First Moon (The Ternion Order Book 1) Read online

  “I don’t know…”

  Greg leaned forward and pressed the invitation. “You said you’re moving on, right? I promise that’s easier to do with a warm body next to you than it is in a cold bed.”

  A cold bed was one of the first things that had driven home the fact that Sherry was gone forever. Waking up that first morning to a new life without her had been a bleak moment. It was the one time Kyle had allowed himself to cry over losing her.

  “Come on. It will be fun,” Greg insisted.

  Kyle wasn’t particularly interested in meeting someone new to date. He’d had enough relationship drama for a while. But he knew that refusing to socialize could turn into a pattern. Eventually, people stopped inviting you. If he wanted to do something about the solitary mood he was in, he needed to break out of the bubble he was creating for himself.

  Kyle looked at his friend and smiled. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

  Maybe he needed a night on the town. Going with friends would make it easier, and he might meet someone interesting. Where was the harm in that?

  Greg gave him a satisfied nod and said, “Good man. You won’t regret it.”

  Chapter 2

  The Pickup Joint

  The next evening, Kyle rode with Greg and Deb to the Pickup Joint. Kyle had dressed in his favorite black cotton pants and a lightweight gray cotton shirt. Sherry had loved the way the outfit looked on him, and he loved how comfortable it was. It was perfect for a summer evening of dancing.

  He shook his head and smiled as Greg turned off the highway. The parking lot was bracketed by a series of angled light poles, four on each side. Attached to each pole was an old pickup truck, with the bed toward the ground and the hood toward the sky. They looked like truck rockets, ready for launch. Only in Idaho, Kyle mused.

  Kyle was willing to bet that the owner got the idea from the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas, where ten Cadillacs had been placed nose-first into the ground. But in North Idaho, it had to be pickup trucks.

  Greg parked his truck and they all got out. He and Deb were both dressed western-style in jeans, button-up shirts, and boots. Greg looked sharp in a white cowboy hat and Deb wore her dark-brown hair in two braids at the back of her head. She looked a bit like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, but Kyle knew better than to express that observation out loud.

  Greg slapped Kyle on the back and said, “You ready to kick up your heels?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “That’s the spirit! Nothin’ like a few beers, some loud music, and the smile of a pretty lady to chase away the blues.”

  Deb rolled her eyes. “Don’t push him, Greg. We’re here to relax and have some fun.”

  Kyle snorted and shook his head. Greg was normally a pretty straight-up guy, but when he was in party mode, he voice took on a southwestern drawl and you never knew what kind of outrageous thing was going to come out of his mouth—particularly after he’d had a couple of beers.

  Lucky for him, Deb had generously volunteered to be the designated driver for the evening. She said she was along for the dancing, not for the buzz. Greg could have as much booze as he wanted, as long as he could keep shuffling his feet around on the dance floor.

  Greg put his arm around Kyle’s shoulder and pulled him close so he could whisper conspiratorially into his ear, although still loud enough for Deb to overhear. “It’s a guy thing. She wouldn’t understand.”

  Kyle laughed and stepped forward to open the door for his friends. Loud country rock blared into the lot while Greg and Deb preceded him inside.

  The interior of the bar continued the truck theme. The booths along the left and right walls were made from old pickup beds with bench seats built over the wheel wells. The wall behind each booth was painted with a mural, making it look like you were riding through the countryside in the back of the truck.

  A long, horseshoe-shaped bar to his right took up most of the front wall. The back wall had a stage with a DJ booth set up high above the dance floor. About a dozen round tables filled the space between the dance floor and the bar.

  It was a typical Saturday night. Several couples were dancing to the music, only a few empty seats remained at the bar, and all but one of the booths were occupied. Most of the tables near the dance floor were still empty, but they always filled up last. Deb made a beeline for the remaining booth and claimed it by tossing her purse into the seat corner and sliding in. Greg sat next to her and Kyle slid in across from them.

  Kyle looked around and recognized a couple of people from work. He also spotted one of Sherry’s friends across the room, but when their eyes met, she quickly looked away, confirming his suspicion about where he stood with that crowd.

  With a sigh, he turned his attention to the mural at the back of their booth. It showed a paved road curving through a forest of deciduous trees displaying their fall colors, with the artist’s rendering of the truck cab framing most of the view. An acrylic plaque centered at the bottom of the rear window included a photo of the bed’s original pickup and a few statistics. According to the plaque, they were “riding” in the back of a 1979 Ford F-100.

  A waitress came by and took their drink orders. She was dressed like Daisy from Dukes of Hazzard in cutoff jeans shorts and a plaid shirt that was tied below her breasts. The top buttons had been left undone, revealing a lot of pale flesh and the edge of a white lacy bra.

  Kyle watched her walk away, appreciating the sway of her hips and the length of leg revealed between the shorts and her cowboy boots. Greg wiggled his eyebrows at him and grinned.

  “I think he’s feeling better already,” he said to Deb.

  She gave him a suspicious look. “So are you, apparently.”

  Greg put his arm around Deb and squeezed her close while she scrunched up her face. “You’re the only woman for me, darlin’.”

  She reached up and guided his face to hers with the palm of her hand. She gave him a peck on the lips and followed it up with a light slap on his cheek. “Don’t you forget it, cowboy.”

  Greg grinned at her and kissed her palm.

  The waitress returned with their drinks and set them down on small square napkins with the Pickup Joint’s logo. With Deb keeping an eye on both of them, Greg and Kyle feigned interest in the tabletop and tried to ignore the enhanced view as the waitress bent over their table.

  The tables in each booth were made from the tailgate of the corresponding truck bed, so the tabletop was more interesting than one might expect. The tailgate was framed with wood to protect patrons from its metal corners, and a sheet of glass covered the top, giving it a flat surface. Photos of smiling people posing with their trucks were strewn across the tailgate under the glass. Patrons who owned the year and model matching the booth’s truck bed were encouraged to donate a photo to the funky montage.

  Greg pointed at one of the photos and said, “Nice restoration job. You suppose those headlights are original?”

  The waitress narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously before moving on to the next table.

  “Thanks,” Kyle called to her back.

  Deb punched Greg in the arm, and he made a mock show of pain. “Don’t be a jerk,” she said. “You’re going to have to give her a big tip to make up for that.”

  “Hell, I’d give her a big tip anyway,” he said with a snicker.

  Deb shook her head and pushed Greg toward the end of the booth. “That’s it. You owe me a dance.”

  “But my drink just got here,” he complained.

  “Well, bottoms up, Buttercup. We need to put some of that feisty energy to good use.”

  Greg grabbed the pilsner glass and tilted it up as fast as he could swallow the contents. In about three seconds, it was gone. He made a face and pounded his chest with his fist. Covering his mouth, he let out the inevitable belch as quietly as possible while Deb leaned away from him. Eyes watering, he turned to her and said, “Ready.”

  She gave him another shove toward the end of the booth and muttered, “
You’re disgusting.”

  Kyle took a few swallows of his beer and looked around the room for likely partners. He’d need a bit more liquid courage before he’d be ready to hit the dance floor, but it wouldn’t hurt to scope out the possibilities in advance.

  Three well-dressed women sat together at one of the round tables. One of them looked familiar; possibly someone he’d seen at work. His company was one of the largest employers in town, and he knew only a small fraction of the three-hundred people who worked there. He’d keep an eye on the trio as a possibility.

  He scanned the people who were standing and sitting at the bar. It was mostly single guys, but there were a few women. One woman in particular caught his attention. She had her back to the bar and was leaning her arms on it behind her while she watched the people on the dance floor. She wore a dark-green sleeveless dress with a low-cut front and medium-length skirt. Her clothing and posture revealed a well-toned body and an appealing figure. She turned her head his direction, almost as if she sensed that he was checking her out. Kyle quickly broke his stare and moved his eyes on to other parts of the room.

  The waitress eventually came by and asked him if he was ready for another beer. He told her that he was and ordered one for Greg as well.

  The new drinks arrived at the same time Deb and Greg returned from the dance floor. Both of his friends’ faces were flushed and sweat beaded on their foreheads. Deb used the damp, cool napkin from her drink to mop her brow. Greg took off his hat and wiped a bandanna across his forehead.

  “Whew! They need to kick up the AC a bit,” he exclaimed. “Thanks for gettin’ me another beer.”

  “No problem. Cheers,” Kyle said, clinking his glass against Greg’s and taking a deep swig.

  “So, when are you gonna get out there?” Greg asked him.

  Kyle held up his glass. “In about six ounces.”

  “Well, you better git on it, or all the good ones will be taken.” He tilted his head toward the table of three women Kyle had noticed earlier. Sure enough, a couple of guys were chatting them up. One of the women rose from her seat and accompanied the lucky fellow to the dance floor. The other man sat in the vacated chair and talked with the remaining two women, who smiled politely at his animated attempt to win them over.

  Kyle drained his glass and thumped it down on the table. “All righty then. Wish me luck.”

  The beer was doing its job, so Kyle was more at ease than when he’d arrived. He was ready to ask someone to dance and face the possibility of being shot down in flames. Not that being rejected was a common occurrence. At twenty-seven, Kyle was in his prime and had learned that most women saw him as tall, dark, and handsome. They were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt … at first. It wasn’t until they discovered what a nerd he was that they made excuses and backed away.

  Kyle slid across the bench seat and stepped out of the booth. He decided to cruise past the tables and take a seat at the bar for a closer look at his options. He could get another drink while he was at it.

  Kyle found an empty stool between an older man who was talking with the bartender and a young woman with a Rubenesque figure who looked to be barely legal drinking age. As he sat down, the girl glanced over to check him out, and the older man nodded to him in greeting. The bartender took Kyle’s order for a highball. What the hell, I’m not driving tonight.

  After the drink arrived, Kyle turned his glass on the napkin, evaluating the other patrons. The bar’s horseshoe configuration and the mirrors behind the wall of booze made it easy to scope out the pickings.

  The girl next to him was cute, but a little too young. Also, it seemed like she might be with the guy who was sitting next to her, although they weren’t talking.

  He spotted two other possibilities. A woman who was about his age met his eyes and smiled before turning away. She had a pleasant face and was dressed to the nines in a maroon dress with a French manicure, perfectly coiffed blonde hair, and expertly applied makeup. She might be fun to dance with, but her appearance screamed High Maintenance.

  The second woman was the one he’d spotted earlier from the booth. Now that he was closer, he could see that she was much older than he’d originally estimated—probably in her mid-forties. She had her profile to him and was fascinating to watch. Every movement was smooth and sensual. Some women wore their femininity with confidence and pride, and this lady appeared to be one of them.

  Kyle had difficulty looking away from her taut, smooth arms and the suggestive curves at the front of her dress. Her shoulder-length, dark-brown, wavy hair obscured part of her face, so he didn’t see it coming when she turned her head his way and locked eyes with him. His heart stopped. Busted.

  Normally, Kyle would have looked away in embarrassment, but not this time. Her unusual green eyes seemed to get closer the longer he stared into them. A slow smile curved the corners of her sensuous lips, and she winked at him before breaking eye contact and taking a sip of her drink.

  Kyle blinked a few times and then looked down at his own drink, eyes unfocused. Remembering to breathe again, his neck flushed warm and his heart started to pound from a brief rush of adrenaline. He couldn’t decide if he was excited, embarrassed, or afraid. There was something … dangerous … about her.

  Kyle looked over his shoulder to where Greg and Deb were dancing. Greg had apparently witnessed the brief exchange and he gave Kyle a grin and a thumbs-up. Kyle glanced over at the green-eyed woman, hoping she hadn’t seen his gesture. She was looking down at her drink, but she wore a bemused smile as if she knew exactly what was going on.

  Kyle mentally scratched her off his dance card. That woman was way out of his league.

  Kyle took a long slug of his drink to calm his nerves and went back to observing the room, carefully avoiding looking in the direction of the woman in the dark-green dress.

  The alcohol was working its magic and Kyle found himself tapping his foot in time to the music. The DJ played a mixture of country and rock, appealing to the tastes of a mixed crowd in a small town. Every once in a while he’d slow it down for the lovers and hopefuls.

  Over the music, Kyle heard the girl next to him complain to the guy on her other side. “If we aren’t going to dance, take me home. I don’t want to just sit here and get drunk.”

  Her date shrugged. “I don’t feel like dancing tonight, and I ain’t done with my beer.” He took a small sip to illustrate his point. His glass was only about a quarter full and he could have easily downed the last of it in one gulp.

  Her voice went frosty. “Fine. I’ll be in the car. If you aren’t there in two minutes, I’m leaving without you.” She got up and stomped out of the bar, her wide hips swaying her skirt back and forth with each step.

  “Shit,” swore the young fellow. He downed his beer and left a few bills on the bar before hurrying out after her.

  Kyle shook his head. Yep. The things we do for love.

  “I think he’s in for a disappointing evening,” said a sultry voice next to him. Kyle looked up to find the green-eyed woman standing only a couple of feet away.

  “May I?” she asked, indicating the newly-vacated stool next to him.

  She was close enough that Kyle could smell the subtle perfume she wore. It made his pulse pound in his neck. “P-Please do,” he stuttered, straightening his back and rotating his seat toward her.

  She sat down and called the bartender over.

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said. The bartender was quick to comply.

  She turned those amazing eyes back to Kyle and held out her hand. Kyle could feel her body heat as he reached out to accept the handshake. Her fingers were long and strong and surprisingly warm as they curved around his.

  “I’m Clarissa,” she said, moving his hand slowly up and then down.

  “Kyle … I’m Kyle. Nice to meet you.” He was acting like a dork. Get it under control, dumbass.

  She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Kyle.”

  The way she
’d said “pleasure” made Kyle’s bones melt. He wanted to ask her to say it again just so he could watch her full lips form the word. His initial assessment had been right. She was out of his league, and he was in over his head.

  The bartender delivered her drink and she leaned sideways to take a sip, leaving her knee touching Kyle’s.

  Say something, idiot.

  But his mind was a blank. All he could do was absorb the presence of this sleek panther of a woman. The soft cloth of her dress draped flatteringly over her body, showing the curve of her breasts and dropping enticingly into the valley between her toned legs. Kyle gulped and squirmed to reposition his natural response to her potent sexuality.

  She leaned an elbow on the bar with languid ease and bumped her knee against his again. “So tell me about yourself, Kyle. Do you live in the area or are you visiting?”

  Kyle had trouble concentrating on her words when she looked at him like that. He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. His delay in answering stretched long enough that she tilted her head toward him as if to say, “Well? …”

  Kyle shook his head slightly and broke eye contact. “Here … yes … I live here in Sandpoint. How about you?”

  That was better. If he looked anywhere other than into those eyes, he might be able to keep it together. He rotated his seat back toward the bar and toyed with his drink.

  She turned toward the bar as well, but that put her body even closer to his. He looked up into the mirrors behind the bar and met her eyes again through the reflection. Okay. That wasn’t as bad. He could still think.

  She stirred her drink slowly with the little red plastic straw. “I live here too, north of town. What do you do for a living?”

  Here came hurdle number one. When Kyle told people what he did for a living, they usually changed the subject quickly. When he told women what he did for a living—women who had seemed interested in him up to that point—they usually remembered that they needed to be somewhere else.