Moonlight Whispers
©Teresa Bodwell

From Chapter 5 . . .

Isabelle cleaned the dishes quickly and went to work on the large basket of mending while Luke kindly disposed of the wash water. Fortunately she'd spent years perfecting the art of needlepoint. During her stay with the Havermans, she'd easily adapted her needle working skills to mending. She sat close to the candle and worked the needle back and forth, mending a stocking that had so many holes in it, Isabelle wondered why he didn't simply throw it out. Seeing what a frugal life the rancher lived made her all the more grateful for his generosity to her.

"What's this?"

"Ouch!" She pricked her finger with the needle.

"Didn't mean to startle you."

"It was entirely my fault." She smiled up at him. "My thoughts were wandering." She pointed to the object he held in his hand. "That's my flute."

Setting her sewing down, she took the small case from his hand, pulled the wooden flute out and showed it to him. He touched the keys and seemed impressed with the way they bounced back when he lifted his fingers.

"My mother sent to Europe for this when I was a little girl. There are little springs--do you see them?"

She pulled a chair next to his and they both bent close, holding the instrument up to the candle. Luke tapped a silver key and watched it bounce back. He looked at her, a lopsided grin giving him a boyish look that was enhanced by the single lock of hair hanging down over his forehead. When his eyes captured hers, the heat there banished all thought of little boys. The look warmed her chest and belly like a sip of brandy on a winter's night. She sat back in the chair, needing to put some space between them.

"Can you play it?" he asked. She smiled, relaxing a little. "It is my only talent."

He handed it to her. "Play something."

"Mozart?" she asked, standing and moving a few steps away.

"Any song you like," he said.

She started to explain that Mozart was not a song, but thought better of it. Instead she played a lively version of The Blue Tail Fly with special flourishes that she'd invented to entertain her young cousins.

"That's nice," Luke said. "But I never heard it called, 'Mozart'."

"That wasn't the Mozart." Isabelle smiled. "Would you like to hear something that he wrote?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She moved her fingers over the keys of her flute, allowing the orchestral opening of the Adagio from Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp to play through her mind. "This is meant to be played with an orchestra and a harp. Well, I've only ever played it in my mother's parlor with a piano--but I think it will work as a solo."

Luke pulled his chair around and straddled it facing Isabelle with his arms resting on the seat back. He waited patiently, watching her fingering the keys with her graceful hands. She lifted the wooden instrument to her lips, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The first few notes rang bright and clear. It was softer and smoother than the little tune she'd played before. Sweeter than birdsong. She seemed to be almost floating as she swayed with the music, like a willow in the wind.

When she stopped her face was glowing pink, like a woman who had been well loved. Luke cleared his throat to banish that thought. "That was fine," he said.

"It's better with the harp." She wiped her instrument carefully before putting it back into the leather case.

"It was real pretty to me, harp or no." He took the few steps over to her.

"Thank you," she said. "You're very kind."

"I'm not one for sugarin' my words to make someone feel better." He touched her shoulder.

Isabelle looked into his eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He nodded. "I reckon it ain't an easy thing--makin' music so fine and sweet."

Her smile opened wide. It was probably the candle's reflection, but her eyes seemed brighter just at that moment. "I wouldn't call it easy, but I love it too much to think of it as difficult."

"I think I know what you mean."

"Not anything half so hard as cooking."

He chuckled and she favored him with a genuine grin. He leaned closer, inhaling her fragrance--the usual flowers nearly covered over with smoke from a day working over the fire. Her tongue peeked out as she wet her lips. It seemed she was inviting him to those lips and he was helpless to stop. When his mouth touched hers, a small shock jolted them apart for the space of a heartbeat, but something stronger drew them back together. Her sweet touch was warmer and softer than he'd imagined it. The heat surged through him. A man with half a lick of sense would walk away now. Instead, Luke pulled her into his arms.

She did not resist. In fact she gripped his waist and leaned into him until her breasts pressed against his chest. Encouraged, he teased her lips open and touched his tongue to her teeth. She opened for him and his tongue met hers for only a moment before his sanity returned. He stepped back, taking a moment to recover his breath. Words of apology came to him, but he couldn't quite bring his tongue to speak them. Sorry? He simply was not.

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"Three delightful, tender, sexy, emotional romances will sweep you away to the Wild West and into the hearts of three fabulous heroes." Kathe Robin, Romantic Times BookClub, March 2006.