Blue Moon Magic

by Dawn Thompson

  Meredith’s eyes filled with tears. She never dreamed she’d hear such sweet words from any man. Staring into his beautiful green eyes, she realized she loved him and wanted to live by his side.

  “Aye, Kieran. I want that more than my next breath.” She smiled shyly. “I, too, wished on the Blue Moon. That a warrior would come to claim me, a man who would love me, fight to keep me—”

  The rest of her words were silenced when Kieran took her mouth in a passionate kiss.

  Wrapped in his tight embrace, for the first time in her life she felt cherished and loved. The past no longer mattered. The future would take care of itself.

  They could face anything now they had each other.

  * * * *

  Two souls had made a wish to find their heart’s desire. A love that would defy time, the romance of Laird Kieran Fraser and his Meredith would be recounted by fireside again and again.

  A story of the magic of a Blue Moon and the power of love forevermore.

  * * * *

  We invite you to read Kristi’s story

  A French Kiss

  In NO LAW AGAINST LOVE

  Visit Kristi’s website at

  www.kristiahlers.com

  Secret of the Blue Moon

  by Billie Warren Chai

  Dr. Zoey Blackstone studied the darkening July sky. Within the hour Mother Nature would throw thunder, lightning, rain, hail and high winds at Lincoln County, New Mexico. If they were lucky, there would be only widespread property and crop damage. If they weren’t, there was Apache Indian Hospital. No doubt the lobby and cafeteria were already filling up with people seeking shelter from the storm.

  Growing up poor on the reservation she remembered these kinds of violent summer storms. Her mother had worked in this hospital as a nurse’s aide and when the storms came they waited them out here.

  A vision of her mother loomed before her. After Nakeen Blackstone abandoned his wife and daughter, Randa Smithson made certain her daughter graduated high school, graduated college, and graduated from medical school. Randa endured the incredulous looks of her skeptical colleagues when she told them that her daughter was going to be a doctor. At night she drowned her problems in a bottle of gin, but she got the last laugh on them when Zoey returned to Lincoln County against Randa’s wishes and bought her a small house.

  The wind blew harder, whipping her long hair and pelting her face with dirt. As she reached for the door handle, she heard the sound of an engine. Her eyes squinted against the wind’s assault. She saw a helicopter bouncing in the current. The pilot fought for control of the huge machine as he tried to land in the open space designated as the landing pad. Five feet off the ground, the pilot rotated the copter so the side door was closest to the hospital. The HH-60 Pave Hawk rescue helicopter settled heavily on the ground.

  Training kicked in as she ran to the helicopter. The side door opened and she saw two stretchers inside. A USAF Pararescue Jumper, or PJ, jumped out pulling one of them out the door. A young man lay motionless on it. Another PJ carried the other end. She motioned them toward the emergency room door. A third PJ emerged pulling the other stretcher holding an older man ashen in color. She grabbed the free end and began to move toward the emergency room when another airman, a pilot by his insignia, took it from her.

  Zoey followed them inside. Her staff was already assessing the men. She watched as the airman dashed back to the helicopter. Surely he wasn’t going to try to take off in this storm. The small emergency room couldn’t handle the casualties that would result from such a crash and there would be a crash in this weather.

  “What happened to them?” she asked, examining the unconscious younger man. She could feel a displacement and fracture of the femur, maybe a hip injury, too. His pupils were normal, his breathing regular and his blood pressure was only slightly elevated.

  “Lance Tucker and his father, Grant, were rock climbing when the father fell pulling the son with him.”

  That explained his broken bones, but not his unconscious state. “Did he hit his head?”

  “He may have, but I don’t think so. He told us what happened. Officially he just passed out from fright,” PJ Boone said, standing tense at the end of the bed. “Unofficially he’s out because I cold-cocked him. Couldn’t get him in the bird any other way.”

  “I think Lance is stable. What about the father?” She moved to examine him. Grant Tucker was trying to breathe, but the raspy breath sounds indicated he wasn’t getting any oxygen. She felt along his rib cage.

  “He broke ribs on both sides and collapsed his lungs. He needs a chest tube.” Nurse Dena Travone grabbed Zoey’s hair and put it in a surgical cap before helping her pull on a pair of gloves. In a few minutes she had a chest tube in and his breathing eased. He would recover, but it would take time.

  Zoey looked up and standing at the nurse’s desk, resting his left arm on the counter, was the last man on earth she wanted to see, Jake Runningbear. Only the teenaged boy she remembered was now a full-fledged helicopter pilot who more than filled out his uniform in all the right places. Her knees almost buckled when one corner of his inviting lips curled up into a half smile.

  How different life would have been if she had married Jake. They would have lived on his family’s ranch, raising children, horses and cattle. She would never have left Lincoln County, never become a doctor. There wouldn’t be the huge hole in her heart. Worse, it wasn’t Jake’s fault, it was hers. She hadn’t been strong enough to fight for him.

  A horrendous noise from the emergency room door caught her attention. Two men, Two Feathers and Ralph, staggered in carrying a third, Homer. All drunker than skunks. Why was a drunk person automatically termed ‘drunker than a skunk?’ To the best of her knowledge no one had ever seen a drunken skunk.

  “Homer here has been shot,” Two Feathers said. They dragged him in further before Jake and another PJ grabbed Homer and lifted him on a stretcher.

  She was surprised when Jake grabbed a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope and began working on Homer. Zoey ran over to check on the new patient. With a grin he pulled up his shirt to show her a bullet wound in his stomach, never mind that his pants were down around his knees and he was sans underwear. There was going to be a full moon tonight and crazies had arrived.

  “Who shot you, Homer?”

  He grinned wider and mumbled a question.

  She leaned close to hear him. “No, you can’t have another drink. I am not a cocktail waitress.”

  A scream cut through the emergency room. She pulled Homer’s hand away from the wound, slapped a clean pressure bandage on it and grabbed Two Feather’s hand and said, “Hold this.” Lance had come to and started shouting at the top of his lungs. Zoey dashed back to him as Dena tried to soothe him without success. Zoey walked up to him and grabbed his face and got close. “Shut up!”

  He continued to yell, so she slapped him. His mouth hung open in a frozen scream.

  From the tickling of the hairs on her neck, apparently everyone was staring at her. “Your father is in the next bed. He doesn’t need all this noise. Now, do you hurt anywhere and don’t tell me your face or I will carry you back to the mountain myself and throw you off.” She did her best to put on a stern face.

  “My leg,” he said lying back on the bed. “And my back. How is my Dad?”

  “We’re still evaluating him. Now be quiet and let us do our jobs.” Zoey stalked off to the father. They were drawing his blood and he was breathing easier. “We need to get him upstairs to a room. Call the orderly and I will write out the orders.” Her head pounding, she pulled out the portable computer and entered her findings and her orders for Grant Tucker. Maybe she should just stand outside and wait for lightning to strike her, but then again, lightning never strikes twice in the same spot.

  * * * *

  Jake knew trouble and he had it in spades. The rescue took longer than expected, the storm moved in too fast and he’d barely gotten the bird down before the high winds blew in. He secu
red his bird, which was sitting out in the open, vulnerable to the storm. Just when he thought nothing else could go wrong, he saw her. Little Zoey Blackstone was still little, but now she was Dr. Zoey Blackstone.

  Her appearance had changed little in twelve years. Long dark hair that smelled of roses was longer. The blue eyes riveted him while her small lips pouted. No, she wasn’t happy to see him. Immediately he knew a cool professional had replaced the warm carefree spirit he remembered. She’d dashed to the copter almost before he got it down and took charge, confidently giving orders, performing emergency surgery and humoring Homer. He started to intervene when the kid wouldn’t quit screaming, but he thought twice after she slapped the kid, something the old Zoey would never do.

  Anticipation hadn’t surged through his body like this since he was a teenager and Zoey had been the summer live-in nanny for his sister’s children. The teenage siren played hide and seek with his niece and nephews in the day and spent nights in the barn tending sick animals. He faked more injuries and illnesses than one man could endure in a lifetime, all to be close to her. Then one day the kids were sent back to his sister and she was gone. She didn’t take his calls or answer his letters. He never saw or spoke to her again.

  A few weeks later he returned to the University of New Mexico with a hole in his heart. For twelve years he’d cursed Zoey Blackstone. Her betrayal went deep and changed the course of his life. Without Zoey, he threw himself into his military career. Women were casual and short-term, if he needed them at all. Even those betrayed him by wanting more than he was willing to give.

  Did he want to go down that road again? His body said yes, his head said no, and his heart was riding the fence.

  Wind swept through the ER as the door of the emergency room blew open. He and PJ Toby Mossman muscled the door shut and flipped the locks. If the wind blew the door in or broke the glass, they would have to move the patients.

  Jake snagged a look at his bird. It was still on the ground and that was all he could say about it. The Air Force wasn’t keen about him putting down here, but there really hadn’t been a choice. The weather deteriorated around him, the patients needed medical treatment and Apache Indian Hospital had a doctor and room for him to land. They were here indefinitely.

  “Doc, Homer doesn’t look so good,” Two Feathers said just before his knees buckled and he hit the floor. Jake and Toby grabbed the man under the arms and lifted him onto another stretcher. Blood poured from his nose.

  Zoey dashed past them to Homer while Dena went to assist Two Feathers. She gave more orders to the nurses after examining him. “Homer,” she said. “Homer.”

  Jake stepped to the other side of Homer to take his blood pressure. He may have been gut shot and dying, but he had a smile on his face. “Blood pressure is eighty-four over sixty and falling. Pulse rapid and thready,” Jake said. He heard the warm tones of Zoey’s voice giving orders wash past Homer and envelop him.

  “Damn, he’s opened up a huge bleed in there,” Zoey swore. She swept into action, pulling on gloves. The next few minutes were a blur in the Emergency Room as she opened his abdomen. Blood poured out of Homer and onto the floor. In less than ten minutes, Zoey had removed his spleen and checked for other injuries. In another fifteen minutes, the incision was stapled shut and Homer’s blood pressure was rising.

  “Dr. Blackstone, we need you with Mr. Tucker,” another nurse said.

  The look on her face reminded him of the time his nephew put a snake in her bed. He found her standing on a chair directing his nephew where to find the offending creature, not quite understanding a corn snake was harmless, but knowing she didn’t want it in her bed.

  “Can you stay with Homer a few minutes, while I … ah … check Mr. Tucker?”

  Jake nodded and enjoyed the view of her backside as she moved off. Her short legs moving quickly as a slight limp in her left leg caused her butt to wiggle provocatively. In a side room, Zoey pulled off the blood-soaked shirt to reveal a red lacy bra before pulling on another scrub shirt. Oh yes, how right he’d been about her breasts. His flight suit shrank another size.

  * * * *

  Zoey didn’t know why she breathed a sigh of relief. She just knew Jake was watching her butt. No man had ever dared stare at her breasts the way Jake did. The only thing she understood about men was the physiology aspects and Jake had no problem in that department. A leering pilot was the least of her worries.

  The x-rays were back on young Mr. Tucker and he would be staying a while. In traction. He needed traction to pull the bones together so a rod could be inserted later down the center of the bone. Forty five minutes later, Zoey had the metal pin and stirrup in place just above his knee. A line ran from the stirrup and connected it to a weight that would pull the bones into alignment. Blood and bone dust coated her.

  At the desk, she picked up the phone and found it dead. The lights were still on, but they wouldn’t hold much longer if the phones were out. The back-up generators may work—or not—and until they did there would be minimal light and power.

  Her head throbbed and her neck hurt. She rolled her head but the tightness in her neck stopped her short. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and kneaded the muscles, pushing deep. Jake. His thumbs pushed up the column of her neck and pulled down forcing the knots to move out of the way. For a long moment Zoey lost herself in the warmth of his fingers allowing the tension to flow out of her body.

  “From the size of these knots, no one has massaged your neck and shoulders since the last time I did it,” Jake said. She felt the heat of his body as he towered over her. His hands moved to her shoulders kneading the muscles just like he used to in the barn after she spent the day trying to stay one step ahead of her two hellion charges. Long forgotten feelings threatened to swamp her.

  “This wasn’t an easy day for any doctor, especially you,” he said.

  It was like fingers scraping on a blackboard. She whirled to face him. His large magical hands hung in mid-air, black eyes open in amazement. Zoey poked her finger at a rock hard chest with well-defined pecs.

  “I am Board Certified in Emergency Medicine.”

  Jake took a step back as her finger jabbed him again.

  “I know how to do my job. I am not looking for an easy way out.”

  * * * *

  Jake realized things were getting out of hand real fast. He almost found himself surrendering to her again. He wouldn’t allow her to walk all over him again. The deep breath he sucked in failed to calm his raging emotions. Zoey stirred feelings he thought dead and buried and he didn’t like it, not one damned bit.

  “I didn’t think you were looking for easy,” Jake said, but for the life of him he didn’t know why his mouth kept going. “I thought cut and run was more your style.”

  The look on Zoey’s face spoke volumes. A curtain fell over her face and she bit her lip. A small spark flickered and died in her eyes. Turning on her heel, she walked away, her shoulders sagging.

  Jake felt like a first class ass. He had no reason to turn on her, but he had. He ran his hand through his hair. A cup of coffee and staying away from this unpredictable woman was now a necessity.

  He found a lounge with a coffee pot. He poured himself a cup and sat at the table.

  Nurse Travone entered the room, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him. After pouring in enough sugar to support a small country, she spoke, “I know you are a major in the Air Force and as such you know everything, but let me give you a word about Doctor Blackstone

  He didn’t want to hear it, but felt he had no choice. He jerked his head in a nod.

  “I have known Dr. Blackstone since she was a child. She worked damn hard to beat long odds and dire predictions of failure to get here. Zoey finished at the top of her class at UNM, trained at Bellevue in New York, and hasn’t taken more than one day off at a time in the last year.” Travone paused to take a swallow of coffee. “She goes on house calls to the reservation and climbs mountains and wades creeks to re
ach her patients. They come first with her. Just like Homer. Anyone else would have written him off as an old drunk, but not Dr. Blackstone.”

  She stared at the cup like the words were written there. “Doctor Blackstone doesn’t cut and run, as you put it. She has more sheer determination than anybody I know. Twelve years ago some society bitch ran her, bleeding and bruised, out of town, claiming she wasn’t good enough for her baby boy, but that’s the only time she didn’t stand and fight for what she believed in.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “Dr. Blackstone fights for the patients and the staff. I don’t know why you’ve decided to pick on her, but you can just climb back in that whirlybird of yours and leave her alone. We take care of our own here and you aren’t welcome.”

  Travone got up, threw her coffee in the sink and left the room. Jake was stunned.

  He flipped open his cell phone and pushed a button on speed dial.

  “Hello,” his mother said.

  Bile roiled up from his stomach. Treame Runningbear fit the description of society bitch to a tee.

  “Mother, what did you do to Zoey Blackstone?” he asked directly. “And don’t lie and tell me ‘nothing.’” There was a long silence.

  “Who?” She was playing games and he knew it.

  “The nanny for Morgan and Noah,” Jake said. He could tell from her tone his mother knew exactly who he was talking about.

  “The isdzán? She failed to care for Nightwind and White Dove as she should. It was so long ago and I am certain she overreacted to something I may have said.” He heard the evasion and tremor in her voice. “Besides she wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “So the answer is yes, you did something to run her out of town, but you aren’t going to tell me,” Jake said. “I guess I will have to ask her.” He closed the phone. It rang within minutes. It was his mother, but he refused to answer it. Pushing back the chair, he stood up. The cup remained on the table, a symbol of what may have been. He grabbed the cup and squeezed, crushing it.