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COLE TROWELED ANOTHER section of thinset onto the master bathroom floor. He should be done by lunchtime, but Morgan wouldn’t be able to use the room for another two days. Tom had assigned Layton Forsythe to do the tile cutting, which was fine with Cole. Laying the tile was the easy part, and if Tom wasn’t ready to give Cole the more complicated tasks, so be it.
Trouble was, doing the easy parts gave his mind too much room to wander. Detweiler had commended Cole for his quick thinking last night. Hadn’t chastised him for heading to the kitchen instead of calling for backup first.
“The job entails split-second decisions, and you put the safety of the citizens first,” Detweiler said.
If Cole let one incident—an incident where he’d managed to take down two creeps without backup and without a shot being fired—get inside his skin, what was the point of being a cop?
What if it had been an actual active shooter situation?
You’d have done what needed to be done.
He hoped.
Detweiler told him he had two days off. Said it was comp time for watching the bone site and the unofficial hours he’d put in last night, but Cole thought there was more to it than a matter of budget balancing. More like head-straightening time.
Cole regarded it as more hours with Morgan time. Of course, now she was with Austin so he could practice his piano lessons, and had said she wouldn’t be back until early afternoon. So much for talking during his official lunch break.
When Tom announced it was time for lunch, Cole realized he’d blanked on bringing food. He made a quick trip to the Thriftway deli for a sandwich, then joined the crew and Bailey in the backyard for lunch and a round of fetch.
“Heard about what happened at Burger Hut last night,” Tom said. “That what you meant by being stuck at work?”
Cole hurled the ball across the yard, delighting Bailey. “Yeah. Comes with the job.”
“Why I’m a firefighter,” Tom said. “Less risky.”
Cole wasn’t going to debate the finer points of rushing into burning buildings that might explode over the risks of being caught in a shootout.
After lunch, Cole and Layton tackled the kitchen. Morgan had opted for tile countertops, more expensive than new Formica, but cheaper than composites. She’d chosen a stone-patterned tile that coordinated with the paint color.
It was almost four by the time Morgan and Austin came home.
Cole set the final countertop tile into place as Layton finished the backsplashes. Tomorrow, they’d grout everything.
Morgan stepped into the kitchen. “Wow. You guys have been busy. The porch looks great, and the kitchen’s getting there.”
“The tile in your bathroom has to set before you can walk on it, and it needs grout, so you’ll have to use the other ones for the time being,” Cole said.
Tom poked his head in, nodded his approval. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Eight o’clock all right?”
“Fine,” Morgan said. “Guess the counter’s off limits for a while, too.”
“Better you don’t use it for at least another day,” Tom said.
“It should be worth the wait. Any reason not to cook is okay by me.”
Cole lingered after the rest of the crew took off. “Want to come to my place for dinner? I can grab something from Thriftway. My culinary skills are limited, but I do a mean takeout.”
Morgan seemed to be considering it. Better than an outright no.
“We’ve had a busy day,” she said.
“All the more reason to have dinner with me. That way, you don’t have to touch your kitchen while the tile sets.”
“I guess so. As long as it’s Dutch. What time?”
Cole checked the clock on the microwave. “Let’s say five-thirty? What does Austin like?”
Morgan scraped her upper teeth over her lower lip. “I’m not well-versed in his tastes yet. Won’t hurt to expand his horizons beyond burgers and pizza.”
~
OVER A DINNER OF MEAT loaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes, Cole steered the conversation to how Morgan and Austin had spent their day.
“I practiced my playlist to honor Momma,” Austin said. “Then, we went to my new school and I’m going to play it at the end of the year ceremony for sixth graders.”
“Not your entire playlist, Austin. One piece,” Morgan said. “There will be a lot of kids showing their talents, too.” She turned to Cole. “The principal was nice enough to allow an additional performer, as a way of introducing Austin to the school for next term.”
“Would I be allowed to come?” Cole asked. “I’d love to hear Austin play.”
“Sure,” Austin said.
Cole looked to Morgan for confirmation.
“I don’t see why not. Assuming you’re not working. It’s on a Thursday evening.”
“Even if I’m working, I’ll be off by then. What will you be playing?” he asked Austin.
“Mozart’s Sonata Eleven in A Major,” he said.
Cole’s brows rose. “Sounds fancy.”
“It’s one of the happy songs I chose for Momma.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” Cole said.
Austin pushed his empty plate aside. “Can I watch TV?”
After a confirming nod from Morgan, Cole walked Austin to the living room and turned on the set, then handed him the remote.
Back in the kitchen, he offered to top off Morgan’s wine. She put her hand over the not-quite-empty glass. “One is enough.”
“What else did you do today?” he asked, hoping to prolong her visit.
“Went to the library. They’re not hiring. Went over my budget with a fine-tooth comb. Looked for piano teachers for Austin.” She finished her wine and stared into the glass.
“Something wrong?”
“Not about that. I heard from the woman who used to work with Uncle Bob again.” Her fawn eyes glistened with tears.
Cole reached across the table and took her hand. “And?”
“She thinks Uncle Bob stole money from people.”
~~~
MORGAN TOOK COMFORT in the warmth of Cole’s hand. “It happened a long time ago, when Uncle Bob worked for Portland Financial. He was falsifying reports to some of his clients, and using the differences to invest for himself.”
“What does that mean for you?” Cole asked.
“Technically, nothing. The statute of limitations is long past, but I feel like I’m ... tainted ... by what he did. One of Uncle Bob’s clients was Phyllis Jessup’s father.”
“The housekeeper at the Castle? You think that’s why she hates the man? Seems like a long time to hold a grudge.”
“Even so, I want to make things right. For her, and for anyone else I can find. Uncle Bob’s admin was able to identify five others. She is looking to see where they, or their families, are now.”
“That’s very honorable of you.” Cole traced a forefinger along her jawline, sending chills through her. Then heat. She glanced toward the living room, where Austin was engrossed in the television.
One kiss. One short kiss.
Way to keep your distance.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
Morgan leaned over, reached for Cole’s face and drew him in for the one kiss she would allow herself.
He tasted like wine, like mashed potatoes and gravy. His surprise at her overture shifted to reciprocation. Tongues teased, probed, danced. Desire rushed along every nerve of her body. Filled with regrets that there couldn’t be more, she broke away.
Hands clasping his, she held Cole’s deep blue gaze.
“I get it,” he whispered. “The impropriety thing.”
“Easier if we don’t see each other,” she said.
“Not until I finish the work on your house. I made a commitment to Tom. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could have gotten to know you better.”
“So do I. But I understand. Your commitment has to be to Austin. Once you have custody, things will be different.”
“Who knows how long that will take? If it happens at all. It’s not fair to ask you to wait.” She forced a quick laugh. “Then again, who says we’d even work out? What we’ll feel like a month, six months, a year from now.”
“I could argue we could try to find out. Is dating off limits?”
“I need it to be. Even tonight, just having a simple dinner makes me want so much more.” She rose, cleared the dishes from the table, loaded them into the dishwasher. “The longer I stay, the harder it is to leave.”
She collected her purse, told Austin to thank Cole for dinner.
“The show’s not over yet,” he complained.
She checked the time. Another fifteen minutes with Cole? No, fifteen would turn into another program. She needed to leave before things went too far. “Sorry. Bailey’s waiting. I’m sure you can watch a rerun. We’ll have our own television set up very soon.”
Austin sighed, went for his jacket, his eyes never leaving the screen.
~
FIVE DAYS LATER, MORGAN pulled into the driveway and hit the remote for her new garage door opener. Smiling as the new door slid upward, she parked, popped the trunk, and unloaded bags of groceries. It took three trips to get everything inside, Bailey dancing at her heels.
Now that Austin had been invited to perform at the sixth grade ceremony, he was eager to make new friends and had started going to classes. His Pine Hills teachers had agreed that Austin should continue to do the work his Dublin teachers had sent, but he hadn’t minded. Much of the curriculum was the same, and he participated in class when he could and worked on his Dublin assignments when the class was doing something else.
She put the last of the groceries away. Next time, she’d unload in front, then put the car in the garage. Less walking. She still smiled each time she walked through the house. Tom and his crew had done a great job, finishing on time and within the budget. One more thing to deal with.
Butterflies flew in wild choreography in her stomach as she awaited today’s delivery. The dining room was cleared of any leftover odds and ends. She’d mopped the floor this morning and unrolled the new area rug. Listening to Austin practice at the Detweilers’ after school every day had chiseled away at the wall she’d built between her old and new lives.
In addition to Mrs. Jessup, Morgan discovered families of three other people her uncle had cheated. None of them lived in Pine Hills, which was probably why Morgan hadn’t found any locals with bad things to say about him. She worked out a payment schedule based on the numbers Uncle Bob’s former admin had given her. She couldn’t calculate what would have happened to their investments over the years, and they had seemed appreciative that she was paying them anything at all.
Morgan’s financial advisor had told her she was under no obligation to make restitution for events that had happened so many years ago, considering the current state of the economy and what it was doing to her own investments, but she’d insisted.
“I have to live with myself. My uncle stole from these people, and if it means I’m scrimping for a couple of years, so be it.”
Initially, Mrs. Jessup had refused the money. Morgan mailed her the first check anyway, and the woman had cashed it. Morgan took it as a step toward forgiveness.
The growl of an approaching engine sent Morgan to the window. The delivery van. Right on time. The butterflies in her stomach dove and whirled like performing Air Force jets.
She let the driver in so he could check the space.
“You want it over there?” He pointed to the dining area.
“Yes. On the rug.”
“Might have to take off the front door.”
“Do what you need to. I’ll let you work.” Not sure she could watch, Morgan retreated to the kitchen table with her laptop and opened her games folder. Maybe Scrabble would keep the memories at bay.
Some of them, anyway.
The delivery crew declared their job done. Morgan wrote the check, her bank balance dropping at an alarming rate. She needed a job. Soon.
Her phone chimed that it was time to pick up Austin. Tabling the get a job worry for later, Morgan called Bailey and they set off for the middle school.
Austin climbed into the backseat, proud that he’d answered a geology question in class. When they turned toward Elm Street, he called out, “Hey. You went the wrong way. This isn’t the road to the Detweilers’.”
“Change of plans today.”
She parked in the garage, gave Austin her usual reminder not to forget his backpack, and he took off for the house. Morgan hurried after him, her heart bouncing like a performer on a trampoline.
Austin beelined for the kitchen, then skidded to a halt. “Wow. Where did that come from?” He dumped his backpack on the counter and walked to the dining room, his pace slowing to a reverent walk. “Is it yours?”
“Ours,” she said. “It was mine when I was a little girl. I’ve had it in storage until there was somebody who deserved to play it. Go ahead. Sit. Let me know what you think.”
She held back as Austin ran his fingers along the polished wood, then raised the fallboard. His fingers traced over the lettering. “A Steinway? Really? Even Mr. Nakamura didn’t have one.”
Morgan stepped over, raised the lid on the seat and pulled out Austin’s sheet music. Instead of his exercise book, she placed his Mozart piece on the rack.
“I need to wash my hands.” He darted from the room.
Pleased that he respected the instrument, Morgan meandered to the living room and sat on the couch. Should she rearrange the furniture, making the baby grand the focal point of the space? Could she get used to looking at it?
Plenty of time to decide.
Austin returned and took a seat. He played a few bars, then stopped. “Wow. It sounds so ... good. You never told me you had a piano like this one. Will you play for me?”
She fetched Uncle Bob’s Tatiana Morgan CDs she’d stashed in a drawer and motioned Austin to her side. “I think we need to have a little talk.”