Harvest Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “You’ll be lucky if I even attend the party with you.” She rolled onto her back and pretended to pout. “And poor you because I’ve memorized at least the first third of the baseball skit.” She glanced his way and caught him reaching behind his back to the grapes again.

  “You’ve got that much memorized? Guess I shouldn’t push my luck.” Trent hovered over her, his fingers wrapped around the next grape. “Open wide.”

  “Nope.” She pressed her lips tight.

  He laughed. “Aw, come on, Pearls. How about we make a deal.”

  “A deal? I’d like to see my lawyer, please.”

  His good humor vanished. “Listen, Duncan’s thinking of buying some land in Tuscany next year. Maybe starting a sister vineyard in Italy. He’s asked me if I’d scout out properties in the spring.”

  “That’s exciting.” The idea Trent might be off traveling again, or worse, working in another country had never crossed her mind. “Would he want you to work there?” She pressed her hands against his chest and massaged gently.

  “Maybe. But here’s the thing,” Trent stared into her eyes. “I figured Italy would also be a great place for us to go together. Maybe there we could sort out our future. I’m pretty sure we’ve got one.”

  Veronica pondered the idea of finally leaving behind Northbridge, after exiling herself to town for the past twenty years in the name of safety.

  “Oh, and before I forget my surprise…” He opened his hand and held between his fingers a silver antique band with a pearl centered between two small diamonds. “I saw this, and it reminded me of you. A single classy pearl, who stands out even amongst diamonds.”

  He watched her through sparkling eyes, lifting her heart and making it pirouette with happiness. Such a beautiful ring, but it wasn’t the only gift he’d handed her. His words served as a reminder that even when she’d lost the ability to believe in herself, he hadn’t ever given up on her.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He reached for her hand. “So, since you won’t wear a Halloween costume, will you wear this as a token of my love?”

  Before she could answer, Trent slipped the ring on her finger. A perfect fit.

  He leaned close and kissed her, slow and passionate.

  After a minute, they leaned apart and she grinned at him. “I’ll consider this venture under one condition.”

  “What? No costume?”

  She grinned. “No. For you, I might wear a costume, but can you please give me a damn grape.”

  He grinned, plucked one from the bunch, and, this time, he fed it to her. She nestled along his side, and he wrapped her in his arms. They lay quietly together on the blanket surrounded by the beautiful vineyard canvas as the stars above slowly brightened in the sky. A place where the miracle of nature had provided rain and sun, joined with assistance from the human hand, and allowed for this year’s bountiful harvest.

  Meet the Author

  Sharon Struth is an award-winning author who believes it’s never too late for a second chance in love or life. When she’s not writing, she and her husband happily sip their way through the scenic towns of the Connecticut Wine Trail. Sharon writes from the small town of Bethel, Connecticut, the friendliest place she’s ever lived. For more information, including where to find her other novels and published essays, please visit her at www.sharonstruth.com

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next Blue Moon Lake story by Sharon Struth:

  BELLA LUNA

  Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued...

  Popular advice columnist Rose Richardson has changed her appearance, grabbed her basset hound, Bella, and run away to hide in rural Connecticut. She needs time to figure out how to prove she had no role in making illegal campaign contributions to her husband’s senatorial campaign—even though her soon-to-be-ex has made it appear that way.

  Leo Drake wants nothing more than quiet as he tries to write his latest book and recover from the tragic loss of his wife. He’s returned to the lake house he loved as a child, where he learned his craft, and where he penned his Pulitzer Prize winning novel years earlier. Except his brother, unaware Leo plans to return, has rented the place to a strange woman and her droopy-eared dog.

  Leo isn’t budging. And Rose has nowhere else to hide. It’s up to Bella to work her magic and help them find a compromise.

  A Lyrical e-book on sale December 2016.

  Learn more about Sharon at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31604

  Chapter 1

  Rose Richardson stared beyond the car’s swishing wiper blades at the cloudy sky and whispered, “If anybody is really up there listening, please send a sign that this isn’t the biggest mistake of my life.”

  She held her breath. Her gaze drifted to the front door of Blue Moon Lake Realty. Nobody walked out and gave her a thumb’s up. She glanced around the empty parking lot. A breeze blew a candy bar wrapper from the roadside onto the grass, not exactly sign-worthy.

  Disappointed, Rose flipped on the inside light, adjusted the rearview mirror, and took another peek at herself. A near stranger stared back.

  Noise behind the driver’s seat made her turn around. Bella stretched lengthwise in the Ford Escort, hogging most of the backseat.

  “What do you think of me as a blond, Bella?”

  The two-year-old Bassett hound wagged her tail a few times.

  “Thanks, but you’re more positive than I am.”

  Rose faced the wet windshield and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The rural community’s real estate office could’ve been someone’s home, based on the green awning over the ranch’s front window and potted petunias on the stoop. Only a flashing neon sign reading “OPEN” hinted to the building’s business purpose.

  Rain tap-danced on the car’s roof, a dreary end to her two-day journey. The trip started twenty-four hours ago, when she still had flowing chestnut layered hair that brushed her shoulders. The change to dirty-blond locks, cut around mid-neck, and wispy bangs was only a start in modifying her appearance from the publicity photo used in her magazine column. Heavy framed black eyeglasses, filled with fake lenses, offered a significant departure in the looks department. She pushed them tight to her face with her index finger, but the second she moved her head, they slipped down the slender slope of her nose.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Rose’s heart startled. She turned to the sound.

  “Emma? Emma Morris?” A voluptuous woman with perfect auburn hair and wide green eyes stared back. She wore a navy jacket with the real estate office logo on the lapel.

  Rose rolled down the window, fingers crossed she passed this first critical test using her made up identity. “Yes, I’m sorry I’m late.” Her heartbeat pounded wildly. She forced a smile. “Are you Meg?”

  “I am.” Meg held an enormous golf umbrella. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been worried.”

  “Traffic coming out of Boston was bad.” Rose swallowed the lie.

  “Don’t worry at all, sweetie. I had nothing else to do. Sit tight. Let me go grab the house key so you don’t have to come out in this rain.” She ran back inside.

  Rose exhaled her relief. No signs of recognition…yet.

  Besides the hair color, glasses, and Supercuts hairdo, her new wardrobe should make her a less noticeable version of her former self. After leaving North Carolina for Connecticut yesterday, a shopping spree in the junior’s department at the Roanoke, Virginia Target replaced her more sophisticated Ann Taylor clothes—left home in the closet. Today she’d chosen a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and French terrycloth jogger pants, with a rather strange geometric print and black cuffs around the ankle. Now she looked like a thirty-eight year old woman who had no style sense. Not a senator’s wife and nationally known advice columnist.

  Meg came out the door and returned to the car. “Okay, everything you need is in here.” She handed her an envelope. “Two house keys and a signed copy of the lease from Mr. Drake.” S
he placed a hand on Rose’s arm. “You’re getting a great deal on this place. The last tenant just took off before the lease ended.” She dropped her voice, even though nobody else was around. “Mr. Drake was furious. He likes having someone in the house, you know? Makes him worry less about not using the place much.”

  “I don’t blame him. Is the house far from here?”

  “A stone’s toss away.” Meg grinned.

  Rose had always heard the expression as a “stone’s throw,” but sayings often changed regionally, and she’d never lived in the northeast before.

  “Follow Lake Shore Drive out of town going toward Southbridge. Go past the Litchfield Hills Vineyard. About two miles beyond that, you’re going to turn. Be careful. Potholes are everywhere. It’s been a rough winter, and they still haven’t patched the road. I mean, it’s early May! What are they waiting for?” She shook her head. “Oh, it’s rained for the past two days, so hopefully the driveway leading to the estate isn’t flooded. There’s a town map inside the envelope and a booklet with local services and businesses. Anything goes wrong, you call me right away. Mr. Drake is a good landlord and handles problems quickly. One of my cards is in there, too, with my cell number.”

  “Oh, hold on.” Rose leaned over to the passenger seat and searched her purse for the envelope holding all her cash. Without this money, she couldn’t have made her escape and been left to face a husband who cared so little for her wellbeing. Her hatred for John swelled, but she held it in check while removing enough to cover the rent. “Here you go. For the first month.”

  “I’ll print a receipt tomorrow, if that’s okay? The computers are shut off.”

  “Sure.”

  Meg tucked the money in her raincoat pocket. “Remember, call if you need me.”

  Rose waited until Meg disappeared inside the office, then tipped her head against the headrest and blew out a relieved sigh.

  Maybe she hadn’t gotten a sign earlier, but at this point, she had gone too far from home to look back now.

  * * * *

  Bellantoni’s Market, a small grocery store only about one-third the size of the Food Lion at home, held a surprising variety of products. Rose pulled from their lot with a few necessities for the night, but would return tomorrow.

  Once she exited town, she drove slowly in the dark. Shadows of trees and twinkling lights from houses along the lakeside hills peeked out at each narrow turn. This ad for her rental house said it had water views and solitude.

  A perfect place to remain invisible.

  She thought about John. What was he doing right now? Was he with his mistress, laughing about how he’d screwed his wife, but in a totally different way than he clearly enjoyed screwing the redhead, who’s picture Rose had once found on his phone?

  Yesterday morning when he left their home in North Carolina for the resumed senate session in D.C., Rose had begun her escape. Not exactly an escape. More like running away from home. Not in her car or a cab or a plane. All were traceable.

  Instead, she’d walked to a shopping center a mile from the house she and John owned. Hair tucked beneath a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, she’d dressed in leggings with an oversized sweatshirt. Few would have recognized her. The backpack slung over her shoulders had contained a prepaid cell phone, every cent she could sneak out of their joint checking account, and treats for Bella.

  Everything else needed for her to get out of Dodge had been stored in the trunk of a used car, purchased for cash the night before, and left at the shopping center. The ten-year-old Ford didn’t compare to her beloved Mazda Miata. Once she reached the used car, she’d hurried inside and sped away fast as she could.

  She hadn’t exhaled until she hit Roanoke, Virginia. After a trip to the local Target, she’d settled down in a hotel that took pets. A box of Nice ’n Easy—Shimmering Sands—hair color and a pair of scissors helped her slip into her new persona. That, and a little help from an inexpensive haircut place to adjust the bad cut Rose had given herself. By the next morning at six AM, she’d left as a blonde who liked jazzy junior attire.

  She yawned, tired but anxious to reach the rental. Far away from John’s manipulative wrongdoings, actions bad enough to send her to prison. Had the deceitful bastard ever loved her?

  Jail. The growing pit simmering in her gut for the past week expanded. She didn’t want to go to jail. The pain inside her worsened as visions of the press learning what had been done, hounding her at every turn for answers, added a second and equally troubling layer to her stress. What if they uncovered the childhood past she’d worked so hard to hide? Stories like this were exactly the type of stuff they prayed for, talked about for days, despite other news in the world. She shuddered.

  Escape had been smart. A chance to look for proof of her innocence for the authorities, before someone found out what John had done.

  The car’s headlights cut a path on the dark road and brightened a white sign for the vineyard. Rose continued and finally spotted her turn. The narrow road twisted like a curious snake between the trees. Every so often she’d pass a driveway or mailbox; a sign civilization did exist.

  She finally found a mailbox with the name Drake in black letters on the side. A weathered No Trespassing sign had been nailed to a thick tree trunk. She turned.

  Gravel crunched beneath her tires as she slowly inched up the stone-paved driveway between walls of trees on both sides. The Ford Escort hit each bump on the trail, as if nothing rested between Rose’s rump and the ground.

  At a clearing, a huge white colonial loomed before her, larger than she’d imagined. Pillars marked each side of the portico entrance and symmetrical darkened windows with black shutters lined the front facade. She parked near the walkway, flipping off the car headlights and plunging into total darkness. Rose tapped on the inside car light, opened the envelope from Meg, and found the house key.

  After digging out a flashlight from the glove compartment, she turned to the dog. “We made it, Bella.”

  Bella stood, flattened her stubby front legs in front of her, and arched her behind high in the air, a good yoga stretch. “I know, girl. It’s been a long drive.”

  Rose got out and raised the hood to her windbreaker. She opened Bella’s door and the dog hopped out. A few minutes of sniffing, and she marked her territory. Rose went over and slipped on the leash, worried Bella might run off into the creepy surrounding woods.

  By the light of the flashlight beam, she followed a slate walkway to the door. It took a minute to work the key, but the lock finally clicked and she pushed it open.

  Her eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness. Weird shadows teased her already jumpy nerves. She patted the wall, finally locating a plate and hitting the switches.

  A large foyer faced a stairway and hallway leading to the back of the house. Inside seemed warm, especially considering Meg said nobody had lived here for the past two months.

  She inhaled, catching a familiar scent. Coffee? Maybe Meg had stopped by earlier, turned up the heat, and carried a cup of coffee while she did.

  Rose shut the door, then removed the dog’s leash, leaving it on an old olive green table with black scrolled decorative swirls stationed against the foyer wall.

  Thud!

  Rose stopped, tilted her head toward the upstairs.

  Thud!

  The pitter-patter of her heart picked up speed. Slow footsteps creaked on the ceiling above. A light flashed on. Bella’s ears perked. Panic crept through Rose’s veins, but she couldn’t move, frozen in fear as her mind raced with images from vagrants to serial killers.

  Run. Run!

  The dog let out a guttural growl.

  Footsteps continued. Rose stretched her trembling hand to get the leash and leaned over, about to snap it on Bella, then run like hell out the door.

  The footsteps pounded fast and hard on the staircase.

  Owooooooo! Bella ran toward the sound. Owooooo-woo-woo-woo-woo!

  A dark-haired m
an reached the bottom, gripping a baseball bat in swinging position. “Don’t move!” He stood at the last step, too close for her to make a quick dash out the door.

  Rose’s heartbeat threatened to burst from her chest. She raised her hands in the air. “Please. Don’t hurt me!”

  The intruder blinked back at her through sleepy, toasted caramel colored eyes. Thick trusses of messy hair jutted from his head. The rugged edges of an unshaven shadow highlighted his tight angled jaw. Her gaze traveled past his wrinkled, loosely buttoned plaid shirt, his baggy sweatpants, and stopped at his bare feet.

  Bella bared her teeth and inhaled sharply. Owoooooooooooo! Owooooooooo!

  The dog’s war cry got the stranger’s attention for a second, but he quickly returned his narrowed gaze to Rose. “I don’t know who you are, but you’d better have a damn good reason for breaking into my house.”

  * * * *

  Leo Drake’s head ached, and he couldn’t shake off his disorientation, certain he walked around in some awful dream.

  “Your house?” The woman’s wide blue eyes showed her terror. “Could you please lower that bat? I didn’t break in. I have a key.” She tilted her head toward her hand, where a key ring dangled from her fingertips.

  Shit. He lowered the bat and took the last step down into the foyer. Goddamn Everett must’ve rented the place again.

  She lowered her arms. “Wh-who are you?”

  “This is my house. Who are you?”

  “Emma.” She hesitated a brief second, and her heart-shaped face shifted into a more confident pose as she jutted out a determined chin. “Emma McMorris. I have papers showing I’m legally renting this place.” She took a manila envelope off the table near the door. “For at least this month, possibly longer. Are you Everett?”

  He clenched his jaw at the mention of his brother’s name. “No. Leo Drake. My brother and I share ownership of the house. I hate to tell you, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”