ALMOST EVERYTHING

by Williams, Mary J.

  Something, when given with an open heart, couldn’t be bartered for or purchased. Love. In Morgan’s opinion, the rarest, most precious gift of all. Hopefully, India would agree.

  Morgan tied the satin bow, stood back to survey his work, and frowned. He had little experience wrapping packages, and his lack of skill showed. The paper crinkled in some places and bulged in others. The bow was uneven and off-center. A sad embellishment, pitiful and unworthy of India.

  Frustrated, Morgan reached for the box ready to tear off the paper and start again. Before he could act, a familiar voice stopped him.

  “Don’t.”

  Marcy walked into the room. Sven right behind her. Morgan sighed. So much for keeping his activities a secret.

  “I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Morgan said, stating the obvious.

  “So, you decided to sneak around where you don’t belong?” Marcy asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Morgan couldn’t read her expression. But guilt made him feel about two feet tall.

  “Sorry. I should have asked first.”

  “Always.” Marcy’s gaze moved to the poorly wrapped box. “Care to explain?”

  “Birthday present.”

  “For your mystery lady?” Sven inquired, lips twitching.

  Great, Morgan thought. Not only was he busted, any second now Sven would break out laughing. The cherry on top of his humiliation sundae.

  “I made a mess.” He sent Marcy a sheepish smile. “I don’t suppose you’d…?”

  “No.” She shook her head, dashing Morgan’s hopes. “Don’t look so woebegone. One glance at your wonky effort and your girl will melt inside.”

  Unconvinced, Morgan eyed the sad excuse for a package and frowned.

  “Seems unlikely,” he said.

  “The thought is what counts,” Sven assured him. “The first time I made Marcy breakfast, the scrambled eggs were undercooked and filled with shells. You know what she said?”

  Morgan shook his head.

  “Never again.” Sven chuckled. “But she had tears in her eyes.”

  “First time I knew you loved me.”

  Marcy brushed a hand over Sven’s cheek. The gesture was simple, yet so intimate, Morgan felt like an intruder. They had eyes only for each other. If India looked at him the same way, just once, he would be the happiest person alive.

  “I’ve never stopped,” Sven said. “Sometimes you drive me up the wall. But my love grows stronger every day.”

  Blinking the moisture from her eyes, Marcy turned to Morgan.

  “Nothing is perfect. You need to let the person you care about see the real you. Warts and all. If you only show your good side, when the tough times come—and they will—things will fall apart fast. You need to know who your partner is. Inside and out.”

  “The way I wrapped her gift is a test?” Not sure he liked the idea, Morgan frowned.

  “More of a glimpse at who she really is.”

  Morgan wasn’t convinced. He trusted Marcy’s advice. Still, he wasn’t ready to pass judgment on India over one crappy present.

  “Is today her birthday?” Marcy asked.

  “Yes.” Morgan glanced at this watch. “The cabin’s ready. All I need to do is stop at the bakery, and I’m all set.”

  “Store-bought cake?” Marcy’s eyes widened in horror. “I don’t think so.”

  “If you plan to suggest I bake something, don’t. No one wants to celebrate their eighteenth birthday with a case of food poisoning.”

  Shaking her head, Marcy smiled.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Sven said when Morgan sent him a questioning look. “Marcy rarely thinks in a straight line. I figured out long ago the best way isn’t to follow; you’ll get lost if you try. Be patient and let her pull you along. The result is almost always worth the leap of faith.”

  “You’re right.” Morgan paused. “You and Marcy have been great about everything. The cabin, the girl.”

  “If you decide to tell us, we’re here to listen. If not—”

  “I’ll go crazy.” Marcy returned with a white box. The red satin ribbon she’d tied around the outside was fashioned into a perfectly executed bow. “Cupcakes. Vanilla with coconut frosting. Freshly baked this morning.”

  “You’re the best.” Morgan gave her a hug with an extra squeeze.

  “I could find out her name like that.” Marcy snapped her fingers. “How many girls in your class were born on December third?”

  “She won’t,” Sven said.

  “No.” Marcy nodded. “I want to. But frustrated as I am not knowing, I respect your privacy.”

  Morgan would trust Marcy and Sven with his life. If the secret were his and his alone, he would tell them without hesitation. Unless India gave her permission, his lips were sealed.

  “Thank you.” Morgan hugged Marcy again. He slapped Sven on the back. “For everything.”

  “Drive safe,” Marcy called out. “The roads are icy in patches, and there’s more snow on the way.”

  Ready to make a joke about her mother henning, Morgan glanced over his shoulder. The words died on his tongue. He didn’t see disappointment. Or judgment. All he saw was love.

  “I love you.” He didn’t say the words often enough. “Both.”

  “Go. Before you make me blubber.” Marcy sniffled.

  “You heard her.” Sven cleared his throat, a sheen of moisture in his eyes. “Have a good time. Be safe. If you need anything, anything, we’re always a phone call away.”

  With a nod, he left the house and jogged to his truck. The motor rolled over without protest. Hot air blasted from the vents, heating the interior. He caught sight of Marcy standing at the window, Sven by her side. They watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

  Home.

  Morgan shifted the truck into third gear, giving the truck some gas. No matter where he traveled, no matter how many miles he put between them, they would always be his home.

  ♫~♫~♫

  INDIA GLIDED ACROSS the pond, the wisps of steam that rose from the surface riding along her shoulders. She didn’t seem real. Like a dark-haired water nymph conjured by Morgan’s imagination, too beautiful to be real.

  Lucky him, India wouldn’t disappear into the mist. She was earthbound, flesh and blood, the smile on her face all for him.

  Around them, snow laid on the ground. Fresh flakes fell from the sky while the temperature hovered in the low twenties. The underground hot spring bubbled to the surface, providing a magic hideaway.

  “It’s your birthday.” Morgan circled her using a slow, easy sidestroke. “Eighteen. Feel any different?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she said. “After.”

  Morgan’s heart raced. No reason to ask what she meant. They’d planned for months. Sometimes, he felt today would never get here. Now, he worried she would change her mind. Worse, that today would be memorable in the worst possible way. He didn’t want to make her first time so traumatic she decided to swear off sex for life.

  “Nervous?” India grinned, reading his mind as only she could do. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

  “Funny.” Morgan hit the pond with the edge of his hand, sending a splash of warm water across her face.

  Unperturbed, India pushed her wild riot of curls over her shoulder.

  “Then laugh.”

  “Guess I am nervous.” Morgan saw no reason not to admit the truth. “A little.”

  “Makes two of us.”

  “You?” he scoffed. “Could have fooled me.”

  India swam closer. Her amber eyes sparkled, but in their depths, Morgan saw a flicker of nerves. Every protective instinct came to life. Nothing, no one, would ever hurt her while he was around. He put himself at the top of the list.

  “For so long, I put growing up on hold.” She shrugged. “I know maturity is more than sex. But there are milestones we cross on the way. N
ot me. I stayed in my self-imposed cocoon, waiting.”

  “Until college?”

  “Or, so I thought.”

  “Then what?” he asked, intrigued.

  “You.” India smiled.

  “Oh.” Morgan felt his entire body sigh with happiness.

  “I wasn’t jealous when my friends started dating. The boys they went out with didn’t interest me.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Morgan knew he was wrong to think of India as his. He didn’t like the idea of another person kissing her lips, touching her body, knowing her taste. The time they had was fleeting, and he greedily held onto every moment. Right or wrong, he didn’t want to share.

  “Forget other guys. They’re jerks.”

  “Not you.” India closed the distance between them, her arms sliding around his neck. “You, Morgan McCloud, are my dream come true. Better. Until you, I didn’t know what I wanted. Now, I do.”

  “What do you want, India?” Morgan asked. He pulled her close, warm, wet skin next to warm, wet skin. “Tell me. Anything in my power is yours.”

  “You.” She ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. “I just want you. And more moments like this one. But neither of us can stop time. Nor speed it up. All we can do is enjoy here and now.”

  “We can make plans for the future.” Morgan groaned. What was he thinking? Before India could answer, he rushed ahead. “Forget I said anything.”

  “The future? Our future?” India whispered the words. “When you think ahead. Years from now. Do you see us together?”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan said in a rush and knew he lied. “Maybe.”

  “I have.” She placed a kiss on his lips and sighed. “Crazy. We’ve made separate plans. You want to see the world and—”

  “You want to save it.”

  “Bit by bit,” she said. “College first.”

  “Four years.”

  Morgan knew how quickly the days could pass. Or drag. Right now, four years seemed like a lifetime.

  “A lot can change. We won’t be able to see each other. Or talk. Or write.” India rested her head on his shoulder. “You’ll become a famous musician. Money and fame. Women will fall at your feet.”

  Rich and famous or poor as a church mouse and twice as obscure, men would always swarm to be with India. Morgan hated the idea. Yet, if they were serious about a future—way, way, down the line—they had to be realistic.

  India shivered, and Morgan cursed himself for staying outside so long. Didn’t matter if the water felt like the middle of July. They, in truth, were surrounded by winter.

  “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  “Nope.” India tightened her hold around his neck, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m happy here, in the pond, with you.”

  Used to getting her way, India wanted what she wanted. Part of the rich girl mentality, he supposed. Morgan chuckled. The fact he found her little pout adorable said everything about his feelings for her. Love, it seemed, lifted a man’s tolerance levels to new, unforeseen heights.

  Morgan might have let her flirt her way to another ten minutes outside—if he hadn’t felt the shudders vibrate from her body to his. Any second, her teeth would start to chatter.

  “Another ten minutes, and you’ll be a happy icicle.”

  Not giving her a chance to argue—or wheedle—Morgan swooped India into his arms. He tucked his coat around her, grabbed her jacket, and shoved his feet into his boots.

  The snow was deeper than when they arrived. However, the path he’d cleared earlier in the day and his long legs took them from the pond to the cabin in no time.

  “I could have walked,” India said as he shut the door behind them.

  “Could have, sure. But you preferred my way.”

  India laughed. The sound was joyous and free and if Morgan had his way, she would experience the same freedom every second of every day for the rest of her very long, very healthy life.

  Happiness, twenty-four-hours a day, every day, wasn’t possible. And though he hated to think of her sick in any way—even a cold—Morgan had no control over the vagaries of life. Luckily, he did have the power to make India’s here and now, the anniversary of her birth, the best she’d ever known.

  As he stoked the fire, tossing two more logs on the already blazing flames, Morgan watched, transfixed, as India squeezed the water from her long, dark hair. Curls sprang to life, clinging to the damp skin of her arms and shoulders. Her body, lean and toned from hours of cheerleading and volleyball, gleamed golden in the firelight.

  From her red-tipped toenails to her amber-colored eyes, every inch of India was perfection. Her body was a dream, Morgan’s dream, come true. But as he’d learned over the past months, she was so much more. Brains surpassed beauty by a country mile.

  Morgan now had a type. Smart women. If they were also blessed with impossibly long legs and a killer smile, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  India ran a towel over her wet skin, wiping the water from her arms, her stomach, the back of her neck. Morgan swallowed. Hard. He shifted his stance to allow room for the growing bulge between his legs. Sexy mind, sexy body. Yup. He was a goner.

  “You weren’t kidding about the little red bikini.”

  “You like?” India’s pose would have put the most super of supermodels to shame. “Seemed like the appropriate time to break it out.”

  “I’m tempted to rip those tiny scraps of material to shreds.”

  “Passion?” she asked.

  “Jealousy,” he admitted. “I don’t want other men to see you as you are tonight. The memory of you in a tiny red bikini belongs to me and no one else.”

  “Amazing.” Grinning, India tossed the damp towel onto the chair by the fireplace. “You’re such a sweetheart. Interesting to find out a bit of caveman lurks under the surface.”

  “You like the idea?” Morgan asked, surprised.

  “A little.” She shrugged. “Once in a while.”

  Morgan pushed his swim trunks to his ankles. With a flick of his foot, he sent them to the same chair as India’s towel. Naked, he hunched over—caveman style—and shuffled toward her. Playtime.

  “Ugh,” he grunted.

  Giggling, India ran behind the sofa.

  “I thought we came to the cabin to talk.”

  Morgan grunted.

  “Right. Cavemen can’t speak,” she said and squealed with laughter when he jumped onto and over the sofa.

  India tried to run, but Morgan knew his part. He didn’t chase, he dominated. Three steps were as far as she got before he grabbed her arm and tossed her over his shoulder. Never one to give in without a fight, she slapped his bare butt, which earned her a retaliatory pat on her backside.

  Morgan tossed her onto the bed. He loomed over her. Bigger, stronger. No longer a man but an intimidating beast. India swallowed her laugh, but a snicker snuck past her lips.

  “Me, Jane, you, Tarzan?”

  “Wrong fantasy,” he mumbled.

  “Sorry,” India said, looking anything but. “Honestly.”

  Again, she let out a snort of laughter.

  “Mm.” Morgan straddled her hips. “Seems you need to learn a lesson about who’s in charge.”

  “I’m yours.” India threw her arms over her head, giving him full access to her subtle but mouthwatering curves. “Teach me.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to call me Master?”

  “Not in this life or any other,” she said. In a blink, the expression in her eyes went from teasing to pointed. “Understood?”

  Morgan nuzzled India’s neck.

  “Want me to call you Mistress?”

  “Ick.”

  “Then I guess we should forget the fantasies and get down to reality.”

  “Much better.” India ran her hands over his back and sighed. “I prefer my man to a caveman any day.”

  My man. Morgan liked the way the words sounded. She already owned
his heart. If she asked, he’d give her everything. Body and soul.

  “Do you want me to be yours?” he asked.

  “Yes.” India nodded. “If you want the same from me.”

  Morgan felt the enormity of the moment. Time stopped. His heart skipped a beat. Taking a deep breath, he felt a wave of vulnerability like he’d never experienced before.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Tears filled India’s eyes as she opened her mouth. Nothing came out but a sob.

  “Don’t cry,” Morgan begged. “I wanted to make you happy, not miserable.”

  “I am happy.” Her tears fell faster. “I’m—”

  “Shh.” Morgan gathered her close. His arms cradled her as he crooned into her ear. “Shh.”

  “No one’s ever said they love me.”

  Another unexpected connection. Morgan felt India’s pain, deeply, profoundly because he too grew up without love. From different worlds, opposites on paper, they were the same in so many surprising ways.

  “What about your aunt?”

  “We’re part of the same family. Generations of Curtises have done their best to breed out the need for genuine affection. I know she loves me, but, like me, she didn’t grow up hearing the words. Saying them doesn’t occur to her.”

  “Why do people have kids when they don’t really want them?” Morgan frowned. “Ninety percent of the time, my dad barely knows I’m alive. The other ten, he yells. A lot. Or complains. Or nags.”

  “Does he…?” India rubbed his arm, her eyes filled with worry. “Has he ever hit you?”

  “No.” Morgan shrugged. “Feels like he wants to, but he doesn’t. Can’t say what stops him.”

  “My father was expected to carry on the family name. Grandfather wanted boys. Lots and lots of boys,” India said. “The old man died when I was a baby. Before he knew I’d be an only child.”

  “Boys are overrated. Believe me, as one, I know.”

  “I wouldn’t change my sex for anything. Or yours.” India smoothed back Morgan’s hair, her eyes roaming his face. “You’re so brave.”

  “Me?” He frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “For so long, I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel.” Eyes lowered, a crease between her brows, she used one finger to trace a random pattern on his chest. “I was afraid. But you weren’t.”