“Does it work two ways?” He moved his hands to cup her face, staring down at her with such intensity that Olivia tingled all over.
“Yes. Oh yes,” she whispered as he drew her close for another kiss.
Coming up for air, he drew her into his heated gaze. “Marry me, Olivia. Make the Blue Moon magic happen for us.”
“I would love to marry you, Nathan Bridges.”
He enveloped her in his arms again. “As soon as possible, I hope.”
“We could drive to Nevada tomorrow, if that’s soon enough for you.” She gave him a pert grin, knowing the glow of heat in his eyes was a definite yes.
Olivia eventually drew away, crossing the room to close the drapes. “Have you seen those two women tonight?”
“Ah … you mean the angels? I didn’t know you’d seen them.” Nathan followed her, his hands spanning her waist as he drew her back against him.
“I hadn’t, at least not until they appeared in front of the stage tonight. An odd pair, don’t you think?”
“Not so odd. They were here for us, you know.”
“I know I will be grateful to them forever,” she answered on a soft sigh as she nestled against Nathan, safe and warm in his arms. “We’ll name our first daughter Sadie.”
* * * *
“Now that’s what I call a wedding.” Pricilla beamed at Sadie. “Such a wonderful cake. And sooo delicious. That icing was perfection. I used to make this dreamy vanilla icing everyone adored—”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me about it later. I’m gonna grab me that good-lookin’ drummer and dance.” Sadie sidled away quickly before Pricilla could either grab or zap her. She swayed to the music as she approached the middle-aged drummer, pulling the pins from her hair. “Wanna dance, big boy?”
“You don’t have time to dance!” Pricilla rushed forward and grabbed Sadie’s arm. “We have to be in Cincinnati in two hours.”
Sadie glanced longingly at the drummer, who appeared to be startled, mouth hanging open, and then back at her mentor. “All right.” She sighed heavily. “He looks a little green around the gills, anyhow.”
Following Pricilla across the room, she added hopefully, “Hey, my wings are bigger. I may be able to fly on my own.”
“Don’t count on it,” Pricilla called over her shoulder. “Stay in my updraft and try to keep your dress down. I still cannot believe you are wearing red bloomers!”
“Satin and silk makes a girl feel pretty.” Sadie grinned as she watched the other angel moving toward the open window, arms moving as she prepared to take off. “You sure are graceful with those flapping fat little arms of yours.”
“Hush up, and let’s go. Your constant insults no longer bother me.” Pricilla rose in the air, her wings flapping wildly. “I realize it’s your upbringing—or lack of it—that makes you so coarse and rude.”
“Hey!” Sadie stood on the balcony looking up, stubbornly ignoring Pricilla’s advice. “I think I can do this on my own!”
“No! Don’t try it!”
Sadie scooped her gown around her knees, bent into a sprinting position and took off running. Hitting the ledge of the balustrade, she leapt into the air, fluttering her small wings.
And promptly fell face first into the fountain.
“Damn! When will you ever learn?” Pricilla hovered above the soaked Sadie. “It’s just not your nature to listen and learn. I swear I wonder what will happen to you—”
“Aw, put a sock in it, Prissy.” Sadie stood in her sodden gown, water dripping from her hair. “Hey, you said damn! I heard you. Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Miss Prissy.”
Dragging her CD player out of her pocket, she slapped the earpieces on, hooked it to her gown and switched on the music. “Okay, Miss Prissy, I’m ready to be lifted,” she called out as she swayed to the music.
“I thought you put that back!” Pricilla exclaimed. “Now we are going to be late.”
“I paid for it,” Sadie said with a wink. “Left a fifty dollar bill and a note next to the till.”
“With what?” Pricilla looked at her suspiciously.
Sadie looked innocently at her fingernails in exact imitation of Pricilla being sly. “Ah … I had some money.”
“Where did you get it?” Pricilla lowered her feet to the ground and stood, hands on hips, glaring at Sadie. “You’d better not have been gambling.”
“Only a few quarters in the slots…”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah … you’re always tellin’ me somethin’.” Sadie tossed her head and looked totally unrepentant. “It was for a worthy cause. Would you like to listen to Nathan and Olivia?” She smiled slyly.
“What worthy cause?” Pricilla puffed up with anger and righteous indignation.
“Me, who else?” Sadie let out a howl of laughter at the look of consternation on her mentor’s face. “By the way, I got something for you.”
“What?”
“A small token of my esteem,” Sadie said, handing the small package to Pricilla.
“A lace hankie! Oh … I’ve been wanting one of these.” Pricilla waved the hankie around, then tucked it in her sleeve and smiled. “Thank you, Sadie.”
“You’re welcome, Prissy. Thought you might not wave that danged zapper finger so much if you had a hankie ta wave. Now let’s get outta here.”
* * * *
Nathan and Olivia stared out the window of the honeymoon suite. “Did you see that?” He turned to her, his eyes twinkling.
“I think so. The redhead looked like she was wearing headphones.”
“They really must be angels,” he whispered in awe. “How the hell else could they fly like that?”
“Magic,” Olivia answered in a low voice. “Pure blue moon magic.”
* * * *
If you enjoyed the adventures of Sadie and Pricilla,
we invite you to read their story, Sadie the Shady Angel
in NO LAW AGAINST LOVE.
Visit Diane’s website at
www.dianedaviswhite.com
Under the Pale Moonlight
by Katherine Smith
The stallion cantered into the stable yard, snorting in displeasure at the tight rein, his sleek ebony coat streaked with sweat. Sliding off his back in one lithe movement, Arthur Cameron patted the damp neck of the big black in approval, grinning at the stable lad who came forward.
“Walk Eros around for a good while,” he instructed. “And extra grain tonight after he’s groomed. We went halfway to Hawick and back at a flat run.”
The boy nodded, catching the reins and giving the horse an admiring look. “Aye, sir.”
“It appears like he’s earned it,” a deep voice spoke, causing Arthur to glance up in surprise. Since his older brother had plenty to do running the sizeable family holdings, he rarely visited the stables. Lifting his dark brows and watching as the horse was led away, Adain asked mildly, “Tell me, is that brute going to be worth the trouble it took you to break him?”
Arthur clumsily limped a few paces and picked up the crutch leaning against the post used to tether the horses. It fit into place under his arm, the familiar feel of the worn grip smooth as satin under his fingers. “Just wait until we race Eros at Kelso next month. He’s going to leave the field so far behind he’ll be nothing but a black speck in the distance. I wish I could be the one up.” He felt the usual pang of regret, but he was too tall to be a jockey, though in his teen years he’d ridden some Cameron horses to victory. Smiling ruefully, he added, “But … what the hell, it’ll be pure joy to watch from the stands with a glass of fine whiskey in my hand.”
“I’ll make it a point to be there, then, since you are so certain.” Adain glanced over to where the sunset glimmered warmly over the roll of the hills, crimson light spilling like blood across the distant landscape. When he looked back, his gaze was very direct. “I expect you to join us for dinner tonight, Arthur. No excuses. Our guests will be leaving in the morning. Ian McCray has already remarked he’s ba
rely seen you.”
“Is that why you wandered up here?” Arthur pivoted with the ease of much practice on his crutch, giving his brother a level look laced with bitterness. “To play Laird and command my presence? Sorry, I’ve been busy here. We have two mares about to drop foals.”
“I don’t think avoiding the lass is the solution to your problem.” The words were spoken with obvious exasperation.
“What problem?” Arthur demanded defensively, regretting the question the minute he said it.
Adain ruthlessly pounced on the opening, saying bluntly, “You are in love with Alicia McCray, brother. Do you think I’m blind? And for your information, burying yourself in the stables to all hours of the night, skipping meals, and generally staying out of sight as much as possible is a damned poor form of courtship.”
Arthur could feel his face flush as he denied, “I am not in love with her, nor am I courting her. Devil take it, look at me.”
“I am looking at you, what’s your point?” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Adain leaned against the wall of one of the stalls, his face bland.
“I am a cripple.” The words were unpalatable, as clumsy as his gait as they left his lips. “Alicia McCray is the very beautiful daughter of a rich earl. She could have anyone.”
“Aye, both those statements are true. You were born with a malformed foot, and she is very beautiful. I guess I just don’t see how either of those things is connected.”
The overly reasonable tone of his brother’s voice made Arthur want to grind his teeth. “No? Well, try being me for a day. Then you’d see the connection damned fast.”
Adain shook his head. “Self-pity isn’t your style, Arthur, just the opposite. All your life you’ve dealt with your problem by inventing ways to overcome it. Bloody hell, no one can ride like you. You look like you were born on a horse. Why you think it matters to everyone else is a mystery to me.” Adain’s gray eyes were steely. “And let’s settle one thing right here and now; you aren’t a cripple. You are a man who was born with a foot that isn’t like every other person’s foot, but what exactly has it kept you from doing?”
For his entire twenty-five years Arthur had held exactly the same sentiment, viewing his disability as merely an obstacle. But this situation was different. Arthur knew that with painful inward honesty. In fact, his whole world was upside down and he was damned miserable.
Standing in the stable yard, the smell of hay and manure lightly drifting in the air, the thickening dusk settling down like a dark blanket, Arthur said softly, “What of the hundreds of simple things that everyone takes for granted? Such as walking with her, hand-in-hand by the loch on a warm afternoon? Can I take her in my arms and gracefully waltz to an orchestra, Adain?”
His brother’s shoulders shifted a fraction, but his gaze didn’t waver. “No, I grant you that. But, there are plenty of people who never dance their entire lives and do just fine. Lady Alicia, in my opinion, has more depth to her than judging a man on whether or not he can waltz.”
“Do you think for a moment that Ian McCray would welcome me as a potential son-in-law? He’s an honorable man, and I know you’re friends, but I doubt it.” Recalling the one dinner he’d attended since the McCray’s arrival almost a week ago, he hadn’t exactly gotten the impression that the earl was pleased with him. Arthur muttered, “He isn’t particularly friendly.”
With a chuckle, Adain elevated a brow. “Why do you think that is, you thick-headed fool? Ian sees the way his daughter looks at you … and without a doubt, the way you look at her. I can’t speak from experience, but any father is wary of a predatory young male who is interested in his pretty daughter. That’s instinct. Perhaps it’s why he asked me so many questions the other day about the success of your horse-breeding venture. I’m sure he’d want to be certain you could provide well for his darling daughter.”
Could that be true?
Arthur immediately squelched the ridiculous surge of hope, stamping down the flicker with ruthless practicality. Adain was his brother—it was only natural he would overlook his glaring physical flaw. The rest of the world wasn’t nearly as kind. “Whether he approves or not is immaterial anyway. And you’re wrong. Alicia doesn’t look at me in any way other than as a friend. Rather like a big brother.”
“I beg to differ. In any case, she can’t look at you at all if you are absent. Tonight, you will be there. I insist.”
When his brother’s voice took on that particular unbending quality, refusal was pointless.
Besides, a wayward inner voice whispered, even if you can’t have her, seeing Alicia before she leaves is tempting, isn’t it?
Gruffly, Arthur said, “Fine.”
* * * *
Taking hold of one thick branch, Lady Alicia McCray eased over the sill of the window, her long skirts bunched in one hand. Luckily, even though it was late, the moon was full and brilliant in a velvet, summer night sky, so she could see fairly well. In a rustle of silk and narcotic ivy leaves, she began to climb downward, using her feet to feel for purchase against the stone walls of the manor house, the ancient vines as big as her wrist and firmly anchored to the structure for time out of mind.
This had better work, she thought wryly, since she was risking her neck.
And—even more fragile—risking her heart.
The gardens below were shadowed when she finally dropped the last few feet, landing in a flurry of long skirts and involuntarily crushing a small green plant with drooping pink flowers. Brushing her skirts and dislodging a small shower of fragrant petals, Alicia straightened and glanced down the path.
Mrs. McCreary, the housekeeper, had sworn Arthur always cut through the gardens on his way back from the stables. It made sense, with his disability he would want to take the shortest route.
Squaring her shoulders, Alicia skirted the towering bulk of a rhododendron and slipped toward the more formal outline of the rose garden. The blooms filled the air with the heady, seductive scent of literally hundreds of flowers, the bushes thick with glossy leaves. There was a small stone bench by the side of the flagstone path with a little statue next to it—which, she saw as she approached, proved to be a cavorting cupid, complete with bow and poised arrow.
If this wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. Seating herself, she took a deep breath to ease her nervousness, and prepared to wait.
Waiting for Arthur Cameron, she mused with an inward pang, was something she was well-used to doing. First she’d waited years until she was old enough for him to even consider as a woman. Then she’d waited for him to give any sign he might be interested, and worse … she’d just endured nearly a week of him openly avoiding her company. At dinner, he had barely spoken more than two or three polite words in her direction, and escaped as soon as possible.
A slight sound made her look up sharply and go tense, the tell-tale thud of a footfall followed by the lighter scrape of wood on stone telling her that Mrs. McCreary had not failed her. When his tall form materialized out of the shadows, moving swiftly down the path with amazing grace for someone using a crutch, all she could do was say ineffectually, “Hello.”
Her quarry froze, the wooden brace under his arm shooting out to keep his balance at the abrupt stop, his right knee slightly bent to keep his deformed and inwardly turned foot off the ground. In the moonlight, Alicia could clearly see the surprise on his handsome face change to wary question. After a moment, he said neutrally, “Hello. Rather late to be taking a stroll in the gardens, isn’t it?”
God, she loved the sound of his voice. It was deep and smooth—the slight brogue of the Borders different enough from where she lived farther north that it lent a sexy, husky timbre to each word. What’s more, he was well-muscled and tall, his dark hair a bit overlong and slightly curly, his shoulders impressively wide. For someone so singularly aware of his defect, he was apparently ignorant of his startling good looks, though by all accounts, the village girls were not, and flirted shamelessly whenever he was around.
She loved Arthur Cameron, lame leg and all.
“I wasn’t really strolling,” Alicia said, clearing her throat when she heard how off-key her voice sounded. “I was waiting for you.”
“Oh?” He still stood several paces away, looking remarkably like an animal poised for flight. “I find it a little hard to believe your father would approve.”
“I climbed out my window. I … need to talk to you.”
His gaze narrowed a fraction. “It’s two stories up, you reckless little fool. Whatever do you have to say that could be that important?”
She patted the cool stone of the bench. “Perhaps you could sit next to me.”
He was too much of a gentleman to refuse—she had counted on that. After a brief hesitation, he came forward and lowered himself onto the spot she’d indicated. And the moment he rested his crutch against the stone, she grabbed it and stood up, quickly moving out of reach.
Openly startled, Arthur said, “What are you doing?”
There was a small yew tree down the path on the other side, part of a pattern designed by some clever Cameron gardener. Leaning the crutch against it, Alicia turned and smiled with effort, though her heart pounded and her palms were damp. “I’m removing the temptation of you getting up and leaving before I’m finished.”
His gaze glittered and his mouth was tight as he stared at her. “I’m afraid I have to shatter your illusion that I’m so dependent on a crutch that I can’t walk, my lady. It isn’t pretty, but I can get around.”
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