Wish on the Moon (6 page)

After the sense of loss subsided enough for
her to think about the future, she'd planned her future and Mandy's
without looking for a man to share it with them. Did all men resent
the time and care children took? Her father seemed to. Doug had.
George loved Mandy like a brother loved a little sister and Laura
could trust him to care for her, but George had never been more
than a friend and never would be. That was just the way things
were. So Laura had directed all her energy into raising her
daughter to appreciate life, squeeze every moment of happiness out
of it, and be nurtured with the freedom to think for herself and
become the person she wanted to be.

Mitch waited for Laura to come into the
bedroom and fold down the covers. Gently, he laid Mandy down and
covered her.

Laura leaned over and kissed Mandy's cheek.
As she smoothed the spread under her daughter's chin, she said, "I
think I'll sleep in here with her tonight so if she wakes up and
doesn't remember where she is, she won't be scared. The rooms here
are so far apart. She's used to me being in the same room."

"You sleep together?"

"We have twin beds."

His blue eyes darkened. "What about Anne and
George?"

She almost smiled in exasperation. He was
determined to examine her life under his microscope. "They have
separate bedrooms. As I told you, we're all just friends."

He walked toward the doorway, his movements
athletically smooth. "How did you come to live together?"

Apparently he believed her. He wasn't still
questioning her life style. That was progress. "Doug didn't have
any life insurance. When he died, I couldn't keep up with the bills
and mortgage payments. Anne wanted to go to grad school, but
couldn't afford it. By sharing expenses with me and babysitting for
Mandy she could. George is trying to save for a house of his own
and staying with us he can save money."

"So it's not permanent."

She shrugged and tossed her hair over her
shoulder. "Nothing's permanent. I learned a long time ago to grab
the moment for what it's worth."

Mitch frowned, the brackets around his mouth
deepening. "What about building for the future, planting roots,
saving enough to cover the proverbial rainy day?"

With a last look at Mandy, Laura crossed to
him at the door. "Are you familiar with Shakespeare?"

"Somewhat."

"There's a line in Othello, 'Who steals my
purse steals trash.' That's the way I look at money. It's
necessary, but it's discardable. Memories, feelings, and people are
the real treasures."

Mitch leaned against the door jamb,
preventing her from leaving. "It's funny how people who've had
money most of their lives decry its value. Have you ever wanted for
anything?"

She thought about it. When she'd left her
dad's house, she'd left with nothing. She had postponed the second
term of her apprenticeship to work while Doug finished his
schooling. But as soon as he'd finished, he'd found a job and she'd
completed her training. Money wasn't abundant, but she'd always
managed to pay the bills on time. It was good training for after he
died. Even then, by budgeting carefully and sharing expenses with
Anne and George, she and Mandy had never been in need.

"I've never been hungry or cold, if that's
what you mean."

"That's exactly what I mean." His blue eyes
bored into her.

He'd known poverty, and he'd known need.
Sometimes he was easy to read. Laura wondered if he knew that.
Compassion for him made her voice husky. "Were you cold and hungry
often?"

He was quiet, as if thinking about not
answering. Finally, he admitted, "Not if Mom could help it. But we
ate boiled potatoes more than once a week."

He meant for a main course. "How long did
that last?"

"My father never worked steadily so it
happened on and off."

She didn't mean to interrogate him but she
wanted to know more about him. "How old were you when your dad
died?"

"Fourteen."

"You were the only one?"

"No. I have an brother who's a year
older."

Was that the Carey he spoke of? "Does he live
here in York?"

"No."

From his detached answer, she knew she'd
better stop. But her curiosity got the best of her. "How did you
get interested in designing jewelry?"

A faraway look came into his eyes. "My mom
had a ring that her mother had given her. It was beautiful, a
cluster of rubies and pearls. When my father gambled it away, she
cried and cried. I swore some day I'd replace it. I used to stop in
front of jewelry stores and stare at the gems, the combinations and
arrangements. After a while, I started drawing my own ideas. I
imagined the colored stones in my hand and the countless pictures I
could create with them."

The passion radiating from him startled her.
This was a side she guessed few people saw. He loved brilliance,
color, clarity and form. "I'd like to see your work."

He cocked his head and smiled as if pleased
by her interest. "I can arrange that. Do you design?"

His smile could make anyone feel special.
"I've never had the money for the materials."

"Your store doesn't repair jewelry?"

"No. Repairs are sent out. We don't even have
gold solder."

Mandy turned over in bed and Laura was
instantly alert. Her daughter didn't wake up but hugged her
pillow.

"I have to get her doll. If she wakes up,
she'll want it. It's probably downstairs."

He straightened and moved into the hall. "And
I have to make another trip across town."

The bit of friendly conversation gave her
hope that they could find common ground. "Mitch?"

He stopped. "What?"

"I do care about my father. I want him to get
well."

He aimed a soul searching look at her. "Then
we want the same thing."

As Mitch walked in front of her down the
hall, she suspected he didn't believe it.

***

Nora was looking through the kitchen
cupboards when Mitch returned with her overnight case. "I thought
you and Laura would be watching television."

"Laura tried to keep me company but I could
see how tired she was and concerned about Mandy waking without her
there. I told her to go to bed."

He set the case on the beige counter. "Do you
think it's an act?"

Nora stared at him as if she didn't know what
he was talking about. "What?"

He took off his suitcoat and hung it on the
back of one of the four plank bottom chairs at the smaller table in
the kitchen. "Her motherly concern."

Nora's hands fluttered in the air. "It's no
act! She loves that little girl. You can see it in her eyes and
hear it in her voice. Why would she put on an act?"

His mother had confirmed his gut feeling.
Laura and Mandy seemed as close as any mother and daughter could
be, and he was ashamed of his suspicion. But his concern for Ray
led him to play devil's advocate. "Maybe she's trying to win us
over and make us sympathetic toward her."

"I know you love Ray like a father. Even more
because you didn't have a proper father and Ray fills up that space
in your life." Her voice held regret and pain, but she continued,
"Laura may have hurt her father once, but six years is a long time.
She's not a teenager now. She probably wishes those six years were
different as much as he does."

Mitch had the feeling Laura didn't regret
walking away from her father one iota, let alone living however she
wanted the last six years. She was a free spirit, all right, with
her "grab the moment" philosophy. He knew from experience that free
spirits resisted shackles at someone else's expense. Enough about
Laura. He was thinking about her too often as it was.

When Nora opened another cupboard, Mitch
asked, "Can I help you find something?"

She pushed a peanut butter jar aside. "I'm
looking for the pancake mix. Thought I'd get ingredients ready for
breakfast."

"Mom, you're not here to cook and take care
of

everybody--"

She stopped searching. "Can't you let me do
what makes me happy?"

He felt guilty. Laura had touched a nerve
earlier. His mother would like nothing better than him staying with
her when he was in town. She liked taking care of people. She was
happiest when she performed some service for someone. But she
didn't need to do that now. She didn't have to sew for anyone; she
didn't have to provide for and worry about him and Carey. So what
did she do? She volunteered at a day care center.

He angled around the counter and opened a
cupboard. When he couldn't find the mix there, he peered into the
cabinet she had last opened. The back of the box faced him. "Here
it is. I'm surprised you didn't see it."

She looked at the front of the box. "This is
different from what we use. I guess that's why I missed it."

"I wish you'd see the optometrist. You've
been saying you're going to do it the last few years. I can make an
appointment for you--"

"No. I'll do it myself."

"Soon?"

"Yes." At his scolding glance, she said, "I
promise." She opened the freezer, found a package of bacon, and
transferred it to the refrigerator.

"I'm going to work for a while, but if you
want to go to bed, feel free. Do you remember when Ray gave you a
tour of the house? You can sleep in the room with the yellow
curtains."

"I remember. But I was going to sleep in the
housekeeper's quarters down here."

A sitting room, bedroom and bathroom
stretched behind the kitchen. Mitch supposed the cleaning lady kept
it clean and aired out but his mother wasn't sleeping there.
"You're not the housekeeper. There's no reason you shouldn't sleep
upstairs with the rest of us."

"If you think that's what Ray would
want..."

Mitch was firm. "That's what he'd want."

"Okay. But I'm not going to bed yet. I'll get
the coffee ready and set the table for breakfast, maybe watch TV
and keep you company."

He'd thought he'd work in Ray's den, but he
supposed he could sketch on the couch just as easily. "I'm going to
change into something more comfortable. I'll be down in a few
minutes."

As he climbed the steps, he knew he wouldn't
get much work done. His mother would interrupt a hundred times,
commenting on the TV program or asking to see what he was
designing. He smiled. They'd spent many Sunday afternoons like
that. They hadn't done it lately.

On the way to his bedroom, Mitch passed the
open bathroom door. A billow of steam and a flowery scent
surrounded him. Gardenias?

Laura was hanging her bath towel over the
wooden rack next to the sink. She wore a short flannel robe with
bright violet, vivid yellow, and emerald stripes. Didn't the woman
believe in muted colors? Her bare feet invited his eyes to skim her
legs. Did she wear a sedate gown like her daughter, or was satin
more her speed?

When she went to the sink and picked up a
brush, she saw him. "Did you want to get a shower? I thought you'd
use the bath off of Dad's room."

Her hair was a combination of gold and
tiger's eye, fluffy and wild around her face. His fingers itched to
glide through it, smooth it, stroke it. He cleared his throat. "No.
I came up to change. I thought...uh...we should leave at six thirty
tomorrow morning. Mom said she'll make breakfast."

"She doesn't have to."

"I know. But don't argue with her. She wants
to."

Laura came toward him. The scent of gardenias
was even stronger. Was it shampoo, perfume, lotion? Lord, this
woman oozed sensuality. The colors she chose, the style of her
hair, the large grey eyes, the way she walked. He was hypnotized by
her and felt like a fool, but he couldn't move away.

"Awareness" she'd called it. Whatever it was,
it was potent. If he touched her, would sparks fly? If he touched
her, would he want to stop? He couldn't touch her. She was Ray's
daughter. Her values contradicted his. Her view of life hurt the
ones she loved. His mind told him, Stay away, keep clear, don't get
involved. But another source seized him and made his insides riot,
urging him to act on feelings he'd suppressed for a long time.

Laura's blood pounded at her temples. She
hadn't realized sharing her father's huge house with Mitch would
seem this intimate. His top three shirt buttons were unfastened as
if he'd begun unbuttoning his shirt while climbing the stairs.
Tendrils of black hair swirled underneath. Her stomach lurched. She
knew chemistry when she felt it. Maybe because it rarely gripped
her like this. She could usually brush it off and go about her
business.

Sleeping under the same roof with him
shouldn't bother her. The house was certainly big enough. She slept
under the same roof as George every night. But that was different.
He was a friend. Mitch was a...disturbance.

Was the allure the mystery behind Mitch? The
undercurrent between them? The bond of being concerned about her
father? His reserved attitude with her but his gentleness with
Mandy?

Laura's fingers went to the chain around her
neck. Mitch's eyes followed them. She hastily stuffed her hands in
her robe's pockets. "Uh...are you going to bed?"

"No, I'm too wound up."

The deep huskiness of his voice made her
start chattering. "I know what you mean. My body's exhausted, but
my mind's clicking away. Maybe if I crawl in with Mandy, I'll
relax. It's going to be a long day tomorrow--" Shut up, Laura.
You're acting like a besotted teenager who's never felt hormones
stirred up before.

His eyes traveled over her as if imagining
her taking off her robe and sliding into bed. She shivered.
Sweeping her hair away from her cheek, she turned off the light.
Mitch stepped back so she could enter the hall. He walked with her
to the doorway of Mandy's room.

When she stepped over the threshold, he
stayed in the hall but peeked inside. Laura's pink bra and teddy
lay on the bed, her pantyhose and jumpsuit sprawled across the
chair, her shoes stood next to the dresser. A neat bedroom wasn't
one of her virtues. She expected Mitch to comment.