Dancing in the Moonlight - Harlequin.com
Dancing in the Moonlight - Harlequin.com Dancing in the Moonlight - Harlequin.com
RAEANNE THAYNE 27 coffee and walked outside with the awkward rolling gait she hadn’t been able to conquer when wearing her prosthesis. The morning air was sweet and clear, rich with new growth, and she paused for a moment on the front porch to savor it. Nothing compared to a Rocky Mountain morning in springtime. She had come to love the wild primitiveness of the desert around Phoenix in the dozen years she’d lived there, but this was a different kind of beauty. The Tetons were still covered with snow—some of it would be year-round—but here at lower elevations everything was green and lush. Her mother’s fruit trees were covered in white blossoms that sent their sweet, seductive scent into the air and the flower beds bloomed with color—masses of spring blossoms in reds and yellows and pinks. The Luna in spring was the most beautiful place on earth. Why had she forgotten that over the years? She stood for a long time watching birds flit around the gardens and the breeze rustle the new, pale-green leaves of the cottonwood trees along the creek. Feeling a tentative peace that had been missing inside her for months, she limped down the stairs in search of her mother. There was no sign of Viviana on the side of the house or in the back where the vegetable beds were tilled and ready for planting. Maggie frowned. So much for being coddled. She didn’t want her mother to feel like she had to babysit her, but she couldn’t help feeling a little abandoned.
28 DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT Couldn’t Viviana have stuck around at least the first day so they could have had a visit over breakfast? No matter. She didn’t need entertaining. She would welcome a quiet moment of solitude and reflection, she decided, and headed for the glider rocker on the brick patio. She settled down with her coffee, determined to enjoy the morning on her own here in the sunshine, surrounded by blossoms. The ranch wasn’t big, only eight hundred acres. From her spot on the patio she could see the pasture where her mother’s half-dozen horses grazed and the much-larger acreage where two hundred Murray Grey cattle milled around, their unique-colored hides looking soft and silvery in the morning sun. She shifted her gaze toward the creek 150 yards away that gave this canyon and the Dalton’s ranch their names. This time of year the Cold Creek ran full and high, swollen with spring runoff. Instead of a quiet, peaceful ribbon of water, it churned and boiled. The rains the night before hadn’t helped matters, and she could see the creek was nearly full to the banks. She whispered a prayer that it wouldn’t reach flood stage, though the ranch had been designed to sustain minimal damage for those high-water years. The only building that could be in jeopardy if the creek flooded was the open-air bowery she and her father had built for her mother the summer she was ten. She looked at the Spanish-tiled roof that gleamed a vibrant red in the sunlight and the brightly colored
- Page 2 and 3: For 60 years, Harlequin has been pr
- Page 4 and 5: Dear Reader, In 2009 Harlequin will
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- Page 26 and 27: Chapter Two She woke from dreams of
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28 DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT<br />
Couldn’t Viviana have stuck around at least <strong>the</strong> first<br />
day so <strong>the</strong>y could have had a visit over breakfast?<br />
No matter. She didn’t need enterta<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g. She would<br />
wel<strong>com</strong>e a quiet moment of solitude and reflection, she<br />
decided, and headed for <strong>the</strong> glider rocker on <strong>the</strong> brick<br />
patio.<br />
She settled down with her coffee, determ<strong>in</strong>ed to<br />
enjoy <strong>the</strong> morn<strong>in</strong>g on her own here <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> sunsh<strong>in</strong>e, surrounded<br />
by blossoms.<br />
The ranch wasn’t big, only eight hundred acres. From<br />
her spot on <strong>the</strong> patio she could see <strong>the</strong> pasture where her<br />
mo<strong>the</strong>r’s half-dozen horses grazed and <strong>the</strong> much-larger<br />
acreage where two hundred Murray Grey cattle milled<br />
around, <strong>the</strong>ir unique-colored hides look<strong>in</strong>g soft and<br />
silvery <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> morn<strong>in</strong>g sun.<br />
She shifted her gaze toward <strong>the</strong> creek 150 yards away<br />
that gave this canyon and <strong>the</strong> Dalton’s ranch <strong>the</strong>ir<br />
names. This time of year <strong>the</strong> Cold Creek ran full and<br />
high, swollen with spr<strong>in</strong>g runoff. Instead of a quiet,<br />
peaceful ribbon of water, it churned and boiled.<br />
The ra<strong>in</strong>s <strong>the</strong> night before hadn’t helped matters, and<br />
she could see <strong>the</strong> creek was nearly full to <strong>the</strong> banks. She<br />
whispered a prayer that it wouldn’t reach flood stage,<br />
though <strong>the</strong> ranch had been designed to susta<strong>in</strong> m<strong>in</strong>imal<br />
damage for those high-water years.<br />
The only build<strong>in</strong>g that could be <strong>in</strong> jeopardy if <strong>the</strong><br />
creek flooded was <strong>the</strong> open-air bowery she and her<br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r had built for her mo<strong>the</strong>r <strong>the</strong> summer she was ten.<br />
She looked at <strong>the</strong> Spanish-tiled roof that gleamed a<br />
vibrant red <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> sunlight and <strong>the</strong> brightly colored
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