Moon Dance

by Mariah Stewart

  "A romance?" Georgia tried to recall the few Sherlock Holmes films she had watched on TV on rainy Saturday afternoons. "Fascinating character though Holmes may have been, I don't think of him as being particularly romantic."

  "Oh, I agree." Matt smiled, happy that his choice for the evening was prompting some discussion, some interest on her part. "Holmes was a great detective, but he was, frankly, a bit of a misogynist. He had little use for women. The romance I spoke of was between Watson—who really was a ladies' man—and Holmes's client, Mary Morstan."

  "I read that someplace… that Holmes had a low opinion of women."

  "I think he thought they were unnecessary and not to be trusted. He says that, as a matter of fact… that even the best of them are not to be trusted." Matt grinned. "A sentiment I do not share, by the way, but it makes for an interesting character study."

  "Have you?" she asked, "studied his character?"

  "I did a paper on Holmes for an English class in college some years ago. I admit I chose the topic because I'd seen a few of the movies and figured it would be an easy paper. It was, because I enjoyed it, but I found the characters more complex than I'd given Conan Doyle credit for."

  "Ah, so that's how you got hooked."

  "That's how I got hooked," he nodded. "And you? Anyone in particular that you read religiously?"

  "Only my mother," Georgia grinned.

  "I'm embarrassed to admit that I've never read any of her books."

  "What? A die-hard detective fan such as yourself has never read a Shellcroft?" She feigned horror.

  "What's a Shellcroft?"

  "Harvey Shellcroft is a recurring character in a series my mother wrote early on in her career. He's a wonderful character—part Columbo, part Jessica Fletcher, part Holmes. Harve was so popular that when my mother wanted to start a new series with a new detective, her publisher wouldn't let her until she threatened to kill Harvey off."

  Matt laughed.

  "It's the truth. So now Mom does a new Harve every eighteen months to keep his fans happy, and in between time, writes other books that make her happy."

  "That's interesting, that she's sensitive to her readers."

  "She is sensitive to everyone."

  "I'm beginning to believe that."

  "My mother is a very caring person." Georgia speared a snow pea and nibbled one end of it. "She has always devoted herself to her children and her work. I'm so thrilled to see that she is taking some time to have a little fun for herself."

  "You're referring to Gordon Chandler."

  Georgia nodded. "He seems like such a perfect match for her. He's interesting, active, intelligent— and he seems to care for Mother."

  "I thought he was quite solicitous of her when they were here last weekend."

  "So did I. I like to see that someone is taking care of her. Not that she needs it, but it's just good to see someone do the kind of little things for her that she's always doing for other people. And she seems happy to be with him. Maybe it's finally her time to find happiness."

  "I hope you're right. Chandler seems to be the kind of guy you wouldn't mind having date your mother."

  "And while we're on the subject of people our favorite relatives might be interested in, have you had a chance to meet Tucker Moreland?"

  "Not yet. I haven't gotten out to Bishop's Cove yet. But it's on the agenda. Maybe I'll take a ride out there tomorrow. Unless, of course, you have some farm chores lined up for me…" he teased.

  "I have my dancing classes in the morning, but I haven't any other plans. I do want to show you what I did this week, though," she said, thinking of what fun it would be to show off her crones.

  "So, what do you think of my curry?" he asked as he finished eating.

  "I think it's great. I'm really touched that you made a special effort to make something just for me." She reached her hand across the table and touched his wrist.

  Matt made a mental note to hit the bookstore in Shawsburg and stock up on a few good vegetarian cookbooks. And maybe a Shellcroft or two.

  "I like doing special things for you," he said simply, taking her hand and toying with her fingers. "And I plan on doing lots of special things for you for a very long time to come."

  "You do?"

  "Yes. I do. I just thought I should warn you." Matt gave her hand a squeeze, then stood up and began to clear the table. "We can have dessert while we watch the movie, if that's all right with you."

  "That sounds like fun. Can I help?"

  "Nope. Just get comfortable on the sofa and we'll be ready to roll in a few minutes. I'll be right back."

  Georgia seated herself on the old blue plaid sofa, drawing up her legs beneath her. Artie roused himself from his place near the door and wagged his tail as he approached her, begging for an invitation to join her.

  "No, you sit there, on the floor," she told him.

  He sat as close to the sofa as he could get, his tongue flopped from one side of his mouth like a rumpled tie and his big head nudging her knees.

  "Oh, you want a little attention, do you?" Georgia scratched behind the dog's ears.

  I like doing special things for you, Matt had said. Had anyone ever said anything sweeter to her?

  I plan on doing special things for you for a very long time to come. Had any promise ever made to her been more dear?

  "I don't think so," she whispered to Artie.

  Matt came in with a tray piled with perfect strawberries and a bowl of popcorn drizzled with melted chocolate.

  "What's a movie without popcorn?" He grinned as he moved a few books on the coffee table to make room for the tray.

  "Oh, that looks wonderful," she sighed, and reached for a berry.

  Matt sat down next to Georgia, put his arm around her shoulders, and turned on the VCR via the remote.

  "This version was made in the early thirties," he told her as the film began. "There's an earlier version—a silent one—made in the twenties, that's interesting, too, but I haven't been able to find that one to add to my collection."

  A series of flashbacks to India in the beginning of the film caused Georgia to exclaim, "Oh! I get it! India! Curried vegetables! Did you match the menu to the movie?" to which Matt laughed out loud.

  "I guess I'm not very subtle. I just thought it would be fun." Matt grinned broadly. It hadn't occurred to him that her candid appreciation would please him so. "I couldn't think of too many vegetable dishes that I thought I could cook, and this is one of my favorite films."

  ''What's special about this one?" She asked.

  "Well, for one thing, I think that this story really highlights Holmes's incredible investigative skills, maybe better than the others, because it's so complex. Just watch as the story unfolds."

  She did watch, munching strawberries and popcorn.

  Midway through the movie, the phone rang. Matt stopped the VCR and patted Georgia's leg as he excused himself to answer it.

  "That was Laura," he told her as he came back into the room. "She wanted to tell me about a party she is hosting for Zoey and Ben at the inn in two weeks. She asked if I would consider coming and spending the weekend along with the rest of clan. I think she was shocked when I said I'd be there without her having to twist my arm."

  "I spoke with her the other day. She doesn't know…" Georgia hesitated.

  "…about us?" Matt grinned and finished the sentence for her. "No, apparently she doesn't. And what a surprise that will be when we tell her."

  "What will you tell her?" Georgia leaned back and tugged on his hand. "What will you tell Laura?"

  "I'll tell her," he said as he kissed the soft skin below her ear, "that I have had a change of heart. I'll tell her that she was right," he whispered as his mouth moved to hers, "when she said that I'd love you once I got to know you…"

  "Remind me to ask you about that later," she said as she lay back against the cushions and pulled him to her.

  "Later, I'll tell you anything you want to know. But later, Georgia. M
uch later…"

  Georgia slipped the shirt from her shoulders and his lips sank to her collarbone where his tongue traced a long, slow line up her neck to her waiting mouth. Hot tongues teased and tasted, trading sensation and promising more. His hands lifted her slowly, repositioning her body atop his own where he could see her, could feel her, could love her without fearing that he was crushing the life from her, as he had been afraid of doing the weekend before. She sat up slightly and pulled the camisole to her waist, bringing his hands up to cup her breasts, moaning slightly at the touch of his fingers on her anxious flesh. When she could take no more of his searching hands, his eager mouth , she reached beneath her to tug at the zipper of his jeans and freed him, raising her skirt and sinking upon him, taking him in, taking his breath away.

  "You're so beautiful," he whispered, watching her face, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

  "You're so beautiful," he told her again, as she arched her back and cried out.

  "You're so beautiful," he repeated after he had shattered and shivered within her and had drawn her down tightly into his arms. "Now, if I fall asleep, will you disappear again? Will you run off to dance in the moonlight without me?"

  "You could dance with me," she told him. "We could choreograph a pas de deux…"

  "I think we just did that," he smiled, "and if we can remember the steps, we could do it again."

  "Oh, we can always improvise, you know," she whispered. "I'm great at improvisation…"

  Georgia was, Matt found, true to her word. Any dancing she did that night, she did with him, a long, sweet pas de deux that lasted nearly till dawn and left her far too tired to dance alone in the moonlight even if she'd wanted to.

  At nine, Georgia awoke to the smell of coffee and the rollicking music of the Rolling Stones's Gimme Shelter blasting from the kitchen. Rolling over to look at the clock, she groaned and sat up gingerly, trying to recall the last time she'd slept past six-thirty.

  "And just think how much worse I'd feel if I wasn't in shape," she muttered.

  "But you have to admit it was worth it," Matt laughed from the doorway, where he leaned against the jamb, watching her fitful maneuver to the side of the bed.

  "One has nothing to do with the other," she grumbled. "I am an athlete. I should not be slowed down by normal nocturnal activities."

  "Sweetheart, if that was your idea of normal nocturnal activity, one of us will be in a wheelchair by the time we're thirty."

  "Well, it won't be me. Some of my muscles are just a tad… rusty, that's all." She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. It was then she saw the mug he'd set on the wide window ledge. "Is that coffee? You brought me coffee?" She sighed gratefully.

  "I thought to atone for keeping you awake all night," he said, trying to look contrite.

  "It'll take more than coffee…" She sipped at the warm dark liquid. "Although on second thought, this coffee just might do it."

  "One of my specialties. French breakfast blend mixed with Colombian beans. And breakfast is in twenty minutes."

  "Just enough time for me to grab a quick shower." She headed for the bathroom, then turned and asked, "What's for breakfast?"

  "It's a surprise."

  She took three more steps down the hall, then looked over her shoulder. "Just what do you do to stay in shape?"

  "I joined a gym."

  "Ah, that explains it," she muttered as she continued on to the shower, "all those different kinds of machines…"

  He laughed and watched her disappear through the bathroom door.

  "We never finished watching the movie last night," Georgia reminded him when she came into the kitchen, wearing the shirt she had worn the night before, along with the skirt. She wasn't sure what had happened to the camisole, but was pretty sure it was in the living room someplace. She'd look later. Right now, she had breakfast to share with Matt—so cute in bare feet and khaki shorts and T-shirt advertising a dog training school—and in little more than an hour, Laura would arrive in a van filled with aspiring ballerinas.

  He pulled out a chair for her at the small table, and she sat down.

  "Well, we can always try again tonight," he said as he took the coffee cup from her hands and refilled it without her asking. "Maybe by the end of the weekend we'll have seen the entire film," he grinned and placed a perfect omelet—fluffy eggs wrapped around long tender spears of asparagus—before her on the table.

  "Oh, this looks wonderful," she beamed.

  "Well, actually, I planned on making this for you for dinner tonight," he bent down and kissed the back of her neck. "It hadn't occurred to me that I'd be making three meals for you this weekend."

  "Curried vegetables, fresh coffee first thing in the morning, and this beautiful breakfast," she sighed, then laughed and said jokingly, "Will you marry me?"

  His hands, which had been massaging her shoulders gently, stopped for a long minute, then slowly, began again.

  "Yes," he said softly, "I'm thinking I probably will."

  She wanted to say that it had just been a joke, but she couldn't seem to get the words out. Though the remark had been intended as a flippant one, suddenly the idea didn't seem far-fetched. Not so very far-fetched at all.

  twenty-two

  "I have to ran back to the house and let Spam out— she probably wonders where I am—and change for my dance class," Georgia was saying as she rinsed off her dishes in the small kitchen sink. "Laura should be here soon with the girls."

  "Leave those, I'll clean up," he told her.

  "You know, I have to tell you that you are probably the neatest man I've ever met. I used to think my brother was neat, but you have it all over him."

  "I got into the habit when I was really small. The only thing Mom ever asked of Laura and me was that we pick up after ourselves, so I always did."

  "You can come next door and pick up after me anytime," she tugged on his collar to bring his face closer so that she could kiss him before floating through the door.

  "And I probably will have to," he said to himself, recalling the dishes stacked in her sink, the unmade bed that never seemed to be of any concern to her. Georgia seemed to have different priorities. While she wasn't by any means slovenly, she seemed to go from one busy activity to another, pausing to clean up on her return trip, as it were. Breakfast dishes might be washed with those from dinner. It never seemed to matter to her, when she had other, more interesting things to do.

  By the time Matt had finished cleaning up from the night before, including the drips of candle wax here and there, Laura's van was pulling into the driveway and six or seven eager little dancers were spilling out. Matt stood in the window and watched as Georgia called a greeting from the back door. She ducked back inside the house for a moment, then skipped down the steps and offered Laura a hug. Surrounded by chatty little girls, some of whom appeared to be showing off their new dancing garb to their teacher, Georgia crossed the yard with her charges. Laura leaned over to pat the pig who had waddled along behind the group and, unable to keep up, had rolled over onto Laura's feet.

  Matt heard their feet tramping up the steps, heard them ooh and ah over the movable barres, and listened as music filled the old barn to its very rafters. Another car door slammed as the contingent of young dancers from O'Hearn arrived and ran noisily up the steps. The chatter died down in a minute, and the music stopped momentarily, then started from the beginning again. Matt supposed that Georgia had started class, and he fought the urge to go in and take a peek.

  He hated the thought of taking that from her, of taking her ballet in the barn out from under her very feet. Well, she'd have the summer to find another place to rent for her school. He prayed it would be here, in O'Hearn. It would have to be. He couldn't even think of Georgia leaving Pumpkin Hill now. And besides, she clearly loved the farm, and seemed to belong here, as much as he and Laura belonged. She had fit in so easily, had taken to the place so completely, that he could almost fancy that Hope herse
lf had had a hand in it.

  He finished cleaning up the apartment, then glanced at his watch. Georgia would teach for maybe another twenty minutes. Laura was wandering around outside with Artie and Spam, and Matt decided to join them.

  "Hey," he called to her.

  "Matt," she waved. "I was beginning to think you were sleeping late today."

  "Not a chance." He caught up with his sister and kissed her on the cheek. "Especially with the London Symphony playing in the barn."

  "Oh. Is the music bothering you?" Laura frowned. She didn't need one more thing for Matt to hold against Georgia.

  "Nah. I'm getting used to it."

  "Really?" Laura looked pleased.

  "Sure. A little Bach, a little Chopin, early on a Saturday morning never hurt anyone." He grinned, recalling that Laura still didn't know that he and Georgia had kissed and made up. So to speak. "Where are you headed? Anyplace in particular?''

  "I thought I'd go see Georgia's vegetable garden. She was making scarecrows this week. Excuse me," she laughed and corrected herself, "she referred to them as scarecrones."

  "Then we'll have to take a look." He fell in step next to her. "How's everything at the inn?"

  "Fine." She nodded.

  "Any new or interesting guests?" he prodded, wondering if she'd mention this Tucker guy that Delia and Georgia had mentioned.

  "Well, Gordon is still there. He's taken a bedroom-sitting room combination for an unspecified amount of time. I guess until he's done in Bishop's Cove, which could be a year or better, depending on how long it takes him to find something of value on this ship."

  "He must have some kind of a crew," Matt went on as if it was just occurring to him. "Where are they all staying?"

  "Oh, most of the crew he's hired on locally. He has brought a few specialty divers, though."