Gypsy Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

spill out over the top when she leaned forward to shout again. From the tight waist, layer upon layer of heliotrope-and-emerald gauze flared about her. Charlotte recognized the unmistakable outline of shapely bare limbs through the gossamer skirts.
    But amazingly enough, Charlotte seemed to be the only person in town who even gave the woman named Phaedra a second look. And obviously this man—what had Phaedra called him… Mateol —was trying to avoid her.
    “Aren’t you going to answer?” Charlotte said.
    “Pay her no mind,” Mateo ordered. “If luck is with us, she will go away.”
    “But she sounds desperate. Shouldn’t you find out what she wants?”
    A laugh rumbled from his full lips. “Phaedra is always desperate and she always wants the same thing—to start trouble. Believe me, it is of no importance.”
    As Mateo hurried Charlotte down Delaware Street, she happened to glimpse a “Help Wanted” sign in the window of C. Clark’s china and glassware shop. She decided to return later and inquire about the position.
    Beyond the buildings on the far side of the street, she saw a collection of brightly painted wagons and tents set up at the edge of town. She was reminded of the horse fairs back home.
    Suddenly, everything became very clear to Charlotte Buckland. The tents and wagons, the woman called Phaedra in her outlandish garb, and Mateo with his golden earrings and fancy whip.
    “Why, you’re with the circus, aren’t you?”
    “Some call it that.”
    “You’re one of the Gypsies!” The thought both thrilled and frightened her.
    He stopped and turned Charlotte, none too gently, to face him before he answered, “I am Rom Mateo, son of Queen Zolande. I work with horses, so I am known by the title Graiengeri. It is an old and honorable profession among my people.”
    Charlotte could tell by his tone that she had offended him in some way. “I’m sorry, Rom Mateo. I didn’t mean any insult.”
    He let go of her arm and looked directly into her brown eyes for a moment—long enough to make something inside her warm under his gaze.
    “I, too, am sorry. You did not speak the name Gypsy in the ugly manner of most gajos. I was too quick to defend what needed no defense. But my people—my familia —are dear to me. I will allow no slur on the Gypsy name.”
    Charlotte felt somewhat embarrassed by the passion of his words. She cast about for another subject and said, “My father was a horse breeder and trainer, and his father before him. We have a farm in Kentucky.”
    He nodded gravely. “It is a good life with the horses. But your father is gone now?”
    “In the war,” she answered quietly, her eyes downcast.
    “Do not be sad. He left a daughter to be proud of,” Mateo declared, pressing Charlotte’s hand with his for the briefest moment.
    “Thank you, Mateo.”
    “Ma-te-o!” Phaedra was at it again. “Dinilo!”
    Mateo threw back his head and laughed, then shook his fist in Phaedra’s direction. Charlotte looked at him quizzically.
    “She called me ‘stupid one,’” he said. “I will get her for that!”
    “Is she your sister, Mateo?” Charlotte was frowning, puzzling over the connection between this wild Gypsy pair.
    Mateo shook his head until his dark curls tossed in the breeze. He laughed. “God forbid we should be from the same womb! She is only my cousin.” Then the humor in his voice vanished. “But we will be closer than that soon. Now I will take you into the hotel. Phaedra, for once, is correct. It is time I was about my business.”
    Mateo ushered Charlotte into the cool, spacious lobby of the Planters Hotel. The clerk, looking very staid and officious in his celluloid collar and spectacles, presided over the wide mahogany desk. The place seemed entirely respectable; her worry had been wasted.
    “This is quite nice, Mateo. I’m sure I’ll be comfortable here. Thank you so much for helping me.”
    When Mateo didn’t reply, Charlotte turned to find him