Wish On The Moon
Karen Rose Smith
Published by Karen Rose Smith at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Karen Rose Smith
Original Copyright 1992 Karen Rose Smith
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.karenrosesmith.com
CHAPTER ONE
Mitchell Riley stabbed at the doorbell, wondering what he'd find behind the door. Hopefully, Laura Marie Applegate Sanders. He'd seen her high school graduation picture. He'd heard enough about her to know she'd been a hellion as a teenager. Six years ago, she'd broken her father's heart. Now, if Mitch could convince her, she was going to help mend it.
He jabbed the bell again and impatiently thrust his hands into the pockets of his gray leather jacket. Ray Applegate had filled a yawning hole in Mitch's life. The older man gave him encouragement, trust, and belief in himself. Mitch smiled, remembering hours spent with Ray as they worked at the jeweler's bench. If not for Ray Applegate, Mitch's designs would still be stacked in a pile collecting dust. He would do anything for the man who'd taken the place of the father who'd pushed Mitch away again and again. He owed Ray more than he could ever repay.
The door to the two-story colonial finally opened. Mitch stared. Laura's high school picture taken eight years ago hadn't begun to prepare him for the woman standing before him. Her wavy, layered, shoulder-length hair drew his eyes first. It was the color of the late October leaves scattering the sidewalk--burnished gold with the radiance of the sun and a bit of glow from the moon.
She had a piquant face, a small nose, a delicately pointed chin. And eyes. Gray eyes so big and wide he could almost fall into them. She couldn't be more than five-foot-three. So this was the irrepressible, irresponsible Laura. Her tie-dyed sweatshirt and ragged well-washed jeans seemed in character with the girl Ray had described.
Her tone was friendly, her smile welcoming. "Can I help you?"
Her eyes had gone from the scar on his face, down the breadth of his chest, then back up to his eyes and stayed there. Most people stared longer at the line down his cheek. He was used to it. Once, the scar had been a source of torment because it had made him different. Now it was simply part of him.
Just then a whirlwind came barreling out the door and wrapped around Laura's legs. "Is it the pizza man?"
Laura ruffled the child's dark brown page boy. "No, poppet. Not yet."
"But I'm hungry! I want to eat now." She looked up at Mitch. "Who are you? What's that mark on your face?"
"Mandy!" Laura gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. She's so curious about everything--"
"It's all right." Mitch's sense of purpose shifted as he peered down at the little girl. Children laid life flat on the table, and he respected her curiosity. "I had an accident when I was a boy, and my name's Mitch Riley. What's yours?"
She seemed satisfied by his brief explanation. "Mandy Sanders." She pushed away from Laura.
Mitch's eyes swerved to Laura. For some reason he'd never expected her to have a child, not with her penchant for following her own whims. The way Ray had talked about her, Mitch had expected to find Laura living in a loft with her artist husband, leaving responsibility outside the door.
Of course, maybe the child wasn't hers.
"She's your daughter?"
Laura laughed. "Yep. Since before she was born."
Her laugh reminded him of the tinkling silver bells his mother always hung on the door at Christmas. What a notion, Riley! Remember who this woman is. Remember how she hurt her father.
"Mommy sang to me when I was in her tummy. She told me."
Apparently Mandy had learned spontaneity from her mother. From what he'd heard, Laura was a master at it. He grinned at the little girl to encourage her. A few minutes of uninhibited honesty from a child could go a lot farther than a two hour conversation with an adult. "What else did she tell you?"
"That Daddy used to rub her tummy and talk to me. I don't have a daddy anymore. He's in heaven. But I have George and Anne. And Puffball."
Laura didn't seem embarrassed. "Why don't you help Anne and George fix the salad while I find out how I can help Mr. Riley?"
"He can come in and sit down."
Laura gave her daughter a little nudge. "He probably doesn't want to. Go on. I'll be in soon."
With a last glance at Mitch, Mandy took off.
Mitch paused to absorb the information he'd just garnered. Doug Sanders was dead. Laura's father didn't know. Who were George and Anne? And why in heaven's name was he wondering what it would be like to run his hand over Laura's stomach?
Mitch stared straight into Laura's eyes, angry with himself because she distracted him. He was here to give Ray the best possible chance for recovery. His wayward thoughts made him brisk. "It's not a good idea for her to be so friendly with strangers."
"She's only four and a half and has an idea that everyone wants to be a friend. I hate to disillusion her."
"You might have to for her own protection."
Laura's eyes asked why he cared. "Independence isn't a major crime center. But don't worry. I keep a close eye on my daughter, Mr. Riley." Her gaze traveled over his navy turtleneck and wool slacks as if looking for some reason for his visit. "How can I help you?"
He didn't want to tell her his news while she was standing at the door. "Maybe I should come in."
"I'm not as naive as my daughter. I don't let strangers in the house."
"I need to talk to you about your father."
Laura's face paled. "Who are you?"
Get ready, Riley. This is going to be a bumpy ride. "I've been Ray's partner for four years."
"I...see. What is it you have to tell me?"
Mitch looked over her shoulder but she made no move to invite him inside. He plunged in knowing there was no easy way to say it, no way to soften the words. "Ray's in the hospital in critical care. He had a heart attack Wednesday."
Her mouth rounded to an O and she turned white. Mitch clasped her shoulder gently, hoping her reaction meant she still cared. "Are you okay?"
One of his fingers trapped a lock of hair. It was silky. Her shoulder felt...fragile. His body responded, startling him. He had to remind himself he was here for one reason and one reason only. He dropped his hand.
Laura pulled in a bolstering breath. Her voice was a soft whisper. "Maybe you'd better come in."
Mitch followed her into the living room. Laura chose a rocker covered by a colorful patchwork quilt. His gaze swept the room. It was a hodgepodge of furniture. Nothing matched or coordinated. He parked on the black vinyl sofa. It reminded him of an escapee from a bachelor loft. A huge gray cat that looked as if it had mohair for fur was curled on a needlepoint hassock in front of the window. The animal lifted its head, yawned, then turned its nose sideways on its paws to go back to sleep. Was this Puffball?
Voices and laughter from the kitchen wafted into the living room while Mitch waited for Laura to speak.
Laura stared at her hands in her lap, thinking about the night her father had disowned her. She couldn't forgive him, but she didn't wish him harm. The shock of learning her father was in the hospital rocked her in a way she hadn't expected. It brought home the fact her dad was mortal and still her father, although he didn't consider her his daughter.
Exactly what had happened to him? Guilt grabbed her and along with fear made her tremble. Why hadn't she tried to c
ontact him after Doug's death?
Because her father's rejection could still hurt her.
"Has my father been ill long?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
Mitch unzipped his jacket and his voice gentled, as if to protect her from further upset. "No. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health six months ago. The heart attack came on suddenly. I'm thankful it happened at the store so someone was with him."
"You were there?"
He shook his head. "I was at the Harrisburg store. Ray's assistant manager called 911."
"The Harrisburg store? Is that new?"
"Two years. Ray stays in York. I handle Harrisburg."
She took another shaky breath. She had grown up thinking she'd be her dad's partner. This Mitch person had taken her place. Raising her head, she studied him. Tall, broad shouldered, superbly fit. The long scar from his temple to jawline added to his rugged appeal. She wondered how he'd gotten it as she noted the quality clothes he wore and the blue lapis ring on his finger. She couldn't tell his age. His jet black hair sprinkled with strands of gray gave her no aid. Thirty-five?
How close was he to Ray Applegate? Had he taken her place in her father's affection, along with her dream of working beside him?
"How did you find me?" Her father didn't even have her current address.
"I found your social security number on some old records. Search engines and data bases are great now."
She felt violated at the idea of a stranger finding out her private information. But was anything really private now?
As if he sensed her thoughts, he assured her, "I didn't intend to be intrusive, Mrs. Sanders. I had to find you fast. I didn't know your husband had died or that you have a daughter."
Mitch's eyes were the color of an icy blue lake, the specks of silver like spokes of a wheel. Did they lose the sharpness when he was happy? Did the silver ever twinkle with fun? She pushed the questions away because she'd never know.
"Why didn't you telephone instead of coming here personally?" she asked.
"Because I want you to go back with me. Ray is having a bypass surgery Monday morning. If you fly back to York with me tomorrow, he can go into the operation with peace of mind." Leave tomorrow? What if she lost her job?
What if she lost her father?
"Is there a problem?" he pressed.
"I manage a jewelry store. I don't know how much time--"
"Do you understand this might be your last chance to see your father alive?"
Seeing her father. What would it be like facing him again after all these years? Would she see the same frustration, the same disapproval, the same coldness on his face? He'd thought raising a child meant laying down rules without discussing them. He hadn't realized Laura needed hugs and kisses and a father she could talk to, especially after her mother died. Rules and expectations had been his way of dealing with her. She'd rebelled.
Mitch's trip to Ohio to fetch her didn't seem to jive. She couldn't imagine her father admitting he needed or wanted anything--certainly not a reconciliation with her.
"Did my father send you?" she asked abruptly. When Mitch didn't answer immediately, she had her answer. "He didn't, did he? You came on your own. My father could care less if he sees me."
Mitch shook his head. "That's not true. He's too proud to admit he needs you there."
"You're assuming too much. He kicked me out of his life. Are you saying he's ready to apologize for that?"
Mitch's voice took on an unexpectedly hard edge. "What does he have to apologize for? He gave you everything. And you--" He stopped and sighed. "None of that matters now. What matters is giving Ray whatever support he needs to survive surgery and recover."
Laura recognized Mitch Riley's reserve was disapproval disguised. It was evident he had deep feelings for her dad. She could only imagine what her father had told him. But as he'd said, the past wasn't important now.
George came around the corner and perched on the arm of her chair. "Everything all right?"
Her red-haired, lanky housemate was as protective of her and Mandy as an older brother. He and Anne had been close friends before Doug died, her family since. The three of them now shared expenses, responsibilities, and good times.
"I'm fine," she answered, then introduced George to Mitch and watched the two men size each other up.
"Mr. Riley is my father's partner," she told him. "He wants me to fly home. My dad's having bypass surgery on Monday."
George emitted a low whistle. "Are you going?"
If her father didn't want to see her, that made a difference. Her presence could upset him as much as help him. Could she trust Mitch Riley's judgment? "I don't know."
Her friend's voice was gentle. "You make your own decision, babe. But think about how you're going to feel if you don't go and something happens to him."
She leaned her head against the back of the chair. "I know. But there's Mandy."
"Anne and I will take care of her."
"I won't leave her for more than a few days."
Mitch sat forward and interrupted, his posture conveying his urgency to clear any obstacle in her path. "There's no reason you can't bring her along. There's plenty of room at the house."
"I'm not concerned about the amount of room. I'm concerned about Mandy's sense of security."
"Certainly, a week or so--"
She shook her head vehemently, suspecting he hadn't had much experience with children. "When Mandy's father died, she withdrew. I won't take the chance that anything like that will happen again." Laura looked at George. "I'm going to ask her."
"You're going to consult a four-year-old on a decision like this?" Mitch's expression said he thought Laura belonged on another planet.
"I'm going to find out how she feels before I make any decisions." She called, "Mandy? Come here please."
Her daughter came running, using a step between a hop and a skip. "He came in!"
Laura turned her daughter away from Mitch and pulled her up onto her lap. "Your grandfather's sick."
"You mean the man in the picture upstairs?"
"Um hum. I'm thinking about taking an airplane to go see him."
"Does he have a cold?"
"It's worse than a cold."
"Is he gonna die like Daddy?"
"I hope not. But I want to know how you feel about going with me."
"George and Anne can't come?"
"No, poppet. If you don't want to go, you can stay with them."
Mandy played with the hem of her Princess tee-shirt. "An airplane flies in the clouds."
George said, "You can tell everybody at preschool what they look like up close." He added, "If you go with your mom, she won't have to rush back because she won't be lonely with you there."
Laura gave him a dirty look. She didn't want Mandy to know guilt.
Mitch spoke up in a gentle voice and smiled at her daughter. "Mandy, you and your mom will stay in a big house with lots of rooms to explore. There's a great big yard with a pond and a stream."
Laura drew her eyes away from Mitch, remembering every inch of the backyard--the birdbath where she'd watched blue jays play, her treehouse, the bench where she and her mom had had long talks.
"What's 'explore' mean?" Mandy asked.
Mitch was at a loss for a moment. "It means to...look at, walk through, touch things."
"Do you live there?"
"I stay sometimes."
Mandy looked up at her mom. "Can I take Puffball?"
Laura exchanged a look with George. When he shrugged, she responded, "I don't see why not."
The doorbell rang. Mandy said, "I'll get it."
George took her hand as she hopped off Laura's lap. "We'll both get it. It's probably the pizza."
Laura said to Mitch, "I hope the cat's not a problem. She's declawed and doesn't go out."
He stood. "If that's what it takes, you can bring a zoo."
She stood too and tipped up her face, feeling a definite disadva
ntage. Tall men usually gave her the feeling of protection and well-being. Doug had been a tall man, though he'd never been protective. After Mandy was born, Laura had often wished...
She cut off the thought. Maybe Mitch Riley's height was intimidating because she sensed there was so much restraint keeping him reasonable, cool, and polite. He was the kind of man she'd never been attracted to. She supposed it was because those qualities belonged to her father, too.
Trying to bridge the gap between them, she explained, "Mandy latched onto Puffball after Doug died. The cat's her security blanket." The cool look left Mitch's eyes. Impulsively she took advantage of the softening. She was grateful for Mitch's concern for her dad and wanted to express her thanks. "Would you like to stay for supper? Pizza, salad, and butter pecan ice cream."
"No, thank you. I have some arrangements to make. If I can get a ticket for Mandy, we'll be leaving on the two o'clock flight. I'll call you in the morning to confirm it."
He was distancing himself again, making sure she knew this wasn't a social occasion but a favor he was doing for Ray Applegate. Fine. That was okay by her. They could remain strangers if that's what he wanted. She could be as polite as he could. "Do you think Mandy's ticket will be a problem?"
"I'll get it if I have to trade ours in for first class."
"I can't afford--"
"I'm paying. This is my idea. I'll take care of it."
She responded quickly and firmly. "No. I don't take handouts. We pay our own way."
He took a few steps closer until they were toe to toe. She smelled leather intertwined with spicy cologne and a heady more masculine scent that made her want to step even closer, despite her conclusion he wasn't her type. Then he spoke.
"Being a rebellious teenager might have worked when you were sixteen, but the stakes are higher now. Think about that."
He stepped away as quickly as he'd approached. "I'll call you in the morning."
Without a backward glance, he walked to the door, said good-bye to George and Mandy, and left.
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