8
Daylight came in with combat boots, stomping around on the hardwood floor like a battalion of marines during basic training maneuvers.
Or was that just Morgan moving around?
Feeling more dead than alive, Traci opened what she was certain were bloodshot eyes. She was the unhappy owner of a mouth that felt like a bale of cotton.
The light hurt and she automatically shut her eyes down to tiny slits. Only belatedly did she realize that the sun had to be up. Which meant that the storm had to have abated.
But all Traci could think of was that she wished this miserable throbbing would cease.
Sitting up, she held her head and then paused a moment to take in her surroundings. She felt utterly disoriented. She was on the floor, beside a fireplace. The scene had a vaguely familiar feel to it.
Morgan was crouching in front of the fireplace, holding what looked to be a battered, covered pot over the fire.
Focusing hurt.
Traci shut her eyes completely. The moan was involuntary. She could almost literally feel Morgan’s eyes on her.
“What did you do to me last night?” Even talking hurt. This was bad. “There are about a thousand little men playing the Anvil Chorus in my head.”
He didn’t envy her the “day after.” He’d been there once or twice himself. The only cure was time. And maybe coffee. He was doing his best about that.
“My responsibility ended when I took the bottle away from you.” He stared impatiently at the pot he was holding. Damn, this was taking longer than he’d anticipated. He thought that the water would be hot by the time she woke up. “Sorry I can’t offer you coffee yet, but the power’s still out.”
With effort, she turned her head toward the window. “The rain’s stopped.”
The storm had blown over a little after midnight. He’d gone out at first light to check things out and then hiked over to their cars. “I guess maybe He changed His mind about ending the world via flood again.”
She didn’t hear him. Traci’s attention had meandered back to something Morgan had said previously.
“What did you mean, you can’t offer me coffee yet?” Right now, she’d kill for just a little of the dark bracing liquid.
“I’ve been out to the cars.” He nodded toward the door. “I picked up some odds and ends to bring back. Your purse, what looks like a portfolio, my flashlight and some instant coffee.”
She would have commented on the portfolio and his thoughtfulness if the coffee hadn’t been of eminent importance to her at the moment. “Where did you get instant coffee?”
He gave the pot another shake, as if that would somehow speed up the process. “As it happens, I had some in my car.”
She dragged her hand through her hair, trying to make sense out of what she was hearing. Her hair hurt. If she concentrated, she could feel every follicle. “You carry instant coffee around in your car?”
“It came in my morning mail. A free sample.” Morgan looked over his shoulder at the packet he’d dropped on the coffee table beside her purse. “I tossed my mail into the car, thinking I’d look at it later. I forgot about the sample until I went to get the flashlight.” He looked at the dog that was sitting beside him. Jeremiah’s head was resting regally on outstretched paws. “Took your dog out for a walk while I was at it. You know, he’s not half-bad once he settles down.”
“I guess the same could be said for you.” He had taken her dog out for a walk. And brought back her purse and portfolio. Was this really Morgan? She tried to muster a smile and realized that it hurt the corners of her mouth. Everything felt as if it had been disassembled and then passed through a wringer. She’d never been hung over before, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t see the attraction drinking held if this was what you felt like the next morning.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him. “What are you doing?”
He grinned at her. “Heating water for your coffee. It’s not going to taste very good,” he warned, “but at least it’ll be hot.”
Very gingerly, she got up and crossed to the coffee table. She picked up the small green-andred packet and turned it over in her hand. The pulsating in her head abated enough for her to be able to read the instructions on the back.
“There’s only enough here for one cup.” She looked at Morgan. “You’re letting me have it?”
He shrugged carelessly. “I figured you need it more than I do.”
Moving slowly back to the hearth, she reclaimed her position on the blanket on the floor. “Very chivalrous of you. Your list of good qualities is growing.”
A half smile curved his mouth. “So you mentioned last night.”
Last night. What else had she said to him last night? Traci tried to remember, but it was all a hazy, vague fog. Snippets drifted through her mind. She prayed she hadn’t made a fool of herself.
She glanced toward him. Was that a smug expression on his face? “About last night.”
A well-shaped, dark brow arched in her direction. “Yes?”
She couldn’t bluff her way through this. There was nothing else to do but admit the truth. “I don’t remember it.”
Morgan slowly turned his head to look at her. This had definite possibilities.
Surprise and disbelief entered his eyes. “You mean you really don’t remember what amounts to the greatest night in my life?”
Oh, no, what had she done? Fear skittered through her like tiny spiders sliding along a glasstop table.
“No, I—” Traci braced herself for the worst. Or thought she did. “What happened?” she whispered nervously.
Morgan sat back on his heels. “What didn’t?” Admiration filtered through his voice. “I had no idea you were that agile. And with a head injury, too.” His eyes skimmed over her, lingering on her long legs. It wasn’t difficult adding enthusiasm, not when she looked as tempting as a hot cross bun that had just emerged from the oven. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you could bend that way?”
She opened her eyes so wide, her headache intensified another notch. The cottony taste in her mouth threatened to choke her. “What way?”
The smile that slid over his face was sensual enough to have her pulse jumping. “You know.”
That was just it, she didn’t know. Exactly. But she was afraid that she could make a calculated guess.
Agitated, she rose up to her knees, her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Morgan, I was under the influence—”
He pretended to be willing to accept that explanation. “If that’s the case, maybe I can scrounge up some more around here. I’d hate to think last night was a fluke—”
A fluke. What a funny term for having her life flushed down the toilet. She had to make him understand that it was a mistake. Making love with him—and she was sure that was what he meant—had been a mistake. She couldn’t be making love with him when she was almost engaged to Daniel. How had everything gotten so out of hand?
“Whatever happened—I didn’t mean for it to happen. I mean—you’ve got to forget about it.” Nerves and throbbing temples made uttering a coherent sentence an unattainable dream. Her mind was running back and forth, unable to get a toehold on anything logical.
He shook his head, his expression solemn. “I doubt I can. Not in a million years.”
He fought to hide a grin. Traci looked as if she was going to come unglued right in front of him.
“And if there’s a baby—” Morgan began speculatively.
“A baby?”
Her knees gave way and she sank down on the blanket again. She hadn’t even thought about that. Traci covered her mouth to smother the squeak of horror bubbling in her throat.
He took her reaction in stride, patiently explaining the situation to her.
“We didn’t use any protection. Your purse was still in the car and I didn’t think to bring any. Who knew this was going to happen?” No longer hidden, his grin was wider than a Cheshire cat’s. “You know, this puts a whole new light on our relationship.”
Traci fell over to one side, almost prostrate, on the blanket. She buried her head in the pillow. “There is no relationship. At least, not that way. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Morgan set the pot to one side on the hearth and looked at her. “Why? Is making love with me that repulsive a thought to you?”
With supreme effort, she dragged herself up into a sitting position once more. She really didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially since he was being so nice. But this was an awful mess she had found herself in. She tried to make him understand.
“No, no, it’s not. But, Morgan, this wasn’t supposed to happen.” It had all seemed so simple yesterday morning. How could it have gotten so fouled up in less than twenty-four hours? “I was supposed to come up here, look around, have a few pleasant memories and try to figure out what to do with that engagement ring that’s sitting on my kitchen counter.” She moaned as she looked at Morgan. “I wasn’t supposed to make love with you.” Hanging her head, she felt almost desperate. And then she slanted a look at him. “Was it really that good?”
Morgan played it out a little further as he sat down beside her. “There’s only one word for it, Traci. Indescribable.”
She felt like tearing out her hair. “Then why can’t I remember?”
“I don’t know.” And then the solemn look on his face melted into a wide smile again. “Maybe it’s because you passed out.”
She couldn’t believe what he was admitting to her. Never in a million years would she have thought that Morgan was the kind of man who would force himself on a woman.
How could she even think that, no matter how scrambled her brain was? “I covered you.”
That wasn’t an answer. He was deliberately avoiding her question. “With what,” she demanded, incensed, “your body?”
“With a blanket.” He tugged at the end of it, catching her off balance. Traci fell over, then scrambled back up to her knees. When she opened her mouth to protest, he told her the truth. “Nothing happened, Traci.”
“Nothing?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him intently. She’d know if he were lying, she thought. Wouldn’t she?
Very calmly, he shook his head. “Nothing.”
She thought hard, trying to will last night back in her mind. Only a tiny slice materialized. “But I remember a kiss.” She was positive about that. A kiss. A long, warm, lingering kiss.
Caught, Morgan shrugged. “Well, yes, that did happen. But nothing else,” he assured her. He thought it best not to point out that she had been the one to kiss him. She probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
There was still a smidgen of suspicion in her eyes and it annoyed him. She should have known better than to doubt him about something like that. But then, maybe they really didn’t know each other any more at that.
“I wasn’t about to take advantage of a completely inebriated woman, Traci. If I make love to someone, I expect her to have a clear mind and to remember something beyond the Anvil Chorus the next day.”
“Then we didn’t—?”
Not that it didn’t cross his mind and play havoc with his desire, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “No, we didn’t.”
Incensed, Traci grabbed the pillow and walloped him with it. “You brute!”
Morgan threw his hands up to ward off the assault, then scrambled up to his feet, nearly upsetting the covered pot behind him. Jeremiah danced out of his way, barking and adding to the commotion.
He stared at her, completely at a loss. “Because I didn’t?”
Disgusted, she threw aside the pillow and glared at him. “Because you lied to me.”
Peace restored, he reached for the pot. “I was just having a little fun at your expense. You must know what that’s like.” Jeremiah barked at them again. “Careful,” Morgan warned, picking up the coffee sample packet, “my new friend doesn’t seem to like you beating me.”
Frowning, she rose to her feet. “Traitor,” she snapped the accusation at Jeremiah, who whined in response.
It took Traci a minute to calm down. They hadn’t made love. It was all a joke. Thank God.
Yeah, thank God.
Everything was all right. So why was she feeling so let down instead of—?
Aspirins, she needed aspirins. And coffee. Hot coffee, poured straight into her veins. Maybe then she could think straight again.
She looked at Morgan. “Is the water ready yet?”
“Just” He took the mug out of the sink and rinsed it once, then poured the hot water into it. Ripping open the packet of flavored coffee, he added that to the water, then stirred. He brought it back to Traci.
She took the mug in both hands, grateful for something to change the subject Chagrined, she could still feel her face burning.
Traci took a long sip of coffee, then winced. Nothing would taste good to her right now, she thought. But like Morgan said, it was hot and it was the only thing she had available. She drained the rest of the coffee, then shivered involuntarily. “I think I need a toothbrush.”
Morgan took the mug from her, setting it aside on the coffee table. He couldn’t help wondering if her violent reaction earlier had been a matter of the lady protesting too much, or if the thought of making love with him had been that repugnant to her. Making love with her wasn’t repugnant to him. As a matter of fact, as he sat here near her, the idea was growing on him by the minute.
He wondered what she would say if he told her?
“Mine’s upstairs,” he told her. “Feel free to use it.”
The less they shared, the better. “No thanks, you’ve put yourself out for me enough as it is.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip, trying to gather her thoughts together. “So, where do we stand?”
He gave her the rundown he’d already been through himself. “The power and the phone are still out, as is the bridge—” The water in the gully was lower this morning and it was only a matter of time before it dissipated altogether, provided it didn’t rain again.
She could have sworn that her father had once taken a different route to get here. “Isn’t there a long way around out of here?”
He’d taken it several times. “Yes, but it requires a car and we don’t seem to have one that’s running at the moment.” He’d tried to turn his engine over with no luck when he’d gone out for the flashlight. “I thought I’d come back, check on you and then see what I could do with the cars.”
He’d never struck her as particularly handy. Changing a light bulb in a ceiling fixture had been a challenge for him when they were younger. When had this transformation happened? “You know how to fix cars?”
“Just a few basic things. I had a client a while back, a mechanic accused of robbing a gas station.” Morgan played it down, although he had learned a great deal from Scott. “He couldn’t pay me. So I took it out in trade.” Morgan shrugged the matter away. “He taught me how to do a few things.”
Another man would have just had the mechanic fixing things on his car for him. That Morgan had tried to learn how to do it himself showed Traci a side of him she hadn’t thought existed. “Did you win the case?”
Morgan rose, taking her mug with him. “Of course I won.”
Traci followed him into the kitchen. “That wasn’t a foregone conclusion, was it?”
He didn’t mean to make it sound as if he were bragging. “No, but he wouldn’t have been able to teach me very much behind bars, now could he?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. She was standing in the doorway, his shirt still swaying gently along her thighs as it settled into place. He felt that same odd tightening in his gut. Best to leave temptation out of the equation. He’d already seen her reaction to having him as a lover.
“Your clothes are dry, by the way, if you want to put them on. Although I have to, admit that I rather hate giving up the view.”
She felt a warm blush slipping all along her body. He was having fun at her expense again, she thought. Turning on her bare heel, she left for the bathroom to get dressed. “Yeah, right.”
“Actually,” he said quietly to himself, “it is.”
Traci had occupied herself for most of the day by making sketches and plotting further dilemmas for her alter ego to encounter. Toward the end of the afternoon, a new character began taking shape beneath her pencil. A chiseled, strapping repairman who bore a-striking resemblance to Morgan.
When she lingered over where his rolled-up shirtsleeves tightened along his biceps, Traci knew she had to take a break.
Morgan had been out of the house for the better part of the afternoon. She knew most of it had been spent working on his car. He’d been right about hers. It was a mangled mess, its bumper crushed up against a tree. It was hard for her to visualize herself in it.
Harder still to visualize Morgan pulling her out of it, then carrying her back here.
But he had.
Very romantic, she thought despite herself. This wasn’t helping.
She needed something to contrast his actions with, something to remind her that this was Morgan she was having these feelings about, not some latter-day Lancelot
Rising, she woke up Jeremiah, who raised his head to watch her go out the front door in search of Morgan. After a moment, he trotted out behind her.
She didn’t have far to look.
Morgan was sitting on the front steps of the porch, running a rock over the edge of an ax.
Curious, Traci sat down beside him. The dog planted himself directly behind them. The wood under her jeans was still slightly damp from the rain, but she ignored it.
Traci nodded toward the ax. “What are you doing?”
He’d been trying to talk himself out of these strange feelings he was having about her all afternoon. It didn’t help, having her sit here next to him, smelling sweet and exotic. Stirring him. Didn’t that damn perfume of hers ever wear off?
“Sharpening an ax,” he answered shortly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Sharpening an ax,” she parroted. Traci watched Morgan as his hand moved rhythmically back and forth along the dull blade. “Should I be pushing furniture against the door?”
He spared her a glance. “This isn’t The Shining. And I’m not Jack Nicholson,” Morgan told her glibly, looking back at his work. One slip and he was going to be very unhappy that she had distracted him.
He wasn’t particularly overjoyed she was doing it as it was.
Very slowly, she was beginning to feel at ease with him again. Funny how that seemed to be ebbing and receding this weekend. “Very good. You picked up on that.”
“I picked up on a lot of things, spending summers around you.” There, he thought, that seemed to do the trick. If it didn’t, they were going to have to rough it tonight. He had nothing else available to sharpen the ax with.
Morgan rose from the step and headed to the side of the house. “We need firewood for tonight and we’re almost all out”
It took her a moment to comprehend. When she did, she was quick to rise to her feet and follow him. “Do I get to watch you chop wood?”
She’d probably feel called upon to narrate the activity, blow by blow, he thought, irritated.
“If you’re that bored.” Setting a chunk of wood on the stump, Morgan swung down hard. The wood cleaved neatly in half.
Traci watched as Morgan’s muscles flexed and relaxed. Just like the character she’d drawn. She tried not to dwell on the comparison.
“Ohh, how primal,” she quipped, her eyes lit with amusement. “This must be what Swiss Family Robinson felt like.”
He set another chunk of wood on the stump and swung down hard. This time, he mentally tacked a face on the wood. A male face. “That was fiction and they were marooned on an uninhabited island, not in upstate New York.”
He seemed particularly short with her. She wondered if it had anything to do with her reaction to what had taken place last night, or rather what she had thought had taken place last night.
“You do know how to take the fun out of things, don’t you?”
“I try.” The sound of ax meeting wood reverberated in the late-afternoon air. He glanced at her as he picked up another piece. “How’s your head?”
She’d forgotten about the headache. And the lump beneath the bandage seemed to be shrinking. “Much better, thanks. I think I’ll live.”
Gritting his teeth, Morgan swung down harder than before. The two pieces flew wildly out. “Daniel will be happy to hear that.”
He’d almost spat out Daniel’s name. “That’s a very disparaging tone,” she observed.
Morgan shrugged, then swung. He felt his shoulder muscles protesting. He wasn’t accustomed to physical labor in any great amounts. “It’s your life.”
“Yes, it is.” Because she had to do something, she began gathering up the pieces he’d split. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”
“I’m not asking for any.” With a grunt, he swung again. As the pieces fell on either side of the stump, Morgan looked at her. “All right, I am. Why are you throwing away your life on—”
“On what?” she challenged, throwing the two new pieces into the pile against the side of the house. “A successful, kind man?”
“On someone who doesn’t make the bells and the banjos play for you,” Morgan corrected.
She turned on her heels like someone in a trance. “Who told you that?”
“You did.” Another two pieces flew to the ground. “Last night.”
She refused to look at him. “That was the wine talking.”
He knew better than that. And so did she. “That was the wine letting you talk.”
She blew out a breath. “All right, if you must know, there was someone before Daniel.” She didn’t notice the way Morgan’s shoulders stiffened. “It didn’t last very long. His name was Rory and he was very dynamic, very sexy.” She glared at Morgan, her mouth set hard. “The kind of man who could make your toes curl.”
Morgan positioned another chunk. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“All right, the kind of man who made my toes curl.” She winced at the sound of the ax meeting wood. “He was exciting and, yes, he made bells and banjos play in my head. He was also a cheating womanizer who left me for someone who could further his career. He was an actor.”
Morgan couldn’t visualize a man who would willingly turn his back on Traci. “Well, that explains it. He wasn’t real.”
“Oh, he was real, all right.” She tossed the last two pieces on top of the others. “Too real. He left an image in my head that refused to be shut
out. Except when—” She stopped.
Morgan stopped swinging. “When—?” he prodded.
She’d said too much already. If he expected her to stand here singing his accolades, he was going to be disappointed.
“Nothing. I’m going inside to see if I can do something creative with ham and eggs. You go on chopping wood.” She paused on the steps. “Think the power will be back on tomorrow?”
“At least the phone. That way we can call someone from the town to come get us and our defunct cars.” He raised his eyes to hers. “And you can call Daniel.”
“Yes, I can,” she answered firmly, marching up the stairs again.
She slammed the door in her wake.
“If there was snow on the roof,” he commented to Jeremiah, “we would have had an avalanche just then.” He rolled the thought over in his head. “I think I would have taken my time before I dug her out.”
Jeremiah barked his agreement.
“This is very nice,” Morgan commented, taking his seat at the table.
They were eating in the kitchen instead of the living room. There were two candles on the table. They were mismatched, one higher than the other and of a different color, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, it seemed right.
“I found a second candle in the attic when I went exploring earlier,” she told him. “It had rolled under the old love seat your mother left behind.”
“That belonged to your mother,” he corrected. They were having cold ham and more scrambled eggs. Traci had cooked them over the fire in the hearth and felt very smug about it.
But she scowled now. “I don’t remember ever seeing that at home.”
There was a reason for that. “That was because your parents bought that their first summer here.” He remembered how his father and hers had struggled, getting the love seat out of the van and up the front steps while their mothers had coached them from the sidelines.
Traci looked ruefully at the mugs filled with water. Not much of a meal, she mused. “I’m sorry there’s no wine tonight”
He smiled, remembering last night. “So am I.”
She meant because she’d finished his whole bottle. She had a feeling he meant something else. She looked down at her mug. “At least there’s plenty of water.”
Outside, it had begun raining again. This time, the sound was gently lulling.
Morgan raised his mug to the sound. “Amen to that”
It sounded, she thought, lifting the mug to her lips, vaguely like a prophesy.