Morgan had her arms folded again and was giving him that very stern, no-nonsense glare. Which would have been effective if she hadn’t looked as cute as an extremely irritated china shepherdess.
Not that she didn’t have reason to be irritated. Walking away from her without a word was rude. Then again, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. Goodbye wasn’t appropriate since he wasn’t actually leaving and telling her to follow him seemed redundant. Anyway, he’d thought he’d answered her questions.
Still, getting her riled wasn’t a great idea. He didn’t want to cause an issue. But he didn’t want her to stop him doing what he’d been asked to do either, which was to look out for her.
You might have to make more of an effort with her.
Zeke didn’t like that thought. People could take him as he came or not at all, an attitude that had worked out pretty well for him so far. He had a great job that he loved, that consisted of guiding hunters and hikers in the wilderness, a bit of search and rescue, climbing expeditions, as well as flying planes. Of course, he’d found himself dealing with more people than he would have liked, but since those people didn’t care that he didn’t talk much, didn’t seem to need him to be polite, and certainly didn’t give a shit about what he wore, it wasn’t a problem.
Morgan, though, wasn’t one of those people. And he didn’t think she’d appreciate conversations about how to start a fire when the weather was wet, which type of mushrooms could be eaten safely, or what were the best types of bivouac construction.
He was going to have to think of some other things to say that wouldn’t actively piss her off. Unfortunately, right now, he couldn’t think of any.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said at last. “I told you why I was here.”
Her eyes really were the brightest blue, a noonday sky in the middle of summer. And they were full of summer lightning too, electricity snapping and crackling.
“Because Cal asked you to, right?” One delicately arched apricot brow arched even higher. “And do you always do what Cal asks you to?”
“No.” He pleased himself mainly. “But you’re his little sister and you were important to him.”
Her mouth opened, then shut. An unreadable emotion flickered over her face and unexpectedly, she looked away.
A heavy feeling turned over in his gut. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Perhaps she hadn’t liked him mentioning Cal. Still, Zeke had mentioned him before and she hadn’t seemed bothered. And surely she couldn’t be that surprised that she was important to Cal. Maybe she was still grieving…
Of course she’s still grieving, asshole. He was her brother and it’s only been a couple of months.
Zeke’s gut clenched tight. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not someone he was supposed to protect, like Morgan.
“It was a last request,” he said, hoping that more explanation might help. “In the form of a letter sent to me after the reading of Cal’s will. And since I’m basically the reason he’s dead, I couldn’t ignore it.”
She glanced back at him, her expression unreadable. “What do you mean you’re the reason he’s dead?”
“I was supposed to do the supply run that day, not him.”
“Oh, right. Yes, Si told me about that at the funeral.” Her brow creased. “But…you know that’s not your fault, don’t you?”
Zeke shrugged, not sure what to say to that. Intellectually, yes. It was the feelings that were the issue. It was always the feelings that were the issue.
“Anyway, that’s all very well for him, but what about me?” she went on. “Cal didn’t ask me if I wanted to be looked after, because if he had, I would have said no. I can look after myself.”
Again, Zeke wasn’t sure what to say. His instinct was to walk away the way he had done before, take himself out of the situation before he made it worse. But that wouldn’t help Morgan.
“That’s between you and him,” he said at last. “I just know I got a letter from him wanting me to be a brother to you now he’s gone.”
“A brother,” Morgan repeated blankly.
“That’s right.” Zeke frowned. Was that shock on her face? And if so, why? He and Cal hadn’t had any heart-to-heart chats that weren’t about planes, the bush, or Zeke’s guiding schedule, and Cal had said his relationship with Morgan had been fraught. But he was still her brother and brothers cared. Didn’t she know that?
Not that he could do anything about it, since relationships, fraught or otherwise, were hardly his specialty. Especially family relationships, not when his own had been so difficult.
His mother had required him to be pleasant and biddable and friendly, so she could show him off to her country club friends, while his father had wanted a businessman, who could charm and manipulate like he did.
Zeke had never been those things. He could never be those things. He wasn’t pleasant and he wasn’t biddable or friendly. He couldn’t charm and he hated manipulation in all forms. He’d been nothing but a disappointment all ’round, but hell, that was his parents’ fault, not his.
They’d wanted him to be something he wasn’t and that was their problem.
Whatever—the relationship Morgan had with Cal wasn’t his business anyway. He was here to look after her. The end.
Morgan blinked. Rapidly. “I see,” she murmured.
Zeke glanced around the room again, hoping she’d drop the subject.
It was a large space, with big windows facing onto the porch that wrapped around the house. The ceiling was high, with those big, heavy roof beams crisscrossing it like out in the entranceway, and the floor was wood, covered with cheerful rugs. The couches arranged around were low and comfortable looking and slightly worn, the other furniture—a low coffee table, plus a couple of other occasional tables, a few bookshelves piled high with paperbacks, knickknacks, and family photos—heavy and antique looking.
It was a lived-in room with a warm atmosphere, the kind of room where generations of the same family had spent long nights around the fire telling stories, playing games, arguing, or watching TV. Unfussy and rustic and very much not a room that screamed wealth, even though the Wests weren’t exactly poor.
Another of those antler chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and above the fireplace he stood in front of were yet more antlers on the wall.
“Is this anything to do with the oil?” Morgan asked suddenly, her big blue eyes narrowing into little splinters of sapphire.
Weird. How had she gotten to that?
Well, he could tell her about the oil if he really wanted to, but he didn’t really want to. Anyway, he’d handled the subject. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore.
“Cal told me you wouldn’t want me here,” he said, sidestepping the question. “He said you’d hate the idea of being looked after.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she murmured. “So, what? He told you to ignore me?”
But Zeke was getting tired of arguing. “Can I look upstairs? Check those window frames?”
Morgan opened her mouth—probably to argue yet more with him—then shut it again. The little furrow between her brows deepened, the look she was giving him turning speculative.
He didn’t like it.
“You didn’t answer me about the oil,” she said.
Dammit.
He didn’t want to talk about that. It would only lead to more questions, and he didn’t want to answer anymore goddamn questions.
Zeke brought his gaze back to hers and gave her the only answer he had. “And I’m not going to. Can I go upstairs?”
Morgan’s pretty mouth settled in a hard line. “You’re extremely annoying.”
“Yes. Lots of people have said that.” He started back toward the door that led into the hallway.
“What about Si and Damon?”
“No, they don’t find me annoying.” None of his friends had ever said that to him, not once. They accepted him and looked out for him the way he looked out for them. That’s why they were friends.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Morgan began.
But Zeke moved past her, heading for the doorway. “I’m going to check those window frames.”
He came out into the entranceway, then headed up some rather grand stairs to the second story of the house.
“So you’re going to look around my house and then what?” Morgan was obviously still behind him. “Go back to that camp you mentioned?”
“Yeah.” He looked down the long, wide hallway, noting the doors that led off of it. Presumably all the bedrooms were up here.
“And how long have you been at the camp, out of interest?”
“A couple of nights.” He pulled open the door to one of the rooms and glanced inside. It was dark and musty smelling, clearly unused. A queen-size bed stood up against one wall with a dresser opposite.
“Oh.” Morgan sounded nonplussed. “So where were you before that?”
“Around.” He stepped back into the hallway and shut the door behind him, proceeding on to the next one.
“Around where? Doing what?”
Why was she so interested? The only people who were ever interested in his whereabouts were his friends and even then they weren’t this level of interested.
“Things,” he said.
“So you’ve been hanging ‘around’ doing ‘things’?” she repeated, sounding highly unimpressed. “What kind of answer is that?”
Irritated, Zeke turned around.
She stood right behind him and blinked as he caught her gaze with his, clearly not expecting him to turn suddenly.
Still, she didn’t back away. “What? It isn’t any kind of answer.”
“I’ve been doing what’s called reconnaissance,” he said, yet again feeling compelled to explain himself to her.
“Oh yeah?” She gave him that narrow stare again. “Reconnaissance for what?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that it was none of her business and that he was tired of her asking questions, especially when he wasn’t sure what more she wanted from him.
But he could at least try to be friendly. As he’d already told himself, he didn’t want to be rude to Morgan, though he suspected she’d found him pretty rude already.
Just don’t make it any worse.
Sadly, he was also very good at doing just that.
“What’s with all the questions?” He tried not to sound curt.
Morgan looked steadily at him. “I’m a cop. It’s my job to ask questions. Especially when I have some stranger lurking around in a camp just outside town.”
Right, so he got it now. She was getting all protective of the town, wasn’t she?
“You want to know if I’m a threat?” he asked straight out.
If she found the blunt question surprising, she gave no sign. “Well, yes.”
“You should have said.” It constantly mystified him the way people seemed uncomfortable with asking the questions they really wanted to know the answers to.
“Well, I’m asking now. Are you a threat to my town?”
“No,” Zeke said. “I’m not.”
Come on, asshole, you have to give her more than that. Make an effort, remember?
Letting out a breath, he added, “I thought I’d better do some reconnaissance of Deep River since I’m part owner now, and I prefer to do that stuff alone.”
Morgan gave him a long look, then, clearly accepting this, nodded slowly.
“Okay. Well, I appreciate you being straight up with me.”
Like he could be anything else. “Are you done with questions?” He tried not to sound grumpy.
“Probably not.” She smiled all of a sudden. “I’m annoying like that.”
Zeke’s brain momentarily shut down, dazzled by that sunny, sweet smile.
It had been a long time since a woman had smiled at him. A very long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last smile he’d had from a woman. Some women found him intimidating and his blunt, gruff manner problematic, so he tended to stick to those who were as uncompromising as he was.
He wasn’t supposed to be dazzled by smiles from small, tough, no-nonsense cops with enough hints of soft femininity to disturb him. Especially not when that small, tough, no-nonsense cop was the little sister of one of his best friends.
Maybe it was the pretty strawberry-blond hair that glowed down her back or the summer lightning that flickered in her eyes. Or maybe it was the sweet rosebud shape of her mouth.
Whatever, it shouldn’t be happening. Period.
Ignoring the stir of response inside him, he turned back to the door he’d been on the point of opening and reached for the knob again.
“That’s my room,” Morgan said pointedly.
Zeke kept his hand on the knob, unsure why she’d given him that piece of information. “So?”
“It would be nice if you asked my permission before you went in there. Not that you asked my permission before you came into my house, but I guess we have to start somewhere.”
He could hear the touch of sarcasm in her voice, a clear indication that she was still annoyed with him.
You could just ask her permission.
Zeke didn’t care about pissing people off—that was their problem not his. But he had a job to do here and pissing off Cal’s little sister was not going to help the situation.
“Can I go into your room?” he asked finally. “I just want to check the windows. Nothing else.”
What looked like surprise flickered over Morgan’s face, as if she hadn’t been expecting that, and a part of him give an unfamiliar kick of satisfaction.
Then she shrugged and gestured at the door. “Be my guest. But if you go near my panty drawer, I will bite you on the ankles.”
Another part of him stirred, though this time it wasn’t physical. It felt almost like…amusement. Which was very strange since he hadn’t had cause to be amused by anything in a good long while. And why the image of Cal’s small sister chewing on his ankles should amuse him, he didn’t know.
Ignoring that, he pulled open the door and went in.
Sunlight filled the room and it smelled of a delicious, sweet kind of scent that nearly made his mouth water. Sugar and vanilla, like the cookies the housekeeper back in Houston used to make when he was a kid. She’d liked him, that housekeeper, and had let him lick the bowl afterward too, the sweetness melting on his tongue…
He gritted his teeth, forcing away the memories, looking around the room instead. The decor was as sweet as it smelled, a big, white iron-framed bedstead with white sheets and a handmade, colorful patchwork quilt thrown over the top. Plus a number of those tiny, useless pillows that interior designers seemed to love so much.
Seemed he was right about Morgan West having a soft, feminine hint to her.
There was a lot of white furniture around and white curtains framing the windows. Everything was frilly and silky and sparkly. And he was conscious, in a way he normally wouldn’t be, that the only showering he’d done was a few dips in the river, and his clothes were dirty and full of holes, and his boots were muddy. And if he wasn’t careful he was going to get her little rugs dirty. Or perhaps if he moved too fast, he might break something. Everything seemed very delicate and pretty.
It was oddly intriguing that the stern cop should have a frilly bedroom and made his brain start down another track, such as what she might look like in a pretty dress or, better yet, lacy underwear and—
No. He was not thinking of that.
Trying not to let the sheer femininity of the room get to him, Zeke went to the windows—avoiding putting his boots on the rugs on the floor—and started investigating the frames. Because his hearing was excellent and he had a hunter’s instinct when it came to his surroundings, he was aware of Morgan moving around behind him, the sweet scent becoming stronger.
It was her, that scent. Vanilla and sweetness, like sugar cookies. Home baking and warmth. How long since he’d had anything sweet like that? How long since he’d even been close to something warm? A fire was warm, but not like this. Not a gentle, wholesome warmth, like an embrace.
Why the hell are you thinking about embraces?
“Well?” Morgan’s voice was very close, very clear, and that was quite sweet too. “Are the windows okay?”
All right, perhaps not quite so sweet. There was definitely that tart edge to her. A bit of bite in among all that wholesomeness.
The stirring that he’d felt out in the hallway stirred again, more definite this time.
It annoyed the crap out of him.
He dropped the curtain and straightened, then he got the hell out of there.
* * *
Morgan watched Zeke turn from the window, then wordlessly stride from the room. Again.
He was clearly a man who didn’t have much patience for dealing with people. Or maybe he just didn’t know how.
Like how he’d been irritated by her questions, only explaining himself when she’d asked him straight out if he was going to be a problem for the town. And there had been some of his responses downstairs…
He seemed to be very serious, not to mention grumpy. Cal hadn’t been kidding when he’d said Zeke was blunt and uncompromising. He’d give a shovel a run for its money.
Then again, she had the impression that asking her permission before going into her room hadn’t been easy for him for whatever reason, yet he’d done it. And she might have to revise her impression of his seriousness because she was sure she’d seen a glint of amusement in his dark eyes when she’d mentioned biting him on the ankles.
Why are you obsessing over him?
She wasn’t obsessing. Not at all. She was simply ascertaining that he wasn’t a threat. Not that she seriously thought he’d be, but it always paid to be sure. And now that she’d dealt with that, it was time for him to leave, so she could get dinner and put her feet up.
Of course, there was still the issue of all these repairs he seemed hell-bent on making, repairs she hadn’t asked for and didn’t particularly want him doing.
Perhaps it’s not Zeke you’re pissed at.
Morgan wandered to the door of her bedroom and glanced down the hallway. She couldn’t see him, but the door to the upstairs bathroom was open.
That was probably true. Her brother’s visits had been intermittent at best before stopping altogether not long after their father had died. Which had been a shame, since she could have used the support.
But Cal had his own life to lead and so did she, and besides, it wasn’t as if she’d had no one. Her mother might have left years ago, and her father might be gone too, but she’d still had the town. They’d been there for her.
Maybe she shouldn’t let an old anger at her brother for leaving color her response to Zeke. Taking that anger out on him wasn’t right, and being angry at a dead man wasn’t productive either. Also, the sooner she let Zeke get on with it, the sooner he’d be out of her hair.
Assuming he was going to get out of her hair and wasn’t planning on staying in Deep River like the other two had.
Hmmm. Seemed like she was going to need to ask him some more questions.
As if on cue, Zeke strode out of the bathroom and then went on to the next room—Cal’s old room that was now a spare bedroom. He didn’t look in her direction.
Well, he might be grumpy, but his whole mountain man vibe was definitely intriguing. At least, it was intriguing to her, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was simply the air of mystery about him getting to her.
Everyone knew everyone else in Deep River, their families, their backstories. Their health woes and who was annoyed at who and who snubbed who in the line at April’s diner after hot yoga in the mornings.
Apart from the odd tourist, the occasional hunter, and the few seasonal fishermen, mysterious strangers didn’t turn up in Deep River, and she could tell herself it was for her job all she liked, but really, she wanted to ask Zeke Montgomery questions because she was curious about him.
He’s also wickedly attractive.
That thought sent a little streak of heat through her. Yes, okay, that too.
For some reason that made her think about him in her bedroom. All the white, feminine stuff she liked in complete contrast to his tall and powerful figure, somehow highlighting the untamed, almost wild aspect of him. He’d looked around like a bear sniffing the air, and she’d opened her mouth to tell him to be careful because his boots were muddy and she didn’t want him to get her floor dirty or that massive hand to touch anything. But though physically he might have reminded her of a bear, he didn’t lumber around clumsily like one. He’d avoided her rugs without her saying a thing, and he hadn’t touched anything, moving with a catlike fluidity that did strange things to her heartbeat.
It should have looked amusing, this wild man in her pretty, pretty bedroom. But it wasn’t amusing. It made her feel…odd. Like she’d revealed a secret to him she hadn’t meant to reveal.
Morgan ignored that thought, shoving herself away from the doorframe and heading for the stairs. She wanted to know what his plans were and since he was as tight-lipped as an oyster, not to mention grumpy about being questioned, she might need to approach them in a different way. Implement some advanced interrogation techniques so to speak. Food, for example.
Food was a great incentive, especially with men and especially men who’d been eating nothing but trail rations for days. From the looks of him, he’d been out in the bush awhile, so he’d probably love a home-cooked meal and a beer, in which case, she’d be happy to provide it. In return for some information.
She went down the stairs and along the hallway to the farmhouse-style kitchen. It was the oldest part of the West house and though it had been updated and improved over the decades, it still had the feeling of a room where generations of the same family had cooked and eaten and laughed and cried. All old wooden counters and cupboards, a big wood stove up against one wall that used to be where the family did most of the cooking and now served to do most of the heating. There was an old hutch dresser full of crockery, and a scrubbed wooden table that also doubled as a kitchen counter.
Morgan liked cooking and she often ordered specialty pots, pans, and knives through Mal Cooper, who ran Mal’s Market, Deep River’s general store. But her last great extravagance had been a new fridge, stainless steel with double doors and an ice maker and a water dispenser, and that needed four strong men to haul over the river and into Sonny Clarke’s truck and down to the Wests’ house.
The fridge went with absolutely nothing else in the rustic kitchen, standing there like a gleaming glass skyscraper in among small tin shacks, but Morgan loved it. It stored all the food and drink she could possibly want, even though it was only herself who lived here these days, and as a bonus, her father would have hated it. He’d abhorred extravagance in any form and had insisted on keeping the fridge that his own father had bought back in the sixties, because it still worked and if there was anything that really needed to be cold, it could just sit in the woodshed near the house.
One of the first things Morgan had done after her father had died was to get rid of that old fridge.
She went over to the new one now, getting out various items from it before putting them on the counter. Then she bustled around, happily preparing a meal, her thoughts straying to Zeke and circling around all the questions she wanted to ask him, moving on to the town and the issues that were currently making everyone in the place fizz with excitement.
In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen the people of Deep River so stirred up, not even when Mike Flint had floated his luxury motel idea to almost unanimous disdain. That had been a few years ago now, and things had changed. Oil had been discovered beneath the town and an oil company had been calling people, trying to get them to sell their leases or hand over mineral rights. No one had taken the bait so far, but money was a powerful argument. To combat the oil company, Silas and Damon had joined forces with the people of the town itself to come up with alternatives to oil money. And a new plan had been discussed and devised. Deep River was going to have to do what it had been avoiding for years now: attract the tourist dollar. It needed to generate some income, create some jobs, find ways to get people to stay rather than leave, and definitely keep their homes out of the hands of the oil barons.
Morgan had never been prouder of the town for taking the bull by the horns and figuring out a way to revive Deep River without having to resort to oil bribes. It was very much in keeping with Jacob West’s vision of it as a sanctuary and haven.
Didn’t help that you weren’t here of course.
She frowned as she finished chopping a pepper, guilt snaking through her. No, she hadn’t been here when all of that had been initially discussed. She should have been, but after the reading of the will, she’d thrown herself headfirst into a couple of training courses, desperate for some distraction.
Everyone had been shocked that Caleb had left the town not to his sister, but to a bunch of strangers, and she understood that. But she hadn’t been shocked. And when Silas had tried to offer her the town afterward, telling her that he was sure Cal had made a mistake, she’d refused. Because Cal hadn’t made a mistake. She hadn’t wanted the town.
It had been in the family for generations, but she knew, even if no one else did, that it was time for the town to belong to someone else. Her father had neglected it after her mother had left him, and then Cal had taken off, which was a sign—at least to her—that perhaps the Wests were no longer fit to own it.
She herself would never leave here, but she didn’t feel right being the sole owner. She was here to serve, not lead.
She picked up the chopping board and carried it over to the stove, adding the chopped pepper to the things already cooking in the pan—onion and garlic and bacon.
It smelled good and she hummed to herself softly, stirring everything for a few minutes before getting out some rice and some stock.
“What are you cooking?”
Morgan, so lost in what she was doing that she hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room, started, almost dropping her favorite wooden spoon.
She swung around to find Zeke standing on the other side of the kitchen table, his hands in his pockets, making even the large, roomy kitchen feel small.
“Food,” she said, giving him a taste of his own one-word medicine. “You want some?”
His dark gaze went to the pot on the stove before making a tour of the rest of the room, scanning and cataloguing everything he saw as if committing them to memory.
“Yeah, but only if you have some to spare.”
“Sure.” She grinned and turned back to the stove. Nothing like the smell of cooking garlic and bacon to draw in a man. “There’s beer in the fridge. Help yourself if you want one.”
He grunted, either in acceptance or refusal she couldn’t tell, but the sound sent a small electric prickle of awareness through her. Disturbing.
She shook it off and went back to stirring the risotto in the pot, which had thickened up nicely and was starting to get that creamy texture she loved. Behind her came the sound of the fridge opening, and she allowed herself another grin.
Okay, food and beer were a win. That boded well for a successful interrogation.
She didn’t hear any other sound, so when an open bottle of beer suddenly appeared on the counter at her elbow she was conscious of another little start of surprise.
He was standing right next to her, she realized, and he was close. She could smell him, like dry earth and spice and clean male sweat, and not at all like a man who’d spent days in the bush without a shower.
Her mouth went dry. She could sense the shape of him looming over her, tall and immovable as a mountain, or like one of the huge spruces that grew near the house. Not threatening. Not like a bear now, but a tree, almost…sheltering.
Except she didn’t need sheltering and she didn’t know why she was blushing. Again.
Instead, not looking up from the risotto, she said, “That beer for me?”
“Yeah.” His voice rumbled like a heavy truck on a gravel road, a kind of subsonic hum. “Unless you don’t want one.”
That was it, though. She did want one. She’d been thinking of food and a beer all day and how he’d managed to pick up on her beer cravings at least, she had no idea.
“No, I do,” she murmured, feeling a little hesitant for some reason. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Zeke moved away, which was relieving, going over to the table behind her. “I’ll give you some money for the beer.”
“You will not. You’re a guest.”
Silence greeted this.
She turned around.
He’d sat down at the table and was giving her another of those narrow stares from underneath straight black brows, as if she was a new form of life he’d recently discovered and he didn’t know what to make of it.
Morgan liked that. Because if there was a lack of mysterious strangers in Deep River to be curious about, there was also a lack of mysterious strangers who were curious about her.
That was the problem with small towns. Everyone knew her and not only her, but her family too—and her history and her family’s history. There was nothing new or undiscovered about her, nothing to surprise or shock. So it was kind of nice to be around someone who didn’t know quite what to make of her.
It made her feel mysterious too.
Zeke didn’t seem inclined to chat right away, which was fine since the risotto was done, so she finished up cooking then dished out a plate each. Carrying the plates to the table, she put one down in front of him along with a fork, then sat opposite with her own food, the beer beside her.
He glanced down at the food, frowning. “Rice?”
Unoffended, Morgan grinned at his doubtful expression and the bluntness of the question. “It’s not just rice; it’s risotto. And don’t worry, there’s bacon in it.”
He shot her a glance she couldn’t make head or tail of, then picked up his fork and began to eat without another word.
It didn’t matter to her what he thought of the food. Yet she found herself asking, “Good?”
He made that grunting sound again and since it didn’t look like he planned on stopping eating anytime soon, Morgan decided to take that as a yes, and it really shouldn’t have pleased her as much as it did, yet she was pleased all the same.
“So, Zeke,” she said, giving him a good minute or two to get into his dinner. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”