Long Time Gone: Konigsburg, Book 4

by Meg Benjamin

  Morgan skidded to a halt, bumping her shoulder against Erik’s chest. She turned back to Avrogado. “You can’t tell him, Ciro, you really can’t. Please!”

  Avrogado rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. Erik had the feeling he was trying not to look at either of the women. “We have to tell him, Morgan. You know that.”

  “No.” Morgan dropped her arm from Erik’s shoulder. “You don’t. You know what’ll happen if you tell him. He’ll decide he has to come back here to make sure everything’s okay, and he isn’t strong enough yet. The doctor said another couple of weeks at least before he can start moving around again. I don’t want him to hurt himself. Please, I’m begging you.”

  Avrogado folded his arms across his chest, scowling. “He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out.”

  “When he finds out,” Carmen corrected, her lips a thin line. “You’ve got to tell him sometime.”

  Morgan turned back to her quickly. “I’ll tell him. I promise. But not right now.”

  Erik could see her shoulders beginning to droop. Her reserves must be almost used up. One of the warm breezes that came off the vineyards could probably blow her over. He leaned down quickly and swept her up into his arms before she could object.

  Morgan gave a soft “hmph” against his shoulder. Behind him he could feel eyes boring into his back again. He pushed the door with his shoulder, stepping through into what turned out to be the tasting room.

  And realized suddenly he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

  “Where am I taking you?” he muttered.

  Morgan nodded at a door on the other side of the room. “My apartment opens off the office, but I can walk there myself if you’ll please put me down again.”

  “Indulge me.” Erik headed for a door with a Private sign.

  A stunning girl with long dark hair was standing behind the bar pouring wine for some tourists. All of them stared at Erik and Morgan with rapt attention. The girl glanced up and then down again quickly.

  He narrowed his eyes. The pourer looked underage, but he’d deal with that later.

  “She’s twenty-one.” Morgan smiled faintly. “But you can check. She’s used to it by now. She’s Allie’s niece.”

  Erik opened the door and stepped into an office with a desk and computer. Another door opened in front of him. He nudged it with his shoulder and walked into a snug, warm room. Plastered walls, a small limestone fireplace at the far end, pegged pine floors like his apartment in town.

  Correction—like Docia’s apartment in town. He was just renting it from her.

  He deposited Morgan onto an overstuffed couch with a brown afghan across the back.

  She gave him a thin smile. “I think there’s iced tea in the refrigerator. And soda. And wine. No beer, though, sorry.”

  “That’s okay, I didn’t figure you’d be entertaining me.” He stared out the window behind the couch. Rows upon rows of grapevines marched up the hillside to a stand of live oaks at the top.

  “Cynthiana. Native American grapes.” She stretched out on the couch, resting her head on the padded arm. “They’re also called Norton, but Cynthiana sounds more uppity, so that’s what Texas winery people call them. In Missouri, it’s Norton.” She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

  The rich sunlight of late afternoon cast long shadows across the vines, the heavy grape clusters glowing golden in the distance. “It’s beautiful,” Erik murmured.

  Morgan opened her eyes, nodding. “Yeah. Picturesque as hell. Believe me, you love it right up until you have to climb up there and pick those suckers.”

  She grinned at him, and he felt a quick twinge somewhere south of his diaphragm. She was dusty and bruised and there was a nasty cut running along her cheekbone. But her cocoa eyes still sent a bolt of warmth straight to his groin.

  He cleared his throat. “You heard a truck when you fell. Not a car?”

  Her smile turned wry. “I didn’t think you were listening back there. Yeah, I heard some kind of motor. It sounded too heavy to be a car—louder.”

  He nodded. He could hear voices now in the winery office. Probably the doctor. Maybe Cal.

  “Do you believe me?” Morgan wasn’t smiling anymore. Her eyes had gone all Bambi again. “Nobody else will when they hear about it.”

  Erik’s chest tightened. “Yeah. On the whole, I do.”

  “Are you going to do anything about it?” She watched him steadily, probably waiting to see if he’d back down.

  He sighed. “Eventually. First, I have to figure out who might have been up there.”

  “Morgan?” A short, balding man in a rumpled seersucker suit walked into the room, blocking Erik’s view of Bambi. “Cal said you hurt yourself.” He set his medical bag on the table. “You’re lucky I was already out here. I don’t make house calls as a rule.”

  Morgan’s lips spread in a tired grin. “That’s okay, Doc, I won’t make a habit of it. I promise.”

  Erik took his cue to leave and headed back toward his truck.

  When Morgan woke up, it was dark outside. She hadn’t really meant to sleep, but after the doctor had confirmed no broken bones or concussion, and after Carmen had agreed, grudgingly, to leave her alone, she’d drifted off.

  She stumbled to the bathroom to splash some cool water on her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. Scratched cheek and hair that looked like it could be used to clean a skillet, but nothing a couple of days with her feet up couldn’t cure.

  Of course, the chances of her being able to put her feet up at any point in the near future were somewhere south of slim. She sighed. Too late to go to the Dew Drop, even assuming she could haul her aching body out to the SUV.

  Instead, she limped to the refrigerator in the tasting room. At least Allie had left the remains of the volunteers’ lunch. Morgan plopped a spoonful of King Ranch chicken onto a plate and pushed it into the microwave just as someone knocked on the patio door.

  “Morgan?” Ciro called.

  Fred and Skeeter ran to the door, yipping ecstatically. Morgan undid the latch and let him in.

  “You okay? Carmen sent you dinner.” He handed her a foil-covered plate. “Gorditas.”

  She slid the plate into the refrigerator. “Thanks. Between Carmen and Allie I shouldn’t have to cook for the next week.”

  Ciro helped himself to some fruit salad and settled onto one of the barstools. “Did you get a chance to look at that vineyard site before you fell down the hill?”

  Morgan considered telling him she’d been pushed, and then decided against it. Chances were he probably wouldn’t believe her if she did. “It looks good to me, but I know I’m the new kid around here, so my judgment doesn’t count for much.” She took a forkful of chicken. “I’ll tell Dad about it. Since you’re the one recommending it, I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  “Good for cabernet franc, maybe mourvedre, maybe even primitivo or barbera if we want to go to the trouble.” He stared at the ceiling, figuring. “Should be ready in five years or so if we can plant this year. The market for all of that is really expanding.”

  Morgan looked down at her plate, trying to figure out how to ask the next question without making Ciro overly curious. “Is anybody else interested in leasing that land?”

  He frowned. “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Castleberry’s just got me spooked. If somebody else is interested, wouldn’t we want to move quickly?”

  “Haven’t heard anything.” He chased a grape with his fork, keeping his eyes on his plate. “I wanted Nando to look at it, but I don’t think he ever got around to doing it.”

  “Nando?”

  “Good place to get started in the vineyard business. Let the boy get his feet wet.” He was still avoiding her gaze.

  Morgan took a breath. Nando was old enough to take care of himself. Ciro was her father’s best friend and the man who was making most of the decisions at the winery. This was definitely not a fight she wanted to get involved in. “So Nand
o’s decided to start working in the vineyards?”

  His lips thinned. “Boy doesn’t know what he wants. Thinks he wants to be a cop. Here—in Konigsburg. Damn fool nonsense. He’ll never make a living that way.”

  She took another careful step into the minefield. “They really need good cops in Konigsburg. After Chief Olema, that is. Nando might be able to get somewhere now that Erik Toleffson’s the chief.”

  Ciro looked up at her, eyes blazing. “I didn’t raise that boy to be a cop. He’s got two generations of farmers in his blood. Vineyards are booming. I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking of.”

  She touched his hand quickly. “I know. It’s a good industry to get into in Texas. I’m really grateful for the opportunity, although I wish I hadn’t gotten it just because Dad got hurt.” Which was true—more or less. She turned back to the refrigerator. “Want some sauvignon blanc? Looks like there’s an opened bottle from the tasting room to finish up.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Gotta get home. You take care of yourself, Morgan. Get some rest.”

  Good advice. A half hour later, she wondered why she couldn’t get herself to take it. In fact, she hadn’t felt so wide awake in weeks. Outside she could hear cicadas buzzing and a few frogs chirping near the creek.

  Stupid to feel nervous just because she’d taken a tumble down a hill. Particularly when she had all this protection. Fred and Skeeter lolled under the bar. Arthur sat in front of the door, waiting for some tasty critter to be stupid enough to come within puncturing range.

  She poured herself a glass of sauvignon blanc. She didn’t usually finish up the leftover wine from the tasting room since they had so much of it, but maybe tonight she’d make an exception.

  Fred and Skeeter suddenly came to attention as headlights swept across the road outside. Arthur got to his feet. A truck pulled up in the parking lot.

  Morgan took hold of Skeeter’s collar for luck, not that Skeeter would attack anything larger than a gecko. A man walked up the stairs into the reflected yard lights.

  Chief Erik Toleffson. Still in uniform. Looking…really hot.

  Her breath came out in a whoosh. She let go of Skeeter and opened the door almost before he had a chance to knock.

  He stood in the doorway, blinking. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Come in.” She stepped back, warding off Skeeter and Fred who approached in tail-wagging frenzy. Arthur planted himself in Erik’s path with a challenging stare.

  Erik stared back. “Is that a bobcat?”

  “No, it’s just Arthur. Ignore him.” Arthur swung his head to give Fred a monitory hiss before stalking off toward the apartment and his food bowl. “Would you like a glass of sauvignon blanc? There’s some left over from the tasting room.” Morgan knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Erik Toleffson turned his molasses gaze her way and smiled.

  Erik placed his hat on the bar. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

  Technically, he was still on duty, assuming that the call forward worked on his cell, of course. A new way to get around not having enough people for night duty since it was Peavey’s day off. “I just wanted to check on you. To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

  He’d hoped she would be, though. Bingo.

  Morgan walked behind the bar and opened the refrigerator. “Water? Soda? Fruit salad? I’ve got a little of everything.”

  “Soda. Thanks.”

  He watched her reach into the refrigerator. She had on jeans and a white tank top that showed a lot of her chest and did interesting things to his solar plexus. When she turned to set the can down in front of him, he saw the clear outline of her nipples against the white ribbing.

  No bra. His lungs contracted. Down boy!

  “Actually, I slept most of the afternoon.” She pushed a hand through her hair, sending short curls tumbling around her ears.

  The shadowy disks of her nipples peaked against the thin cotton. He wondered if the feeling in his chest was heart palpitations.

  “So now I’m wide awake.” She grinned in his general direction.

  He tried to remember what she was talking about. Oh yeah, sleeping.

  He pulled up a bar stool on the other side of the counter. Better than standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears. “Nice place. How long has it been open?”

  “The winery? Dad started off in a Quonset hut around 1994. He and Ciro finished this building a few years ago.” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling over her head, smiling. “I’ve always liked it.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Her smile faded slightly. “I moved in after my dad got hurt. Before that I just came down on weekends. But I needed to be on-site so I could help Ciro.”

  “Does your mom come down to help you out sometimes?”

  Her smile disappeared entirely. “My mom doesn’t like wine.”

  “Must have made for interesting dinner conversation.” He picked up his soda.

  “Oh, it did that.” Her lips stayed flat. “Like I told you, my folks are separated. Not legally, but practically.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Austin. My mom’s there full-time. My dad was there in a rehab facility, getting his leg back in shape. My mom let him move back in when they released him, so maybe some good came out of the whole wretched mess. Maybe they’ll work out their differences. What about your folks?”

  Erik frowned, not sure what she was asking. “They’re still in Iowa.”

  “Are they thinking of moving down since all of you are here?”

  “They threaten to every once in a while. We might be able to lure them down for the winter, but my mom’s not big on heat.”

  A moment of silence stretched between them. He tried to think of something to fill it. “Remembered anything else about what happened on the hill?”

  She gave him a dry smile. “No. In fact, I’m looking forward to forgetting the whole thing.”

  Not as great a smile as before, but he’d take what he could get. He mentally told his nether regions to cool it. “I’ll try to get back up there tomorrow to see if I can find the tracks you talked about.”

  “Good idea. At least I’ll know I didn’t imagine them.” She leaned on the counter next to him, letting the scoop neck of her tank slide down a little more. “So what were you doing up on that ridge this afternoon when you so kindly saved my butt?”

  Erik gave up trying to calm his unruly body. As long as she was leaning against the counter like that it was a lost cause. “I was looking at the stock tank. Rancher who owns the land had some sick goats. Claimed it was because somebody poisoned his tank. We need to have the water tested.”

  Her head snapped up. “Oh shit.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the situation was good, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “It is if we’re thinking of planting a vineyard there.” Morgan rubbed her hand across her forehead. She looked like her headache was back. “Ciro is going to freak. And I told him I’d pitch the vineyard to Dad.”

  “Take it easy. We don’t know what’s wrong up there yet. The water could be bad, but it could just be something that was dumped in the stock tank. Particularly since somebody also pushed you down that hill.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, reassuringly. At least he thought it was reassuring. A moment later, he wasn’t so sure. His hand rested on smooth bare skin, silky and warm. He smelled lavender and rose and hints of wine. And she was watching him with those eyes—rich, dark brown, like chocolate kisses.

  All of a sudden, he felt a little dizzy. He leaned forward, almost without thinking. She rose slightly to meet him.

  Her lips were soft, warm. He inhaled her sigh, tasting wine, then angled his mouth against hers. Her mouth opened beneath his lips, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. This was just a quick kiss, an intro as it were. Nothing serious yet.

  And then it was.

  Morgan’s mouth opened wider and
his tongue plunged deep, tasting, sensing. Warmth and smooth deep wetness. Without thinking, he raised his hand to her breast and felt the hard pebble of her nipple against his palm. Heat flashed again at his groin.

  Somewhere his brain went on red alert. Danger, danger, Will Robinson. His body surged right ahead, hardening almost instantly. The warm weight of her breast filled one hand and he rubbed his palm against the other, her faint moan raising prickles on his scalp.

  She held her hands at the sides of his chest, then smoothed them around his body, pulling herself tight against him. Erik heard a melodic chirping and wondered if it was him or her.

  Until he realized it was his cell phone.

  He stepped back, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. His face was damp with sweat. “Sorry,” he whispered, clicking open the cell with one hand.

  A routine traffic call, fender bender on Highway 16. But by then he knew he had to go anyway. He turned back to her, tucking his cell in his pocket, trying not to think about what had just happened.

  And what had almost happened.

  Her eyes were huge, her mouth a thin line. “I didn’t…” she stuttered, then stopped.

  “I’m sorry about the call,” he said quietly. “I’m not sorry about the kiss. Not hardly.”

  She still watched him, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Then the corners of her mouth edged up, slowly. “Drive carefully.”

  “I will.” He smiled back at her, breathing again. “Sleep well.”

  “I will.”

  Erik headed for his truck, listening to the voice screaming in his head. What was that? What the hell was that? You’ve got more than enough on your plate, Toleffson. You’ve got two months to prove yourself. Keep your mind on your freakin’ job. You’re supposed to be in control here, remember?

  No question. He was definitely going to concentrate on his job and nothing else. He was going to make this work. Definitely. But the smell of lavender and roses and dry white wine lingered in his head all the way back to town.

  Chapter Five

  By eleven the next morning, the glow of Morgan Barrett’s kiss was a distant memory. Erik sat in the monthly meeting of the Konigsburg Merchants Association trying to avoid death by boredom. Technically, he had no business there since he wasn’t a merchant, but Arthur Craven, the association president, had asked him to come, and he’d thought it was a good idea at the time. “Chief Olema never came,” Craven explained, “and Chief Brody…” His ears turned slightly pink. Nobody in town wanted to say much about Brody. Now Erik sat in the back of the room and wondered if there was any way he could catch forty winks without being noticed while Hilton Pittman droned on for what seemed like eternity.