A Heart's War (The Broken Men Chronicles Book 5)

by Carey Decevito

  Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  I should have stopped there but I kept on rambling, Morgan crossing her arms over her bloused chest. “Most women would be chomping at the bit for that kind of closet space. Just think of-”

  “I’m not most women.” The woman tapped her heeled foot. What the hell was she doing in that corporate looking skirted suit anyway?

  “What? Am I wrong, Miss Smyth?”

  “It’s Morgan. The least you could do is give me the same curtesy I give you by using your name, Mr. Lowell.” She took the couple of steps she needed to face off with me. “And while we’re at it, I’m not going to let you bully me into spending a fortune just to get my house up to your liking. Do what I hired you to do.”

  I snorted. “You mean plug your hole?”

  “For starters, yeah.” She opened her mouth to add something, but ended up closing it, a blush spreading over her features.

  Holding my hands up, I stepped back a pace. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

  “And when are you going to show me how to do some of this stuff?” The continuously tapping shoe on the floor was beginning to annoy me.

  “How about when you reach a final decision about those drawings,” I said, and change into those tiny shorts and tanks of yours. “I can tell you’re still thinking about them, so how about this…” I coughed into my elbow, but that made the sudden tickle in my throat worse, so I coughed some more.

  “I think you should go home.”

  I shook my head in response, clearing my throat in the crook of my elbow. “I’m fine.” But I knew I wasn’t. Before I could finish what I had started to say, another coughing fit hit and the room began to spin. Closing my eyes and breathing to regain my balance, I grabbed on to the closest thing to me for assistance. Morgan.

  “Theo?”

  “Hmm?” Opening my eyes to look at her, I found myself with a handful of breast. Retracting my hand, the view before me began to tilt.

  One minute I was standing, feeling embarrassed, the next, my ass made contact with the floor, my legs having gone soft. I swear I heard Morgan’s panicked, “Oh my God!” while blood thundered through my ears and my vision went black.

  Chapter 7

  Something cold on the back of my neck and on my forehead made me open my eyes. Where the hell am I?

  “Theo?”

  I found myself staring into light brown eyes that reminded me of melted milk chocolate, swallowing to get past the dryness in my throat. “What happened?”

  “I think you need to get home. You’re sick,” she said. “Can you get up?”

  “Yeah.” The minute I got to my feet, my sea legs were back, threatening to give way once more. Morgan grabbed hold of me, wrapping one of my arms over her shoulder and hers around my waist. I heard her grunt. “You can’t carry me.”

  “Watch me.”

  “No, seriously.” I struggled to stand up straighter. “I’ll snap you like a twig you’re so small. I can walk.”

  “You can’t even stand without support, so the way I see it is that you let me be your crutch, and we’ll try for the couch,” she said with a no-nonsense tone.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Despite my feeling like shit, humor laced my words. Her eyes narrowed on me. “Sorry. You reminded me of my mother for a second.”

  “Great.” She blew a puff of air to move the strands of hair that had fallen into her face with no success. “Think you can walk now, smartass? I think you might be right about snapping me in half. You’re not that small.”

  “How about you walk me to my truck and I’ll be off? I won’t need my tools, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll leave them here.”

  She nodded.

  With more of an effort from me, we managed to get to the truck, but my head began to whirl again after I got behind the wheel. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel as I tried to regain my bearings, but no amount of breathing seemed to alleviate the dizziness or the dark spots that clouded my peripheral vision. The short walk from the house to the truck had been more exhausting than I wanted to admit.

  “Let’s get you to the passenger seat, I’m driving you.” I didn’t argue. After making a right toward town, she asked, “Where to?”

  “Make a left at the next driveway.”

  “But-”

  “Are you bringing me home or not?”

  “This is your home?” she asked as she took in the sight of the old worn exterior, the weathered barn that was half collapsed onto itself, the grass in drastic need of being trimmed, and the rose bushes that looked more like green barbwire designed to keep the owner confined to their house, where I must admit, might not be as safe for them as the great outdoors.

  “This is home.”

  “We’re neighbours?”

  “We’re neighbours,” I repeated.

  “Well I guess I don’t have to worry about taking a cab home, huh?”

  “Guess not,” I said weakly with my head leaning against the cool glass of the passenger side window. I groaned at the subtle relief the coolness offered.

  “You okay? I can-”

  “Go on home.”

  “Take all the time you need, to get better, I mean.” She offered a smile and my keys.

  “I’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”

  Chapter 8

  I wish I could say that I was better the next day, but such wasn’t the case. I woke up, barely able to stand without falling down. My sense of balance, compounded with the incessant nausea and the fact that I could barely hold anything down, made me crawl back under the sheets and fall into another one of my dream cycles.

  I was woken up by a hand shaking me, my throat feeling hoarse, but not from the endless bouts of coughing. It was one I had grown quite accustomed to over the years since my deployment. The one caused by screaming.

  “Wake up, baby,” I heard.

  Mom! “Mom?” I tried to sit up, but the bout of nausea made me roll onto the opposite side of the mattress and reach for the large bowl I had brought up with me in case I couldn’t make it to the bathroom.

  When I managed to curb the urge to upchuck, I laid back down, closing my eyes against the daylight coming through my bedroom window and breathing things out. I really needed to get some blinds installed.

  The back of my mother’s hand landed on my forehead. “You’re running a fever, sweetie. How long have you felt like this?”

  “Since yesterday,” I croaked. “How’d you know I was home?”

  “Your truck’s in the driveway and your father jimmied the lock on the door when we heard you screaming.” She had tears in her eyes. “Theo, what-?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  She nodded, but the look in her eyes told me that I’d failed at convincing her.

  After refusing to let her bring me home with her and my father, dad left her in charge while he went out to run a few errands. Mom made soup and tended to me, despite her non-stop cursing of the firetrap – as she called it – I had chosen to buy and live in.

  By late afternoon, I felt well enough to get myself downstairs to the couch for a change of scenery. No longer as exhausted as I was, I figured the living room – or what I had of one – was a good place to veg. The TV sat on a bunch of large boxes and I’d managed to have the cable installed late last week, so I was good to go.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” Mom asked when my father had arrived to pick her up.

  “I’ll be fine, Mama.”

  “All right. I’ll call later to check up on you.” She kissed my forehead. “If you need anything at all, call us.”

  “Will do. Thanks for helping.”

  “You know I wouldn’t have it any other way, baby boy.” Her endearment made me smile.

  The woman left and was replaced with another. One I hadn’t expected.

  “You’re not dead,” she said. “I guess that’s good.”

  “Shit, Morgan!” All I was sporting were my boxers and a t-shirt. Reaching for the t
hrow from the back of the couch, I covered myself as fast as I could. “What are you doing here?”

  “I figured that my contractor didn’t show up today, so I’d best check up on him.” Her eyes made a run from my feet up to my face. She gave her head an abrupt shake and smiled shyly. “Was that your mom?”

  I nodded. “What’s that?” I gestured toward the container in her hands.

  “Oh!” She looked down at the item. “I figured that you were still sick and that’s why you never bothered to call in, so I made you some soup.”

  She made soup? “Why?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I felt bad about what happened yesterday. I-I was worried. Then there’s the fact that you’re my neighbour and all,” she rambled on. “It’s sweet and sour soup. My mother used to make it for us when we were kids. It’s so much better than chicken noodle.”

  Her opinion mirrored mine, making me smile. “I know. Mom is set on the old staple, though.”

  “Of course.” She smiled in agreement.

  Seconds trickled by, making things feel more awkward. I wasn’t sure if it was because I lacked hosting skills, if it was just that she was a client, or what, exactly, but she broke the silence first.

  “So is the kitchen okay?” She lifted the soup container. “I should get going and let you rest.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  I heard her make her way back and head toward the front door without a second glance.

  “Morgan?” She turned to look at me with her hand on the doorknob. “Thank you.” After a curt nod, she turned and let herself out.

  Chapter 9

  It took me an extra day to get back to feeling right again, but by then Morgan had made her decision. She was going ahead with the top floor addition.

  It was Wednesday morning, and Morgan allowed me access to her home dressed in another one of those power suits.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I got a call late last night for an emergency meeting with one of my clients,” she announced.

  “But aren’t the insurance contractors coming in to gut the kitchen?”

  “That and the flooring.” She bit that bottom lip of hers again. “You think you can handle letting them in? I know this isn’t optimal, but I really have to handle this. They’re one of my largest clients.”

  “No, that’s fine. Did you make sure to tell the insurance company that we were keeping the cabinetry?”

  “Yeah. She emailed me the work order for the contractor this morning. I double-checked and it’s all in there in the notes. I left a copy for you and the other guy on the kitchen countertop.” She smirked. “I figured that he wouldn’t miss it if I left it in there.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Let’s just say that I was glad that I’d been around when those guys showed up. It’s a damn good thing that Morgan had handled the packing of the contents of her kitchen cabinets with the way they’d come tearing through her place.

  Instead of doing what I should have been doing, which was working on stripping the top of Morgan’s kitchen roof in preparation to adding on to the upstairs, I played foreman to the insurance crew.

  By the time I caught them taking the first cabinet, the doors cleanly ripped off their hinges, out to the dumpster, I was about to lose my shit.

  It had been my recommendation that Morgan keep and reuse the kitchen cabinetry, a recommendation to which she’d agreed. She’d worried at first about the wood warping or having issues with mold, but I assured her that if they were dried and stored properly, they’d be fine. Hell, I even told her that I’d refinish them, change their color if she didn’t like the original blond oak coloring. Let’s face it, insurance payouts don’t cover the replacement of wooden cabinets to the full extent, and since Morgan shuddered at the thought of pressed laminate, it was cost effective on both fronts.

  As I finished tearing the lead of the demolition group a new ass hole, a car door slammed behind me. My eyes widened when I saw Morgan heading toward us.

  Morgan stomped up her front steps to the two of us. “What’s going on here?” she asked. It wasn’t until she’d touched my arm that I realized that the foreman and I were standing toe-to-toe. “Theo…” And then came the gasp. “What the hell did you do to my cabinet?” She pointed toward the item in question that sat beside us by the front door.

  “We’re awfully sorry, ma’am,” the man said, a sheepish look on his face, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  I backed away and allowed Miss Smyth to simply jump on in and lay it on thicker than thick on the man.

  I hadn’t paid much attention to the exchange, a little overly enthralled with the tiny sprite that was taking on a man who was double her size. The kicker was that he actually looked terrified.

  Damn she’s hot when she’s spitting nails.

  I took in her posture. She might not have been more than five-five in height to my six feet – in her three inch heels, no less – but her shoulders were held square, chin jutted out stubbornly, and her finger poked him in the chest as she went on and on about the lack of respect and consideration to clientele wishes. I could have very well stood there, watching her all day with that sassy I-know-what-I-want behavior of hers. It made my blood heat and my imagination run away with me as I wondered if she was this passionate about everything in her life. I was willing to bet that she’d look just as appealing, if not better, in the throes of passion. I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking about Morgan in that way, but I couldn’t help it. Nor did those thoughts last for very long, anyway.

  Next thing I knew, Morgan and I are in the entrance to her home as vehicle doors slammed, trucks are started, revved, and are peeling out of the drive.

  A loud grumbling knocked me out of my reverie before a loud, “Fuck!” followed closely by the slamming of her front door.

  My eyes snapped to Morgan. The woman was wild with fury, that much was certain. How much time had I zoned out for?

  “Can this day possibly get any worse?”

  I held my tongue at her rhetorical question, watching as she headed toward the kitchen, her heels clacking against the subflooring.

  Death wish or not, I followed her. “Morgan?”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “Morgan?”

  She whirled around. “How am I supposed to be able to do anything now? My kitchen is a disaster, and my contractors are gone!”

  “It’s just for tonight. They’ll…”

  She bowed her head and I knew that look. Defeat. I’d worn that one far too many times in my life not to recognize it.

  Her voice croaked. “Didn’t you hear me out there?” She sniffled. I hate it when women cry. It makes me feel so helpless. “I fired them.”

  “You what?”

  “I need to call my insurance and report this. I’ll just take the payout and find someone on my own. The company told me that these guys specialised in restorative measures. That’s why I’d agreed to them. So much for that, huh?”

  I snorted my agreement. “Calm down. I’m sure they have a list of other contractors you can choose from.”

  “I don’t want any more contractors,” she whined. “I just want this mess solved.”

  Kind of hard to do that without a contractor don’t you think, sweetheart?

  Molten chocolate eyes aimed daggers my way, proof that I had spoken aloud. “Funny.” She gave a deep sigh. “What do you think?”

  “Of what?”

  “You think you can handle more than just the expansion on this place?” she asked.

  “I could.”

  “I’ll be around to help.” Her smile was forced, but at least her stress seemed to have leveled off a bit.

  “Don’t you have a job?” As soon as I said the words, I wanted to take them back when I noticed her eyes shimmering again.

  “Umm…” It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. My guess was that this morning’s meeting didn’t go according to plan.

  “Then what’s with-?” I waved my h
and gesturing up and down at her body, regarding her pencil skirt, the matching blazer, the silk blouse, stockings, and heels.

  “I told you, a client meeting. Well, I guess you can call them my ex-client now.” She clapped her hands and smirked as she rubbed them together. “Let me go change and I’m all yours… or at least until I can reclaim my kitchen to get back to business.”

  Fuck! What have I gotten myself into?

  Little did I know that last thought was going to be my mantra for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter 10

  It was apparent from the start that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. A week into this construction gig at Morgan’s and I was already running behind schedule. Having to teach her about the simplest of tasks was wearing me thin. To recoup some of my lost time, I’d put her on clean-up duty. She didn’t say anything about it. If anything, she seemed a little off when I’d arrived this morning; sad, if I was being honest.

  Maybe, when she’s done, you can send her up to her room to handle the demo that needs to be taken care of? That wasn’t a bad idea. The installation of the trusts, the roofing, shingles, and windows was scheduled for this Friday, and part of that happening meant that the master bedroom would need to be packed away, shielded from debris, and the drywall on two of her walls would need to be removed. The room that she was using as an office would need the same treatment as well.

  Morgan’s body cast a shadow on my work area. “How’s it coming along?”

  I grunted. Rerouting a water line can sometimes be a bitch, and this time it sure as hell was trying my patience. Add to that Morgan’s flowery scent, barely-there cut-off jeans, and thin tank tops, and let’s just say that my unrequited attraction to the woman was also part of what had me on edge. “Pass me the pipe wrench, please?” I held my hand out and waited. When the damn thing never came, I turned to look at her expectantly.