Moonlight Masquerade by Jude Deveraux Page B

for you to get something for Sophie.”
    â€œAnything for her,” Betsy said.
    There was such feeling, almost desperation, inher voice that for a moment Reede was embarrassed. Maybe he was a bit too hard on them. “Well, uh, she needs clay.”
    â€œClay? You want me to buy her some clay?” She sounded as though he’d given her a Herculean task, and he had to work to keep his retort to himself.
    â€œYes. Go to an art store or . . . I don’t know where to go, but get her something she can use to make a sculpture.”
    â€œOh, you mean modeling clay,” Betsy said. On the back of a water bill envelope she wrote Call Kim and underlined it twice. “I’ll gift wrap it. Anything you want on the card?”
    He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh . . . Just write ‘Thanks, Reede.’ ”
    â€œI will. By the way, your mom told us about your costume for the big Halloween party. Do you like it? I think it’s—”
    This intimacy was more than Reede could take. “Yeah, it’s great.” He clicked off. If Betsy liked the costume, that meant it was something her beloved Dr. Tris would wear. A James Bond tux? Or would he go as a superhero? Reede could imagine his cousin in a cape and tall boots. The image made him smirk in derision. He’d never be caught in a cape! But then, Tristan got the girl he wanted, so maybe . . .
    Reede called his cousin Sara and yet again, his tongue seemed to stick in his throat. “I need a . . . a special costume. Something that’s . . . For tomorrow.”
    â€œI know,” she said. “Your mom’s already ordered it. I had to get a new leather foot for the 830 to make it.” She was referring to her big Bernina sewing machine.
    â€œSara,” Reede said as he tried to recover himself, “I don’t know what my mother is up to, but I do not want anything in leather. I need something for tomorrow, something . . . ” He hesitated. “A costume that . . . ”
    â€œReede!” Sara said, “I have two babies to take care of and a husband to feed, plus six costumes to finish by tomorrow night. I don’t have time for you to tiptoe around. What kind of costume do you need?”
    â€œRomantic,” he spit out. “Heroic.”
    â€œOh,” Sara said, “so it’s true about you and this girl? Sylvia, is it?”
    â€œSophie—as I’m sure you know. She’s going to wear a costume that coordinates with mine, so make it nice.”
    â€œFrom what I’ve heard she should go as a barmaid.”
    â€œGive me a break!” Reede said. “Can you do this?”
    â€œI have a question.”
    â€œIf it carries the word beer it in, I’m hanging up.”
    â€œHow long has it been since you rode a horse?”

Eight

    Sophie was sitting on the stool at the kitchen counter and looking at the big box of clay that Betsy had given her. It was fine, white, and self-hardening, so perfect that Sophie felt sure Kim had had a hand in choosing it. The package had been gift wrapped with a card of thanks from Dr. Reede.
    It had been so long since anyone—even she—had thought of herself as an artist, that all those years in school came back to her. How innocent their worries had been back then! Whether their professor was going to like their line quality, if he approved of Kim’s silver designs, if Sophie’s likenesses of her roommates would gain approval had been their biggest concerns. It had all seemed so very important. She remembered the fear and thrill at her first bronze casting. When it had come out perfectly, she’d had to resist the urge to cry in relief in front of her classmates. Later she’d danced about the apartment in triumph, and Jecca had shown up with a bottle of champagne. It had been a glorious day!
    But soon after that Sophie had gone