Blue Moon Read Free

turn up the lamp wick and then set the glass chimney in place.
    Olivia sensed he was about to turn and look at her. She wanted to close her eyes and pretend to be unconscious, thinking that might be safer than to let him catch her staring at him, but as he slowly turned toward the bed, she knew she had to see him. She
had
to know what she was up against.
    Her gaze swept his body, taking in his great height, the length of his arms, the width and breadth of his shoulders before she dared even look at his face.
    When she did, she gasped.
    Noah stood frozen beside the table, shame and anger welling up from deep inside. He was unable to move, unable to breathe as the telling sound of the girl’s shock upon seeing his face died on the air. He watched her flinch and scoot back into the corner, pressing close to the wall. He knew her head pained her, but obviously not enough to keep her from showing her revulsion or from trying to scramble as far away as she could.
    He had the urge to walk out, to turn around and leave. Instead, he stared back and let her look all she wanted. It had been three years since he had lost an eye to a flatboat accident on the Mississippi. Three years since another woman had laughed in his face. Three years since he had moved into southern Illinois to put the past behind him.
    When her breathing slowed and she slowly calmed, he held his hands up to show her that they were empty, hoping to put her a little more at ease.
    “I’m sorry,” he said as gently as he could. “I don’t mean you any harm.”
    She stared up at him as if she did not understand a blessed word.
    Louder this time, he spoke slowly. “Do—you—speak—English?”
    The girl clutched the sheet against the filthy bodice of her dress and nodded. She licked her lips, cleared her throat. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out.
    “Yes,” she finally croaked. “Yes, I do.” And then, “Who are you?”
    “My name is Noah. Noah LeCroix. This is my home. Who are you?”
    The lamplight gilded her skin. She looked to be all eyes, soft green eyes, long black hair, and fear. She favored her injured wrist, holding it cradled against her midriff. From the way she carefully moved her head, he knew she was fighting one hell of a headache, too.
    Ignoring his question, she asked one of her own. “How did I get here?” Her tone was wary. Her gaze kept flitting over to the door and then back to him.
    “I heard a scream. Went out and found you in the swamp. Brought you here—”
    “The wildcat?”
    “Wasn’t very hungry.” Noah tried to put her at ease, then shrugged and stared down at his moccasins. Could she tell how nervous he was? Could she see his awkwardness, know how strange it was for him to be alone with a woman? He had no idea what to say or do. When he looked over at her again, she was staring at the scarred side of his face.
    “How long have I been asleep?” Her voice was so low that he had to strain to hear her. She looked as if she expected him to leap on her and attack her at any moment, as if he might be coveting her scalp.
    “You slept around two hours. You must have hit your head very hard.”
    She reached up and felt the bump. “I guess I did.”
    He decided not to get any closer, not with her acting as if she were going to come out of her skin. He backed up, pulled a stool out from under the table, and sat down.
    “You going to tell me your name?” he asked.
    The girl hesitated, glanced toward the door, then looked back at him. “I’m Olivia Bond. Where am I?”
    “Heron Pond.”
    Her attention shifted to the door once again as recollection dawned. “The swamp,” she whispered. Her eyes widened as if she expected a bobcat or a cottonmouth to come slithering in.
    “You’re fairly safe here. I built this cabin over the water.”
    “
Fairly
?” She looked as if she were going to try to stand up again. “Did you say—”
    “Built in a cypress tree. About fifteen feet above