She raced over and began dancing around Bo in an excess of joy. Bo knelt and indulged in a frenzy of petting, but she barely knew what she was doing. She felt as if she’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four, or maybe punched in the stomach. Something. Even her lips were numb.
No. Oh dear God, no.
CHAPTER 13
SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BE ATTRACTED TO HIM. SHE shouldn’t, couldn’t, be attracted to him. There was no point in it, it was stupid, it was a total waste of time and emotional effort. She knew better.
Yet here she was, almost melting because he was snuggling with her dog. Well, not that exactly; Tricks had a way of making everyone eat out of her paw. It was him, specifically. She wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses when it came to seeing him for what he was. For the most part he had kept himself very low key, and she appreciated the effort he’d made, but she hadn’t forgotten that he was here because he lived a very dangerous life, one so different from hers she couldn’t begin to relate. He was also a temporary fixture; when he was well, he’d be gone. He wouldn’t stay.
She’d never before been attracted to overt masculinity, the kick-ass-and-take-names mentality. So why him? Her ex-husband had been better looking; feckless, but better looking. Morgan’s features were rough, carved by hard experience. A woman would never look at him and think “Pretty!” but she would definitely look at him and think “Man.” Maybe that was it; maybe it was a chemical reaction, and she was responding to all that testosterone.
Her heart was pounding way too fast, perhaps in panic. She’d been aware of him from the beginning, and it had been easy to delude herself into thinking it was nothing more than his unaccustomed presence in her home making her on edge. She had tamped that awareness down, controlled it, rationalized it. What she hadn’t been able to do was destroy it. The awareness had waited, ticking away like a time bomb; perhaps she’d let herself get too comfortable because the bomb had just exploded in her face and she didn’t know what to do, how to handle it.
He’d changed. If he’d stayed the way he was, she’d be okay because she’d be in caretaker mode. He’d arrived a physical wreck, but now he wasn’t. He’d been here just a little over a week, and though she saw him every day, she was still aware that his color was better, he was stronger, he was gaining weight. Without knowing for certain, she guessed that when she was gone he worked at building his stamina because she couldn’t imagine a man who did what he did for a living being content to simply wait and let his body heal on its own. No, he’d be pushing himself beyond what an ordinary person would, fighting back against weakness, which was further evidence of who and what he was.
He was far from recovered, but in that one week he’d improved enough that he could manage by himself. In the name of self-preservation she should insist that he leave. Doing so would undoubtedly cost her what Axel had already put in her bank account, but she hadn’t spent any of it so she wouldn’t be any worse off than she had been before. It wasn’t as if she’d be destitute; she was okay financially.
But where would Morgan go? He couldn’t go home. He’d have to contact Axel, get some other arrangements made, and on that first day he’d made it plain any further contact could paint a target on his back. He had some money, he had credit cards, he was undoubtedly capable. She could tell him to go.
But what kind of person would that make her, if she put her emotions above his life? This wasn’t a game he was playing. He’d already almost died. Axel had said he’d coded twice during surgery.
She would be endangering his life if she made him go.
She would be endangering her heart if she didn’t.
All of those thoughts and realizations were racing through her mind like strobe flashes. The inner turmoil of realization was so great that she felt the blood draining from her face, literally felt her flesh contracting. Morgan must have seen it because he started to his feet, caught himself and winced in pain, then forced himself upright. He moved fast, was beside her in three long strides. “What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping her elbows in his rough palms to catch her if she staggered.
Bo fought down her reaction, conquered it, regained her mental balance. No way would she let him guess what she was thinking. She had too strong an instinct for self-preservation for that. She blew out a breath. “I just got woozy. Low blood sugar, I guess; I didn’t stop to get anything to eat.”
He was frowning with concern. “Sit down, and I’ll get you something. What do you want? A sandwich?”
“Just a yogurt. It’s too close to dinner to eat a sandwich.” Dinner wasn’t the only thing that was too close; he was too close, too warm, too big. She didn’t want to notice that the top of her head didn’t reach his chin, or how broad his shoulders were. She didn’t want to see the faint line of a small scar on his jaw, or smell the hot man-scent of his skin. He was still holding her elbows, and she liked the feel of his hands on her skin, the heat of them. Oh, damn, this was bad. He needed to release her. She needed to move away.
Thank God, he let her go and went to the refrigerator to fetch the requested yogurt and a spoon. Bo went to the bar and eased onto one of the stools. She was shaking, both inside and out. He couldn’t know. He could never know. She had to suck it up, hide her feelings—no, she had to ignore those feelings, box them up and seal it tight, until even she couldn’t tell they were there.
He opened the yogurt container for her before he placed it in front of her, the piercing blue fire of his gaze searching her face. Keeping her expression bland, she said, “Thanks,” and put a spoonful in her mouth. Never before had she been so grateful to have something so ordinary to do.
“I’ve never got what it is women like about yogurt,” he commented, leaning his hip against the counter on the other side of the bar. He was still thin, but he had the easy grace of an athlete, someone who had trained his body far beyond the capabilities of most humans. What was he like when he was at full strength?
Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. She wrenched her thoughts from that path and made herself shrug. “The texture is creamy. It’s easy, nothing that has to be prepared. When you don’t want a lot, it’s just enough.”
“The same can be said for peanut butter.”
“Do you like beef jerky?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So what’s appealing about gnawing on something with the texture of leather?”
He grinned, his ice-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “When you finish, you feel like you’ve accomplished something. Why didn’t you stop to eat? Worried about Tricks?”
She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “I knew Tricks would be fine. I was worried about you. I just could see you doing something when you were outside that pissed her off, then she’d get all huffy and not come back inside, and you’d hurt yourself trying to catch her.”
He laughed as he looked at the dog, who was lying on her back with all four feet in the air while she enthusiastically chewed on the bedraggled one-legged giraffe. “Yeah, she’s a terror.” He rubbed the side of his nose, his expression suddenly a little abashed. “You were right. For a dog, she’s damn brilliant.”
“I know,” she said smugly. “I’ve been dealing with her for two and a half years now.” Tricks’s intelligence wasn’t due to anything Bo personally had done, but she was still proud of the dog. She paused, and curiosity got the best of her. “What did she do?”
“I was trying to do too much and got a muscle spasm in my back. She wanted to go outside, and I couldn’t bend down to pick up her ball so I told her she’d have to put it in my hand. She did.” He slowly shook his head in amazement. “Every time. How did she understand that?”
“I don’t know. All I know is, she does. If she could talk and had opposable thumbs, she’d rule the world.” She finished the yogurt, slid off the stool to put the carton in the trash and the spoon in the dishwasher. “How’s your back now?”
He turned to face her, lounged against the counter again. “Better. I borrowed her
ball and used it to work the kink out. She thought that was a hell of a lot of fun, trying to get the ball from under my back.”
Bo laughed because she could just picture it. Having someone on the floor on her level was one of Tricks’s favorite things. She would light up with glee . . . right before she pounced.
“So how did the meeting go?” he asked. “Given how long it took, I’m guessing not well.”
“Pretty good, actually. It was about the Goodings, of course, but we worked out a plan to handle the problem. Mayor Buddy is going to make Mr. Gooding an offer he can’t refuse.”
“Does it involve a horse’s head?”
She stifled a laugh. “Only if the Hobsons get involved. I hope it won’t come to that. We’re offering to drop the charges in exchange for Kyle signing the divorce papers and leaving Emily alone.”
Morgan slanted another of those blue-lightning looks down at her. “What will prevent him from going back on his word once the charges are dropped? Can you trust him?”
“Not one bit. That’s where the Hobsons come in. If he doesn’t honor the agreement, we turn them loose on him.”
He chuckled. “I like the idea. Every town should have the equivalent of the Hobsons.”
“They probably do, but it’s our good luck that Loretta and her husband both work for the town. Charlie is in the water department.”
“She’s married?”
“To her high school sweetheart. Their son is in Morgantown, in his junior year.”
“Is he a Hobson too?” Morgan asked, looking a little puzzled.
“No, why? Oh—her name. Loretta was already working for the town when they got married, and she said it was too much trouble to change everything.”
“I guess keeping Hobson has its advantages.”
“Oh, yeah.” It struck her that their easy conversation was too easy. She’d become too comfortable with him, and he was already too familiar with the town and her life. Time to get out. She bent down and scratched Tricks’s silky belly. “You want to go for a walk, sweetie? I’ve been cooped up in a meeting room all day, and I could use some exercise.”
Tricks released the giraffe and jumped up, racing for her ball. As she passed by him, Morgan caught Bo’s arm, his clasp light, his expression serious. “Do you feel up to a walk? I can take her.”
Part of her was warmed that he was concerned enough to ask; another part of her panicked at both his touch and the close attention he was paying to her. She didn’t want him to notice her, didn’t want him to think twice about her or anything she did. She hid her reaction with a casual, “I feel fine now.” And she did—physically, at least. Her reaction before hadn’t been physical to begin with, not that she wanted him to know it.
“Where do you go?” he asked, looking through the windows at the woods on the right. “I figure I need to know, in case something happens and I have to call in the rescue squad.”
“I just follow the path through the woods, up the hill, and back. It’s about a mile and a half, enough to give her a good walk.” Tricks brought her ball up, and Bo stroked her head, then said, “I need to change clothes, I guess. Hold on, sweetie, it won’t take but a minute.”
She hurried up the stairs with Tricks right behind her. As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind her, Bo blew out a long breath. She needed the walk more than Tricks did, needed the time away from him to give herself a good talking to, to put her dumb-ass reaction in that mental box and seal it tight. She didn’t rule out maybe someday finding someone and getting married again . . . not completely, anyway. That was okay. That was normal.
Falling for a man she knew was going to leave was just plain stupid. She learned from her mistakes; she didn’t keep making the same ones over and over.
He was leaving. She had to keep telling herself that, because the minute she let herself forget, she was in real trouble.
The following Tuesday, after dinner, Morgan said, “I climbed the stairs today. I’m ready to graduate from the sofa to a real bed.”
“That’s good.” Bo kept her tone absent though her stomach tied itself in knots at the idea of him upstairs, so close to her while they slept. Yes, he’d be in the guest room, and each bedroom had its own en suite bath so they wouldn’t be sharing space, but still . . . she’d liked the sense of distance, the barrier of the stairs. Now he’d conquered that barrier, and he’d be upstairs with her at night. “I think there are sheets on the bed but I’ll check to make sure, and put towels in the bathroom.”
“I’ve already taken my duffle up.”
She straightened to stare at him, almost dropping the plate she was putting in the dishwasher. He’d managed to lift that heavy thing? How? She’d had to drag it inside. Sure, some of his clothes were in the laundry, but still. “How did you manage that?” she blurted. And how had she missed its presence? The duffle was big, and the only place to put it where it was out of the way but still easily accessible was behind the sofa. The duffle was gone—but now that she was looking she noticed the big Glock was on the lamp table beside the sofa.
He smirked, leaning against the cabinet beside the dishwasher and crossing one booted foot over the other. “The smart way. I unpacked half of it, took it up, then came back down for the rest of the stuff. Which means I climbed the stairs twice.” He chuckled at her expression. “I never thought I’d be proud of just being able to go up a flight of stairs.”
“Considering your condition when you first got here, you’ve come a long way.” He was still thin, still didn’t have a lot of stamina, but both his weight and his strength seemed to be increasing every day. “Exactly how long has it been since you were shot?”
“It’ll be six weeks on Thursday. I’d be in better shape if it hadn’t been for that damn pneumonia, but it kicked my butt big time.”
Just six weeks. To her that seemed like a very short time, considering how severe his wound had been, but here he was grousing because pneumonia had held him back.
She nodded at the Glock. “Are you feeling the need for protection?”
“Not particularly, but you can never tell. Besides, now that I’m stronger, I can take Tricks out if you’re busy. I’ve noticed that you’ve started taking your pistol with you when you walk her.”
She had; now that the weather was warm, snakes were coming out. She wasn’t optimistic about being able to actually hit a snake with a shot, so she also carried a walking stick, and kept Tricks closer to her.
“Common sense,” she said.
After she took Tricks for an extra-long walk in the fragrant spring evening that they both enjoyed—and, yes, she took her pistol—she made certain the guest bedroom and bath were ready for an occupant. His clothes were already hanging in the closet, so he’d not only taken everything upstairs, he’d had enough energy to unpack.
She went out on the balcony that ran the length of the upstairs and called down over the railing, “Have you been sandbagging?”
He was watching TV with his long legs stretched out and feet crossed at the ankle. Instead of turning around he simply tilted his head back. “How so?”
“You hung up your clothes. After climbing the stairs—twice—you should have been exhausted.”
“I managed,” was all he said, then he went back to watching TV.
Meaning he’d pushed himself, the way he’d been pushing since that first awful day, because that was what he did. Most people would rest when they got tired; he took it as a sign to do more.
She hid her antsiness by following her regular routine. Morgan had a beer, one of the six-pack of Miller he’d given her the money to buy to tide him over until her truck driver friend made another run through Alabama and could pick up some Naked Pig. After that first grocery run she’d made when he first arrived, he’d insisted on paying for all the groceries, and she’d let him. She liked that he’d thought about it.
She did some work, but she’d so devoted herself to staying busy these past several days that after an hour she finished the project??
?very early—and didn’t have another one ready to start yet. In the name of staying busy, she’d inadvertently worked herself into having some down time.
Now what?
She did some busywork. Then Tricks wanted to play her version of soccer, and after a minute or two of watching, Morgan took over the game, which freed her to do something else, meaning busywork in the kitchen, neatening the silverware drawer.
He played “soccer” with her for so long that Tricks finally called a halt and ran to her water bowl. Morgan said, “I guess she’s finished,” and resumed his seat on the sofa.
Tricks drank long and deep, then immediately trotted to Morgan. Bo was a few seconds too slow to react. She started to say, “Don’t let—” but it was too late. Tricks had held extra water in her mouth and taken it to Morgan, where she gave it to him right on his knee.
He jumped up with a muffled “Shit!” Tricks backed up a few steps and sat down, looking incredibly pleased with herself because she’d shown her new friend how much she cared for him by taking him some water.
Having been the recipient of Tricks’s water gifts many times before, Bo succumbed to a fit of the giggles. She tried to stifle them, but the look on his face was so funny and helpless she couldn’t help it.
“Why did she do that?’ he demanded.
She coughed and fought down any further giggles. “My best guess? She was thirsty from playing so long and thought you must be thirsty too, so she brought you a drink. She’s done it before, but only to me and a few other people she really likes.”
He looked down at his wet jeans, then at the dog sitting there beaming at him, if a dog could be said to beam. He muttered, “This better not be a joke.” Then he cleared his throat, leaned down to stroke her and rather gruffly said, “Thank you, Tricks. That was very thoughtful of you.”