“Forgot I’m supposed to bring an arrangement of chrysanthemums to the town hall potluck tonight. Don’t know where my head is these days.” Marcy shrugged. “I’d go myself if I weren’t in the middle of decorating five dozen sugar cookies. Would you mind helping me out and cut a half dozen good-sized bunches?”
“I’m your man. Just tell me where they’re growing.”
“Round back of the cabin.”
The shovel slipped from Morgan’s hands, clattering to the ground. Manure splattered everywhere but mostly onto his jeans and boots to the middle of his thighs. He barely noticed.
“The cabin?” he asked. “The one by the pond?”
“Do you know of any other on our property?” Marcy asked, innocent as a newborn baby.
Did she forget, Morgan wondered. Or was the mission to pick flowers a bit of tough love, Marcy style? Her way of saying, grow up and get over yourself.
Now that he was back, off and on, Morgan knew he had to visit the cabin eventually. He loved the pond. Why punish himself simply because every inch of the place contained memories of India? The sooner he made himself confront the past, the sooner he could enjoy the hot springs the way he had as a boy and young man.
“What color?”
“Excuse me?” Marcy asked.
“The mums. What color do you want?”
“An assortment. Long stems. You know what I like.” She smiled. “Sure you don’t mind?”
“A swim sounds good. Better than a shower to wash off the smell of manure.”
“Thank you, Morgan. You’re a dear.”
Sven followed Marcy from the barn.
“What are you up to?” he asked his wife, his voice lowered so Morgan couldn’t hear.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“India goes to the pond every Thursday afternoon.”
“Does she? Hm.” Marcy frowned. “Guess I forgot.”
“The same way you forgot about the flowers?”
“Age must be catching up with me.”
“Come on.” Sven rolled his eyes. “Your mind’s as sharp as the day we met. Sharper.”
Marcy picked a piece of hay from Sven’s hair, her fingers lingering. Sprinkled liberally with gray but still thick and soft to the touch, she loved the feel against her skin. She loved him, every aging inch. She reveled in the fact, after all these years, she could still get him hot and bothered with a sultry look and a knowing smile on her lips.
“They need to be alone.”
“Matchmaking?” Sven didn’t look happy at the idea.
“Of course not.” Marcy shook her head. “India is a married woman. True, her husband is a cheater and a generally awful human being.”
“But…?”
“Revenge won’t make Morgan happy. If he and India talk—and listen—perhaps they can find a way to move past the hurt.”
“Closure,” Sven said.
“Yes. Mind you, if they realize they’re still in love, then who am I to argue?”
“No string-pulling, Marcy. Promise me.”
“On a stack of Bibles, I promise,” Marcy said. “Anything that happens between Morgan and India will be their doing and none of mine.”
“Okay.”
Sven placed his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the house.
“However, no reason I can’t hope.” Marcy glanced at her husband and smiled. “Right?”
Grinning, Sven raised his right hand and crossed his fingers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
♫~♫~♫
CLEAN, REFRESHED, HIS nose finally free of all lingering barnyard smells, Morgan lay on his back. He removed his shirt the moment he arrived, preferring the feel of cool grass against his heated skin. Tall, green stalks surrounded him on all sides, the tendrils acting as a soft bed to rest his weary body.
Morgan sighed, stretched, and groaned. Didn’t matter if a bunch of machines at his favorite health club told him he had superior lung capacity or that his muscle to fat ratio was in the top percentile. After one partial day of manual labor, he was pooped.
“Come morning, every inch of me will ache.” Morgan rolled his shoulders. With a weary grimace, he chuckled. “Best feeling in the world.”
The puppy, black with a white circle around one eye, rested her head on Morgan’s leg. The look of adoration in her blue eyes was mutual, but he wondered if he’d made a mistake removing her from the barn even for a few hours.
Probably wasn’t the best idea to bring the dog with him to the pond. The more time they spent together, the more attached they would become.
“Marcy will find a home for you and your brothers and sisters. She’s an expert at matching the right person with the right dog.” Morgan scratched behind the puppy’s ear and was rewarded with a sigh of happiness. “Won’t be long until you have a forever home.”
Hopeful eyes met his, and Morgan swore the dog understood every word he said. Impossible, but just in case, he needed to make himself perfectly clear.
“Home can’t be with me,” he warned his eager companion. “Think how much you’d miss the fresh air and open fields.”
The puppy gave him a quizzical look, and Morgan felt an inexplicable twinge of guilt.
“Sure, my place overlooks Central Park. But you don’t understand. I travel—a lot. When I’m not in another city or country, my time is rarely my own. Best I could do would be to hire you a dog walker. Picture yourself on a leash, at the mercy of a stranger. Not a pretty image.”
Afraid his dire warning had no effect, Morgan gave up. The puppy would get over him soon enough. He’d lost too many people in his life and though the dog wasn’t human, the idea he was so easily forgotten once again didn’t sit well.
The puppy, sensing the downward direction of his mood, licked his hand, then curled up at his side. The pick-me-up worked better than any pill.
“Enough with the cute stuff, you little peanut.”
Great. Now the puppy had a name. But what was he to do? Sometimes fate stepped in. Peanut fit her perfectly.
“Might be the prettiest spot in the world,” Morgan said as he slid his hands behind his head. He followed the path of a bird as it flew through the clear-blue sky. “Hard to argue the point. Quiet. Peaceful—”
The sound of a car approaching broke Morgan’s solitude. On full alert, he sat up and looked around. The cabin was off all beaten paths, too far from the main highway for a stray local resident, or a lost tourist. Signs were posted at regular intervals and clearly declared the property was private.
NO TRESPASSING, in big red letters.
Morgan waited. Expecting the car to turn around and leave, he turned his head, ears perked and listening. Instead, the next thing he heard was silence as the engine died, followed by the sound of a slamming door.
“We have company,” he whispered to his heavy-eyed companion.
Tucking Peanut under his arms, Morgan jogged to where he’d parked the SUV around the back of the cabin. He rolled down two of the windows before fashioning a makeshift bed on the floor beneath the steering wheel.
“Sleep,” he instructed the puppy before he grabbed his t-shirt from the front seat. “I’ll be right back.”
Morgan pulled his shirt over his head as he made his way around the cabin. Not sure what he would find but prepared for the worst, he found the only weapon available, a fallen branch, thick and solid to the touch.
Quiet as possible, Morgan stopped to peer around the corner. What he saw was so unexpected, his breath caught in his throat and for a second, he swore his heart stopped.
India? What the hell.
Curious, Morgan stayed where he was, hidden from sight. To be honest, he was happy to watch without the need to pretend he wasn’t interested. The longer he looked, the more he realized how starved he was for a simple unobstructed glimpse.
From his vantage point, Morgan’s greedy gaze feasted on her every move. She still had the ability to
make his blood heat and his pulse race.
India didn’t seem to be in a hurry, nor did she approach the cabin. Instead, she raised her face to the sky and inhaled. Her hair hung loose down her back, long and silky. Though Morgan preferred her natural curls, he itched to bury his face in her neck, kissing, tasting, as he ran his fingers through the fragrant locks.
Damn, damn, damn. Morgan’s wayward thoughts weren’t healthy, but he couldn’t seem to rein them in.
Something felt off about India’s visit to the place they had once used as their personal sanctuary. She gave up the right to bask in the pond’s beauty the moment she offered herself to the man she claimed to hate—an act Morgan couldn’t forget or forgive.
India didn’t belong. Yet, she seemed perfectly at home. Strolling toward the pond, she stopped to breathe in the scent of the roses that grew wild near the water’s edge. Morgan knew the smell well. Stronger than the domestic variety and bolstered by the heat from the underground spring, the aroma could be intoxicating.
A smile touched India’s lips as she toed off her shoes. She set the white sneakers next to the bench, hand-carved years ago by Sven from an old piece of oak. Thinking India meant to dangle her toes in the water, he was surprised when she undid the top button on her shirt.
Surprise turned to anticipation. Morgan swallowed. Leaning closer, his entire body went on red alert.
Torn between self-preservation and the voyeuristic desire to watch her strip, to discover if his memory of what laid beneath her clothing still matched the reality, Morgan ignored his conscience and silently urged her on.
One button, two, three. The sheer material dropped from one shoulder, then the next. Carefully, agonizingly slow, India folded the blouse into a neat square and placed the garment on the bench. She shimmied out of her jeans.
Nice hip action, Morgan thought. Underneath, she wore a modest blue and white swimsuit, not the skimpy red bikini he still fantasized about.
Before Morgan could decide if he was relieved or disappointed, India ran toward the pond and jumped. Leaning his head against the side of the cabin, he closed his eyes.
Damn, damn, damn! He thought he was past the point where the sight of her almost-naked form wouldn’t bring him to his knees. Holy shit was he wrong. Mind over matter was a fucking myth. His brain said, turn, leave; his body refused to listen.
Morgan’s knees were weak. However, his dick—the traitor—was hard as stone.
During the next thirty seconds, Morgan grumbled and mumbled, berating himself as a fool until he realized India was nowhere to be seen. By his estimation, she’d been underwater for almost two minutes.
Morgan’s mind raced. He knew from experience, the bottom of the pond was solid, but there were always dangers in any body of water.
What if she’d hit her head? What if, right now, she hung between life and death? Morgan learned to survive without India. Still, he needed to know she was out there, somewhere, alive and well.
If not— He shut down his thoughts before they wandered into the unthinkable. Move, he told himself. Now!
Morgan rushed toward the water, pausing long enough to hop and tug at his boots. Muscles bunched, ready to dive in, his purpose in life had narrowed to one goal—rescue India before the pond became her grave.
Suddenly, she burst to the surface. The shock was enough to send Morgan skidding to a halt. What sent him to his ass was the scream. Rather, the screech. Motivated by pain or panic, he couldn’t tell. One second, he was terrified India would drown, the next, he was scared shitless she was mortally wounded.
Pushing to his feet, Morgan jumped headlong into the water. He surfaced, grabbed India by the arms, and spun her around.
Eyes wide with fright, she screamed again. The force behind her punch to his arm was impressive but had little effect. The kick she landed was a different story. Another inch to the right and his balls would have been toast.
“Hey,” he said. “Careful.”
“Morgan?” India blinked through a mass of wet curls. “What are you doing here?”
Treading water, Morgan kept them both afloat.
“First, are you hurt? Bleeding? Second, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Bleeding? Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
India pushed him away and swam toward shore. Morgan was close behind.
“I’m ridiculous? Me? What the hell do you call caterwauling at the top of your lungs for no reason?”
“I don’t caterwaul.” India sniffed at the idea. “And I have a very good reason.”
“Name one.”
“None of your business.”
They stood face to face, breathing hard. Fire danced in India’s eyes, and the look of outrage suited her. Morgan would take all-out mad any day over the cool, collected woman he met the day before.
“None of my business,” Morgan said in a mocking tone. “There’s a familiar refrain from days gone by.”
India turned her back and grabbed her shirt. She dressed as quickly as possible. By the time she finished, tugging and pulling her clothing over wet skin, the ice queen was back.
“Refrain?” she asked without emotion as she tied her shoes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Morgan couldn’t turn his emotions on and off as easily as India. Perhaps because he loved her once upon a time while she used him and tossed him away with less care than she’d show a soiled tissue. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t in the mood to rehash the past.
As he turned to leave, a voice crept into his head—Marcy’s voice. You promised, she reminded him. Talk. Listen.
Morgan sighed. Damn, damn, damn!
“Why did you agree to marry Allard Hallstrom?”
“You know the reason.” India cleared her throat. “Money.”
The crack he saw in India’s façade was brief and quickly mended. But in that one moment, Morgan had a glimpse of the woman he once believed her to be—the woman he once loved.
Did money really motivate India? Morgan understood the allure. And yet, for all his words to the contrary, he wasn’t happy. Angry a lot of the time, though like India, he hid his true emotions well. He was driven, ambitious, and rarely relaxed long enough to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
So, Morgan had to ask. If he only showed the world what he wanted them to see while he hid the rest, was India guilty of doing the same? Heat and passion simmered under the cool. Why did she insist on hiding her true self behind a mask of ice?
Marcy was right. Morgan needed answers, he always had. Instinct told him India was close to breaking, a question or two away from telling him the truth. However, if he pushed her too hard in the wrong direction, he may never know.
“One question.”
India nodded.
Searching his brain, Morgan tried to think of something he could ask that would help close the chasm between them, not widen it further. He rolled the dice and said a silent prayer.
“You weren’t hurt. You weren’t in trouble. Why did you scream? Why here? Why now.”
“You said one question.”
“Three related questions, one answer. Or two.”
India’s lips twitched, just a little. Not quite a smile, but close enough to send a zing along the surface of Morgan’s skin. Prickly awareness. Uncomfortable, yet, he had to admit, not completely unpleasant.
“The truth?”
“God, yes.”
“I come here once a week for a little peace of mind,” she said.
“Not today,” Morgan teased without thinking.
“You were a surprise.”
“Unpleasant?” he asked.
“Unexpected,” she qualified.
When India gave him a fleeting smile, Morgan felt a familiar catch in the area of his heart. Meaningless, he assured himself. Nothing but an old habit.
“If you find the pond such a peaceful place, why the scream?”
“Because if I let myself scream an
ywhere else, I might never stop.”
“Jesus, India.” Morgan shook his head. “Why stay with the bastard?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
India was almost to her car when Morgan caught up. She reached for the door at the same moment he reached for her. As he snaked an arm around her waist, she didn’t protest, she didn’t struggle. Almost as though she’d shut down, her body felt stiff and unresponsive.
“Remember the last time I held you close?”
Her gaze fixed on something over his shoulder, India didn’t respond.
“The day of your wedding. I was angry, angrier than I’ve ever been before or since.” Morgan, needing a response, brushed his lips across India’s cheek. Her skin was ice cold. “I kissed you. Remember what happened next?”
“I kissed you back,” she said in a flat, expressionless tone of voice.
“What would happen if I kissed you now?”
“Nothing.”
Morgan didn’t believe her. They could fight each other, hate each other. He could pretend India didn’t exist; she could forget he was alive. But the one time neither of them could pretend was when they were in each other’s arms.
“You can’t fight chemistry. One kiss and you’ll melt.”
“No, I won’t.”
Tempted to prove her wrong, something about the way India said the words, the resigned set of her chin, made Morgan stop. He dropped his arms and stepped away.
“What has he done to you?”
“God, I’m tired.” India sighed. Her gaze was lifeless. No spark, no heat. “I don’t have anything left, Morgan. Nothing.”
This time when India opened the car door, Morgan let her go. She slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. He couldn’t let her go without one more pointed remark.
“Maybe your life wouldn’t be so empty if you’d married for love.”
To Morgan’s surprise, his shock, she went still, a flash of pain in her eyes so intense, he felt the ricochet.
“You’ll never understand,” she whispered. “Love is the only reason I married Allard Hallstrom.”
India’s answer sent shockwaves through Morgan’s body, paralyzing him. By the time he could move, her car had disappeared down the road. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He would never believe India was in love with her husband. So, what had she meant?
ALMOST EVERYTHING Page 19
