Blue Moon Magic

by Dawn Thompson

  Zoey walked into the lounge to see hot coffee pouring over his hand. She pulled Jake to the sink, turned on the cold water and stuck his bright red hand underneath.

  “You’ll be lucky if you don’t get a second degree burn out of this.”

  As she held his hand, a memory of holding her tiny hand in his huge hand struck him. She couldn’t have stopped him if he pulled his hand away.

  “It’s nothing.” The pain of a little burn paled in comparison to the pain in his soul. His world canted. For twelve years he blamed Zoey for rejecting him and scarring his soul. Only to learn she wasn’t the one to blame. If his mother was involved, she was the guilty one.

  She turned off the water and pulled out a paper towel and blotted his hand dry. “I think you are going to have a bad first degree burn. Come on back to the ER and I’ll put some cream on it.” Zoey turned and tried to pull him toward the door, but his feet were rooted to that spot. Jake needed her.

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  He reached out, pulled the surgery cap off her head and freed her hair. His fingers entwined with the dark silky strands. He watched her lips part. He snaked one arm out and pulled her close, then he covered her lips with his and pressed her body to his body. For the first time in many years, Jake felt more than emptiness inside. There was a spark of joy and a sense of being home.

  “I missed you so much, Zoey. The more I damned you, the more I damned myself,” he said between kisses. She finally parted her lips and he freely plundered her mouth, sparring with her tongue, tasting the sweetness of her.

  “Jake,” she said breaking the kiss and pushing herself away. Her palms pressed against her chest. He reluctantly let her go and stepped back. “This solves nothing.”

  The lights blinked, came on, blinked again. The room was plunged into darkness. She stiffened and he heard a loud gasp escape her lips. Jake grabbed her and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if trying to get closer. “I’ve got you, honey. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  * * * *

  Moments later a weak emergency light tried to penetrate the darkness. Jake looked down and saw terror in Zoey’s eyes. The woman who handled emergency victims with ease stood shaking in his embrace. If Travone was to be believed, she traversed danger to help her patients, yet the dark unnerved her. What had happened to her? She’d not been afraid of the dark when he knew her before. When he found out who was responsible, the person would pay. Even if it was his own mother.

  He wanted to stand there and hold her, but she needed to focus on something besides herself. Jake wasn’t certain he could control himself if he continued to hold her, alone and in the dark. “Honey, we need to get back to the ER and check on your patients.”

  “I sent them all to the floor,” Zoey mumbled just before the sobs broke loose and wracked her small body. “I just can’t believe you are here. That you don’t hate me.”

  Jake held her close to his body. He rubbed her back with one hand, while the other cupped the back of her head. His fingers combed through her hair. He kissed her forehead, then each eyelid, the salty taste of her tears like an aphrodisiac. Tilting her head, Jake brushed his lips over hers. She quieted and gently nipped at his lower lip causing a fire of desire and want to flash through his body. His tongue swept past her lips which opened to admit him. Time stood still. Jake knew he was lost to Zoey. Again.

  The door opened and a flashlight danced across the room. “Sorry, Major. Searching the rooms for problems,” Mossman said. Jake and Zoey stood illuminated by the flashlight, Jake holding Zoey much too close.

  “Do you see a problem in this room, Mossman?” he growled. “Or do you just like shining a flashlight in my face and pissing me off?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Mossman said lowering the flashlight and backing out of the door.

  Jake held Zoey at arm’s length. His body moaned at the loss of contact.

  “I should get back,” she said running her tongue over her slightly puffy lips. In the dim light, she turned away.

  He didn’t hear her steps, only her shout and a crash.

  “Zoey!” He pulled out his flashlight and shined it in her direction. She lay in a tangle of chairs. Her shirt was wet. His stomach tightened and flopped. “Don’t move,” he commanded when she tried to sit up. He threw chairs out of the way and reached her scant seconds later. His hand probed for the source of the blood. “Can you tell where you are bleeding from?”

  “I’m not bleeding. I must have hit something when I fell,” Zoey said through clenched teeth. “Damn it my knee hurts.”

  “You sure you aren’t cut?” Her hands joined his in searching for an injury to her chest or stomach. There was no injury. Jake flashed his light around her. Glass glinted in the light and a strong odor stung his nose. Vinegar. A strange squishy object lay on the floor near her head. Then he found another one, and a third. Using two fingers, he picked one up. In the light of the flashlight he saw Zoey watching him. He took a bite.

  “Stop. You don’t know what it is?” Zoey cautioned.

  “Pickle.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Dill pickle. Your fall knocked the jar off the table. These are dill pickles and you are covered in pickle juice.” Jake laughed. “You are in a pickle.”

  Zoey slapped his arm. “Mrs. Newman paid her bill with pickles.”

  “Here let me help you up.” Standing, he extended his hand and grabbed her small arm and pulled her up.

  “Ow,” Zoey said trying to stand and holding onto him.

  “Hold this,” he said handing her the flashlight. One arm fit easily around her waist and he scooped her up with his other arm behind her legs. Parachutes weighed more than she did. “Now you get to be a patient in your ER,” he laughed.

  “The hell I will,” Zoey countered. “I need to get out of these clothes.”

  Jake liked this better and better.

  “I have an apartment at the other end of the hospital. Just take me there and I’ll change clothes then check out my knee.”

  “If you say so,” Jake agreed. Exiting the door, he saw Sgt. Ryan. “Sergeant. Dr. Blackstone had an accident in the lounge. If anyone needs her, she will be in her quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jake would wipe away that smirk later.

  “And Sergeant, have someone look into the back up generator. It should have kicked in a long time ago,” Jake said.

  * * * *

  Zoey settled uneasily into Jake’s arm. Oh she liked it all right, but there were too many negatives attached to it. First, he was a dangerous man. His finely honed body was all muscle and sinew suiting a highly trained warrior. Second, he was way more experienced than she was. College, then medical school, left little time for personal things, much less romantic interludes. Last, Treame Runningbear would have her job and ride her out of town on a rail just as she’d done twelve years ago. Only this time, other people would suffer—her patients and the staff, not to mention her own career.

  She directed him to the small apartment and opened it with a key card. There were no emergency lights in the room, so Zoey pointed the way with the flashlight’s beam. Jake carried her across the room and in one fluid motion he lowered her to the sofa and pulled her wet shirt off over her head. Once again his gaze locked on her breasts. Blood flushed her light skin and she threw her arms over her lace bra and breasts.

  “It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before,” Jake said, “though there weren’t any finer than yours, honey. Where are your shirts?” Jake asked. The lightning flashed and for a long second she clearly saw him standing there, his hands on his hips, one knee bent, looking sexier than a man had a right to look. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

  “Chest of drawers, third drawer.” She pointed at the door with the light’s beam. He started for the door and turned back. He gave her a quick kiss and took the flashlight. All she could do was sit on the sofa and examine her knee. It was definitely swollen and tend
er to her touch. She needed to get some ice on it, but didn’t have any in her quarters.

  Jake appeared without a sound holding another scrub shirt and a wet washcloth. “You hungry?” Zoey said staring at Jake hoping she closed her mouth.

  Jake removed her bra and wiped pickle juice off her arms and body. “Raise your arms,” he commanded. When they were straight up he slid the shirt down over her body. “Now take off your pants. I need to look at that knee.”

  “No, I won’t. I can take care of it.” Zoey thought she should have saved her breath as Jake handed her the flashlight. He grabbed a knife from his boot and split her pant leg open above the knee. “That is a new pair of pants.”

  He ignored her as he looked at her knee. Pain stabbed through her when he pressed next to the knee cap. Without a word, Jake stood and went into her kitchen. He came back with a bag of frozen corn.

  “You hungry?” she asked.

  Without replying, he sliced off a piece of her pant leg and laid it and the frozen corn across her knee.

  “The way it looks, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t tear the ACL.” Jake looked at her with those chocolate eyes and part of her resolve melted.

  “I’ve had lots of practice with pain over the years,” Zoey said lying back on the sofa. Damn if she would cry with the memory of her first knee injury. Only one other person knew the truth of how she broke her leg and tore the knee joint apart. Realization came too late to Zoey that she could have sent the woman to jail. Instead she’d given up and left town. It was the worst mistake of her life. She should have fought for the man she loved. The man she still loved. The man in front of her.

  Jake went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of orange juice. He set them on the table before levering her up and wedging himself in behind her. “Drink,” he ordered handing her a glass.

  It was way too easy to lean back into him. She struggled to get up. She had things to do. He wrapped a thick arm around her and held her in place. We have to talk.” The rich baritone was edged with tension. He guzzled his orange juice and set the glass down solidly. “I want to know what happened twelve years ago and what my mother had to do with it.”

  * * * *

  Jake felt her stiffen. He was on target. His mother had pulled some stunt that drove Zoey away. She was reluctant to talk. What had his mother done? If Treame was here right now, nothing could protect her from his wrath.

  “We had something special Zoey. I almost went crazy when you left, when you wouldn’t answer my calls or letters.” Emotion tightened his throat. “I loved you.” Could he say the rest of it? “I still love you, Zoey Blackstone.”

  He kissed her head, pulled her hair behind her ear and nibbled the delicate little lobe. “I wanted to hate you. Told myself I did hate you.” A soft moan escaped her lips. “But I could never hate you.”

  The sofa faced the window, they could see the storm had finally passed. The rising moon lightened the dark sky. “The time has come Zoey for new beginnings. Look at the moon. It’s a Blue Moon. Do you know the secret of a blue moon?”

  “No. I can’t say I ever heard of a blue moon, much less its secret,” Zoey said, tilting her head back to look at him. He saw only wonder in her eyes. He fervently hoped she always looked at him that way until they were old and gray, sitting on the porch in matching rockers.

  “It’s the second full moon in a calendar month, the thirteenth month in a three year lunar year.” Zoey leaned into him. “Because it is the second moon, legend says it’s stronger than any other moon. It signals a new beginning and has magical powers to right the wrongs of the past and restore love.” Okay he was winging it here, but desperate men do desperate things.

  “How do we make the magic work?” Zoey whispered.

  “First you have to believe in the magic. Do you believe, Zoey?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned her face to him and he lightly brushed his lips over hers. A magical tingle passed between them. “Next the wrong has to be made right, but I don’t know what it is. Will you tell me so I can right the wrong done to you?” Jake searched her face, waited to see if she was ready to trust him to love and protect her.

  “It is not yours to make right.” Pain rode a thin edge in her voice. He silently cursed his mother.

  “You were wronged because of me. You left because of me.” He sensed the moment she overcame the fear and decided to tell him about it. “Why?”

  She turned to look out the window. “I believe in the Blue Moon, Jake. I wronged you by not telling you what happened. I want to make it right with you.”

  Zoey turned to face him, her lashes damp with tears. Fingers gently touched his cheek. “I loved you. I still do.” She looked back at the moon. “It was storming that night. I left you in the barn and returned to the house. I was wet—my hair, my clothes, everything. Your mother was in the kitchen. She looked at me and accused me of trying to trap you, taking advantage of you.” A shiver shook Zoey.

  He pulled her closer, pressing her back to his chest and willing his body to be at ease but not all parts were following orders.

  “I saw the rolling pin only a moment before it hit my head.” Murderous rage filled him but he put a check on it as Zoey continued. “I woke up in a very dark room with bugs crawling all over me. She gave me water, but no food for several days. You were the grandson of Whitewolf and you would marry your own kind. Not some little white tramp.”

  She stopped.

  “There is more to it than that isn’t there?” Her head nodded against his chest and she took a deep breath for courage.

  God, it was worse than dark rooms and bugs.

  “After I don’t know how many days, she drove me to the road and made me get out. Treame raged that if I ever so much as talked to you, my mother would lose her job and she would see me in jail. It was dark and I was so weak from hunger, but I started walking to get away from her. She followed me for about a mile before she stopped. I kept walking. I thought I was safe until I heard the car behind me. I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough.” She stopped and pulled in a deep breath.

  “I was knocked down the hill. My leg was hurt and I couldn’t walk on it. It took me until the next morning to crawl up to the road. A motorist found me and called the police. I was taken to a hospital in Albuquerque with multiple injuries, including a broken femur and damaged knee.” She shook with gentle sobs.

  “It’s okay, honey. You healed just fine.” The heat of her body burned against him.

  “I never returned to Rudisoto until I came back as a doctor. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened, not even my mother. I am so sorry. I just abandoned you.” Huge sobs broke loose and Jake wrapped his arms around her.

  Jesus, she was blaming herself? Just as he’d blamed her all these years. How could she still love him after everything his mother had done to her?

  “It wasn’t your fault, honey.” Jake turned her and stared at her blue eyes. “I have you now. There is only one way to finally right the wrong, you know that, don’t you?” He was never more certain. “Zoey Blackstone, will you marry me?”

  Zoey twisted and looked at him with surprise in her big blue eyes. “The magic worked?”

  “Yes, it did.” Jake couldn’t resist another kiss as his hands caressed her body. “This time everything will work out perfectly. My mother will never hurt you again. So, I’ll ask you one more time. Will you marry me?”

  Zoey sighed, a smile wreathing her face. “Yes, Jake. I will be honored to be your wife”

  * * * *

  Visit Billie’s website at

  www.billiewarrenchai.com

  The Darkness and the Dreams

  by Kimberly Ivey

  Other than the occasional blip of the cardiac monitor, the only sound in hospital room 337-B was Paloma Delatorre’s voice. The patient, thirty-two year old David Hopkins could not hear her. So she’d been told. Although he was able to breathe without the use of a respirator, he continued to require oxygen and a f
eeding tube for daily nourishment.

  One nurse in the ward, Cynthia, discouraged her from reading to the comatose man.

  “He’s lost in a half world between life and death,” she’d said.

  Echoes from my own life since Robert’s death a year ago.

  She closed the spiral notebook that contained her latest short story and rose from the uncomfortable bedside chair. She must not think of Robert anymore or their days spent restoring the turn-of-the-century house on Galveston Island’s historic Church Street. Or the lavish, Victorian style wedding they’d planned to hold in their new home once renovations were complete. It was futile to dredge up memories of the past. Robert was gone—dead at age thirty-two, killed by a drunk driver on the eve of their wedding.

  Leaning her head to the side, she stretched tight neck muscles, then shook off an icy chill that gripped her. So often the cold came when she thought of him, creeping in like a sinister shadow from the darkened corners of her life. She pulled the pink volunteer sweater with the gold and blue insignia patch on the front around her shoulders. Immersing herself in activities at U.T.M.B. Hospital for the past six months saved her sanity. She’d been going stir crazy in that rambling old house, unable to write a single word since Robert’s passing. As a successful freelance writer for eight years, this block had stalled her career. Now the muse was back with a vengeance and once again her life and her work had purpose. Poems and stories she wrote for patients brightened their days, transporting them from their cold, sterile environment, even if only temporarily. Though not cognizant, Mr. Hopkins was no exception in her mind. When she spoke to him she noticed how his heart rate on the monitor increased. As she read her newest stories and poems, she could almost imagine him hanging onto every word.

  Muffled voices in the hall and the aroma of food signaled dinner time. Meatloaf, if her guess was correct. Her stomach growled in response and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  She smiled at Mr. Hopkins—or rather, David, as she preferred to think of him. The thirty-two year old had been at the hospital for the last two months. A freak boating accident left him comatose. Doctors didn’t expect him to fully recover, and the hospital had searched desperately for his family, but to no avail. From all outward appearances, David Hopkins was alone in the world. Paloma identified with that feeling.