced back to the house. “Couldn’t have done it without Lucky’s help,” he said quietly.

  “I think yellow was the right choice—don’t you?”

  He gave a short nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him shift his weight from one work boot to the other before adding, “Lot still left to do, though. Lot more trim to replace and paint. And then the roof. I’ll have to get Lucky back over here for that.”

  “But . . . so far, it’s really wonderful,” she told him, and for this next part, she looked at him again. Even if seeing his face so close up—the mouth she’d kissed, the eyes she’d looked into, the scar she’d shaved so carefully around—caused fresh emotions to well inside her. “So I wanted to thank you. For all you’re doing. I’m really not sure what I would have done without you.”

  He met her gaze now, too, though she could tell it took some effort and he still didn’t smile. “You’d have done okay. You’d have found a way.”

  She shook her head, entirely unsure if that were true. “I don’t know what it would have been.”

  He gave his head a slight tilt, squinting in the sun. “Come on, Daisy—you’re way too feisty to let anything stand in your way for long. You’d have figured it out.”

  She realized he was giving her a sincere compliment. “Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t have to. You made it . . . easy.”

  He lowered his eyes, looked . . . almost shockingly bashful. And neither of them said anything else until Duke pointed his thumb vaguely toward the house. “Well, I’m gonna get to work.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll be off to the bookstore soon.”

  “You have a nice day, Daisy,” he said softly, still no hint of a smile.

  “Thanks. You too.”

  She stood in the same spot for a moment more, pretending she still studied the house, but she was really watching Duke walk away. And thinking it was nice to be his Daisy again, even if only for a moment, and even if it didn’t change anything.

  “They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them each time, without hurting them.”

  Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

  Nineteen

  Anna rang up two romance novels for old Mrs. Lampley—who tottered along, hunched down over a cane, and had to be at least eighty. She liked the idea that even a woman Mrs. Lampley’s age still wanted to escape into a place where passion led to a happily ever after. She wondered vaguely if Mrs. Lampley had had those things in her life—passion, or happily-ever-after.

  Rachel, Tessa, and Amy sat in the overstuffed easy chairs near the bookstore’s door with big, colorful mugs of coffee in their hands. And though they kept their voices low whenever customers were in the store, she could guess easily enough what they were talking about: Rachel’s pregnancy.

  As Mrs. Lampley slowly ambled out, Amy hopped up to get the door for her—and Anna walked around from behind the counter to join the other girls. Not long ago, she wouldn’t have—but now she realized the move came naturally and she felt accepted, welcome in their close circle.

  “And I’m still so upset about Jenny,” Rachel was saying as Anna lowered herself onto the arm of Tessa’s chair.

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean the things she said,” Amy quickly chimed in.

  “But that’s the thing,” Rachel said. “I think she did.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to forgive her, that’s all,” Tessa told her.

  Yet Rachel only scrunched up her nose. “I’m not the best at forgiving. Especially when I’m not sure someone even wants my forgiveness. She seems to think I’m some kind of ogre or something.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t,” Amy insisted. “It just . . . seemed that way.”

  “She’s really hurting right now, Rach,” Tessa reminded her.

  And though Anna wasn’t sure she should say anything, she decided it was in everyone’s best interest, so she tentatively spoke up. “For what it’s worth, Jenny’s really upset about it, too. She told me at the carnival. She feels awful about what she said and it really hurt her when she smiled and you looked away.”

  Both Tessa and Amy gasped. “You looked away?” Tessa asked in clear shock.

  And Amy scolded her. “Rachel . . .”

  Rachel made a pouty face, but also appeared a little ashamed. “Well, I’m mad. And hurt myself. And who are you to talk, Ames—you were downright mean to Anna last summer, in front of everybody.”

  Anna cringed inwardly at having an unpleasant memory brought up.

  But Amy seemed unaffected, saying boldly, “And look at us now—we’re friends and we work together and we’ve totally let bygones be bygones. Haven’t we, Anna?” She flashed a quick look Anna’s way.

  “Yes,” Anna replied quickly. She knew the incident—when Amy had been rude to her at a swim party—had been a result of Amy’s frustration, and ultimately Anna had felt they b
oth bore some of the responsibility.

  “Just like you should, with Jenny,” Amy said to Rachel.

  Yet Rachel’s expression remained resistant. “Well, maybe if I ever feel better,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly. “And if I ever decide . . .”

  “Decide what?” Tessa asked when Rachel trailed off, looking uncertain—and maybe even a little lost.

  She blew out a breath before answering. “You know what the worst part is?” she asked them. “It’s that . . . what if she’s right? Maybe she is. Because Mike and I are evil, awful people not to be thrilled by this.”

  And just like with Jenny, Anna was fast to say, “You’re entitled to how you feel. Everyone is.”

  “But maybe I would have been a lot smarter to just keep it to myself. I only thought . . . that I could be honest with my friends. I thought everyone would understand, and be supportive. Like you guys are.”

  “When all is said and done,” Tessa said, “you and Mike will do fine. You know that, right?”

  But Rachel, looking unconvinced, let out a sigh. “Let me tell you a story. The other day, we were at Edna’s.” Anna had grown used to Rachel calling her grandmother by her first name—it was just the nature of their relationship. “And she said she’d seen an antique changing table she wanted to buy for us.

  “And so I said, ‘What’s it change into?’ And Edna laughed and said she hoped I was joking. Which is when Mike said, ‘But really, what does it change into?’ And then she told us what it was, and we looked at each other and he just said, ‘This is going to be a disaster.’ And I was like, ‘You’re right. We’re doomed.’ And Edna told us we were being a couple of babies about having a baby. And maybe we are.” She stopped, sighed. “We’re . . . just a little scared.”

  The girls continued to say comforting things to Rachel—and after a few minutes, talk turned to the newlyweds, Amy and Logan. “How’s married life, Mrs. Whitaker?” Rachel asked, seeming glad for the change of subject.

  And Amy smiled a dreamy smile. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Any regrets about eloping?” Tessa asked.

  To which Amy replied with a quick shake of her head. “Not a one. I know I always dreamed about a big, traditional wedding, but . . . I like that we did something untraditional. It makes me feel all . . . devil-may-care.”

  And Anna had to stifle a laugh. Devil-may-care is having a wild affair with an outlaw biker living in a shack in the woods.

  “And speaking of exciting romantic adventures,” Rachel said, switching her look to Anna, “you and Jeremy, huh?”

  Oh crap. She kind of didn’t want to think about that right now. Oddly, thoughts of her hot, risky, painful affair with Duke felt easier. Even if that didn’t make much sense. “Um, yeah—maybe, I mean. We just met. But . . . so far so good.” She’d added the last part mainly for Tessa’s sake, feeling the need to sound interested so no one would be disappointed. And she wanted to be interested. No, she was interested. She was determined to be as into Jeremy as he was into her.

  “Well, Mike is elated,” Rachel said.

  And Anna replied, “I know—he couldn’t resist telling me.” And as they all laughed, she thought how unelated Mike would be if he knew what she’d been doing with Duke—until recently, anyway. The very thought made her shiver. And just then she realized—oh God, somewhere along the way she’d actually started caring a little bit about pleasing Mike, too. And . . . she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

  “So work on the house is going well?” Amy asked.

  And Anna wasn’t altogether sure that was a safer topic, but she said, “Um, yes, actually, it’s going great.”

  “And are you and Erik getting adjusted to each other?”

  And it hit Anna . . . “I keep meaning to ask you something about him—I can’t believe I haven’t in all this time.”

  “What do you need to know?” Amy asked cheerfully.

  “Well, he just seems to spend an awful lot of time meowing and following me around. And for the life of me, I don’t know why. What does he want? And he’s not hungry, I promise—I feed him all the time trying to shut him up.”

  Amy gave her head a thoughtful tilt and said, “Well, does he do it when you’re petting him or snuggling with him?”

  Anna thought about it. “No, now that you mention it. But . . . well, I’m on the run a lot, so I guess there hasn’t been a whole lot of that.”

  “Well then . . . he probably just wants a little more attention from you. He probably wants you to make him feel special, like you care about him—that’s all.”

  And Anna felt positively thickheaded. It had been so simple. And it made such easy sense. And it occurred to her now that the nicer she was to him, the less complaining meows she heard. “I, uh, guess I never thought of that.”

  Though the emotion caught her off guard, it actually touched her to think the cat needed her. Up to now, she’d thought of them as . . . sort of just existing together, like a couple of outcasts who happened to share the same space and tolerate each other. But this . . . well, it changed things. And it made her wish Erik were here to scoop up into her arms right now.

  Maybe Amy was right and an inn did need a cat. Maybe Anna needed a cat, too.

  It was turning out that Anna needed a lot of things she’d never realized before coming to Destiny.

  In the week that followed, life took on a strange sort of normalcy for Anna—or maybe it was more just like a predictable routine that she grew comfortable with. She worked two midday shifts at the bookstore, but mostly she stayed at home. She paid more attention to her cat on a regular basis, and she also spent a lot of time working with Duke on the house. Mostly they didn’t talk as they worked, or they spoke only about practical things—like the work itself and how it should be done—but that was okay.

  On the second day of this, when she joined him outside, she picked up a paintbrush and asked, “Should I keep putting primer on the rest of the trim pieces or start painting some of what I primed yesterday?”

  And Duke looked over from where he stood measuring the door frame that led into the screened porch to say, almost kindly, “You don’t have to help, Daisy. You’re probably tired from working at the bookshop so much lately.”

  But she replied, “No, I want to. I want to be able to look at the house and know I did at least a little of it.”

  “You did the whole inside, though, right?”

  “Mostly, yeah—with some help from Sue Ann and Tessa. But this is different. I just . . .” She leaned back to take in a fuller view of the house. “When I pull into the driveway I want to be able to see it and feel . . . connected to it or something.” Then she stopped, shook her head. She was saying too much, speaking too openly—an old habit with Duke. Yet it was a habit she needed to officially break. “But forget I said that—probably sounded silly.”

  Though Duke shook his head then, too, and said, “Nah—I get it.” And then he told her to finish priming the trim pieces and spindles before she started painting any. “I’ve got other stuff to do before I need any, and that way everything has time to dry between coats.”

  The truth was, though, that in addition to wanting to have a hand in finishing the exterior, she also just liked working alongside him and missed it when she didn’t do it. She’d come to find it . . . comforting—on a level she didn’t really understand.

  Even though they didn’t talk much, it was a . . . companionable silence. Not tense like at first after he’d returned to the woods. Or more recently after what she thought of as their “breakup.” Though she knew the term wasn’t really accurate. You couldn’t break up with someone you were never really officially together with. And that was where she’d made her big mistake—thinking they were together, in a way that counted for something.

  And a lot of hurt remained inside her. And there were times when she cried over it—though she tried to make sure it was at night, long after he’d left. And preferably in her bed, with the lights o
ut—because if she didn’t shine a light on it, that made it seem like less of a big deal. It was easier not to dwell on the emotions if the only part of the day that remained was falling asleep.

  But she was steadily letting go of any anger she’d felt toward him. Because she had to remember that he was in a dark place in his life right now and she’d known that going in. Maybe, deep down, she’d thought she could change that. Maybe she’d romanticized it, thinking they were two wounded souls who could heal each other. But what she’d come to understand was . . . she was a lot farther along the road to healing than him. It was that simple.

  And while she’d known a lot of loss, while she’d felt her life had been stolen from her, while there’d been a lot to make peace with . . . she’d never felt unloved. She’d never felt responsible for someone’s death. And Duke was struggling with both of those things, and now that she’d gained a little perspective, she thought it had been downright arrogant to think she could save him. Maybe no one could. And maybe he even knew that. Maybe that was what had brought him to the woods in the first place.

  Duke’s suffering made her sad. The fact that Duke had been careless with her emotions hurt. But all she could do was keep pushing forward and try to get over him. And having Jeremy Sheridan come along when he had . . . well, even if she didn’t swoon over him, it was a good start. Maybe she’d start swooning soon. Even if a mere glance up from her work to where Duke stood hammering a piece of white door frame into place made her heart beat faster.

  On Friday afternoon, they both continued painting the recently primed wraparound porch that had begun to seem much larger than ever before. And for some reason, she’d actually found herself making more conversation with him today—being the cool, confident, unaffected chick she’d always been until recently. And though she wasn’t sure if it was some act of self-preservation or if it only meant she was getting back into a more upbeat mood, she chose to just appreciate it for what it was and not question it too much.