Men Of Moonstone Series Read online

  John joined Peter in the second floor drawing room with its windows overlooking the choppy lake. The fire in the fireplace gnawed at the gloomy chill that had crawled in with a leaden sky. A table holding Steuben glass fish statues separated John from Peter in their leather chairs. White gauze encased Peter's arms and hands. John closed his eyes momentarily, remembering such pain.

  Leonard Moline entered. Dressed in his usual suit and tie, he delivered a tray with a glass of water and handed Peter a pill. “It's time, my boy.”

  “I'd rather not be woozy.”

  “No need to suffer.”

  Peter slammed down the pill. After Leonard left, Peter sat back in the squeaky leather. “He's shoving pain pills at me on the hour.”

  “Pills got us through rough times. Quit belly-aching.” But John understood. Men who fought in wars didn't like being coddled. Or being addicted to painkillers.

  “What'd you find?”

  John could give up Dolly and Finn now and return to Montana. But the easy, obvious solution bothered him. He also kept thinking about runny-nosed Finn and how Dolly feared him being kidnapped.

  “Found some tracks,” he said, lifting a coffee cup. “How long you and Crystal been at the farm?”

  “Couple a months. Since we eloped on Valentine's Day.”

  “Still can't believe you gave up on a big bash.”

  “Ah hell, I kept waiting for the roses to be planted, waiting for the aviary addition to be built onto the Jingle Bell Inn restaurant downstairs, waiting for the perfect moment. I was sure we'd have a Christmas wedding, then my father and Felicity announced they were having a baby.”

  “And so you let dear old dad have the Christmas gala you and Crystal were planning.”

  “It was the right thing to do. Santa Claus was getting a Mrs. Claus right at Christmastime. The town went nuts. Crystal even hooked up Rudolph to the sleigh so the married couple—dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus—could take a ride around Moonstone's square like North Pole royalty.”

  “I sense sarcasm and jealousy?”

  “Crystal deserves a lot more than I've been able to give her.”

  “How's she doing?”

  “Not so good.” Peter choked up.

  John put down his cup. “You don't really think somebody wants her dead. She's the popular first-grade teacher, the owner of Rudolph.”

  “She said a kid's flunking. The dad's a hothead, been in and out of jail for fighting and property damage ever since they moved here last fall.”

  John took down the names of Grant and Michaela Durkin. “What else you thinking?”

  “My wife married a Mister Money Bags.”

  John glanced at the fish next to him. “The big catch? You think some woman wants to get Crystal out of the way?”

  Peter nodded. “There's been a woman following me.”

  “Where've you seen her?”

  “At the IGA grocery a couple of times. And the hardware store.”

  “Crystal have an ex-boyfriend?”

  “You think some guy wants me out of the picture?”

  “No. But his new girlfriend may want to make sure Crystal's not coming back to him. Or, this woman could have fallen for you. You're old but you're still a babe magnet.”

  Peter chuckled.

  John had intended that affect. Peter looked haggard, an unsettling thing in a mentor. John asked, “Who's Crystal's old boyfriend?”

  “Randy Mellen. Dentist in Duluth. He was dating around on her when we met.”

  John wrote “loose cannon” next to Mellen's name.

  Leonard came in with cookies and milk. “Time for a pick-me-up, my boy. Plenty of raisins in these.”

  After Leonard left, Peter hissed, “How soon can you get a bathroom built into the barn loft?”

  “You sure you want to move your wife to a barn?”

  Peter stared too long into his bandaged hands.

  John asked, “What is it?”

  “She lost our baby. Miscarriage in the hospital. She was two months along.” Peter began to cry silently, his chin tucked to his chest.

  “Oh, Pete, I'm so sorry.” John reached over to touch his friend's knee. “I'll do what I can.”

  “Thanks. Felicity's eight months pregnant and buzzing about outfitting a baby's room with no expense spared by my besotted dad. Crystal doesn't need this stuff flaunted in her face.”

  “Neither do you.”

  Peter's wet face reflected firelight. “Just like that. Our baby was gone.”

  A shiver lanced John. One day there's laughter, then a flesh-and-blood boy gets carved out of your soul. A flash of fire ... Gone.

  “I'll go over to the hardware store now.” John pushed himself up. “What'd your stalker look like?”

  “Long, black wavy hair. Pretty, but strange, gray eyes.”

  ~—~—~—~ ~

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  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Being a rancher, John easily transformed the chicken condo that afternoon. The fuzzy chickens got half of the heated barn loft. John took over the other half, a thirty-by-thirty-foot space. A local construction worker recovering from a fall, John Christopherson, helped John frame in walls, set in cabinets and counters, and lay down a mossy green carpet. They'd get appliances later.

  In the late afternoon, John stepped out the door into a spring snowstorm. Flakes stuck to his whiskers. On instinct, he set off across the field, head bent against swirling snow and the voices of his Special Ops buddies. “She's playin’ ya, Jack. She wants ya to rescue her. Walk right in and she'll be strapped with a bomb this time.”

  A man in war got so damn lonely.

  He shook the tremors out of his hands. This here-and-now woman had no business dragging a kid through the wilderness. “Jack, she's usin’ the kid to get to ya. Quit bein’ a softie. Save a dog off the street, but not a woman and her kid.”

  He rested on the hilltop. He told himself to turn back. But the snow would be whipping into their cave.

  A half hour later he found nobody in the snowy cave.

  A wolf howled. A little boy's chicken would smell mighty tasty to hungry carnivores. How could he have not reported Dolly and Finn? Why had he held back? They could be safe in a jail with Finn slurping hot soup.

  He balled his hands into fists as he tried to squeeze away memories of coming to find nothing left but blood. After the fire-flash, blood had speckled wagons carrying fruit a block away on the Kabul street. Blood had landed on the face of a donkey that had miraculously survived. “Where's the boy? He survive the blast? I'll go back for him. Let go of me! I'll find the boy.”

  “You can't, Jack.”

  “Whaddya mean?” He'd shivered violently, his entire body convulsing. Somehow he was conscious of the blood spurting now being his own.

  “Medivac's here. Good luck, buddy. Kiss a nurse for me.”

  * * * *

  Kiss my ass. From there on out he never trusted himself to get close with a woman. It hurt too damn much—like getting too close to a fire.

  Darkness closed in as John pulled his car to a stop in the fire lane. Her Toyota still sat there, but it wasn't running. Had she run out of gas to keep them warm?

  He limped over to knock on a steamy window. “You're coming with me.”

  The driver's door cracked. “Go away.”

  “You can't stay warm out here.”

  “If you care so much, why'd you let the air out of all my tires?”

  “I'm a professional.”

  “A professional nuisance. We could've been long gone and staying in some motel.”

  “You didn't want to go to a motel, remember?” John heard a cluck then a toothless boy's messy “shhh.” John relaxed.

  Dolly didn't. “Get me some gas and a tire pump.”

  “Nothing doing. You'll try to escape again.”

  “Of course. You think I'm some dumb woman?”

  John knew how to influence stubborn cows, hissing rattlesnakes, and crazed
grizzlies. Dolly O'Toole was something else. “For starters you can be less bossy. And you're coming with me.”

  “I'm not going.”

  A thin voice sounded from the back seat. “Maybe if you athed my mommy with ‘pleathe’”?

  John grinned. “Please. I'll take you with me for the night.”

  “I'm not staying with you,” Dolly said.

  “No motel will let you keep a chicken in the room.”

  “Mommy,” Finn said, “he'll let me keep Wrigley, won't he?”

  John didn't like that the boy thought so little of him. He opened the back door. Finn's head and the beady-eyed red chicken peered out from a sleeping bag. John scooped them up and headed to his car. “Let's take Wrigley home.”

  John put the boy and chicken in his back seat, then got behind the wheel. After starting the car he flipped the heat on high. Dolly climbed in next to him with a backpack, sleeping bag, bulky quilt, and lips pinched together.

  John smiled inwardly. “You should be thanking me. It's a two-dog night out there and you don't have a dog.”

  Finn said, “Can I get a puppy?”

  Something big as a boulder shifted off John's heart. Inside the cocoon of the car, they were like a family. His boy had asked for a puppy. Except Finn wasn't his boy. What about that other boy? Did he live to get his puppy?

  John squeezed the steering wheel to hide the shakes.

  As he drove, Dolly's silence made him want to tell her stuff. Women did that. They tricked men with their understanding ways. But he wasn't stupid anymore.

  He kept on driving with his mouth zipped.

  * * * *

  “We're not sleeping in a stinky, dirty barn.”

  He shook his head as he parked the car near the hay loft door. “Try giving me some credit.”

  “I know what's best for my son, not you.”

  “Or any man?”

  Her gray eyes pierced the gloom inside the car. “You don't treat women so good yourself. What went wrong in your past?”

  John dared not even swallow; that'd give her too much satisfaction.

  Finn poked his head between them. “Ith okay, Mommy, thith ith where Wrigley livth.”

  John grinned in triumph as he opened his door, but the car's dome light made her lips shimmer in a way that had him holding his breath.

  Moments later, John enjoyed Dolly's surprised “Oh” when he flipped the light switch in the loft. He said, “Chicken to the left. The rest of you to the right.”

  “This is ... very nice.”

  John stayed planted near the door with his hat on. She looked too enticing as she whirled about with a big smile.

  “And really warm,” Finn said. He opened the door to the chicken condo. “Good night, Wrigley.” Chickens clucked back.

  John settled Finn's sleeping bag near the baseboard heater. Finn leaped on the bag and snuggled in. “Ith like home in here,” Finn said, looking up with his toothless smile. “Thank you, Mithter.”

  John zipped the bag up to the boy's shoulders. “Call me John. Please.”

  “Okay, John pleathe.” Finn's giggles turned into rasping coughs. John sat him up to pat him on the back until the hacking subsided.

  When John got up, he found Dolly staring hard at him. “It's a cold virus. Almost run its course. He's fine.”

  He was glad she was defensive. Maybe she knew how to be a mother. John took her quilt and sleeping bag and plopped them a few feet away from Finn.

  She shook out the quilt. “Everything's so new. For me?”

  Was she flirting? John's innards jumped. “A friend and his wife are moving in here.”

  She bent to unfurl her sleeping bag on top of the quilt. Dolly's heart-shaped derriere made him swallow again.

  She fluffed everything three times. Her obsessiveness set him to smiling. It was only a matter of time until she high-tailed it back to a fancy, soft bed in Chicago. He didn't believe her well-bred husband would jeopardize his lifestyle by coming after her to kidnap Finn. He also recalled the headline said she was “gone,” not reported as “missing.” Something fishy was going on. Maybe she was stalking Peter.

  Dolly asked, “What're you looking at?”

  He led her away from Finn. “What the hell are you doing here? The truth. You're not designed for camping or being alone in the woods.”

  She arched a delicate eyebrow. “And you're not designed for detective work. You limp. You can't chase after anything much with a limp. The only reason you caught up with me is that I let you.”

  He sweated buckets down his back at her impertinence. “I limp from years of riding bucking broncos.”

  “So you're a cowboy? Why not just stay the heck off the horses and let them graze and be happy?”

  Her eyes—with a hint of woodland violet in them—glistened with challenge. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say. What was more, he didn't much care for the feeling of not being in charge. He twirled the dirty Stetson in his hands to prevent himself from hauling her into his arms and teaching her who was boss. “I'll bring breakfast in the morning.”

  “You're not going to watch over us all night?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  She crossed her arms.

  “Didn't think so.” He slapped on his Stetson. “There's running water and a brand new bathroom. No towels yet.” He whipped a bandana from his back pocket. “Use this. It's clean.”

  She pushed her hair back in a way that made him adjust his stance. He limped for the door.

  He'd barely stepped into the cold when she slipped outside. “John Hall?”

  “Dolly O'Toole?”

  Her heavy sigh changed the currents in the air. “Thanks, for Finn's sake. I know you came to pick us up because you worried about Finn. I wasn't expecting the snow and how cold it is up here. We don't get much of this weather in April in Chicago.”

  He wasn't sure if the wind blew her his way or he blew her way, but their lips met. And they had to do something about that. She nibbled and tasted him, and he tasted back. Her tongue slipped across his lips. He heated fast from the gentle friction. His Levi's grew uncomfortable, making him groan.

  She backed off as quickly as she'd struck. Or had he backed off? Damn, he hadn't let her be in charge again, had he? They stood dumbstruck as teenagers on a first date.

  To save face, he said, “I'll fix that step tomorrow. I slipped.”

  Dolly's hand touched her lips. “No, I stumbled. Sorry.”

  “I'll be out early. Now get inside where it's warm.”

  This time she didn't balk at his bossing her.

  As he drove back to Moonstone he blamed her for the kiss. It was a bribe. She knew that he knew she'd burned down the cabin. He couldn't let her get the ol’ upper hand.

  But he let his tongue slip out across his lips to taste her essence lingering there.

  ~—~—~—~ ~

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  * * *

  Chapter 4

  When John entered the mansion's foyer, he panicked. Furniture filled the space.

  Peter clomped down the staircase with a straight-backed chair.

  John shook snow off his Stetson and glanced at the clock. “Cripes, Pete, it's after ten. You're not thinking of moving out to the farm tonight?” He couldn't let Peter discover Dolly and Finn—and John's lack of guts to turn them in.

  Leonard rushed down the staircase to relieve Peter of the chair. “He most certainly is not moving tonight or any night. The doctor said you're not to aggravate those stitches.” Leonard marched back up the stairs.

  Peter whispered through clenched teeth, “We spent our dinner with Felicity and my dad talking about what college their kid would go to.”

  “The loft's not ready.”

  “I thought you got it done today. Crystal's friend Alyssa called. She's John Christopherson's fiancée and was bubbling about him getting back to work today after being laid up because now they can plan their wedding. That woman brought him ba
ck from the dead. Women do that, you know. They save us men from our foolish mistakes.”

  John didn't like where this was headed. Peter laid bandaged hands on John's shoulders. “Crystal helped me mend things with my father. Whatever she wants, I have to give it to her.”

  Think fast. “Crystal can't sleep on the floor. There's no bed.”

  “She plans on sleeping on hay bales so she can be close to her animals.”

  Think faster. “There's no refrigerator or stove.”

  “An appliance store can deliver tomorrow.”

  Lie. “Something's wrong with the heat.”

  “I give. We move tomorrow and not tonight.” Peter stalked to the den, obviously frustrated.

  Peter sank into the loveseat. John hooked his hat over the doorknob then sat in the desk chair. “Leonard's right. Stay here.”

  “When I get my hands on the creep who set that fire—”

  “I'll find him.”

  “So you don't think it's that crazy woman I saw in the IGA?”

  “Women aren't usually arsonists.” Liar. Women are capable of anything.

  “Did you ask the clerk if she bought matches?”

  John made a mental note to do that. “Did she really look crazy?”

  “She ran out. I saw her at the post office, too.”

  What was she mailing and to whom? “You look beat. Get some sleep.”

  “Crystal will be tossing and turning yet. You know what she misses most? The wedding quilt given to her by her mother.”

  That hit John like a horse's kick in the ribs. Dolly has a quilt.

  After forcing his friend to go to bed, John scrambled back to the computer in the den. His first search revealed Brendan Kane's banking prominence. Kane also headed up charity functions. Every photo showed a smiling Dolly. Was she acting? John still couldn't buy her unhappiness with Brendan.

  He typed “Brendan Kane and Peter LeBarron.” A photo popped up with both at some awards dinner for homeless teens. John knew that after the death of Peter's mother he'd gone to a private boarding school and college in Chicago.

  The men knew each other, but Peter had never met Dolly. How odd.