Half Moon Hill: A Destiny Novel Read online

  And as Tessa and Lucky laughed at her teasing sarcasm, Duke said low, too low for the other two to hear, “Come on now, Daisy—you and me have had enough fun together that you know better.”

  And she surged with moisture between her legs. And almost couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. Their gazes stayed locked.

  It all boiled down to one horrible fear: What if he doesn’t love me back?

  Only then another question came to mind. But . . . what if he does?

  And she knew she should probably keep right on being scared to death of what she’d just figured out—but a funny thing she suddenly remembered about being in love: It made it easy to push sensible fears aside and just bask in it, just live in it, just appreciate it—at least for a while.

  So in that moment she began to bask, and to appreciate. This was where she was in life and there was nothing to do but experience it, come what may. Trust. That’s what it all came down to—even if with Duke it felt like a far more dangerous risk than with anyone else she knew.

  And maybe . . . maybe he would feel it, too. Maybe he would see in her the same impossible magic, the same magnificent light, she saw in him. Maybe.

  Duke Dawson, it seemed, was reminding her more and more all the time what it was to be brave.

  And so she simply stood up, reached down to take his hand, and said, “I’m ready—let’s go.”

  Duke really didn’t want to go to the Dew Drop Inn. But as Anna pulled the Mustang into the parking lot, Lucky’s Jeep behind them, and he saw that only a few cars and trucks sprinkled the gravel lot, a strange wave of relief swept over him. Strange because—when had he become this guy who was afraid of people? You can ride with a badass biker gang, break laws, run your own biker bar, and kick more than a few asses that needed it—but you can’t walk into the mild little Dew Drop Inn without your stomach churning?

  It almost made him laugh, and even more so when he noticed some of the changes bar owner Anita Garey had made to the place since she’d bought it a few years ago. The flat, gray, cinder-block building had somewhere along the way gotten a coat of beige paint with dark brown trim, and a new neon sign above the door spelling out the bar’s name in electric blue cursive. Neon beer signs and strings of mini-lights still glowed through the windows, but underneath them neatly tended flowers grew: red impatiens. His mother had loved impatiens.

  As promised, it was as quiet inside as the parking lot indicated. Anita, an attractive woman in her fifties, stood behind the bar, wiping it down, her sparkly top glittering in the dim lighting. He’d met Anita on enough occasions—like Romo family weddings—that at first he worried she’d recognize him and tell everyone in town he was back. But when she merely tossed a casual wave at the group, he remembered he looked different now and that she probably assumed Anna had brought in someone she didn’t know.

  They took a table, and Lucky went to the bar, returning a few minutes later with three longnecks and a glass of wine for Tessa. They made easy small talk after that, more discussion about the car Lucky was fixing up for the derby—and Tessa talked more to Anna about that party this coming weekend. Duke drank his beer—the third he’d consumed in the last couple of hours—and didn’t mind that he was feeling this one a little. He’d never sought comfort in a bottle, but at the moment, maybe a little intoxication made it easier to be here, and to quit thinking about it.

  Only a few other tables were occupied, and when an older couple got up to dance near the jukebox, most eyes fell on them. They looked to be in their sixties and Duke found them easy to watch. They looked happy. Not bubbly happy, but . . . comfortable, content, pleased with life. They made him think of Denny and Linda in a way, but he pushed aside the pang of guilt that came and just tried to feel . . . glad for them. Everybody couldn’t be happy, but at least some people were, and he guessed maybe that was what kept the world turning, kept life moving forward.

  When the song ended, the man walked to the jukebox and inserted some coins, pressed some buttons. Duke didn’t recognize the music they danced to, but it reminded him of some of the old stuff Anna played around the house most days.

  Soon, a middle-aged couple got up and joined the older folks, and though they didn’t look as skilled at the dance moves—which he though looked something like the jitterbug—they laughed and had fun with it.

  “Woohoo—go Caroline!” Tessa called out, and the woman looked over, eyes wide, but then covered her smile with her hand, as if embarrassed.

  “That’s my friend Caroline Meeks, and Dan Lindley, Sue Ann’s boss at Destiny Properties. Amy fixed them up last summer.”

  “How’s little Amy doing?” Duke heard himself ask without quite planning it. Once upon a time he’d indulged in a little harmless flirting with her, thinking she was cute.

  Tessa smiled. “Doing great.”

  “She ever marry that Logan guy?” He’d been present for the proposal last year at Lucky and Tessa’s wedding reception.

  “Not yet, but they keep saying they’re going to set a date for this fall.”

  He nodded, glad to know Amy had that . . . that thing . . . that happiness he’d seen in Denny and Linda, and again just now on the dance floor.

  That was when the songs switched and more new-but-old-sounding music filled the room. Anna’s eyes went bright and wide as she said, “Oh, it’s JD McPherson—I love this song!” Then she turned to Duke. “Dance with me!”

  “What?” he groused instinctively, pulling back slightly—yet his Daisy, never easily deterred, ignored his response, grabbed his hand, and yanked him to his feet before he could protest.

  Drawing him onto the floor with the other two couples, she took both his hands and began swinging them back and forth to the rhythm as she started dancing. Duke didn’t dance. Period. And yet . . . he found himself beginning to move, his body falling with surprising ease into mimicking what Anna did. Sort of, anyway.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he said to her, loud enough to be heard over the music.

  Her eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Me neither—but we’ll learn together.” As if to emphasize the idea, she released one of his hands, then spun her way into his arms and back out. After which she raised her eyebrows at him as if to say: See, we can do this.

  Though he thought they probably looked ridiculous. “I think you’re drunk, Daisy,” he told her with a smile. Even being ridiculous—even making him ridiculous—she made him feel good inside.

  “Who cares?” she said, eyes still alight, both of them still moving sloppily to the song about a north side gal. “Come on. Dance with me.”

  And so he did, feeling all the while how bad they were at it, but still . . . somehow having fun. Feeling almost . . . easy inside. Like maybe his life wasn’t so bad.

  Mainly, he liked making her happy. He liked . . . how little it took, how simple it was. And it was hard to believe how much she’d been through and that something as small as a song, and a bad dance, could make that pretty trill of laughter echo from her. In those moments, her brown-sugar eyes, her soft rosy blush, her dark hair flowing all around her, was all he could see.

  And he wasn’t sure how long he’d been giving her a look that surely told her everything he was feeling—he only understood how transparent he’d become when he realized she was returning that look. Her smile faded, slowly being replaced by a smoldering desire.

  It was when the song ended, even as another started to play, that she stopped dancing, stepped near him, and said, “We should get out of here.”

  Despite himself, he felt a little playful. “Why? Because I’m such a bad dancer or because you’re . . . warm for my form?” He raised his eyebrows teasingly.

  And a loud peal of feminine laughter tore from her throat.

  But then, letting her eyes fall half shut as she cast a sexy smile, she leaned closer, her breath as soft as silk on his skin as she whispered in his ear, “The second one.”

  They didn’t talk much as they drove back toward town, but Duke gently
, gingerly ran his fingertips in a circle over the top of Anna’s thigh through her skirt. The sensation almost made it difficult to drive, but she couldn’t bear the idea of asking him to stop.

  When they pulled onto the town square and Duke got out to ride his bike back to the house, she felt a little abandoned without him. And she probably drove a little too fast to get home. But she liked knowing the lone headlight behind her was his, and that he was as eager to get there as she was.

  “Hey,” she said softly as she got out of the car after pulling into the driveway.

  “Hey,” he returned, his voice gravelly with the heat she always felt moving so potently between them.

  She’d had such a good time with him tonight—talking, laughing, even dancing—but now she wanted to have a different kind of fun.

  Only it wouldn’t be just fun now. And maybe it never had been just fun. From the first time they’d touched, she couldn’t help thinking, feeling, that she and Duke shared a real connection. And now, now that she knew she’d fallen in love with him, she just wanted to celebrate that, relish that, in the most intimate way possible.

  She loved having his hand at the small of her back as she unlocked the front door. Even just that tiny touch echoed all through her. And she just wasn’t sure when the last time was that she’d felt this happy. So don’t think too far ahead, and don’t worry about anything—just be in this moment and let it be beautiful.

  The first thing she saw when she stepped inside and turned on a light was Erik, sitting on the sofa table in the foyer like a furry black statue. Duke noticed, too, saying, “There’s your fur ball.”

  “Meow,” the cat said.

  “Hi,” she greeted him softly, then stepped over to pet him.

  “You’re not usually so nice to the cat,” Duke observed. “What’s that about?”

  Anna bit her lip. Wow, this love thing was having a serious effect on her already. “Maybe I’m just . . . happy.” And after lowering her purse to the table next to the kitty, she turned back toward Duke and let her cheerfulness give way to the full-on passion swirling inside her. All smiles gone now, her voice came out in a mere rasp. “Maybe I want to make you happy, too. David.”

  She could see a familiar desire lurking in his gaze as well, even as he cast her a teasing, chiding look. “Don’t call me that, Daisy.”

  “Then don’t call me Daisy.”

  When he said nothing in reply, but their eyes stayed locked, she said, “Besides, I like David. David suits you.”

  He gave a short shake of his head, eyes half shut as they stayed on her. “No it doesn’t,” he said quietly. “David was somebody else. I don’t know that kid anymore.”

  She tilted her head, gently but boldly arguing the point. “Your mother thought it suited you. I bet she doesn’t call you Duke, does she?”

  He hesitated. Then he said, “My mother’s dead.”

  Oh Lord, big mistake. And talk about a mood killer. She’d been trying to make him feel good about himself, see him the way she did. Now she wished she could call back the words. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her.

  But Anna couldn’t help being shocked. She wasn’t sure why—people died, her own “other mother” had died—but she’d just thought when Lucky had talked about Duke going home to his family that he’d mentioned, in passing, Duke’s mother.

  “When did she die?” she heard herself ask. But shut up, why are you making him dwell on this? And yet, she just . . . wanted to know things about him. She wanted to understand him.

  It took him a moment to answer. “Um . . . about six months ago. Right after I saw her at Christmas. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. And then she thought about the timing of it. And maybe she should be quiet, or change the subject, or just kiss him or something—but instead she wondered aloud, “Was that before or after the accident?”

  His voice stayed quiet. “Before. By just a couple of weeks.”

  Only . . . Anna felt confused the more she thought about this. “But Lucky never mentioned . . .” She stopped, shook her head lightly. “He never said anything about you going to a funeral.” It just seemed odd that she wouldn’t have heard about it given that her brother and Duke had kept in close touch up until these past few months.

  Duke wasn’t sure how much to say, or how much he wanted to say. There was something easy about talking to Anna, even easy about being open with her—but this was one more thing he didn’t want to think about, one more thing he shoved away whenever it came to mind. And he wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten from the subject of her cat to his mother in just a few short seconds of conversation, but he wasn’t prepared for this. He would probably never be prepared for this.

  A big part of him just wanted to turn around and walk away. Wanted to get back on his bike and ride through the night. Wanted to go stalking back through the woods in the dark to the cabin. Every instinct urged him to run, shut it down, get away from it. It seemed like the only way to . . . stay safe. From . . . something. From . . . the truth about his life, he guessed.

  And yet . . . they’d had such a nice night. He’d felt so good inside—almost normal. He’d danced, for God’s sake—a definite first for him. And they’d been just about to go to bed together, and underneath it all, he still ached with desire.

  What it came down to mostly was that . . . he owed her more. Than to run. Running was easy. But it would be the wrong thing to do. Because he cared about her. And maybe . . . maybe this meant he’d started caring about her even more than he knew, but whatever the reason, he just couldn’t quite make himself walk out on her right now.

  So instead he forced himself to tell her. About what she’d asked, about his mother’s funeral. “I didn’t go,” he said, his own voice sounding hollow to him, like something coming from far away. And then came the worst part, the reason why. “They . . . no one let me know. That she died.”

  It was hard to look at her after that—hell, it was hard to just be here, still in her house, his feet on her polished hardwood floor, everything around him seeming . . . too good, too nice, for him. But he forced himself to keep his eyes on her, as much as possible, watching as she blinked, still clearly confused, not quite getting it. “I don’t understand.”

  He worked to swallow back the large lump that had risen in his throat, aware of the sheen of sweat gathering on his skin despite the pleasant night air wafting through the screen door and open windows. There was nothing left to do but say it. “They just . . . didn’t bother telling me. I . . . only found out when I went home, after the accident.”

  He couldn’t quite focus on her anymore—he couldn’t focus on anything—but he was vaguely aware of her shaking her head some more, obviously still confused. “Why wouldn’t they . . . ?”

  Duke looked away then, toward the nearest window, curtains blowing around it from the breeze, thinking of the woods, feeling the trees almost calling to him, reaching out to him. He should be there right now, blending into them, being invisible, like he’d grown accustomed to. But all he could really see in his mind was his father’s craggy, unsmiling face. And because the only other choice remained to run away, he swung his gaze back to her and spewed out, “My dad always hated me and I always knew it. It’s why I left.” And then he slowed down a little, spoke more quietly, trying to stay calm, not scare her. “My granddad died when I was sixteen and he . . . he’d kept things sane for me. But after that, working with my dad and his brothers in their construction business . . . wasn’t good. And the work was all I had, all I knew how to do.”

  He stopped then, trying to think how to go on, how to explain a lifetime of trouble in the shortest possible way.

  “My mom . . . was hurt by the things I did, the bad stuff I got into after I left home. But when I got out of that, when I cleaned up my life, she took me back. Into her life. They all did . . . my dad, my sister, my uncles.”

  His eyes had dropped at some point�
�he realized he was staring at their feet: his work boots, her dressy flip-flops woven of red and brown leather and matching the red paint on her toenails. He struggled to make himself keep talking. “That’s what I thought anyway,” he told her. “But when I went back to the farm a few months ago and found out she’d died and that they hadn’t even fucking let me know—”

  He stopped then, realized his hands had clenched into fists and that his eyes felt wet—he shut them tight for a minute, willing that part away. You’re almost there, almost done—just get the last part out and then it’ll be over. “When I went back after the accident, my father told me he didn’t want anything to do with me. Said I was a piece of shit who’d never been any good to anybody and never would be.”

  Anna’s skin crawled with horror as she stood before him listening, all the blood draining from her face. To know any father would ever say this to a son who needed him. To know Duke had heard this when he’d been in such a bad place. To think he’d gone home to his mother only to find out she wasn’t there anymore—and to be kicked in the teeth with such coldness. Oh God. She’d thought she’d understood what he’d been through, what he was dealing with. But this . . . this, it turned out, had to be his deepest wound of all—and he’d been hiding it still, from her, from Lucky.

  “That’s when I came here. To the woods,” he went on, sounding calmer now, but also maybe . . . sadder. “I guess, added to everything else, finding out he thought I was worthless just made it . . . hard to go on. And easy to stay someplace that felt . . . safe.”

  Anna was overcome with the need to fix this somehow. If only she could, if only she had that power. She knew she didn’t—but she still had to try. She peered up at him and spoke from the bottom of her heart. “You have to know how wrong he was, Duke—you have to.”