Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) by T. K. Lukas Read Free Book Online Page A

springing from her head like tightly wound spools of wire, her soft hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity as she regarded her lodger. “Ja, he looks much better than when he rode in last night. Hard to tell it was Mr. Lévesque underneath that blood and dirt.”
    A cough tickled Leighselle’s throat. She fought to repress it, dreading the quaking spasms that had grown more troubling. “Blood and dirt? My heavens. Please, show him in. And bring some more tea if it’s not too much trouble.”
    “Ja, no problem.” Oma Klein retreated into the kitchen, returning holding a tray heaping with an assortment of pastries and strudels, a clean-scrubbed, fresh-shaven Hughes Lévesque on her heels.
    Hughes looked at Leighselle and smiled, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. He took both of her gloved hands in his and kissed each one. “You’re as lovely as the last time I saw you, Leighselle. When I left New Orleans for good, you made sure I landed on my feet instead of landing myself in jail, or worse.”
    “No one ever leaves New Orleans for good. You’ll be drawn back someday. It’s been too long, Hughes. You look well. Handsome. You’re not the scrappy youth I remember.”
    “A lot changes in eight years.” He pulled up a chair and set next to his dear old friend, a look of worry and curiosity on his face.
    And some things never change, thought Leighselle, some things like the heartache of a lifetime of shameful secrets. A cough bubbled up and she held it back with her handkerchief and kept it in her mouth, just a small sound escaping this time.
    Leighselle smiled. “You’ve filled out and hardened around the edges, but it suits you.”  
    “Besides tutoring me in German, Oma feeds me wonderful pastries. She wants to fatten me,” Hughes laughed. “I tutor her in English. The Germans insist on pronouncing every letter, so, she even getting my name right was a challenge. I had to spell it for her as ‘Hu Le Vek’ before she understood the pronunciation.”
    “You’ve always excelled in unique linguistics. It was bird calls and wild animal sounds when you were a boy, and of course, French. Then Creole and Navajo dialects, from what I remember. Any other languages since coming to Texas?”
    “Spanish. Comanche. A few other tribal vernaculars. It comes in handy on the job.”
    Hughes tapped the five-point star pinned to his vest lapel with a look of pride. It was forged, like all Rangers badges, from a silver Mexican peso. As essential as a knife or a gun, a Texas Ranger’s badge opened doors quicker than a polite knock or a forceful kick.
    As Hughes spoke, Leighselle studied his face. She considered his square jaw, the fine angular slant to his nose, his intense, wide-set amber eyes, and she took in the way the sunlight streaming in the window brought to life the honey gold strands that glistened in his dark brown hair.  
    His countenance reminded her of a lion, powerful and majestic, although in Hughes’s case, almost too handsome to be dangerous. But she knew better. She knew the truth behind the sensuous smile, the manicured nails, the scholar’s vocabulary, and the well-placed manners. He was a gentleman, yes, but dangerous and capable of audacious deeds.
    “It’s difficult for me to reconcile the precocious young boy from New Orleans with this rough-and-tumble lawman sitting before me.” Leighselle laughed at the memory. “Not one to be told ‘no,’ you kept showing up at my saloon until one day we tired of chasing you away. Oh, how my girls doted on you.”
    “I’m not always rough-and-tumble, wearing this badge.” He leaned in close. “I tell you a little secret. Sometimes, when not Rangering, I’m employed by our federal government. I take care of business that others don’t want to.”
    “Ever the chevalier,” she whispered. There was no point in asking or in saying any more. She assumed he’d shared with her as much as he was able to divulge.
    A violent cough erupted with a sudden