Blue Moon by Cindy Lynn Speer Read Free Book Online

and books, but there was also not one dirty dish or glass, not one empty beer can. In the end, that's what counted with Sierra. No garbage.
    She smiled. “Want to come over tonight?"
    "Yeah, I'd like that."
    "You don't have to."
    "I know. But I want to.” He smiled, and it was a very nice, brilliant smile. “I really like you, you know."
    She smiled, too, and waited while he put his books away. She studied his shelves and took down a book by Isaac Asimov. She slipped an envelope inside the book; she knew the author was one of Raul's favorites. The contents of the envelope would insure him four years of college and a stipend for books if he wasn't profligate, which he wouldn't be. She wanted to know he'd be okay when she was gone, and with his mind he ought to be able to do so much. She almost wished she'd be there to see it.
    "You can borrow that,” he said.
    "Nope. Just killing time.” She put it back on the shelf.
    "So,” he said, passing her to put a telescope carefully back on its tripod. “What have you been up to?"
    "Killing birds."
    He laughed. His hands were very careful on the telescope frame, setting things back to rights.
    "Out stargazing, were you?"
    He nodded. “I went out to the park. I watched the sunset on the trees and ate. Then, when it got dark enough, I tried to find some planets. There should be some interesting configurations soon."
    "Wasn't it cold?"
    He shook his head. He had the blackest eyes, and she imagined she could see the stars in them. The way he settled his gaze on her made her feel both motherly and very immature.
    "I wish I had gone with you,” she said impulsively.
    "Next time I'll take you."
    "Maybe,” she said softly.
    He put his arm around her. “I could show you such stars,” he said. “I could tell you their stories. I could tell you about the belt of Orion and the story of Big Bear, Little Bear. Every culture has its tales, so different, yet so strangely similar. You'd be surprised.” He made it sound magical and wondrous.
    "You almost make me believe there's some magic left in this world,” Sierra said, pulling away.
    "There is!” He captured her hands in his. “The stars are magic. The moon in the trees—that's magic. The millions of shades of red in one rose petal, the glitter of the sun on a swift-flowing river, all these things are magic.” He grabbed a sheaf of papers and laid them on the table before her. “And here are the spells."
    Sierra looked at the symbols—modern, yet so archaic-looking, runes and marks and equations to frame the miracles of the world.
    "Sweetheart, these are not spells. Those are simply the borders of our reality. There is no magic in this, just knowledge."
    "I'm trying to remember who said ... there's a quote I was told once, that the future's science is the past's magic?"
    He looked so disappointed she caressed his cheek. “I am old and bitter. You shouldn't listen to me."
    "You're not old. Bitter, maybe, I'll give you that.” He grinned. “But you're wise. I like listening to you. I want to learn from you."
    "Let's go back to the house, before you make me feel even older than I do now."
    "No,” he whispered, and it was the first time he'd ever said that word to her. “Not in his bed. In mine."
    He kissed her then, so deeply that she shivered. She relented and was pressed down into male-smelling blankets.
    "I will show you how very young and beautiful you are,” he whispered, his hands on her clothes.
    Another task done, she thought. And in two years, he'd get another draft of $22,000. A gift of gratitude, she'd told the bank manager. She could afford to be generous. Her husband's relatives would take the house, all her other assets would be gone. Raul, sweet, earnest Raul, was the only heir she had.
    And hopefully, he'd remember her well. Miss her, perhaps, a little. But either way, he'd be in the clear. After all, she couldn't make it look like he had a motive to kill her.
* * * *
    As usual, that night Libby did not sleep