Wish on the Moon (10 page)

Tears had streamed down his mother's face.
"Never. I love Mitch as much as Carey. And I'm going to keep my
family together. If you'd stop drinking and gambling our money
away, we could pay our bills!"

"I still say one less mouth to feed would
help better than anything."

Mitch had crept back to bed, a horrid,
miserable weight making it hard to swallow and breathe. His father
didn't want him. He'd never wanted him. And this man had the power
to send Mitch away. Mitch remembered crawling into his bed, curling
himself into a ball, and shaking with fear. But the fear had
transformed into determination and a promise to himself and his
mother. He would never give his father reason to get rid of him.
He'd be good and quiet, and as soon as he was able, he'd get a job.
And some day, he'd take care of his mother so she didn't have to
worry about paying the bills or having enough money.

He'd kept his promise for the most part.
There were a few times when he couldn't stand hearing his father
verbally abuse his mother and he'd come to her defense. But other
than that, he'd stayed out of his father's way. Carey had gotten
into enough trouble for both of them. But then Carey never had to
worry about being sent away or not being loved. In their father's
eyes, Carey could do no wrong. When he'd stolen a car for a joy
ride when he was fourteen, Sam Riley had excused his son's
behavior, saying it was pure male fun. Right. Even Mitch was guilty
of saving Carey from the consequences of his actions to protect
their mother. No more. It was time for Carey to realize he needed
more than charm to get through life.

Mitch took a saucepan from a bottom cabinet
and slammed the door. As he opened the refrigerator to find the
milk, Laura entered the kitchen and from her expression he knew
he'd better get his armor in place fast.

CHAPTER FIVE

"Your Mom said she'd like hot chocolate too."
Laura removed four mugs from the wooden tree.

"I can take care of this," Mitch said. Acting
casual seemed to be the best way to go.

"Or I can do it, and you can visit with
Carey."

Casual went out the window. "Stay out of it,
okay?"

Laura took cocoa from an upper cupboard. "I
have plenty to do keeping my nose in my own affairs. But whoever is
in this house is my concern too. Carey said he doesn't know how
long he's staying."

"Long enough to get what he wants." At
Laura's arched brow, Mitch poured milk into the saucepan. "About
nine months ago, Carey came home and said he might stay if he could
find a decent job. Mom was ecstatic. He didn't look for a job. He
found as many poker games as he could and managed to gamble away
Mom's social security check. She'd given it to him so he could put
a deposit on an apartment."

"He didn't pay her back?"

Mitch gave a humorless laugh. "Are you
kidding? He apologized, then told her he was meeting a friend in
Virginia. They were going to discuss going into business together.
Like always, she forgave him and wished him luck."

Laura used the tip of a spoon to flip the lid
from the cocoa. "What did you want her to do?"

Mitch sighed. "I don't know. But at least
hold him responsible for the money. I warned her not to lend it to
him."

"You've lent him money?"

One thing he'd learned about Laura. She was
as persistent as a tornado sweeping through Kansas. "More than I
care to count. And he's never paid it back. So I don't do it
anymore. But Mom's so gullible..."

"She loves him."

Mitch stirred the milk with a wooden spatula,
more for something to do than because it needed stirring. "Love
doesn't excuse mistakes."

"No, but it accepts them. You wouldn't love
your mother like you do if she were any different. I believe it's a
parent's job to love unconditionally."

His eyes buckled to hers. "And it's the
child's job not to abuse that love."

"I wonder what your definition of abuse is. I
owe my father respect, but not my life."

"I thought we were speaking about Carey."

She planted her hands on her hips. "That
comment was directed at me too."

"If you feel you did the right thing, why are
you so defensive?"

"You make me feel defensive. And we were
talking about you and Carey."

He looked away. "I'd rather not."

"Obviously," she muttered.

"I don't want to argue with you, Laura."

"Of course not. You want everything your way.
Just like my father." She spooned cocoa into one mug after the
other.

He was about to repudiate her statement when
she swung toward him and extended her hand. "Let's call a truce. At
least for tonight. Nora's glad to have both her sons with her."

"Carey and I are like oil and water."

"You don't have to mix. Simply be
sociable."

He felt a smile coming on despite the tension
between them. She was one little minx. "I think somebody else wants
her own way."

She grinned. "Could be you're right."

His hand engulfed hers. As soon as their skin
touched, heat zipped down his spine. Involuntarily, his thumb
caressed the side of her hand, noting its silky skin, its tiny
indentations, its warmth. "A truce. Maybe it will last longer than
tonight."

"I doubt it. I want you to take me to the
store tomorrow and show me the ropes. If you won't, I'll learn them
myself."

When he would have pulled his hand away, she
gripped it tighter. "Truce still on for tonight?"

She could challenge and defy him in one
breath and turn sweet as honey in the next. Lord, was she good!
He'd have to be better. "All right. The truce is still on for
tonight."

He pulled his hand back slowly. The branding
contact of her touch told him he had to be careful. Very careful.
Or he could lose more than his investment in Ray's business.

***

The store was traditional, conservative, like
a thousand other jewelry stores Laura had entered over the years.
Somehow, she thought it would have changed since Mitch had become
her father's partner.

She felt Mitch's eyes on her and sensed he
was waiting for a comment. He hadn't worn a coat and the fullness
of muscle beneath his blue cableknit sweater was as attention-
drawing as anything in the store. With an effort, she kept her mind
on business.

Glancing at the imported crystal and
porcelain, the cases separated by gem types, solid gold, and more
functional pieces like watches, she said, "It hasn't changed."

He raised his chin defensively. "The jewelry
business is stable."

"There are trends that can raise sales." She
picked up a o figurine and reverently caressed the blue-gray dress
of the collector's item.

"And when trends quit, we're left with
inventory that doesn't sell."

Carefully, she set the slender woman onto the
glass display shelf. "The Harrisburg store has the same
merchandise?"

"No. But my clientele is different."

He thought of the store as his. Did her
father think of it that way too? She faced him squarely. "How is it
different?"

"I do have some of the most recent designs,"
he admitted. "State senators and representatives want the latest
fashions for their wives. We have hordes of state workers who
window shop on their lunch hour, see something they like and stop
in. But I have my share of traditionalists too."

As Laura passed along the cases, Mitch
introduced her to the assistant manager. Laura smiled and said, "It
will be a pleasure working with you."

Sonya Harrison, blond, slender and at least
five-foot-ten, wore enough jewelry to decorate Manhattan for
Christmas. Her smile was brittle. "Mitch said you'd be here six
weeks."

Laura looked directly into her eyes and tried
to assure her her position wasn't in jeopardy. "I want to help you
run the store smoothly until Dad returns. There won't be any major
changes and I'll probably be in the office more often than on the
floor with you."

"I thought Mitch was in charge."

This wasn't going to be easy on any front. "I
hope to take some of the burden from Mitch so he can concentrate on
the Harrisburg store and his exhibition. I've worked in the jewelry
business on my own for six years, Sonya. I've been around it all my
life. Of course, if I have questions, I'll check with Mitch. But
I'm sure you and I can handle the daily routine without bothering
him. Don't you?"

"I guess." The blond's brown eyes sought
Mitch's.

He was absorbing the exchange patiently as if
taking bets with himself on how it would go. He nodded. "Laura will
be working with you. I'll have the final word."

He asserted a quiet authority that challenged
Laura to make unilateral decisions. If she did, there'd be hell to
pay. But she'd learned in the past paying the devil was better than
losing her self respect. She unbuttoned her poncho, shrugged it
off, and slung it over her arm. "I imagine my father will have the
final word when he's able. I'm going to toss my coat into the
office then look around the store more closely to get a feel for
the merchandise. Or would you prefer to show me the records on the
computer first?"

Mitch's face was impassive. "Take your time.
I have work to do. The more you understand what we display, the
more of it you'll be able to sell." He headed for the office.

Laura's temperature rose. He'd better learn
right now she was going to be more than a glorified sales clerk. If
her father wanted that, he could hire someone temporarily and Laura
could stay at the house with Mandy. She followed Mitch, ready to do
battle.

He had flicked on the computer. When he heard
her step into the office, the flap of her coat onto a wooden
surface, he parked in the swivel chair and faced her. "Do you think
we should hire someone to help with repairs and sizing? Ray was
doing all of that here."

"You're asking my opinion?"

Mitch rubbed his hand across the back of his
neck as if he was tired. "Laura, put your hackles down. I'm hoping
you can be of help. But I do have the final say. Now can we
cooperate on that level?"

Suddenly she realized how much responsibility
was resting on his shoulders. He didn't complain about it, he
simply took care of it. That was nice. Doug had made decisions but
procrastinated when it was one he didn't want to deal with or when
it interfered with life's more exciting dimensions. She'd taken
care of details like calling the plumber and getting the cars
repaired. Mitch wouldn't shove off on someone else something he
didn't want to do.

"I'd rather cooperate than lock horns. You
have a stubborn streak three miles wide." And an unnerving affect
on me.

She thought he'd be irritated, but his lips
twitched. "And you don't?"

She suppressed a grin. "Of course not. I
simply have a mind of my own."

Before he could make a smart comeback, she
asked, "Would it be easier to send repairs to an independent?"

The depth and changing moods of his eyes
fascinated her as he gave the idea some thought. "If it wasn't the
Christmas season, I'd take them to the Harrisburg store. But we're
backed up as it is and it will only get worse."

Laura looked at Mitch's face, admiring its
planes and angles...its character. "Dad knew a Mr. Johnson who had
his own store in the east end. Maybe he'd help us."

"He retired last year. But he might be bored
by now. I'll call him. That's a good suggestion."

She beamed. His approval was important to
her. She didn't want it to be, but it was. And as before, when she
thought about her reaction to him, she felt a wave of an elusive
emotion. She couldn't put her finger on it yet, but it made her
uncomfortable. It was unusual for her not to be able to pinpoint
her emotions. That only added to her unease.

She lifted her hand in an "I'll be back" wave
and quickly went into the store area.

The whisper of Laura's slacks as she walked
tempted Mitch to watch her leave. Since when had his hearing picked
up a sound that soft? He sank back into the chair and stretched his
legs out in front of him, staring at his toes instead. Was Mrs.
Sanders good intentioned or sly? A well-meaning meddler or a
manipulator? Somehow, she seemed to turn every situation to her
advantage. That nettled him. Because he didn't always come out on
top? On top. Damn, would he like to...

He slapped his hand on the chair's arm so
hard his palm stung. More than once this morning he'd had to direct
his attention away from the rise and fall of Laura's breasts under
the fuschia and turquoise sweater. The turquoise wool slacks had
pleats and plenty of material but still managed to show her curves
too well.

And that hair. It seemed to draw the sunlight
to it, making her complexion as delicate as the porcelain in the
store. So was he upset with her because she could look fabulous in
a brown gunny sack or because he couldn't keep his mind from
picturing what was underneath? Both. He'd even taken a wrong turn
driving to the store.

"Distraction, thy name is Laura," he muttered
tersely.

It wasn't simply her looks. It was something
more basic. Something about her personality that made him feel he
lacked...he wasn't sure what. But something vital. Emotions
stirred, alarming him because they were unfamiliar.

He pulled his legs in and sat up straight. He
wanted to keep a careful distance from her because he still didn't
know if he could depend on anything she said or did. He had to
protect Ray. He had to protect his own investment. He had to
protect more than that. When he was close to her, he couldn't think
straight. He wanted to kiss her.

Sheer craziness, Riley. Keep alert. Track
what she says and does. Examine her motives. Call her on her
mistakes. And never underestimate her. That could be fatal.