Moonlight Man (6 page)

She swallowed. “At dinner, whenever anyone asked you what you did, you evaded the issue. I don’t like evasions. To me, they are as bad as lies.” For too long, she had suffered from a man’s lies and evasions.

“Are you asking me what I do for a living?”

She sighed. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“I’m a cookie-maker.”

She got to her feet. “Marc …”

He rose and turned her to face him. “No, seriously, that’s what I am now. I’ve opened a cookie bakery in Victoria, another in Vancouver, and I’m working on a third in Seattle. I think that’s probably what I’ll do with the rest of my life. Make cookies.”

“But you don’t actually make them yourself!”

“The ones I brought to your kids, I did. From my grandmother’s and mother’s old recipes. That’s what the ones in my bakeries are based on too. I sell direct to university and college cafeterias, to day-care centers and hospitals, and certain select, small stores. It’s a good marketing ploy, keeping my product exclusive until there’s a real following. Then, when the time is right, and I’m sure quality control can be maintained, I might branch out into wider markets.”

“Then why live here? Why Nanaimo? Why not Vancouver or Victoria or Seattle?”

“I like it here. It’s a big enough town to have a few amenities, yet small enough to be friendly. Big cities are—” He broke off, frowning. “Big cities are part of my past, and I prefer to leave that where it lies, behind me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m sorry. There are things I don’t want to talk about. I’m not being evasive now, and I wasn’t being evasive at dinner. I have done all those things I said, have been to all those places, and I did learn to bake cookies in New Zealand. I even taught my boss to make some of my family’s recipes. It was the way they went over there that suggested to me maybe I could earn a living with them if I ever came home.”

“But you aren’t ‘home,’” she said, moving restlessly away from him, crouching to put another couple of pieces of wood on the fire. She shut the glass doors and stood again, facing him with a much safer distance between them.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your accent. Where is home? Somewhere in Quebec?”

“It was. It no longer is. Now, home is where I want it to be.” He moved closer, not touching her. “I want it to be here, Sharon.”

“For the time being. Until cookies aren’t fun any longer.”
Until I’m not interesting enough any longer.

He frowned. “Maybe. I don’t know. Over the last few months I’ve come to realize that this might well be where I will settle, that cookies might well be what I’ll want to make my life’s work.” He paused, stroked a hand over her hair. “Those months, too, of knowing you—at least, seeing you, talking to you now and then—have told me that maybe I’d like you to be part of that life.”

She laughed and shook his hand off her hair. “I don’t bake cookies worth a damn!”

His smile warmed her right to the soles of her feet in a way she didn’t want it to. “So Jason tells me. I told him you have other, more important talents.”

Together, as if pulled by a magnet, their gazes swept to her harp. She shook her head. “No. No more.”

He took one of her hands and pulled her a step closer to him. Their bodies touched lightly. Her heart raced. Her breath caught in her throat. “Will you tell me about it? What happened? What changed you? Was it your divorce? Did it hurt you so badly that you died inside and your music died with you?”

She shook her head. “Not that. I was … glad for the divorce. It eased my hurts. My music died long before that. At least, the music in my heart did. I kept on playing though, trying to find it again. Finally, I just gave up.”

“Funny,” he said musingly, “when my wife and son died, I thought everything good in me had died too, but music, which I’ve always treasured, lived on, and eventually gave me some comfort …”

Her eyes opened wide. “You lost your family? Oh, Marc, I am so sorry.”

He flicked at one of the tears that spilled from the corner of her eye. “Don’t cry for me. It’s all in the past. I want to look to the future. And last night gave me hope that maybe I can have the future I want.”

“Last night was …” Her voice trailed away.

“Was what?” he asked softly, lifting her face up, cupping his hands around it. “As magical for you as it was for me?”

His hands, hard and callused, which had felt erotic the previous night, felt different somehow, reminding her of the wide variety of tasks they had performed, and she knew he was still being evasive. He was no manual laborer, this man. Not with his understated elegance, his educated manner of speaking, his knowledge and savoir faire. He was a chameleon who was, in spite of his attraction to her, still avoiding telling her the truth about himself.

She would never let another dishonest man into her life!

“Don’t touch me!” she said, jerking away from him.

The violence of her reaction, as well as the sudden flare of anger mixed with fear in her eyes, shook him as she tore herself free, wrapping her arms around herself. “Go home, Marc. Please, just go home now.”

He picked up his guitar and his jacket and nodded. To the bowed back of her head, he said quietly, “All right, Sharon. We’ll leave it for now. But I intend to know what happened to you. And I mean to make whatever went wrong, right.”

She lifted her head, turned and looked at him, and the tragedy he read in her face made him want to weep for her as she had for him. “Nobody can, Marc. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. It can never be right again, so there’s no point in my wanting a man like you—a man who would want too much.”

He shook his head. “I’d never ask for more than you could give me.”

“You would!” she protested, her mouth twisting. “You’d want everything.”

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “Of course I would. But why not? You have everything to give.”

He slipped out the door then, leaving her standing at the archway to the entrance. After a moment, she locked the door behind her and went quietly up to bed.

She lay for a long time thinking about him, and soon it was morning and the whole house was stirring. She got out of bed quickly. There was no time for brooding. She had guests and children to feed, which was just as well. She’d never had much time for brooders. Action was what she preferred, and action was what she would take.

“IT’S BEEN A WONDERFUL TIME
, Sharon.” Zinnie hugged her tightly as she and her family prepared to leave. “You gave your sister and our son a beautiful wedding and all of us a delightful Christmas. It was more fun than we’ve had for a long time. You and your kids are a real bonus to us. What are you going to do with the rest of the holiday?”

“Today, we’re going skiing, and we may go up again tomorrow, but the day after that, I’m afraid the library’s open again, and I’ll be working.”

“Where do you ski?”

“Up Island. Mount Washington. It’s the only one within reach for us, unless we want to stay over. Taking the ferry across to the mainland and back just eats up too much skiing time.”

“You mean you’ll drive up there today and back again tonight?” Harry asked, frowning. “Surely that eats up a lot of skiing time too.”

“Well, yes, but it’s what we have, so we make the best of it. Besides, the drive’s no problem, since I don’t have to travel in snow. I don’t actually go up the mountain as a rule. They insist on chains, and I hate putting them on as much as I hate driving on snowy roads. There’s a shuttle bus from the main parking lot. We use that.”

“I know about the bus. We ski on Mount Washington, too, but listen, we have a chalet up there. Why don’t you and the kids go on up and use it? That way you won’t have to come back tonight, and you can have a full day’s skiing tomorrow.”

“Oh, but—”

“No, no buts. We insist,” Zinnie said, digging into her capacious handbag and hauling out a ring of keys. Sorting through them, she found one and removed it, then slapped the key into Sharon’s hand. “There. It’s yours. Go ahead and enjoy.” She explained how to find the chalet, and then added, “But listen, what plans do you have for the kids once you’re back at work? What do they do?”

“I have a woman who comes in. She’s really nice and they like her.”

“Okay, but I have a better idea. What if we meet you up there tomorrow afternoon, and then stay on with the kids until the end of their Christmas vacation? We normally go up there for a few days at this time of year and spend New Year’s Eve quietly on our own in the chalet. We’d really enjoy having the kids with us, though, wouldn’t we, Harry?”

He beamed. “You bet! Hey, it’s a long time since we’ve had kids up there. Come on, Sharon, say yes.”

The two children stood there, big, dark eyes, pleading with their mother, silently urging her to agree.

“But that’s a terrible imposition!”

“Mom!” Two pained voices rang out.

“Imposition, nothing. We’ll have a ball.” Zinnie frowned. “Unless you don’t feel you know us well enough yet to entrust us with your children. It’s okay, dear. I understand.”

“No! No, of course it’s not that, Zinnie. After all we’ve been through together, those terrible days and nights of waiting for Jeanie and Max to be found? I feel I know you as well as I know my sister. Certainly I trust you with my kids, but it just seems like an awful lot to ask of you. They’re very active and will wear you out.”

“Hah!” said Freda with a sniff. “these two never wear out.”

“It’s true, Sharon.” Rolph swung an arm around her, bumping her up against him in a brotherly fashion. “They ski circles around me every time we hit a mountain together. If I didn’t have to fly to Lisbon tomorrow to look at that ketch for a client, I’d be joining them, and believe me, there’s more than enough room for two little kids. Come on, whaddaya say, sis?”

“Ohhh!” Sharon felt tears flood her eyes and blinked hard to clear her vision. “You people are so darned good to us! Thank you. We accept.”

“Great! Then we’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t bother packing any groceries except fresh stuff like milk and eggs. The cupboards and freezer are full, and we expect you to help yourself like any of the rest of the family. Understand?” Zinnie said.

And then the McKenzies were gone in a flurry of kisses and hugs and thanks. Sharon leaned back against the door and stared at her kids. “Wow!” she said. “What a super new family Aunt Jeanie brought us, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, his face aglow. “It’s just like having a grandma and grandpa must be, huh, Mom?”

She nodded and turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see the new spurt of tears in her eyes. There had been many times over the past nineteen years when she had missed her own parents so desperately, she didn’t know how she’d make it through another day. And now, it seemed, her sister’s in-laws were going to make a very big stab at filling that huge gap in her life.

“Come on,” she said. “Roxy, you collect up all the hats and gloves and goggles. Jase, you bring the skis up from the basement. I’ll get the rack on top of the car. If we hurry, we can be on the slopes before lunch.”

“Mommy, this is the best Christmas ever,” Roxy said, leaning on her mother as they rode up in the chair lift. “I’m a good skier, now, aren’t I?”

“You sure are. Better than last year. Here we go, time to dismount.” Together they skied off the lift and headed down the hill after Jason, who had been in the chair ahead. Roxy was better than she’d been that morning, Sharon noticed. She was much more confident, more relaxed as they skied down Linton’s Loop, a nice easy, relaxed run.

They had just reached the bottom and were taking a breather when a skier in a red and navy suit caught Sharon’s eye. He came tearing down the face of the hill, over the steepest, most lumpy run, attacking the mountain as if it were an enemy, like a man possessed. Or a man in a great hurry. She frowned, wondering why so many men skied like that, and decided it was a male aggression thing, something they had to do. She had noticed signs of it in Jason.

The red and navy skier came directly toward them and swirled to a stop, lifting his goggles up over his headband, his tawny eyes laughing at her surprise. She did not feel nearly as surprised as she should, she realized, but instead felt a lot happier than was wise.

She knew he had seen her putting skis on the car earlier that morning. He had waved, and she had waved back. Then he’d gone inside, and she’d tried as usual to put him out of her mind.

“Hey, Marc!” Jason’s gladness showed as he slid over to stand close to the man.

“Hey, yourself.” Stabbing his poles into the snow to free his hands, Marc tugged Jason’s hat down over his eyes. “Having a good time?”

Jason pushed his hat up onto his forehead again, his grin fading. “Okay, I suppose, but Mom won’t let me ski the face like you just did. That was excellent! I didn’t even know it was you, and I thought the guy was great. Have you been down the Westerly yet? I can’t wait to go, but Roxy’s too little for it.”

“No. That was only my second run. I spotted you guys going up in the chair so I came down in a hurry to link up with you. Shall we take a run together?”

“Nah,” Jason said disgustedly. “I gotta stick to the loop this year. “Cause of my leg. The one I broke. The doctor said not to put too much strain on it or somethin’.”

“That makes good sense, son. Anyway, I meant all of us together. The four of us. I don’t suppose Roxy’s ready yet for any of the more advanced runs.” He grinned at the little girl who beamed back at him.

“But I will be next year. Mommy says I’m getting better all the time.”

“And mommys are usually right, but let’s see, shall we?” With that, he led the way to the line-up for the chair lift, maneuvering it somehow so the kids took the chair ahead of him and Sharon.

“You look like a leprechaun in that green suit,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m surprised a Frenchman knows about leprechauns.”

“Ahh, but don’t forget, I’m a widely traveled and very experienced Frenchman.”

How experienced?
Very, she was certain, didn’t come close to covering it. She didn’t want to think about that, though, about what he might know, things he might do, the way he so easily turned her inside out. “A Frenchman who learned to ski in Ireland, perhaps, where there are leprechauns?” she asked quickly.