A Match for Morgan

by Marie Ferrarella

  He held her much too close for her comfort and way too close for her peace of mind. When he leaned his cheek against her hair, she had to hold herself in check to keep from jumping.

  If the woman in his arms were any stiffer, he could have gone diving off her. Wyatt drew his head back to look at Morgan as the music continued to envelop them. A hint of amusement shone in his eyes.

  “Relax, Morgan,” he prompted, “this is a celebration. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

  Morgan raised her chin. “I will, once this dance is over.”

  Wyatt laughed. Morgan struggled not to allow the sound to filter through her. Her success was marginal. “Why Morgan, I’m crushed.”

  She hated when he laughed at her. Hated reacting to him this way even after all her lectures to herself. Morgan tossed her head and felt the flower headband dip slightly over her eye.

  “Good.”

  With the tip of his finger, he slid the headband back into place for her. Morgan’s breath hovered in her throat even though she told it not to. It irritated her that Wyatt appeared to know exactly what she was feeling—and that it amused him. It bothered her more that she was feeling it in the first place.

  “You know,” he commented softly against her hair, “for someone who doesn’t like to dance, you’re very light on your feet.”

  Wyatt noticed how the fragrance she had on subtly drifted into his senses. He felt himself warming to it. How could he not, he wondered. It was sexy, exciting. Much like the woman wearing it.

  Morgan felt as if she’d just finished running all the way from Butte to Serendipity. Damn it, she thought, why was her heart hammering like this?

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like to dance, Wyatt. I just don’t like dancing with you.”

  It would have sounded a great deal more convincing to Wyatt if her voice hadn’t quavered at the end like that. “What do you say for one night, for Hank’s sake, we set our differences aside?”

  To the untrained ear, he sounded sincere, thoughtful. But Morgan knew better. He was a man who could take a woman’s heart and break it without a second thought, cracking it like the shell of an egg and then tossing it aside without even realizing that it had been offered to him.

  She should know.

  Morgan raised and lowered her shoulder carelessly. “Fine with me.”

  To her surprise he crooked his finger beneath her chin and raised it until their eyes met. “Say it as if you mean it, Morgan.”

  She pulled her head away, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d turn to mush right there in front of everyone. Just what she needed, to be publicly humiliated. “What do you want me to do, pinkie swear? Or would you rather draw my blood and become blood brothers?”

  Why did he get the feeling that they had just crossed swords and that he was involved in a duel, the reason behind which he had no clue?

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “You might as well draw yours, you’ve been drawing mine all day.”

  As if anything she said or did could have the slightest effect on him. “I haven’t even left a mark on you,” Morgan scoffed.

  Maybe it was the twilight, Wyatt thought, with its soft promise of a star-filled sky. Maybe it was his best friend getting married and triggering all sorts of memories of things that he’d hoped for himself. Things that hadn’t come to pass. Or maybe he was just damn tired of sparring with Morgan. He wasn’t sure. He only knew that he didn’t want to keep thrusting and parrying, not tonight.

  “What have you got against me, Morgan?” Wyatt searched her eyes and saw no answer to the question.

  Morgan knew she’d really let Hank’s wedding get to her. Why else would she feel so terribly vulnerable? As if she’d melt against him if she had to go on being so close to him like this? Why couldn’t she just remember how she felt when she’d all but offered herself to him on a silver platter only to discover that he was engaged to Judith?

  “The night isn’t long enough to tell you.” She raised her head, listening. Relief came rushing up, hand in hand with regret. This wasn’t a day she was going to forget soon. “Oh, look, the dance is over.” She sighed. “I’m free.” Disengaging her hand from his, she stepped back and sneezed at the same time. Her head felt as if it was going to explode.

  Wyatt dug into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He offered it to her.

  Morgan eyed the handkerchief. It was immaculate. Was there someone doing his laundry for him? And who cared, anyway?

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you surrendering?”

  For two cents… Wyatt held onto his temper. “Just being polite.”

  Morgan swallowed a retort that had no place at her brother’s wedding. Instead, she accepted the offering, stifling another sneeze.

  “Thanks.” She sniffled, then blew. There was a touch of mischief in her eyes as she looked at him. “I don’t suppose you want it back.”

  He grinned at her. Patting her hand in his best patronizing manner, he closed her fingers around the handkerchief. “You sound as if you might need it again.”

  She didn’t know if he was being thoughtful, or if, like a chimp banging at a keyboard and eventually pounding out a novel, it had come to him by accident. But Morgan knew she wasn’t going to get a chance to find out. Miriam Lake had wiggled up behind Wyatt to snare his arm and his attention. Moving in like a woman with a mission, Miriam had placed herself between Morgan and Wyatt, and then pulled him onto the floor as another song began. If she remembered correctly, Miriam had belonged to the same cheerleading squad that Judith had. Why didn’t that surprise her?

  “Want to dance, Morgan?”

  Turning, Morgan found herself looking up into Jared Adams’s face. Jared was good-looking, successful and didn’t have the annoying habit of contradicting everything she said. She had no idea why the prospect of dancing with him left her cold. And why dancing with Wyatt had done just the opposite. The medicine she’d taken just before the wedding for her cold had to be scrambling her brain.

  “I’d love to.” Morgan raised her voice loud enough to carry back to where Wyatt was dancing with Miriam. Glancing in their direction, she saw that her efforts had been wasted. They looked positively lost in each other. It figured.

  As Jared’s arms went around her, Morgan tried very hard to summon a modicum of excitement within her. She failed miserably. Jared came up short when measured, however involuntarily, against Wyatt. It annoyed the hell out of her.

  “Dance with me, squirt. I haven’t done my penance yet tonight.”

  Morgan didn’t have to turn around to know that the entreaty belonged to Quint.

  “That’ll make two of us.” She held up her hands, ready. “I haven’t had my feet stepped on yet today.”

  She looked good tonight, Quint thought. Even better than usual. And there was a pink tinge to her cheeks, a flush that could only mean one thing outside of a sick bed. He’d seen who she’d been partnered with earlier.

  He took her into his arms. “Saw you dancing with Wyatt.”

  Morgan raised her eyes to Quint’s. It wasn’t like him to tease her, not about Wyatt. He and Will usually left her alone on that subject. It was Hank, and sometimes Kent, who would yank her chain.

  “Had to,” she pointed out. “Tradition, remember?”

  His smile began in his eyes before traveling down to his lips. He’d met his match in Ginny, now he wanted the same for his baby sister. Everyone should feel as good as he did tonight. “I remember a lot of things.”

  Her head felt like dampened cotton, thanks to the cold medication. She was in no mood to try to understand anything but the simplest of statements. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  There was an edge in her voice. He didn’t want to start anything, not here. But he knew that Morgan knew exactly what he was alluding to.

  “Nothing, I was just thinking that I can’t really remember a day you and Wyatt weren’t at it.”

  There was a reason for that. “That’s because there aren’t any.”r />
  Quint studied her for a moment, so intently that it unnerved her a little.

  “Practicing your X-ray vision?” she finally asked.

  He slowly shook his head. “Let me ask you about one thing I’ve always wondered, Morgan. Why is it that you’re a reasonably complete, together, savvy lady until you get within spitting distance of Wyatt?”

  Not him, too. She sighed. “The operative word would be spitting.”

  “There, that’s exactly what I mean. What is it with you two?” His eyes narrowed, as if he were looking into her very soul. As if by doing so he ensured that she wouldn’t lie to him. “Something going on between you that you’re not telling the rest of us?”

  Anger flashed in her eyes at the mere suggestion that she could number among Wyatt’s dalliances. The next moment the anger subsided just as quickly. This was just Quint, looking after her the way he always did. He couldn’t help the fact that it sometimes made him a pain.

  Morgan forced herself to calm down. “No.”

  But Quint knew there had to be something more than she was saying. People didn’t react the way Morgan did unless something had happened somewhere along the line to make them behave that way. He peered at her closely. Their lives had gotten busier these last few years. Had he missed something crucial?

  “Did he hurt you somehow?”

  He was all big brother now, and far closer to the truth than Morgan would have liked. “No man’s ever hurt me, Quint.”

  He knew she wasn’t that good at forgetting. “There was Blake.”

  Morgan pressed her lips together. Yes, there was Blake. Tall, dark, and, as it turned out, completely worthless. But not so’s you’d notice at first, she thought. She’d launched herself into Blake’s lair on an emotional rebound. The relationship, her longest, had lasted all of three months before she came to her senses.

  Shrugging, she sighed. “Blake. Rhymes with mistake.”

  That’s what they had all thought in the family. Quint had been the one to point it out to her. Not that his advice was wanted. “As I recall, you made that mistake right after Wyatt got married.”

  Morgan didn’t care for the direction the conversation was going. She wanted the past in the past. All of it, Wyatt included. Looking for a way out, Morgan spotted Ginny by one of the three banquet tables that had been set up.

  “I see your lovely bride-to-be is looking lonely. Why don’t you go and sweep her off her feet or pin a badge to her or—”

  He’d intended to dance every dance with Ginny, but right now he was talking to Morgan. Or trying to. “I’ll take care of Ginny, thanks.” He pinned his sister with a look. “You’re being evasive.”

  She let out a little hiss of impatience. “And you’re pressing too hard. Let it go, Wyatt.” She saw the grin bloom. “What?”

  “You just called me Wyatt. Is there a reason for that?” Quint had his own theories about that.

  There were times when her brothers were just too obstinate for their own good—or hers. “Yes. When I’m confronted with an annoying situation, naturally, I think ‘Wyatt.’”

  “Did I hear my name being taken in vain?”

  Morgan stiffened at the sound of Wyatt’s voice behind her and flashed an accusing look at Quint. He might have warned her. Turning around, her eyes swept dismissively over Wyatt.

  “All of you is taken in vain, if you ask me, McCall.” Then, to her dismay, she watched as Wyatt elbowed Quint out of the way. The latter looked more than happy to step back. “What are you doing?” she asked Wyatt.

  Taking her hand, Wyatt arched an amused brow at the stupidity of her question. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  She clenched her teeth together. “Looking to become a eunuch.”

  Wyatt had no idea why, but there was something fascinating about Morgan tonight. Something that kept reeling him in when he could be elsewhere, talking to someone else, dancing with someone else. Given a choice, he’d rather be here, having his head bitten off.

  “No,” he contradicted, “I’m cutting in.”

  It was past cutting in. She was already dancing away from Quint, who looked quite happy at the turn of events. Some help he was. She supposed that she could just walk away, but something kept her from doing that. She’d like to think that it was breeding.

  “Don’t I get something to say about this?”

  Gallantly Wyatt nodded. “You get to say yes. Your partner’s gone.” Their hands joined, he used hers like an extension of his and indicated Quint behind her. Her brother was very busy brushing a kiss against Ginny’s lips. “Now, unless you want to stand out here on the dance floor all by yourself, I suggest you dance with me. Smiling is optional.”

  He was doing it again, holding her against him so that she was in the middle of a hands-on anatomy lesson about the difference between men and women. Holding her so that her heart could have passed for a race car engine in the Indianapolis 500.

  She had to get him to back away. “Breathing will be optional for you in a minute if you don’t stop holding me like that.”

  But he didn’t back away. If possible, he held her even closer. Morgan couldn’t remember when she’d felt so alive. And so upset about it.

  “Like what?”

  Her eyes locked with his. “Like a farsighted tailor who’s measuring me for a dress and has just lost his glasses.”

  The comparison tickled him. Laughing, Wyatt relinquished just a little of his hold. “Sorry, just a reflex.”

  Reflex her foot. He knew damn well what he was doing, and just how to do it. Still, she couldn’t let him know that she was reacting to him. He’d never let her forget it.

  “Is that how you hang on to all your women? By never letting them out of your grasp?”

  He kept her hand tightly tucked within his and against his chest—just in case she felt like taking a swing at him. He put nothing past her. “No, just the ones I figure are dying to scratch my eyes out.” “She laughed. So he could read her mind. “Large club, is it?”

  Wyatt wasn’t in the mood to talk about the women in his past. He’d come to the wedding alone, maybe for reasons he hadn’t admitted to himself until now. “What about our truce?”

  She tilted her face up to his. “I haven’t killed you, have I?”

  Did she have any idea how damn tempting she was? Of course she did, she was Morgan, the favorite, the indulged. Morgan, the woman who could break anyone’s heart and just walk on by without even realizing what she’d done. She was as fickle as sunlight—and just as beautiful.

  “And why,” he asked softly, “would you want to do that?”

  Was it her imagination, or were her knees getting watery? Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine, not when she was taking antihistamines for her cold.

  She struggled to sound nonchalant. “General principle. Past wrongs. Future infractions. Why wait until the last minute?”

  Wyatt had a feeling she liked him better than she let on. Just as he liked her better. Maybe tonight was the time to explore that, just this once. “You’re all talk, Morgan, you know that? You just keep moving those pretty lips of yours, hoping to knock me over with the wind they create.”

  Pretty? Had he just called her pretty? Or was he just setting her up for a fall? Wouldn’t be the first time, Morgan reminded herself. “I see you still have the same silver tongue.”

  Silver or not, Wyatt had an incredible urge to run that tongue she was defaming over those lips of hers. The very thought excited him. But as he leaned into her, his mouth inches away from their goal, Morgan turned her head. And sneezed.

  Spell broken, he struggled not to laugh at himself. He’d almost kissed Morgan. And probably came very close to having his lips ripped off. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Talk about narrow escapes.

  “You taking anything for that?”

  What wasn’t she taking for this, she thought sarcastically. “Dabbling in pharmacology are we now?” Maybe it was petty, but she didn’t feel like
going into any details whatsoever. Not with Wyatt. She’d gotten in trouble that one time for telling him too much. In trouble with herself. She had no intentions of it ever happening again.

  Wyatt shrugged indifferently. “Just making conversation.”

  The indifference in his voice had her recoiling inwardly. It only served to remind her of the fool she’d once been. A fool over him.

  “Well, don’t trouble yourself.” Breaking away, she went straight toward one of the waiters and plucked one of the wineglasses from his halfempty tray. It was her second.

  Or maybe her third, she amended. She wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was that she needed it right now to cut the bitter taste in her mouth. “I’ll take one.”

  “That’s your third, do you think you should?”

  So he was keeping count, was he? Didn’t he have anything better to do than haunt her? She took umbrage at his insinuation. “What are you doing, keeping tabs on me?”

  Others ran for cover when her voice took that tone. Wyatt didn’t budge. “Someone should, so you don’t get into trouble.”

  She could feel a flush beginning in her cheeks. “McCall, you are trouble. You’d be the last one to keep me from it.”

  A smart man would have retreated by now, leaving her to suffer the consequences of her rash actions. But he didn’t quite feel like being smart tonight. Not that she’d appreciate any of this.

  “That’s not going to go well with those cold tablets I saw you downing earlier.” Then, very deliberately, he removed the offending glass from her hand.

  She stared at him, astonished. Of all the gall. “Then why did you just ask me—”

  “To see what you’d say.” Just as he’d surmised, she was as scrappy, as argumentative as ever. “You’re running true to form, Morgan. Except for those tears I see glistening in your eyes.”

  Damn it, leave it to Wyatt to notice. She blinked, willing her eyes to dry. “Those aren’t tears, that’s just an allergy.”

  Wyatt shook his head. Her excuse was all well and good, except for one thing. “You don’t have allergies.”