Shooting the Moon
When Harley Nelson got on his motorcycle and drove out of Portland, Oregon, ten years ago, he left behind a bad reputation–and a baby.Audra Worthington was the reason for both. Well, the baby, anyway. The reputation he already had. It's why rich girl Audra fell for him in the first place. Now Audra's dead. His son, Brandon, is being raised by her family–good girl Lauren, the perfect daughter, and her uncompromising parents.But Harley's a self-made success down in California and he's ready to take responsibility for his son. And Harley Nelson's trouble. He's shown up at her door, saying he wants to get to know his son–ten years too late, in Lauren's opinion. Too bad he didn't stick by her sister, Audra, when he got her pregnant. (At least, that's the story Lauren's always heard.) And too bad he still looks so good in that black leather jacket…
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“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
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?
