Wild in the Moonlight

Eight

When Violet walked outside, the morning fog was magical. Pink dawn hues swirled in the mist. Drenched flowers and grass made the whole world sing with scent and color. It was her favorite kind of morning.

Today, though, she clumped toward her Herb Haven in mud boots and a scowl. She’d had hiccups twice already. Her stomach seemed to be doing a nonstop agitated jitterbug.

The Haven’s parking lot already had four cars, even though it was barely seven. Customers were waiting for her. She gave an early class on Wednesday morning before the store opened, a class she normally loved to bits. But this morning her mind was entirely on the night before.

She’d never had casual sex before. It wasn’t her fault. She’d always meant to fool around tons, but she’d fallen in love with Simpson young and there’d never been a chance. Now she was perfectly thrilled to throw her morals out the window, only it was all so awkward. She’d gone into her bedroom first last night, but she assumed Cameron would join her. Instead he’d gone into the spare room. And stayed there.

When you had mind-blowing fabulous sex with a lover, didn’t you get to spend the night with him? What the hell were the rules to this deal, anyway? Cripes, it would resolve so many problems-and so much heartache-if she could just privately love someone and not have to worry about his caring about her long term.

Only, so far, this wasn’t working at all. The sex part had been terrifyingly stunning. Only, she hadn’t slept all night, first waiting for Cameron to come into her bed, and then worrying why he’d slept in the other room. And then there was that other tricky little problem.

She was crazy about the guy. More crazy than she could ever remember feeling before-even about Simpson. Cam was warm and funny and accepting and interesting and honest and everything she loved in a guy-not counting that naked-to-naked had been better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.

The love word had been on her mind even before they’d done the Deed. Making love had just made that worse.

She knew better than to let that love word enter the picture.

Glumly she opened the door to the Herb Haven. Lights were already on. Four women sat on the wooden table in the back, all talking at once and sipping her best coffee brew. They all knew where the key and coffeepot were; they knew the whole routine. Betsy and Harriet were farmers’ wives; Roberta was a freshly divorced teacher; Dinah was a college student home for the summer with energy to burn. The women had nothing in common besides a history in White Hills-and wanting to make natural cosmetics at home.

“We’re making cold cream today, right? Cold cream, aftershave and an herb bath.” Violet heeled off her mud boots, plastered on a cheerful smile and charged in. Work would get her mind off Cam. It had to. “Did you ladies hear that Dora Ritter is pregnant? And everyone says it’s Tom Johnson’s, and his wife is pregnant at the same time.”

“No!” Betsy said in delighted horror, and the women were off. Aprons were donned. Bowls and pots and measuring devices gathered from the cupboards, and then the core ingredients brought out. Lanolin. Beeswax. Almond oil. Naturally Violet started making herb water first, and each of the women had chosen their favorite: lavender, rose, mint and lemon balm.

Smells pervaded the back room. Violet kept both the gossip and the work flowing, but no matter how fast she ran, her mind kept sneaking back to Cameron. She kept thinking, I want that man. I want to sleep with him. Love him. Laugh with him. And why shouldn’t I? What’s so wrong if two consenting adults both simply want to have a good time together?

“Violet, how long does this mess have to cook?” Betsy asked her.

Violet peered over the edge of the double boiler. “You’re not trying to cook it. You just want the lanolin and beeswax to melt together. After that you add the almond oil.”

“Gotcha.”

“And at that point you call me, and I’ll show you how we whisk in the herb water. You wanted the lemon balm, right?”

“Yeah, that was me. Harriet wanted the mint.”

“Okay,” she said, and thought: I can change. She didn’t have to be a wife and mother. She could be an immoral, carefree lover who lived for today.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how long she’d allowed the problem of her narrow fallopian tubes to get her down. So she’d been devastated to know she’d never likely conceive. So she’d been further crushed when Simpson had taken such a fast powder for another woman-a fertile woman-when Violet proved to be less than perfect.

I could do wicked, she figured. Obviously she’d have to work at it. She’d have to know the rules. She’d have to find someone she wanted to be wicked with-such as Cameron. In fact, specifically Cameron, since she’d never found anyone else she wanted to be wicked for…or with.

Turning into an amoral, immoral tramp would solve so many of her problems. Men were like perfume. Some had staying power. Some didn’t. Counting on a guy to stick around just because he claimed to love you was the height of lunacy. It was far better to pick a guy from the get-go where you didn’t have to feel bad about not being perfect.

“Hey, Violet. Come see how this is coming!”

Firmly, she turned her attention back to her class. Betsy, at the table’s far end, was exuberantly slathering on her newly made almond cold cream. She’d come dressed today in a baseball cap, Jack Daniel’s tee, and her favorite sequined tennis shoes. And then there was Harriet, who’d been married fifty-two years and could have starred in the infamous portrait of the two farmers carrying the pitchfork. Harriet had so many lines from the sun that the first three layers of cold cream seeped into the crevices and were never seen again. Roberta had been showing up for the classes ever since her divorce, wearing five pounds of mascara, a bra that pushed her boobs up to her throat, and fire-engine-red nail polish. And then there was Dinah.

“Hokay,” Dinah drawled, “I think this aftershave lotion is finished. It was fun to make and all, but now I don’t know what to do with it. Or how.”

Harriet, ever wise, piped in, “Trust the one virgin in the group to make something for a man.”

“Hey, who said I was a virgin?”

“The point, dear, is that we obviously need someone to test the aftershave on before you try giving it away as a present. Anyone have hairy legs? I mean, someone who’s willing to admit it?”

Betsy, who always played Harriet’s straight man, promptly burst out laughing. And because Betsy’s laughter could make anyone laugh, within seconds the whole room was cracking up, holding stomachs and gasping guffaws and sputtering coffee-made worse as bare legs were lifted in the air as proof of their recent shaving-or lack thereof.

Silence fell as suddenly as a light switch. God knows how the rest of them realized there was a man in the room, but Violet sensed Cameron’s sudden appearance from the instinctive change in her own heartbeat.

She whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, a steamy mug in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other, looking wrinkled and sleepy and sexy. Wild. Wantable.

His eyes found hers as if there was no one else in the room. Last night suddenly danced between them-that surge of wanting, of urgency, of belonging, like she’d never felt for any man or anyone else. She’d never given herself that easily, that intimately.

And suddenly she wasn’t so sure she could manage being as wicked and immoral as she wanted to be. Suddenly she sensed she could risk more with Cameron than she’d ever risked before-if she wasn’t very, very careful.

The other women pounced on Cameron for entirely different reasons. “My God. He’s the ideal test case,” Dinah said.

Cameron tore his eyes off her and seemed to swiftly take in the others in the room. He may not have heard the gist of their earlier conversation, but he seemed to pick up fast that he was in trouble. He said, “No!” as if hoping that would cover everything.

“Now, there’s nothing to worry about, dear. Come on. We just want to put a little bit of lotion on your cheek. It won’t hurt. It’s made of witch hazel and apple vinegar and lavender and sage-”

“Oh, my God. No.”

“It’s supposed to make your skin feel really soft,” Dinah assured him. “That’s the whole point. To make it easier to shave-”

“Violet.” His gaze swiveled back toward her. Desperately. “I just need to talk to you. About some business-”

Harriet said, “There now. Just sit down. You can do all the business you want with Violet and we can test our little aftershave recipe on you at the same time. You’re not from Vermont, are you, but women here have been known to keep secrets for three and four centuries. No one will ever know you’ve been here, trust us. Don’t be scared-”

He backed out of the doorway and took off like a bat out of hell.

She couldn’t even try to catch up with him for several hours. She had to finish up the class and clean up, after which her two girls arrived to formally open the store for business. It was past ten before she could catch a five-minute stretch when the phone wasn’t ringing or some customer asking for her.

Then, though, she had a hard time finding him. She looked in the house, in the yard, in the greenhouses. His car was still parked by the barns, so he hadn’t left the property, but she was mystified where he might have walked. Finally she located him at her great-grandmother’s cottage.

Decades ago the cottage had been built to give Gram independence in a way that would keep her close to family. No one had lived there after Gram died until Camille had come home in the spring. The place had been fixed up then-except for the roof. That was the infamous roof she’d hired to have fixed so Cameron would have a place to stay. The roofer was supposed to show up this morning, but just like most mornings in a week, he’d neither showed nor called.

It was Cameron on top of the roof with a hammer in his hand, a box of shingles next to him. He’d yanked off his shirt, undoubtedly because of the sun beating down with baking intensity. His skin looked oiled and bronzed. All six cats were up there with him-either trying to help, or just wanting to be around the sexiest guy in three counties.

She felt the same way, but she stood below with her hands on her hips. “So. You’ve decided to take up a new career as a roofer?”

He turned around on a heel and rubbed a wrist on his damp forehead. “More likely a new career as escape artist. Those women aren’t still around, are they?”

“No.” Maybe last night was between them like an elephant in their emotional living room, but she still had to grin. “You’re safe.”

Apparently he wanted more proof. “And you don’t have any of that smelly aftershave concoction anywhere around, do you?”

“Why, Lachlan. The girls did scare you. Imagine, a big strong guy like you-”

“I’m not scared,” he said testily. “I just happened to come across this half-finished roof because of your cats. They were scared. Ran out of the place faster than I did and led me to the nearest high place.”

“You expect me to believe that half-baked story?”

“Look. I’m sure they were nice women. In fact, if I ever get attacked in the middle of the night by a gang of cutthroats, I’d really like them on my side. Especially the one-” he motioned vaguely “-you know. The one who’d rearranged the shape of her-”

“Breasts.”

“Yeah. So that they looked like two oranges poking out right under her chin. And the one with the hairy legs-you know, the one who looked as if she had more wrinkles than a Shar Pei? Look, it’s just a lot safer up here-”

“You’re killing me.” Damn man. They’d gotten into serious, deep waters last night. Mighty deep waters. Yet somehow he was making her comfortable, making her laugh.

He squinted down at her, his voice quieting. “Well, chére, it damn near killed me to sleep down the hall from you last night.”

Her pulse suddenly seemed to careen down a long, sleek hill. Who’d have guessed he would confront her hurt, confused feelings straight up? She took a breath. “Then why did you?”

“Because of the lavender. Because until we get some legal details discussed and agreed on, I’m representing Jeunnesse. That doesn’t have to be a complication. But I don’t want you worrying for even a minute that it could be.” He lifted a sheaf of papers from his side. “Have you got fifteen minutes to look at these?”

“Cam, I hate legal mumbo-jumbo,” she groused, but her pulse careened back up that long, sleek hill. So he hadn’t slept in the other room because he hadn’t wanted to be with her. And he was sure as hell still looking at her as if she were sugar and he was more than happy to take on the role of hummingbird.

“It won’t hurt, I promise. And no one will find us out here, so without interruptions, we can get it done fast.”

“I really don’t have a bunch of time. I can’t leave the girls alone for very long. They’re both really young-”

He heard all her protests, but he still had them sitting together on the porch steps of the cottage and the papers whipped out faster than lightning. He might be determined to talk, but Violet couldn’t seem to concentrate on his silly papers. His knee was grazing hers. She wasn’t sure if the touch was accidental, or if he was deliberately keeping in physical contact. But knees had never struck her as an intimate, erogenous zone before. Still didn’t. His knee was bony, his legs long and lanky and tanned, leading to sandals. Long feet. Very long. Really long big toes.

“…patent?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Patent, Violet. We’re talking about your applying for a patent for the new breeds of lavender you developed.”

“Okay.”

He sighed. “One of us doesn’t seem to be concentrating, because ‘Okay’ doesn’t answer the question. The question is-did you apply for a patent?”

“Um, no, not exactly.”

“In other words, no. All right. But listen seriously for a minute, okay? Because you need to know this. You want to patent both the product and the process. They’re two separate things. So I’m going to apply for both those patents in your name. It takes forever before you actually get your patents, but just by applying and starting the process, you have some serious legal protections.”

As boring and tedious as all this junk sounded, she started to feel guilty. “Cam, you don’t have to do this. I’ll get around to it, honestly.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve started yawning every time we started talking about this, and I can see the same suffering expression on your face now. So I’ll get the applications started. But if anyone else tries this on you, you say no, hear me? Because you can’t just go around trusting people.”

“Did you think I was worried you were going to cheat me?”

“You should be worried,” he said sternly.

“Gotcha.” She tried to look more attentive, but he was so right about the subject being boring-and he wasn’t. Besides which, his protectiveness was adorable, even if he did have knobby knees and really, really long big toes. His eyelashes were blond. Long and wonderful, but unless you were close enough to notice-which she was-you’d never realize they were so long and thick. And God, those eyes.

“You have to have a name for the strain of lavender you created. I don’t suppose you might have one in mind?”

“Sure do!” At last, a question she had answer for. “Moonlight.”

He paused. “That’s the name you want? Moonlight lavender?”

“Yup. My lavender isn’t as dark a purple as some strains, but it has a color that seems almost…translucent. A rich purple, almost as if the color seems lit from within. The way the light shines from the moon, you know?”

He looked as if he wanted to comment-possibly Moonlight wasn’t too formal a botanical name? But whatever, he changed his mind about commenting, plugged a pencil behind his ear and went on.

And on.

And on.

Sheesh, all this serious stuff and information kept pouring from his mouth. How Jeunnesse wanted to handle the lavender. What she could choose or not choose to be involved in. Exactly what he needed to put in motion over the next three weeks; what would happen after the harvest. What she would get for this, for that, for the next thing. How she was protected. What her choices were, but also how she shouldn’t listen to him. The type of attorney and accountant she should call to help her understand the ramifications of her choices.

“All right,” Cam said finally. “Now there’s just one more thing before I can get this started.”

“Shoot,” she said, thinking that she just might curl up in his lap and snooze if they had to talk this kind of business much longer.

“Maybe you think I should take this answer for granted-but I can’t. You do know what you did, right? You can reproduce it?”

“You mean, can I reproduce the strain of lavender I developed out there?” When he nodded in agreement, she lifted a hand. “Beats me. I don’t know.”

“Vi.”

“What?”

“Quit with the blonde talk. I was only fooled the first day. You know more about this than a chemist any day of the week. In fact, you could probably teach classes at Harvard. So quit goofing off and tell me straight. Can you reproduce how you did this or not?”

“I’ll have you know I’m as flaky as they come,” she defended herself.

“You can do flaky,” he agreed, obviously not wanting to insult her. “In fact, you could win an Oscar for how well you do flaky. But right now you’re just talking to me. I’m not going to tell anyone you’re brilliant if you want it kept a secret. But before we go any further with the patent process, or the harvest, I need to know. Could you go into another greenhouse and reproduce these strains? Or would we only be cloning the plants you have on the twenty acres out there?”

She was starting to feel miffed. Every guy in the neighborhood thought she was a ditsy blonde. It had been easy to fool them. Easy to fool the whole world-or at least the male half of it. So why did Cam have to be so damned different? “I’ll answer the question only if you’ll answer one for me.”

“So go.”

“All right. Then yes, I can recreate this nature of lavender anywhere. It took working with about four different strains and some specific growing techniques and conditions, but it wasn’t a fluke. I planned the experiments. I knew what I was doing.” She said firmly, “So now it’s your turn to answer a question.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Is that really the reason you took off for the spare room last night? Because of some idiotic ethics thing?”

“Idiotic… What can I say? I’m sorry. I take ethics really seriously. It’s a character flaw I’ve never completely been able to shake.”

If he teased her anymore, she might just have to slap him. Instead, she asked him the crux of the question. “So. We did the ethics thing. Now what. Are we going to sleep together while you’re here or not?”

“We are. We definitely are,” he said, as if the question hadn’t surprised him in the slightest. His tone was low, fervent and very, very clear. So was the way he looked at her. “And damn soon.”