Shooting the Moon

“You got my sister pregnant, remember? I know what kind of man you are.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. If Lauren had been anyone else, someone who didn’t know who or what he was, she would have smiled automatically. He had that kind of charisma. She hated him, yet he appealed to her on a very basic level.

“Last I checked, it took two to make a baby,” he said. “But you must be like your father. He never saw things that way, either.”

“My father was trying to look out for his daughter. He was trying to get Audra out of the mess you got her into.”

“I didn’t need his help. I was willing to take care of my own messes.”

“Which is why you took the money my dad offered you to get out of town and did exactly that, right?”

Harley’s eyes narrowed and all traces of the smile he wielded so effectively disappeared. Lauren pressed her advantage. “Who do you think has loved Brandon and cared for him all these years, practically raised him?”

“Regardless of who’s raised him, his mother’s dead,” he said. “And I’m here now. I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

Dear Reader,

As a writer, I’m often asked about “favorites.” What story is my favorite? Which characters? Which setting? Well, Shooting the Moon definitely has a place on my list of favorites. It’s one of those stories that flowed easily from my heart and came naturally to my pen. I’m not sure if it was the characters and their intriguing blend of strengths and weaknesses, or the conflict, which was very poignant and real for me. But as Harley and Lauren revealed themselves to my imagination, I grew to respect and like them more and more. I hope you’ll have the same experience.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 995611. Or simply log on to my Web site at www.brendanovak.com to leave me an e-mail, check out my book signings or learn about my upcoming releases.

May we all, in the end, achieve the ultimate or “shoot the moon.”

Brenda Novak

Shooting the Moon

Brenda Novak

MILLS & BOON

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To my oldest daughter, Ashley,

for already exhibiting the self-possession and integrity

I so admire. Your presence in my life nourishes my soul

in a way I could never explain. If you forget everything

I’ve ever taught you, remember this: My love is everlasting.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

NOT HIM! NOT NOW!

A wave of nausea hit Lauren Worthington as she gaped at the man on her front doorstep. She’d known this day would come. Over the past few years her parents had grown complacent, had insisted Matt “Harley” Nelson was out of their lives for good, but deep down Lauren had always known better. His leaving them alone indefinitely would be too simple, too easy. And from what she knew of Harley, he was not a simple man. Neither did he do anything the easy way. It had been ten years since she’d seen him, but she remembered that much.

“What do you want?” she asked, lowering her voice and closing the door between them until only a crack remained. The last thing she needed was for her nephew Brandon, who was watching television in the other room, to see Harley, or for their conversation to somehow catch the boy’s interest.

“What do you think I want?” he asked, hands on hips, one leg cocked as though he was perfectly comfortable knocking on their door after all these years.

Why had she answered the bell without first checking the peephole? Lauren berated herself. But the answer was clear. She lived in Hillside Estates, a gated, upscale community of homes not far from Portland, Oregon, worth half a million dollars or more. They had security. They had cameras. They had little or no crime. Besides, it was barely ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Who worried about peepholes on a Saturday morning?

Lauren had felt perfectly safe opening her house without a second thought, but now she feared what her mistake would cost her—and Brandon. She could only see a slice of Harley Nelson through the crack she’d left in the door, but it was enough to know that her sister’s ex-boyfriend hadn’t changed much. About six feet tall, he was still thin but muscular, still handsome as the devil, still wearing black leather, and still riding the kind of motorcycle that had given him his nickname. Lauren knew because a beautiful new Harley was parked in the driveway behind him.

“Audra isn’t home,” she said, bluffing. She needed him to leave so she could figure out what to do about his sudden reappearance. Her parents would know how to handle this—her father could solve anything—but he and her mother were in Europe for another four weeks, and without them, Lauren was completely on her own. Somehow she had to regain her equilibrium. Think. Get Harley to go so she could…what? Hide Brandon until she came up with a smarter plan?

Unfortunately Harley didn’t seem too eager to give her the chance to do that. He stayed right where he was and didn’t look as though he was going anywhere, at least anytime soon.

“Considering the fact that Audra died in an alcohol-related car accident nearly six months ago, I’d be pretty surprised if she was here,” he said.

He knew. Oh no, he knew about poor Audra. What was she going to do?

“I-I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m expected at—I’m expected.” She tried to close the door the rest of the way, but his booted foot whipped out and wedged in the opening before she could latch it.

Lauren inched the door open again but still blocked the entrance with her body.

“I’m getting the impression you’re not very excited to see me. Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” he asked, giving her a glimpse of his send-the-girls-wild smile, the one she’d drooled over in high school.

Fortunately it didn’t do anything for her now. Lauren was too worried about the confidence in Harley’s face and bearing. The longer she talked to him, the more she noticed that in some ways he had changed. The reckless teenager she’d known had transformed himself into a calm, self-assured adult. Which frightened Lauren more than anything, because it made him so much more of a threat.

“I’ll call the police if I have to,” she warned.

“If that’s what you’re planning to do, you’d better go and do it,” he said. “Because I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

Lauren could scarcely swallow for the fear clutching her throat. Please don’t let it be what I think it is. “And what is that?” she managed.

He must have heard the panic in her voice because he hesitated for a moment and studied her, his eyes unreadable. “You must be Audra’s baby sister.”

Lauren was surprised he remembered Audra had a baby sister. She’d seen him around school lots of times, but he’d never spared her a second glance.

“The name’s Lauren,” she informed him. “I’m sure you never knew that.”

“Why, did I call you something different?”

He hadn’t bothered to call her anything. He was too starstruck by her sister, once they became an item, and too busy flirting with all the other popular girls before that. Someone like Lauren, an honor student, a bookworm, held no attraction for him. She used to admire Harley from a distance, but after he’d gotten her sister in trouble, she’d been glad he’d passed over her. Not that she’d expected anything else. Most guys had preferred her blond bomb-shell of a sister. Audra had been beautiful, popular, fun-loving. Lauren was plain, quiet, studious.

“We didn’t know each other,” she said, “which is why you’ll have to excuse me. I don’t feel comfortable having a strange man at the door.”

“We knew each other,” he said. “We just didn’t know each other well. I wasn’t allowed to come to the house, remember? And I’ve been called a lot of things, Lauren, but strange generally isn’t one of them.”

“That’s because there are so many more applicable epithets to choose from,” she said, unable to resist.

Lauren expected her remark to make him angry, but he simply raised an eyebrow, then gave her that crooked smile of his. “Epithet?” he repeated. “Evidently all those hours you spent in the library did your vocabulary some good, though I doubt it did anything for your social life.” He looked her up and down. “And I’ll bet your excitement factor hasn’t notched up any. Not with you going around spouting things like applicable epithets.”

“Maybe you should’ve spent a few more hours in the library. It might’ve done you some good.”

“You spent enough time there for both of us. Besides, you were always too busy hiding behind your glasses and reading a thick textbook to know what was going on around you, so how would you know what’s applicable to me and what isn’t, especially after ten years?”

“Some things don’t change,” she said. “And some things are more apparent than others.”

“Especially to the gifted Lauren Worthington, huh?”

He said her name in an uppity, nasal tone Lauren didn’t appreciate, but being from the wealthy Southwest side, she’d heard it before. Casting a quick glance behind her to make sure Brandon was still absorbed in his TV program, she lowered her voice even further. “You got my sister pregnant, remember? I know what kind of man you are.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. If Lauren had been anyone else, someone who didn’t know who or what he was, she would have smiled automatically, despite the animosity between them. He had that kind of charisma. She hated him, yet he appealed to her on a very basic level.

“Last I checked, it took two to make a baby,” he said. “But you must be like your father. He never saw things that way, either.”

“My father was trying to look out for his daughter. He was trying to get Audra out of the mess you got her into.”

“I didn’t need his help. I was willing to take care of my own messes.”

“Which is why you took the money my dad offered you to get out of town and did exactly that, right?”

This time Lauren’s barb hit a tender spot. She could tell by the way Harley’s eyes narrowed and all traces of the smile he wielded so effectively disappeared. “Stick to your books, Lauren. You don’t know anything about what happened,” he said. “But then someone as tightly wound as you wouldn’t. The closest you’ve probably come to love is the definition of it in some encyclopedia.”

Lauren felt her back stiffen. Just because he’d never found her attractive didn’t mean she hadn’t had other boyfriends. Those relationships had never evolved into marriage, but she’d gotten intimate and fairly serious with a couple of different men. Her inability to make a commitment didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of love.

Or did it? Was that the part that hurt most? Had he hit a little too close to home?

Regardless, Lauren’s love life—or lack thereof—wasn’t the point here. Brandon was all that mattered. She’d built her life around him, and she wasn’t about to lose him now.

“Who do you think has loved Brandon and cared for him all these years, practically raised him?” Certainly not her sister, who was never quite the same after her affair with Harley.

“Regardless of who’s raised him, his mother’s dead,” he said, “and I’m here now. I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

Lauren’s hand tightened on the door until her knuckles stood out. “You gave up your rights to Brandon when my father paid you to leave,” she said, her words a harsh whisper. “You agreed.”

He shrugged, only the tenseness of his body belying his seeming indifference to her words. “So I’ve had a change of heart. Sue me.”

“If we have to, we will. My father’s not going to take this lying down.”

“I don’t care how he takes it, but he’d better get used to the idea.”

“There’s no way he’s going to let you come waltzing into Brandon’s life at this late date and whisk him away from everything and everyone he’s ever known. What kind of father would do that, anyway?”

For the first time, Lauren thought she read a hint of doubt in Harley’s expression and knew, in order to avoid a custody battle, she had to play on it. It was what her father would have done.

“Think about it,” she said. “He has a good life. We’ve given him everything, much more than you could’ve provided. You were eighteen years old and penniless, for Pete’s sake, a product of the inner city, raised in a broken home by an alcoholic mother. It would be pure selfishness to take Brandon away from here—now or in the future.”

She certainly hadn’t tempered her words, but neither had she scored much of a victory if the muscle that flexed in his cheek served as any indication.

“He’ll have what he needs. I can take care of him now.”

“So what?” she responded. “He already has everything. He doesn’t need you.” Lauren felt a flicker of guilt for driving her point so ruthlessly, but she was desperate—desperate to keep Brandon, desperate to protect what she’d established over the past ten years. She might have failed her sister, but she wouldn’t fail her sister’s child. Which meant she couldn’t feel sorry for Harley Nelson. He hadn’t felt anything when he’d broken Audra’s heart, taken their father’s money and left town ten years ago, had he?

Turning, he seemed to gaze out over the lawn, a plush, green carpet that sloped down toward the street beneath a warm spring sun. She watched him look across at the neighbor’s, then examine the porch and shutters, even the red brick of the house. What was he thinking?

“I want to see him,” he said at last.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to confuse him.”

“Then tell him I’m a friend of yours or something.”

Lauren bit her lip, praying for inspiration. Would she be a fool to allow this? Her head said yes, but her heart had a difficult time with no. He was Brandon’s father, after all….

“Will you go back wherever you came from if I do?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’m not making any promises, Lauren, except this one. I’m not leaving town until I see him, so you may as well let me in now.”

Lauren didn’t know what to say. Letting Harley see the beautiful boy he and Audra had created might make him that much more determined to wrench him from his home. But could she deny Brandon the chance to meet his father? How important would that be to him later?

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

He hesitated but finally pulled a pen and a business card from his jacket and circled a number. “Fine. You do that, then call me on my cell.”

“Aunt Lauren, it’s over! Can I go to Scott’s house?” Brandon sang out, and Lauren knew she had only a second or two before her nephew came to find her.

“Okay,” she said quickly, speaking to Harley, but he didn’t move. Evidently he’d heard Brandon, too. Before he had a chance to respond, however, Lauren closed the door with a resounding bang, and this time he didn’t try to stop her. Pressing her back against the heavy wooden panel, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” Tall for his age and possessing the same dark hair, olive skin and green eyes as his father, Brandon loped out from the kitchen, carrying a donut in each hand.

Lauren couldn’t answer. She waited, silently counting the seconds until she heard the roar of Harley’s motorcycle.

“Nothing,” she said, her knees going weak in relief.

“Who was at the door?” he asked, watching her curiously.

“Just a friend. You don’t know him,” she added, and at least that part was the truth.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in years, Harley rode his motorcycle without a helmet. He wanted to let the air whip through his hair, hear it roar in his ears, feel it sting his face. He didn’t care if it was dangerous. He didn’t care if it was illegal. Somehow the physical sensations were sustaining. They helped him deal with the emotions clashing inside him, emotions poignant enough to make his eyes water without the help of the wind.

He’d heard his son’s voice. He was sure of it. The look on Lauren Worthington’s face had confirmed that it was Brandon. And that moment had…what? Shaken him. Left him weak, breathless. Scared him.

But it had done something else, too. Brandon’s voice had reached inside him and filled him with a craving so simple and powerful it nearly overwhelmed him.

He wanted his son. He wanted him so badly it hurt.

Slowing for a traffic light, he briefly closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of his visit to the Worthingtons. For years he’d told himself to forget the past. It was better that way, right? Better for the baby. Better for Audra. Better for everyone. The Worthingtons owned a string of video stores, had always been as rich as Midas. What could he possibly give his son that they couldn’t? That was the question Lauren had flung at him today, the one that had chased him away in the beginning, and it was the one that still burned, uppermost, in his mind.

Otherwise he’d have Brandon with him right now.

The light turned green. Harley gave the bike some gas and shot out in front of traffic. Turning at the next light, he wound down out of the hills to the city, where he wove through the busy streets to the low-rent district.

He could give his son the love of a father, couldn’t he? That was more than Harley had grown up with. But when he’d looked into Lauren’s stricken face, enough doubt crept in to make him wonder, all over again, if he was doing the right thing.

The Springfield Apartments came up on his left, and he pulled into the lot, parked and cut the engine. According to the letter he’d received, Tank Thompson lived here now. In Apartment 208.

Harley scaled the stairs leading to the second story of the garden-style apartments, taking them two at a time. He was angry and confused, but the frustrating thing was that he didn’t know what, if anything, he should do.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come back. What made him think he could atone for his past sins after ten years?

He knocked at 208, and rap music poured out of Tank’s apartment as a small, curly-headed girl, only about three years old, opened the door.

“Hi, there,” he said. “I’m Harley Nelson. Is Tank around?”

“Daddy, it’s for you!” the little girl called over her shoulder.

Daddy? In his letter, Tank hadn’t mentioned having a child of his own. He hadn’t mentioned much at all. He’d just sent Audra’s obituary clipping, nearly five months after the fact, along with a brief, handwritten note saying: Thought you’d be interested. Long time no see. You still kickin’? Tank

But then Tank had never been one for written correspondence. Neither was Harley, for that matter.

The little girl disappeared for several minutes and returned tugging a bleary-eyed, hungover-looking Tank to the door. He was about fifty pounds heavier than when Harley had seen him last, shortly after graduation, but Harley would’ve known his friend anywhere.

Yawning, Tank scratched his head and blinked twice. “Well if it isn’t the jackass who buried my truck in the river during high school,” he said, breaking into a smile.

Harley laughed. “You were the one who wanted to see if I could ford it. How the hell was I supposed to know the damn river was so deep?”

“You were drunk enough to try crossing the Columbia.”

“And you were drunk enough to let me use your truck to do it.”

Tank shook his head. “It’s a wonder we survived those years. How’ve you been, man?”

“Good.” Harley nodded to the little girl who was standing next to Tank, watching them. “You have a daughter now?”

“Yeah.” Tank winked at her, and she smiled shyly. “Too bad I don’t have her mama anymore. We separated a year ago. Divorce was final just last month.”

“That’s tough.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Now I gotta live in this dump while she and her new boyfriend enjoy the three-bedroom, two-bath townhouse I’m paying for.” He ruffled his daughter’s hair. “Worse, I only get Lucy here on weekends.”

“She’s a beauty,” Harley said.

“Yeah, takes after her mama. Can you come in? Stay a while?”

Harley thought of the hours ahead of him. He had a few other friends he wanted to visit, but nothing more important until Lauren Worthington called. If she called…

“Sure, I can stay,” he said, stepping inside and taking a seat on a rust-colored couch reminiscent of the sixties. Except for the large-screen television that took up one whole corner of the room, the other furnishings looked no better.

“Things haven’t changed much since high school, huh?” Harley said, eyeing the beer cans and cigarette butts that littered the coffee table.

“Ah, don’t let the mess fool you. I’ve cleaned up my act a lot since then. Last night we had my buddy’s bachelor party here is all. We hired a stripper, played some poker and drank more than we should’ve.”

“What did you do with Lucy?”

“The lady next door took her. She sits for me now and then.”

“Who’s getting married?”

“Guy named Dan. You don’t know him.” He put a hand to his head and squinted. “I’m almost sorry I do.”

“What are you doing for work these days?”

“Concrete, same as always.” Tank slumped into an easy chair across from the couch. “When my dad retired, I took over the business, and lately we’ve been branching off into landscaping. My brothers work for me.”

“All of them?”

“All except the oldest. Damien’s too good for concrete. He’s an attorney here in Portland. What about you?”

“I own a Harley Davidson dealership out in California where I live.”

Tank raised his eyebrows. “You always said you’d have one someday. But how’d a poor boy like you manage something like that?”

“The stock market’s been good to me.”

“The stock market?” Tank sat up straighter—then, putting a hand to his head, he checked the movement. Shifting more gingerly, he said, “Boy, have you changed. What brings you back this way?”

“The article you sent.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well, I found your address on the Internet and almost wrote you a long time ago. It was too bad what happened to Audra, but the way she was living, something was bound to happen sooner or later, you know?”

Harley leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean? How was she living?”

Tank sent his daughter off to play in her room, then moved closer to Harley. “She wasn’t the same girl we knew in high school,” he said. “She got into crack pretty heavily, went downhill from there.”

Crack? Audra? Harley couldn’t imagine her stern, overbearing father allowing Audra to get involved with drugs, at least not to the point of addiction. But then he remembered how much she liked to party in high school—and how much she’d always resented her father. Maybe she’d done it to fight back, to establish her freedom. Wasn’t that what had drawn her to him, someone her father had designated as off limits?