Page 22 of Luna

“Would you like lemonade or tea?” she asked, shoving herself into the role of hostess.

“Tea would be nice. Thanks.”

Luna filled two glasses with ice and poured in tea, then she took out a cake she’d baked that morning and cut two slices, placing them on dessert plates. After gathering napkins and forks, she loaded a tray and used her elbow to motion outside. “Let’s sit on the porch. The evening breeze is always refreshing.”

“Sure,” Hunter said, going ahead of her to hold open the door.

Once they were seated at a table where the breeze blew over them, Luna took a deep drink of the tea.

Hunter forked a bite of the cake, gave her a look of surprise, then quickly ate two more bites. After wiping the napkin over his mouth, he grinned at her. “You can cook?”

Luna smiled. “I can. Surely, you didn’t think Ilsa made that?”

“No. Not even for a moment. It’s delicious. Do I taste lemon?”

“Yes, it’s a lemon cream cake. My mama makes it in the summer. It’s one of my favorite desserts.”

“I can see why.” Hunter took another bite, then drank half the glass of tea.

Luna pushed her plate of cake toward him, went inside to retrieve the pitcher of tea, and returned to refill his empty glass.

After she was again seated at the table, Hunter leaned back in his chair and studied her until she fought the urge to fidget. Finally, he reached out and took her hand in his again. The touch felt comforting. Reassuring.

“Want to talk about what happened at the circus? And the day you came to Pendleton?”

“Not particularly, but I suppose since you came to my rescue both times, you deserve to know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Luna. Just know I’m here for you if you ever want to talk.”

She nodded and let her gaze drift out to the barn. In the small pasture beside it, Tony’s horses grazed in the gilded evening light. It was such a peaceful, serene picture, it helped her to relax her stiff shoulders and soothe her frayed nerves.

“The summary is that I was involved in a traumatizing experience, and now certain sounds and smells make me feel like I’m right back in the midst of it.”

“I’m so sorry, Luna. What happened?”

“When I was seventeen, I met a boy in my aunt and uncle’s store. He had recently arrived in America from Italy and was determined to make a good life for himself. He’d just turned eighteen and had found work as a bricklayer. Matteo Barone was a nice-looking boy, not as handsome as my present company, but attractive. The thing I noticed most about Matteo when I met him was his kindness. He was such a gentle, sweet soul.”

Luna took a few sips of tea, needing to gather her thoughts before she could continue. Hunter’s thumb lightly brushed across the back of her hand, lending her courage to go on with her story.

“We began courting and were eventually engaged to marry. Matteo had saved enough money to send for his brother to come to New York, so we were waiting for his arrival to wed. A year ago in May, we were out for a stroll on a busy street. The crowds were noisy and boisterous, nothing out of the ordinary, then suddenly, three men started shooting into the crowd. People were screaming and scrambling to get away. The acrid smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air, burning my nose and stinging my eyes. Matteo was shot three times. A bullet sliced across my neck. By some miracle, it didn’t hit anything vital. I dropped to the sidewalk and cradled Matteo’s head on my lap as blood gushed from my neck, dripping into the puddle created by his wounds. He looked up at me, whispered, ‘I love you,’ and drew his last breath. His brother, Giulio, arrived on the day of Matteo’s funeral. For months, I couldn’t leave the house. Whenever I did, I panicked, seeing gunmen in every crowd, waiting for the first pop of a pistol or the smell of gunpowder to fill the air.”

Luna sighed, hating what she saw as her weakness, something she had yet to entirely overcome, although she’d been much better the past few months.

Hunter lightly squeezed her hand. “You’ve been through so much, Luna. You’re so brave to be here. It must have been hard to travel across the country alone.”

She shrugged. “No harder than being at home with everyone tiptoeing around me lest they do something that sent me into another panic-driven episode, as my papa refers to them. After many discussions and much prayer, we all decided a fresh start might be good for me. Tony and Ilsa graciously offered me a place to stay, and Caterina offered me a job, although goodness knows she could hire someone far more qualified to work in her restaurant. At any rate, I’m sorry if I ruined your evening, Hunter, and I appreciate your kindness in making sure I made it home.”

“You didn’t ruin a thing, Luna. Not a thing.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it enticingly tousled. “If we’re having confessional time, I ought to tell you something about me you may or may not know.”

“What might that be? That you are not just Dally’s hired hand, but a relative? Her brother, perhaps?” Luna felt irritation rising in her. She had no tolerance for being lied to and felt Hunter had purposely deceived her.

Hunter’s expression revealed both guilt and surprise when his gaze connected to hers. “Yes. Dally is my sister. I would have told you that day on the train, but it was nice to talk to you as a cowboy named Hunter, not Hunter Douglas, son of Braxton Douglas and one of the heirs to Bramble Hall.”

“Oh,” Luna said, unaware he was an heir to anything grand. Earlier that evening, when he’d arrived at her door in his finery, with his fancy new automobile, she’d assumed that he had far more money than he’d let on, but an heir sounded … important and intimidating.

Silence fell between them as Hunter drained his tea glass a second time. Luna refilled it and sat back in her chair.

“What does that mean?” she asked quietly, trying to understand who Hunter really was. “Tell me your full name, about Bramble Hall, and why you think it was necessary to keep your identity a secret from me.”

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