Under the Orange Moon

  Under the Orange Moon

  by Adrienne Frances

  Under the Orange Moon

  Adrienne Frances

  Copyright © 2013 Adrienne Frances

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without the permission of the publisher.

  The only exception to this is if a reviewer would like to quote short passages for reviewing purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Photo Credit:

  Jupiterimages/Couple Holding Hands Outdoors/Photos.com

  For more information, please visit:

  www.adriennefrances.webs.com

  For Kristi, who loves my characters as much as I do. Thank you for reading everything I write. I would be lost without your endless brainstorming and your thoughtful words of encouragement. You are a true friend, indeed.

  Prologue

  Dylan Mathews stood on the tiptoes of her filthy feet and peered out the kitchen window. Her little nose pressed against the sill, while her big green eyes watched the oblivious boys playing in her back yard.

  She would have adored being out there with them. The parched desert air was sizzling with little comfort from the air conditioner her parents placed on high. The more she stared, the more inviting her pool seemed to be.

  Her oldest brother, Brandon, smiled and waved discreetly when he noticed her. She ducked back down and let out a small giggle as she understood that she had been caught spying again.

  Brandon would never alert the others to her secret position behind the window. He was far more mature for being only ten, and he never hid the fact that he believed her to be the best thing in the world. Brandon was her favorite.

  “Dylan, stop picking that scab on your knee,” her mother, Linda, called out from her place by the sink. “It’s never going to heal, baby.”

  Dylan ran her small dirty hand over the layer of rough, open wound. “Charlie said it’s going to scar and then I can always tell people I fell from my skateboard.”

  “You can tell them that without the scar,” Linda reminded her.

  Deciding that it was safe to look out the window again, Dylan turned and continued to spy.

  She chomped on her gum loudly and gracelessly. She tried to blow a bubble, a trick she had not mastered quite yet. Her gum flew out of her mouth and hit the window. Dylan carelessly picked up the sticky wad and placed it back in her mouth.

  Normally there were only four boys in her yard playing. She knew them all well, for they were her brothers. Usually she would be out there with them. It wasn’t that they would always embrace her, of course. They could never bring themselves to leave her behind, though. They would tease her relentlessly some days and others they would carry her around as if she was the most precious thing on the planet. It depended on their mood, she supposed. Dylan never minded, though. Any awareness of her presence, good or bad, was attention nonetheless.

  Today all but Brandon seemed to disregard her. She was invisible. A stranger, a fifth boy, had taken her brothers’ attention.

  She wasn’t angry or jealous. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a name for the way she felt about that boy at her tender age of four. If someone were to ask her when she was older, if she would dare answer honestly, the feeling she would tell them would be wonder.

  “Mom, who is that boy?” Dylan finally asked.

  Linda set down her towel and stood just behind Dylan. “Ah, I see now,” she whispered. “That boy is Ben McKenna. He’s your age, and he just moved here.”

  She watched him as he leapt in to the air and sprayed Hugh with a powerful blast from his Super Soaker. He did this all without any concern for where he landed. He could run fast, she noticed. She also noted, for her own small pride, that she was much, much faster.

  Linda handed her a plate of juice boxes and cookies. “Stop spying and go share these with the boys,” she urged.

  Dylan wobbled to the back door and opened it without dropping anything. She stepped out onto the deck and nervously waited for the boys to notice her.

  “Cookies!” Dylan’s twin brother, Jonah, screeched.

  At once, a stampede of dirty boys barreled towards her and snatched everything from the plate in her hand until it was clean. Sadly, that was the attention she had been craving all afternoon. For a brief moment, they knew she was there.

  “Who are you?” Ben McKenna asked with a mouth full of cookies.

  “That’s our sister, Weed,” Hugh teased.

  Fuming with humiliation, her face a deep shade of red, Dylan stomped her foot on the wood of the deck. “Stop calling me that!”

  The boys began to laugh. Today would be a day of teasing, it would seem.

  “What are you playing?” Dylan asked quietly. She shuffled her bare foot on top of the other and looked down. “Can I play, too?”

  “I’m not playing with a girl,” Ben said adamantly before anyone else could respond.

  Dylan looked up and stared at the boy, who had now become an intruder instead of a new playmate. “Why? I can do boy things.”

  “Because I don’t like you!” Ben yelled, and threw the football at her, causing her to drop the plate in her hands.

  Dylan picked up the ball and drummed her tiny fingers against the stitching. This was a dare that she would happily accept.

  Her brothers remained silent, knowing exactly what her next move would be. They had trained her well in all categories of life thus far.

  Dylan smiled mischievously and drew the ball back. She sent it sailing through the air like a torpedo, and grinned when it hit Ben between the eyes. Direct hit.

  Ben’s eyes popped open in astonishment. He said nothing while he rubbed the new red spot between his eyebrows, and stared at the enemy he had just made.

  “Yeah, Ben,” Brandon began with a smile, “we should have warned you. She can throw a ball.”

  The Mathews boys lost all interest in the altercation almost immediately, and went back to tackling each other. Ben stayed where he was, too stunned to move.

  Dylan headed for the door and snuck one last look at Ben McKenna. The shock had disappeared from his face and, in a moment that was meant for her eyes only, he was smiling at her.

  Chapter One

  Ben McKenna’s body sank deeper into the leather chair it had rested in for more than six hours. He watched the red numbers on the large informational screen above him move and switch from hopeful to disappointing too many times to keep track. He seriously wondered if this was a divine indication that he should not be getting on to that plane.

  Selfishly, he hoped his flight would be canceled. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his apartment, eat a steak, drink a beer, and get back to work. It seemed as though now, like the childhood that shadowed him, he was only weighed down by the irritations that went along with his life back home. He found himself full of aggravation, as usual.

  “Damn,” he muttered in a tone that was practically a growl.

  As the phone rang from inside his pocket, he was reminded of the source of his frustration. Without looking, the caller was obvious to him. No one else would call three times in a row.

  “Hello, Mother,” he answered grudgingly.

  “Benjamin? Where are you?” she asked fearfully. This wasn’t a motherly fret, of course. It was simply the panic that came from the knowledge of her son’s obvious reluctance to come home. “You’re still coming, right?”

  “I’m patiently waiting and surviving at the mercy of a digital screen that is hanging over my head.”

  “It’s still delayed?”

  “It snows here in Massachusetts, Ruth.”

 
“You know I hate that.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “I’ll call you when my plane lands.”

  Ben slid his phone back into his pocket and leaned his head against the uncomfortable chair. He despised the holidays, but most of all, he hated going home to his past life. He would never do this by his own motivation. Only a mother’s guilt could pull the unwilling in.

  He cringed when he thought of the endless pile of work waiting for him back at school. It was almost too much for him to bear. Each time he tried to think of something else, he remembered that there was nothing but school and work in his life to think about.

  Technically it was his holiday break, but he knew better than most that only the truly successful men of the world never take breaks. That was what he was raised to believe, anyhow. He never even wondered if he had been misled.

  This waste of a trip was a meaningless way to appease his unhappy mother and, even more so, anger his disapproving father, a Supreme Court judge. Even now, he could hear his father’s voice rambling on in his ear about the importance of representation and the behavior of a truly driven man. The voice was a bit dominating, even if it was only imaginary.

  He was, indeed, focused. His life was planned down to the very last detail, flying through his first year at Harvard Law School, facing a promising career in the legal world. He had always been expected to succeed, only because he had never failed. He worked harder than anyone in his class, even earning an internship at one of the country’s most successful law firms beginning in the spring. He would forever put his father’s influence on that achievement in the back of his mind, holding it there and dwelling on it in secret.

  “Flight two-sixty to Phoenix, Arizona, is now boarding,” a woman called through a phone that echoed out over an intercom.

  Ben stood to his tingly feet and grabbed his carry-on bag. He boarded the plane at last and sat beside a window.

  “Can I get you anything?” asked a passing flight attendant. “Pillow? Blanket?”

  Ben shook his head and smiled at the attractive blonde. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’ll be back to check on you throughout the flight,” she assured with puckered lips and a kittenish smile.

  “Thanks, but don’t wake me up.” This was nothing new to Ben, and he was over the novelty of flirty women. Even if they were stunning and oozing with interest, he very rarely cared.

  As the plane began to roll along the tarmac, he sighed in relief, realizing the seat next to him was empty. Lucky, he thought. Good fortune followed him everywhere, and he would never pretend to be oblivious to it.

  He sighed long and heavy before nuzzling up to the window. It was uncomfortable but, then again, so was the whole damn trip. His only solace was sleep. He would sleep through the agonizing flight as it lead him away from the flurries of snow and into the warm Phoenix sun for the holidays, a place he hasn’t been in five years.

  “It’s about time.” Jonah stood by the luggage claim with his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets. He looked exactly the same as the year before when the two had met for Spring Break. “Nice suit,” he taunted in only true Jonah fashion.

  “Nice haircut,” Ben joked, before giving Jonah’s arm a manly smack. “You’ve been watching the Disney Channel again, I see.”

  “Just keepin’ up with the stylish times, asshole.” Jonah twirled his keys in his fingers. “You ready?”

  “Nope. Do I have a choice?” Ben sighed and picked up his suitcase, which conveniently came out first on the revolving luggage wheel.

  During the drive, Ben watched out the window and noticed nothing new. It was the same as he left it: sky, mountains, cacti, and sand. When he was a child, he thought of his city in simpler terms: blue, red, green and brown. It wasn’t that he despised where he was from or thought of it as ugly. He always just seemed to need a bit more in the seasons, dramatically cold winters, wet springs, humidity in the summer and crunchy red leaves that fell to the ground in autumn. He loved his desert, but not enough to live in it.

  “How’s California?” Ben asked casually.

  “Just livin’ the dream,” Jonah answered with a lazy grin. “I changed my major again.”

  “Again?” Ben laughed. “Man, you better be careful. Your mom is going to cut you off soon.”

  “Nah, she’s happy enough that I’m still going. Besides, I work at the dealership part time.”

  “Bar money,” Ben said through a burst of laughter.

  Jonah was spoiled rotten. As long as his mother paid his rent and took care of him, he would change his major repeatedly, extending his education for a free ride.

  “Sorry, Mr. Law School, where’s your job?” Jonah blasted with a smirk on his face.

  Ben shrugged and shook his head. “Touché,” he answered, knowing the situations were hardly similar. He ended it there, deciding not to insult Jonah, and he would have if the banter continued.

  “Charlie’s save-the-date card for his wedding came,” Ben remembered out loud, grinning at Charlie Mathews’ dog reputation when they were kids. “What the hell is that about?”

  “I don’t know,” Jonah answered with a chuckle and steadily turned the wheel to merge onto the freeway. “He’s all about this girl.”

  Ben laughed. “He’s only three years older than us, though.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to tell me that. Believe me, I know. If I ever try to get married at twenty-five, lock me up.”

  “So, is your whole family coming in for the holidays then?”

  Jonah gave an easy smile. “Yeah, my mom’s been floating around the house like she’s on clouds.”

  “I bet.” Ben chuckled, picturing his self-proclaimed second mother in pure holiday bliss. “What about Weed?”

  Jonah crinkled his nose, amused by the mention of the cruel nickname he and his brothers had given his twin sister while growing up. It was bad enough she was a girl with a boy’s name, surrounded by boys, and then labeled not as a flower, but as a weed.

  “She’s good. Still living at home, but doing well.” Jonah turned to glance at Ben. “By the way, you know what she’d do if she heard you call her that.”

  “I’m not scared. I wore a cup today, just in case.”

  They both erupted into laughter and a small piece of Ben warmed at the familiarity of home and his lifelong friendship with Jonah. He decided at that particular moment that if he had to be home, he was at least happy to have Jonah with him.

  Ben’s eyes swept over the Mathews house, and he smiled reminiscently as they pulled in to the driveway.

  He sighed heavily. “Home sweet home,” he caught himself saying aloud.

  “Tell me about it,” Jonah agreed.

  Growing up, Ben simply loved the never ending chaos that swarmed throughout the Mathews’ house on a regular basis. It made him feel surrounded and secure, just the opposite of his own dismal home filled with only pretentious decor and a depressed, neglected mother. It was more his home than any other place he had known.

  Almost immediately, Linda was out on the porch with her hands in the air, waving with a smile. She was warm and looked like a real mom, Ben always thought. Her hair was always back and the only place she ever seemed to be was the kitchen or her garden. Her arms were always wide open for Ben, which he supposed was due to the lack of loving arms in his own home.

  Ben smiled at Linda and sighed. “There she is,” he said with laughter.

  “She’s been waiting for you all damn day,” Jonah grumbled. “She’s happier to see you than her own sons.”

  Ben missed Jonah’s last sentence. His stomach sank when his eyes caught sight of the person standing just to the side of the house. She stood barefoot, carefully stirring a bucket of paint. She gathered the end of her white skirt in her other hand and held it between her long, tan legs. Her light brown hair hung loosely over her face and slightly curled at the ends. Her mannerisms and paint splattered arms gave her identity away, of course, but Ben still couldn’t s
eem to believe his eyes.

  “Who…is that?” he asked, squeezing his eyes and leaning forward. His mouth hung open wide as he stared long and hard. There was no way that was her.

  “Who?” Jonah stared ahead with squinted eyes of his own. “Weed?”

  “What?” Ben flinched with disbelief. “No way.”

  “Man, you’re checking out my sister.” Jonah chuckled.

  Oh Lord. “She looks like—like, uh—”

  “Girl?” Jonah cut Ben’s stammering off. “You really have been gone a long time, brother.”

  Dylan Mathews stirred her paint and frowned at the color that was becoming of her mixing. She meant for a purplish gray, like a rainstorm, but it seemed to be getting a bit grayer than anything.

  She knew that Jonah had gone to get Ben from the airport, but she couldn’t bother herself to get as excited as the rest of her family had become over his arrival. So she stood, hunched over her bucket, pretending not to notice his presence. As if that were possible.

  “Dylan, look who’s here,” Linda called out to her from the porch. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “He’s not even out of the car yet, Mom. I’ll let you do the honors of jumping him.”

  Linda waved her hands at Dylan and rolled her eyes. She ran off the porch and wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck. He wasn’t her biological son, but she loved him enough that he could be.

  Dylan stood up and let the end of her skirt fall. She moved her long hair back from her eyes and placed her hands solidly on her tiny hips. She could easily imagine how much paint had managed to splatter on her face, arms and legs. Adamantly, she would never worry herself over washing up for Ben.

  “Hello, Ben,” she said, standing firm and allowing him to come to her.

  “Dylan.” Ben’s eyes moved up and down along her body, an unintentional movement that seemed to catch even him off guard.

  Still a pervert, she thought.

  “You look like a car salesman in that suit,” Dylan teased, ignoring her silent urges. She enjoyed making him suffer, even now.