“Luna?” My voice borders on cautious.
Is she wishing I had called the authorities? We can still give them a report. Maybe get a restraining order.
“You shouldn’t have told him!” She shouts the words at the sky, but I know they’re aimed at me.
“Told him what?”
“That we’re married.” Luna drops her hands to her sides, fingers clenched in fists in her dirty gardening gloves.
I wonder if she wants to hit something. Like me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think we were keeping it secret.” A defensive note creeps into my voice.
“He knows.” Luna whirls to glare at me. Eyes hard. “He knows about the inheritance, and now he knows I’m going after it.”
“Ah.” Shit.
From what I just saw of the guy, Luna’s father does not lose with grace.
“Yeah.Ah.” She paces again, getting her rage out through her feet. “He’s going to do something. I don’t know what. Hell, he probably doesn’t know what yet. But he wants that money, and I’m standing in his way.”
My chagrin curdles into a sick, angry mess in my gut.
Seriously? The guy will do something to his own daughter? With a loving set of parents like mine, the idea is hard to fathom.
But I trust Luna’s worry. She knows the man better than I do.
“Luna, I’m sorry.” This time, the apology doesn’t come with any caveats. I wish I could have helped her without revealing our relationship.
She sighs, some of the anger leaching from her expression, but her shoulders stay tense. I follow the direction of her stare to the destruction. The planter Luna’s spent the morning working on has a splintered side with thick brown soil spilling from the fracture.
In my life, I’ve rarely applied the wordhateto anything.
But I hate Bill Lamont.
Luna heads toward the house. Her abandonment of her project sends a spike of panic through me. Is she walking away from it forever?
“I’ll help you fix it!” I hurry over to the planter, glancing around the yard to see if there’s anything we can use to patch the breach.
“Charlie”—Luna’s voice is tired—“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I just can’t right now.”
When I turn, she’s on her little back porch, peeling off her gardening gloves. As she slips the fabric from her left hand, I catch a glint from her wedding band. Our partner rings.
That’s what I need right now. To be her partner. To be here for her.
I walk toward her with careful steps. “Can I hug you?”
Luna hesitates, and I sink down to sit on the porch step beside her, not wanting to loom.
My wait ends in shock as she slides into my lap, straddling my hips and wrapping her arms tight around my neck.
I meant to comfort her. But this is different. More.
I twine my arms around her waist, pulling my wife close to my body. My cheek cradles against her breasts, which she doesn’t seem to mind. Luna rests her chin on the top of my head and lets out a shuddering sigh. With her in my arms like this, I sense the slight tremor in her body.
I wonder if she shakes from fear, adrenaline, anger, or all three.
“He might try to hurt you,” she mutters.
