Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2)

by Tess Thompson

  It felt like a home. I’m ashamed to say it was better put together than any of my recent homes, and without question there was more food in the refrigerator.

  Blythe sat in the brown leather chair near the fire. “Were you serious when you said you might spend some time here?”

  I glanced outside. Icicles glistened like fine glassware from the awnings. Maybe I should stay through the holidays. It would be nice to stay in this little house and spend a month or two reading by the fire and watching the snow fall. For the first time in my life, idle time sounded appealing.

  Blythe gestured toward the window. “Something about Idaho and Blue Mountain can put things into perspective. Look what it’s done for me.”

  I smiled. “Well, yes. Coming here was the best decision you ever made.”

  She laughed. “You only say that because it was your idea.”

  “Well, that’s true enough.” I joined her in the sitting area, plopping on the couch and unzipping my boots. Rubbing my feet between my hands, I thought about Sam and Sweetheart. I turned to my sister. “What should I do about Sam?”

  She twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers, like she did when we were children and I asked her a difficult question. “I’ve been thinking about that. What if he came to work here on the property? There’s maintenance and upkeep for all the houses. He could be a caretaker of sorts.”

  My mouth dropped open. How had my sister, in the time it took to hear my story and walk to the guesthouse, decided my hopes for restoring Sam’s life were not only valid but something she wanted to aid? Blythe—generosity, friendship, it all came like breathing to her. I, on the other hand, had to work at it. “Do you think Kevan would agree?”

  “Let’s see how Thanksgiving dinner goes. If Kevan can see he’s harmless—if he is indeed harmless—we will make a way for him to stay.” She raised one eyebrow, scrutinizing me. “As luck would have it, the caretaker the Lanigans have had for years and years, a local man, just retired. He was ninety years old if he was a day and decided to finally accept his daughter’s offer to live with them. His duties were to keep an eye on things but mainly to take care of the horses while we’re away. Anyway, Kevan would certainly consider it, I’m sure, if tomorrow went okay. There’s a little cottage out by Ciaran’s where he would live. It’s not much, but it has heating and plumbing and a small kitchen.”

  We talked through a few more details before she left so I could unpack and get settled. A plan, I thought. We had a plan.

  Chapter 11

  AN HOUR LATER I SAT on the covered patio of Kevan’s house with my nieces, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate in fat, cobalt blue mugs. Blythe and Kevan had left for their walk. Kevan had told us they would stop to sit on Blythe’s favorite bench by the small lake, where he would present the ring and ask for her hand. He would give us the thumbs-up if she said yes—our cue to prepare the champagne and sparkling cider. Blythe was oblivious, which made it all the more fun. Not to mention the ring, an enormous diamond in an old-fashioned setting, which screamed Blythe. It was perfect, I’d told him earlier. He knew her, I thought.

  Just then, we saw Kevan and Blythe sit on the bench near the lake. Snow fell all around us. They kissed for a moment and then gazed toward the lake.

  “Gross,” said Clementine.

  “Don’t you like kissing?” I pulled her close and kissed the top of her blonde head. Her soft hair smelled freshly washed and sweet.

  “I’m eight, Aunt Bliss. Kissing isn’t allowed.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s gross.”

  “It’s gross to kids.”

  “She doesn’t always make sense,” said Lola. My Lola—eleven going on thirty-five. They both sounded exponentially more grown-up since the last time I’d seen them. Their changes and growth were like measurements on the Richter scale, multiplying at a rate times ten with each year that passed. Children marked the passage of time like nothing else. From the vantage point of adulthood, my nieces were chubby babies only minutes ago. My heart ached thinking of them as babies, wishing to hold onto time.

  “So you guys think Kevan’s a good guy?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’s nice,” said Clementine. “He takes care of a lot of things for us now. And he’s really good at helping us with our math. Mom’s not the best on math. Sometimes she doesn’t even know the answers. Can you believe that, Aunt Bliss?”

  “Which part?” I chuckled.

  “The part about Mom.”

  “Math isn’t really her thing,” I said. “But she’s good at many other things.”

  “Yeah, like hugs.” Clementine’s hand slipped in mine.

  “She’s an expert hugger,” I said. “Did I ever tell you guys how she took care of me when I was a kid?”

  “Only a thousand times,” said Clementine.

  I chuckled. “Old people tend to repeat themselves.”

  Clementine nodded knowingly. “I’ve noticed that.”

  “Mom doesn’t cry on the bathroom floor anymore,” said Lola. “That’s why I like Kevan.”

  “You knew about that?” I asked.

  “She went in there to hide from us but we knew anyway,” said Lola.

  “We could hear her sniffs. It made us sad.” Clementine snuggled closer, her cheek pressed against my shoulder.

  “No crying since Kevan, though,” said Lola.

  “Which means he’s doing his job,” added Clementine.

  “His job?” I asked.

  “He asked us if it was okay with us to marry Mommy so that his job could be to make her happy for the rest of his life,” said Clementine.

  His job was to make her happy? My eyes stung, and tears turned the white, shiny world before me blurry. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a cocktail napkin. My sister was taken care of now. Finally, someone had come who loved her as much as the girls and I, which meant I no longer needed to worry.

  The night Michael had left her, she’d called me from the bathroom floor, crying. After all these months later, it all seemed like a distant but terrible dream. He’s left me. For someone else. She’s thirty years old. For weeks she called sobbing, and we spent hours on the phone. I listened, mostly, and offered advice about the financial side of things, along with referring her to an attorney I knew from business contacts. Although it troubled me that she was hurt, I felt she was better off without the cad. I’d always found him immature, controlling, and self-centered. I only started worrying when, after a few months, she stopped calling me. When I called her, there was a quality to her voice that conveyed acceptance but also that she had given up the good fight. She was depressed. The cheating, lying bastard had broken her. I wasn’t sure she’d ever come back all the way. I wondered if she went through the motions only for the children. If they hadn’t been around, I shudder to think how low she might have gotten.

  But now here we were under the spell of the silent snow and the scent of fir trees and Kevan. There is light after darkness. Second chances at love. Another run at happy. “Thank you, Kevan Lanigan, for being ours,” I whispered out loud.

  “Our what?” asked Lola.

  “Our second chance at happy,” I said.

  “You know it’s all because of you, Aunt Bliss?” said Lola.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the one who convinced her to come to Idaho. She never would’ve come if you hadn’t been so bossy about it.”

  I thought about that for a moment. It was true. I had pushed her into taking a trip. “Well, bossy is my specialty.”

  “Me too.” Lola sighed. “I try to hold it in but then my inner boss just comes out.”

  I laughed. “I understand, Lola. Don’t worry. Someday you can use it for good.”

  Cole and Rori joined us. “We finished the dishes. What’s happening,” asked Rori. “Is it time yet? How long is this walk anyway?”
They sat together in one of the big chairs, holding hands.

  “I think he just pulled out the ring,” whispered Lola. “Be quiet so it doesn’t ruin the moment.”

  Rori giggled and whispered back. “Good call, Lola.”

  My niece looked at her soon to be stepsister with adoration. Was I being replaced as the coolest person they knew? I dismissed this selfish thought and focused on my sister and Kevan.

  The lovers sat on the bench. From where we were we couldn’t hear their voices, but we knew Blythe’s answer was yes by the way they fell together in an embrace, then kissed. My little nieces pressed their small bodies against me as Blythe and Kevan turned to us. Kevan gave the thumbs-up, and we all began to cheer and clap. I reached for the bottle of champagne I’d placed at my feet and popped the cork into the yard. I turned back to the girls.

  Clementine was jumping up and down. “Let the happy begin, right Aunt Bliss?”

  “That’s right, baby. Let the happy begin.”

  * * *

  We retired to the front room. Kevan put additional logs on the fire and poured champagne for the adults and apple cider for the children. I noticed the stack of magazines was gone, either burned or recycled, I supposed. I had just snuggled up with the girls and was enjoying the beauty of the front room when the doorbell rang. Clementine leapt to her feet. “I’ll get it.” She skipped out of the room, headed toward the front door.

  Kevan looked over at Blythe. “Who could that be?”

  “It might be Ciaran. I invited him.” She spoke as if it were of no importance. I stole a glance at Kevan. He was scowling.

  “Ciaran?” Kevan crossed to the bar, where he proceeded to pour himself a scotch. “I thought he was sailing around the Mediterranean with Hope.”

  “That photo was taken days ago. He called this morning to tell me he’s home through the holidays. I invited him over for drinks tonight. He sounded kind of lonesome.”

  “Ciaran has never been lonesome a day in his life,” said Kevan.

  “He says there’s more to the story than the photo portrays.”

  “Why did you invite him tonight, of all nights?” asked Kevan. “I wanted it to be just our family.”

  “Kevan, he is our family. Anyway, that was before I knew about what a night this would be.” She waved her finger in the air; the diamond sparkled in the light. “I want him to be part of our family, and Ardan too. You know how fond I am of both of them. Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad, but you have too much faith in us. We’re not as nice as your family. You and Bliss talk about things like grown-ups. We seem to resort to the same bear cub-like behavior we had as children.” Kevan kneeled at the hearth, watching the flames. “You know what always happens when we’re together.”

  “It’s time to move forward. I want to have the whole family together for Christmas.” Blythe spoke in a soft voice, with a glance at me as if I should back her up.

  From the hall we heard Clementine’s high voice chattering away and a man’s low-pitched one in answer as they moved toward us. Ciaran’s charms were not lost on girls of the little variety either, I suspected, if my niece’s birdlike happy chirps were any indication. Would I need a force field around me as a way of protection?

  Ciaran Lanigan came into the room, holding Clementine’s hand, his face turned to her as she spoke excitedly about the engagement. I took this opportunity to inspect the playboy brother, as my curiosity was certainly piqued. There was no doubt why women flocked to him. He moved with the grace of an athlete, despite his height of well over six feet, his long limbs evoking the image of an elk, large yet graceful. Bronzed skin, probably from his latest exotic vacation, and hair the color of a walnut desk, he wore perfect-fitting designer jeans and a flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Of course he dressed well, I thought, stifling a sigh. No makeover required. I moved my gaze to his feet, expecting to see leather ankle boots handmade by a Tuscan cobbler. But no, his feet were encased in high, black boots with leather uppers, rubber bottoms and thick soles, almost military in appearance except for the fleece lining poking out of the top. Idaho boots. And yet they looked stylish on him, despite the fact that his jeans, which as a side note, hugged his muscular thighs to the degree that I had to look away, were tucked into the boots circa 1980’s Madonna. I moved my gaze up to his torso—wide shoulders and tapered middle—I swallowed, hard, and tried to focus on his shirt. Flannel, or more likely wool, in a pattern of blue and black squares gave the impression of a rugged outdoor man who could fell a tree, cut it up with a chainsaw, and chop it into kindling before breakfast, all without breaking a sweat. He should be on the cover of a fishing magazine, the epitome of a man’s man, instead of a tabloid with a skinny actress in his arms. Men probably liked him as much as women, I thought. Gorgeous or not, I would not like him, I decided. Not one bit. I would be the only person in the world uncharmed by the charming Ciaran Lanigan.

  I went back to staring at his boots. He tapped a toe, as if in greeting. I jerked my head up and there was his face. Right there. Staring at me with those dark eyes fringed in black lashes. What was the exact color of his eyes? Not exactly brown, but not green and not amber—somewhere in between. He smiled widely, with these dazzling white teeth that rivaled any movie star. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. “I’m Ciaran.”

  “It rhymes with ‘beer on’,” said Clementine. “That’s how he tells people to remember it.”

  He laughed and pulled Clementine’s braid. “Good memory, Cinnamon Toast.”

  Clementine grinned and did this movement with her feet like a kick-ball-change in a jazz dance. “He calls me Cinnamon Toast because of my freckles. I’m a piece of white bread sprinkled with cinnamon, right Uncle Ciaran?”

  “That’s right,” he said, his eyes twinkling at me.

  “Uncle Ciaran gives everyone nicknames,” said Clementine.

  “Oh, well, that’s very clever,” I said.

  Nicknames for everyone? How utterly enchanting, or not, depending on whether you were moved by such obvious gestures of manipulation. I knew about this kind of man, had seen him in business occasionally. Self-assured, completely comfortable in any environment, he could talk to anyone on any level and moved from an entry job to the boardroom in half the time it took others of the same intelligence and business acumen.

  “Well, clearly, beauty was bestowed upon all the Heywood women.” His eyes skirted down the length of my body. I became instantly hot, feeling naked under those elusive hued eyes, and stifled a shiver. Please, no, I told myself. Do not let yourself be attracted to this man who will soon be your brother-in-law, which is dangerously close to a brother.

  I mumbled a thank-you and retreated to the couch, taking several quick sips of my champagne. Watching as Ciaran made his rounds, shaking Kevan’s hand, kissing Lola on both cheeks like they were in Europe (she blushed scarlet from the attention—obviously she was my niece) and lastly giving hugs to Rori and Cole. “Rori-girl, you’re stunning. I love that you’re a blonde again.” He glanced at me with a teasing smile. “They do have more fun, don’t they?”

  “Of course they don’t.” I gestured for Clementine to come sit next to me. “A ridiculous stereotype developed by the hair dye industry.”

  Ciaran’s eyebrows went up. He looked like he was about to burst out laughing when Blythe handed him a glass of champagne and smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Stop flirting with my sister. It’s completely inappropriate.”

  He raised his glass toward me and winked, running the other hand through his thick brown hair, worn a smidge too long so that he looked exotic and almost dangerous. “I don’t know what you mean. I was merely asking if it were true what they say about blondes.”

  My sister rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you use your charm to make a toast to our engagement?” She held up her left hand for him to see. The ring caught the light.

/>   “What? Engagement? Kevan, you’re smarter than you look,” said Ciaran. He gave my sister a hug. “Congratulations. I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

  “I do.” Blythe stepped from his hug but held onto both his hands. “And I’m so happy.”

  “You have met our mother, right?” asked Ciaran, grinning.

  Ciaran strolled over to stand before the fire. Kevan was still at the bar, staring at the floor with a stony expression, his scotch glass empty. If they were to repair this relationship before Christmas, they had some work to do, I thought, regardless of Blythe’s interference.

  Ciaran raised his glass. “To my brother and his lovely fiancé. May the feelings you have for one another tonight remain for the rest of your lives.” He looked around the room at each of us. “And to new family. How lucky we are to be together at last.”

  We all cheered and clinked glasses. I kept my eyes purposefully away from the handsome brother.

  Chapter 12

  LATER, AFTER OUR GLASSES were empty and my nieces were attempting to stifle covert yawns behind fists, Blythe announced their bedtime. A few minutes passed while the girls hugged us all in turn, throwing out “I love you’s” like confetti on New Year’s Eve. It astonished me how affectionate and loving my nieces were, given how Blythe and I had been raised. Apparently my sister was able to give what had not been given to her. Somehow, she had broken the chain of dysfunction. A great mother, I thought, for probably the twelfth time that day, as I watched the three of them leave the room with Clementine nestled by Blythe’s side and Lola several steps ahead, protesting that surely she was old enough to stay up a few minutes longer.