Beneath the Patchwork Moon (Hope Springs, #2) (28 page)

She knew so much more now about what it had been like for him growing up the oldest of six siblings. She’d seen only what she, an outsider, an only child, had wanted to see: the laughter, the beehive buzz of activity, the fun and games. What she hadn’t seen were the creative personalities clashing, the artistic moodiness that bordered on depression. How his parents had already been coming apart before losing Sierra. How more and more responsibility had fallen onto Angelo’s shoulders. She was surprised he hadn’t cracked, though he’d laughed when she’d said that, swearing football had kept him sane.

She was also surprised how well he’d hidden all of that when they were together halfway between their two worlds, but those times neither one of them had wanted to talk about home. He’d wanted to talk about school, what he was learning, how much he loved what he was learning, how much he’d looked forward to his trip to Rome, what he’d seen while there, what he’d studied, and she’d wanted to listen to every word.

The Angelo she’d known who attended Cornell had been neither the Angelo who’d quarterbacked the Hope Springs
Bulldogs, nor the man in the car beside her now. That Angelo had been less boy than man, though not yet with this one’s presence. Fitting, she supposed, since the two years between Sierra’s death and his family’s move hadn’t seemed to belong to either of her lives—the one where Sierra was, the one where she wasn’t. They’d been magic years, drifting years, years spent trying to escape their shared loss by not talking about it at all.

A part of her wanted to go back there, to float down that river, eyes closed, knowing nothing but freedom and bliss. But there was a reason it was called
real
life, and she’d much rather go through this current heartache with this Angelo, because these were feelings she could trust. Feelings she would always remember. Feelings that would mold her and shape him and make them into something true.

Three hours after leaving the Caffeys’ home, and the solemn good-bye Angelo had shared with his parents, Luna took her passport from Angelo’s hand. After the border patrol agent waved them through, she watched in the passenger-side mirror as the crossing disappeared behind them. Once it was nothing but a speck, swallowed up by the shimmer of heat rising from the road, she turned in her seat, tucking her feet beneath her.

“What are you going to do when we get back to Hope Springs?”

Angelo shrugged without looking over. “I’m driving your car, so I figure I’ll go to the house. You can stay, or you can head home. Up to you.”

That wasn’t what she’d meant, but he was so typically practical male that his response didn’t surprise her. “Let me try that again. Tomorrow. The day after. What are your plans?”

He waited several long seconds, then glanced in the rearview mirror and slowed the car, pulling to the side of the road. There was nothing around for miles. No houses. No gas stations. No billboards. Not so much as an intersection with another road to take them someplace else. No car but hers traveled the long, straight highway that would return them to the civilization she called home. The sky reached miles to the horizon, leaving her with a sense of insignificance, and yet with Angelo for company she felt more vital than she ever had in her life.

Dear God, she loved this man.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, he opened his door and climbed from the car. She watched through the windshield as he came around to her side, and reached for her own door as he approached. Once she was out, he took her hand, leading her away from the road and into the scrub brush and dirt. She held tight and followed, apprehension creeping down her spine like a scorpion—a thought that had her watching carefully where she stepped, and then her nerves had her laughing.

“I’m guessing you’ve got a destination in mind here? Because I’d hate to think you decided this would be the perfect place for the buzzards to pick my bones clean.”

He let her go but kept walking, throwing his arms out wide before lacing his hands atop his head, turning in a circle, and howling as if driven by demons. In the distance she saw a shimmer of light, a reflection, a mirage. The sound of Angelo’s call echoed, and then he came back to her, a great purpose in his hurried steps, and she heard him muttering beneath his breath.

“I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to say this. I just don’t—”

“Angel, stop. What’s wrong?” she asked, her heart burrowing deep in her chest to keep from getting broken.
Please don’t let something have gone this terribly wrong!

Hands on his knees, he leaned forward, his shaking head bowed. “I never thought I’d do this in my life. I’ve never wanted to, never felt I needed to…”

“Angel, tell me what’s going on,” she said, her voice a painful whisper in her throat. What in the world was going on?

“Luna Meadows,” he said as he straightened, his cheeks wet, his eyes bright, his expression hopefully solemn. “Will you marry me?”

Her heart. Where was her heart? It wasn’t beating. She was going to die. Had he really just
proposed
? “You want me to marry you.”

“I don’t know why you would want to,” he said, but she knew exactly, and she smiled. “It’s not fair for me to think you would when I can’t manage to get my head screwed on straight. And the road with my family won’t be easy—”

“The road with mine will be,” she said, walking toward him, moving his hands away from his waist and pressing their palms together, then lacing their fingers, folding hers down to hold him tight and waiting for him to do the same. He did, and she smiled. Joy found where her heart was hiding and yanked hard, throwing it into the sky to burst and rain down confetti.

She’d never known happiness could feel like this. “I love you, Angelo Caffey. You’re in my blood, beneath my skin. You fill my thoughts with only good things and my days with so much beauty and my life with hope. Those are the reasons
I want to marry you. But only some. There are many, many more.”

He pulled their joined hands around his back, bringing their bodies close. “Like the way I fill your body?”

“That would be one,” she said, lifting high on her toes for his kiss. “And this would be another.”

She pressed her lips to his, then parted them, taking his tongue into her mouth and loving it with hers, loving him with her hands against his back, loving him with her heart that fluttered around them in tiny bright pieces. Being happier than this… She couldn’t imagine any moment of her life being better than this. Except one.

Holding his biceps, she pulled back to look at him, getting a frown for her troubles. “When?”

“When?” he asked, obviously confused.

“How soon can we get married?”

“Well, we’ve got a car,” he said, looking over her head to where he’d parked. And then he grinned. A wicked flash of teeth and dimples cut deep in the scruff covering his chin and his cheeks. “As long as we’ve got money for gas, we can head back to Hope Springs by way of Las Vegas, if you’d like.”

“I absolutely, positively, one hundred percent like.” This was their time, so long in coming. Later they would celebrate with family and friends, a reception on the farm perhaps, or a party at Two Owls. But becoming Angelo’s wife… It was a moment too intimate to share. She wanted it with him. Just him.

And then she turned and ran as fast as she could for the car, giggling at the sound of Angel’s steps pounding behind her, giggling even louder at the sound of her future falling perfectly into place.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Six weeks later…

L
una stood behind the island in the loft’s sectioned-off kitchen, adding more wineglasses to those already in use. When she and her mother had worked up the guest list for tonight’s reception, she’d never expected a one-hundred-percent affirmative response. And looking out at the crowd in the loft now, she was pretty sure there were more people here than had been invited.

She didn’t mind. Except for the fear they would run out of food and drink. But having this large a turnout—yes, there were definitely more people here than invitations had gone out—thrilled her. Not for her sake but for Angelo’s. He’d been gone from Hope Springs a long time. His return would no doubt raise questions, as would his marrying Luna after being back less than a week.

Tonight, she hoped, would answer the biggest: Was their marriage some kind of stunt, meant to draw attention to the Caffey-Gatlin Academy, or were they truly in love? She couldn’t imagine that anyone seeing them together could doubt the veracity of the emotions binding them, emotions that were true and pure and too strong to doubt. Emotions that left her weak in the knees with their power.

“What are you doing back here?” Kaylie asked, joining her in the kitchen and taking the glasses from her hands. “You’re the guest of honor. You’re supposed to be mingling. Go mingle,” she added, having slipped behind Luna to nudge her with her hip.

“I can’t mingle. I’m the hostess,” Luna said, but she mostly didn’t want to mingle because she was enjoying watching everyone else do it. She thought back to the day so many volunteers had come to clean the yard at the arts center, to the love the people of Hope Springs still had for the Caffeys, how even Merrilee Gatlin’s machinations hadn’t been able to destroy it. How she herself was so very proud to be part of the family, even while saddened by the refusal of Angelo’s parents to forgive and accept. She hoped someday soon…

“You can and you will,” Kaylie was insisting. “Having the reception here does not make you the hostess. It was just a matter of logistics. If not for the construction, I would’ve insisted we use my house. And if not for the smell of sheep, we could’ve used the farm. Now go. Mingle. Show off that rock that puts mine to shame.”

“It does not,” Luna said, looking again at the ring Angelo had surprised her with in Vegas. It was an amazing ring for a Vermont cabinetmaker who couldn’t afford decent T-shirts—though she was quite the fan of his indecent ones… “You’re right. It does,” she said, just as her mother arrived.

“Julietta.” Kaylie set down the glasses to give Luna’s mother a hug. “You look amazing. How’re you feeling?”

“About ten thousand times better than I was a month ago,” Luna’s mother said, her dark hair pulled back in an elegant braid, color high on her cheekbones. “When they say the first trimester is the worst? Believe them,” she said, and
Luna smiled at the thought of the crackers she’d brought to school for Sierra.

Kaylie looked from mother to daughter. “I’m threatening your girl here with bodily harm if she doesn’t get out there and enjoy her night.”

Luna tried to object, but her mother interrupted. “I saw her back here and came to see what she was doing. So, what
are
you doing?”

“I was just getting more wineglasses—”

Her mother took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the main room. “You let me and Kaylie do that. Your job is to enjoy your guests. And your new husband.”

Luna tried not to blush. Her parents had been ecstatic to get her call from Las Vegas telling them she and Angelo were now man and wife. And by the time they’d returned to Hope Springs, her mother and Kaylie had already cooked up this get-together to celebrate.

But it was still strange to think of herself as her mother’s married daughter. “Fine. I’m going. But you might want to start washing what glasses you can. I’m not sure we’ll have enough to get through the night otherwise.”

The first person she ran into as she circled the kitchen island into the loft’s main room surprised her. She’d sent him and his parents an invitation, but doubted any of the three would come.

“Luna. Congratulations. I wish nothing but the best for you and Angelo.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” she said, offering her cheek when he leaned to kiss it. “I’m so glad you came. And I’m so,
so
glad you’re going to be part of the arts center.” His doing so
was the best way she could think of to honor Oscar. “That makes me happy.”

“Good,” he said. “And I appreciate you sending the invitation for tonight. I would’ve hated to miss the party of the year.” His smile was teasing, but genuine, no malice in sight. “This is some place. I knew the warehouses had been gutted for residential use, but I had no idea so much finishing work had been done. The brick walls, they’re original?”

“They are. It’s one of my favorite things. I’m just sorry I won’t get to enjoy them as much as I’d thought.”

“Why’s that?” he asked as he lifted his drink.

“We’re converting the barn on the Caffey property into a house, so I’ll use the loft just for weaving.” She glanced around the cavernous room, still mostly empty save for two lamps, two lamp tables, the sofa, TV, and the bed from her room at the farm. And the strands of tiny white lights dangling from the beams overhead. “We’re staying here temporarily. But since Angel’s at the center most of the time, and I don’t need anything but my loom when I’m working, we decided to rough it instead of decorating here, then decorating there.”

“Makes sense,” he said, then glanced around the room. “Where is your husband? I wanted to say hello, but I haven’t seen him since I got here.”

“Last I knew he was with my father, over near my loom.” She looked that way, catching a glimpse of Angelo’s black hair. It hung loose to his shoulders, and he’d given in to her wishes when she’d begged him this morning not to shave. The breeze through the open windows stirred the strands, and the light from the full moon, and that of the street lamps shining in, cast his profile in dangerous shadow.

She thought back to what her mother had said, and wished everyone gone. She was through celebrating. She wanted to enjoy her husband.

“There he is,” Oliver was saying. “Good to see you again. And I mean that,” he said, adding an, “Excuse me,” to the woman arriving as he left.

Luna pulled Tennessee Keller’s sister into a big hug. “Indiana. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Who cares about that?” the other woman said. “Tell me everything you know about that man.”

Luna laughed. “That was Oliver Gatlin. Merrilee and Orville’s oldest son.”