Moon Dance (18 page)

eleven

I
t wasn't cool enough for a fire, so the logs that Matt had set upon the fire grate remained unlit. He really wasn't much of a drinking man, so the beer he'd opened when he returned home from the clinic remained on the kitchen counter, where he'd left it. The stack of mail he'd pulled out of the mailbox sat in a tidy pile on the table in front of the old, dark blue plaid sofa he'd had since his college days, and the TV remained on, the volume turned all the way down, while Matt sorted his options. He could slip his video copy of
The Scarlet Claw
—just maybe the best Sherlock Holmes movie ever made—into the VCR. Or he could finish reading
The Final Problem.

Or he c
ould call Pumpkin Hill and…

And what?
he asked himself.

Ask
Georgia Enright why she's still there after he'd told her that he expected her to be gone by today?

And there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that she
was
there. That calm but certain defiance that had smoldered in those green eyes until they had burned
with emerald fire—that snap set of her bottom jaw— that solid hands-on-hips, try-and-make-me stance.

Oh, she was there all right.

Nothing about the woman had said Yes
sir, I'm on my way, sir
.

All day his nerves had hummed with the frustration of knowing that it was Wednesday, that she was still most certainly at Pumpkin Hill, and that he had no means of forcing her to leave. Even Laura had not backed him up, though he had suspected she would not. And wasn't that part of the problem, part of what was eating at him now? That Laura had taken Georgia's side, against him?

Yeah, and who did he have to thank for putting Laura in the middle?

"Me," he said aloud.

Artie raised his head and looked up at Matt.

Matt looked down at Artie. He sighed with the resignation of knowing that he had made a total ass out of himself by making a pointless demand on Georgia and imposing childish expectations on his sister. Laura would not go back on her word to Georgia, and his own sense of fair play made Matt grudgingly admit that she should not. Like it or not, Georgia Enright was living at Pumpkin Hill, and there she would stay until she decided to leave. The only way to avoid her would be to stay away, and that was one thing he could not do. Pumpkin Hill was his haven, his sanctuary, a place that had always offered peace, a place where he could relax, a place where he could dream and plan for the future.

And besides, he had great plans for that ba
rn
. Someday it would be home to the Pumpkin Hill
Veterinary Center, complete with the most up-to-date surgical facilities. He reached under his chair and pulled out the leather binder that held the plans he had drawn up for his animal hospital. The first floor would have treatment areas as well as housing for ailing farm animals—horses, sheep, goats, cows— and state-of-the-art equipment. The second floor would have offices and a sort of big, open conference area, where vets from all over could come to discuss new modes of treatment, and those who were on the cutting edge in the areas of nutrition and holistic veterinary medicine could share their knowledge. If he closed
his eyes, he could see it…

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was a delicate face framed in hair the color of candlelight.

Muttering a mild curse to dispel the vision, he reached for the remote control and turned on the video. He'd deal with Georgia Enright on the weekend. Right now, there was
The Scarlet Claw.
Basil Rathbone as Holmes, Nigel Bruce as Doctor Watson. As good as it gets. He settled back to enjoy murder and mayhem as the famed detective journeyed to Canada to investigate
the death of Lady Penrose…

S
aturday's noon appointment—routine shots for an Airedale—having been canceled due to illness on the part of the dog's owner. Matt closed the clinic at twelve-twenty and headed home to pick up his dog.

"Now you listen up, Artie," he said sternly as he backed out of his n
arrow driveway, "no more frater
nizing with the tenant, you hear? We're going to keep this all very businesslike, okay? She's the tenant,
we're the landlord. We're not going to play fetch with her and we're not going to let her scratch behind our ears, you hear?"

Artie drooled onto the scuffed leather seat, then turned his head to look out the window.

"Yeah," Matt muttered. "That's what I thought you'd say."

It was just a little past one when Matt drove up next to the ba
rn
and parked his pickup. He swung the door of the cab open and hopped out, then stopped in midstride and asked Artie, who had leapt past him to water the nearest tree, "Do you hear what I hear?"

Matt took two or three steps, then stopped, frowning. "Classical music, that's what it
is. And it's coming from the barn
."

He took off across the yard—a man with a mission—and went through the open door and up the steps. The music grew louder as he approached the second floor, and when he neared the top, he stopped, dumbfounded.

The woman was dancing in his barn
. Right where his conference tables would be.

Anger bubbled up inside him and was about to boil over. But just as he opened his mouth to yell, just before his
What the hell do
you think you're doing in my barn
?
could roll out, he was spotted by his niece.

"Uncle Matt! Uncle Matt!" Ally fairly flew across the floor, a look of sheer joy on her face. She, too, was dressed all in pink and looked like a gumdrop. "You came to watch me dance!"

She flung herself into his arms, and habit caused him to hoist her over his head.

"Aunt Georgia is teaching me how to dance
,"
Ally told him breathlessly. "She is a real ballerina. And she's teaching Samantha and Mary Beth, too. She said 'the more the merrier,' so I could bring friends. Want to see what I can do?"

"Sure, sugar." He set her down on the rough wooden floor, trying to avoid the eyes of one Ms. Enright. She had looked over her shoulder when Matt had come up the steps, and it had seemed to Matt that she had looked mildly amused when she'd seen how quickly Ally had defused him. He met her gaze from across the distance and said, "Sure. Let's see what you can do."

Recognizing a challenge, Georgia raised one eyebrow and pointed to a folding chair where he was, he assumed, expected to sit.

"All right, girls." She directed her attention to her three little students, who lined up next to three folding chairs. "Let's do that again. Right hands
on the back of the chairs…
now, First Position. Heels together, toes out, legs stretched straight. Your feet should look like what, Samantha?"

"A straight line." Samantha responded boldly.

"That's right. A straight line. Very good, all of you. Now, let's m
ove our arms into position…
very nice, girls. Lovely. Now, can you move into Second Position? Does anyo
ne remember where your heels be
long?"

Georgia smiled as the little girls watched each other, trying to recall.

"Very good, Ally. Now, open your arms just a little more, Mary Beth, yes, like Samantha has done."

Ally and her friends were adorable and eager to learn. Georgia was enjoying herself—or had been, before Darth Vader had shown up.

"Back into First
…
" Georgia told them, demonstrating, "then again into Second
…
"

A black streak darted across the floor and pounced upon her from behind.

"Artie!" She cried, laughing as the dog nearly knocked her off her feet. "I'm glad to see you, too!"

Matt rose from his chair to grab the dog, trying not to look at her face, with its joyful smile as she patted the dog's big head, nor at her body, which he couldn't help but notice was trim where it should be and full in all the important places. He crossed the floor to retrieve the dog, commanding his eyes not to fall beneath the level of her chin. It was better this way, he rationalized. Anything below her chin was trouble.

Then again, those eyes could do real damage to a man, and those lips, curved as they were into a smile as she grabbed the dog's collar and passed it to Matt, seemed to draw him like a magnet and cause him to tingle in places he was better off not thinking about.

"Come on, Artie." Matt tugged at the dog's collar.

"Uncle Matt, aren't you going to stay and watch us dance?" Ally called.

"Ah, no, sugar. I think I need to
…
to take Artie out." Matt backed toward the stairwell, aware that he was dangerously close to staring at those shapely petite legs. As a matter of fact, he realized, there was no place where it
was
safe to look, when the woman was wearing little more than that little pink thing.

Being a man who knew when to cut his losses, Matt figured the best place for him was someplace other than where he was.

He forced himself to take the steps at a decent pace. Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the sunshine and exhaled.

Ballet in his barn
.

Then again, it was for Ally, and she had seemed to be having one hell of a good time.

"Hey!" Laura rolled down the window of her car and waved as she drove up and parked behind Georgia's Jeep.

"Hey, yourself," he shouted back. He wasn't sure why, but he really didn't feel like talking to his sister right now. He knew he'd end up yelling about the whole Georgia thing all over again and just didn't feel up to it. He wished he could just go right on back up the steps and through the door into his apartment. Why hadn't he done that while he was up there and had the chance?

He knew why. He'd ignored his own good advice and permitted his eyes to drop below her chin. The sight of that trim little bottom in that little pink thing as she'd walked away from him was almost enough to make him forget that she was merely a presence to be tolerated on a strictly temporary basis.

Almost.

"Did you see Ally?" Laura was asking.

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I did."

"Isn't she too cute?" Laura got out of the car and crossed the grassy distance between them. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad to see you came around. You won't be sorry. Matt."

He started to tell her that he hadn't exactly "come around," when the door behind him blew open and the three little dancers came bolting out, each carrying something to the house.

"Mommy, Uncle Matt got to watch us dance." Ally stopped and pulled her feet into First Position again. "We did First and Second Position, and if we practice all week and remember next Saturday, Aunt Georgia is going to teach us Third and Fourth Positions!"

"Well, pretty soon you'll be dancing up a storm," Laura laughed.

"Oh, no, Mommy. There are lots of things to learn before you can dance up a storm," Ally told her earnestly. "It takes a long time to become a real ballerina like Aunt Georgia."

"Did you have fun?" Laura smoothed back the hair from Ally's face, which was flushed more from excitement than from exertion.

"Oh, yes." She spun around and lost her balance, tipping over onto the grass. "I love to dance. I'm going to be a dancer just like Aunt Georgia when I grow up."

"Hey," Matt said, "I thought you were going to become a veterinarian and work with me."

"I can do both," Ally answered without a second thought. "I will dance and I will be a veterinarian." She turned to her companions and said, "Let's go get something to drink, then we'll go down to the pond."

"Ally!" Laura called after her as the three girls sped toward the house. "Change your clothes first!"

Ally was already up the back steps.

"I better go make sure they change," Laura told
Matt as she took off after her daughter. "Stop on over at the house and have a cup of coffee with me."

He was about to call after her that he'd rather not, when he heard the sound of the door behind him slamming into the outside wall of the ba
rn
. Startled by the sound, he turned in time to see Georgia step out, folding chairs under each arm. With her left foot, she was attempting to close the door. Chivalry and animosity warred within him.

Still, his mother had taught him better.

"Here, I'll take those," he said curtly as he reached to take the chairs from her arms.
Not below the chin,
he reminded himself.

Too late.

"I have them." She smiled mechanically, making a point of not looking at him.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Matt could almost hear his mother's reprimand. He sighed. "I'll get the door."

"Fine." She headed toward the farmhouse awkwardly, the chairs being too tall for her to comfortably carry under her arms, but not for one minute inclined to admit it.

"Thank you," she said without turning around.