Haven Creek (10 page)

“What breed is she?”

“I think she’s called a Snowshoe.”

Morgan knew exactly the breed of cat Nate was talking about. When she’d decided she wanted a cat, it had taken months of research before she’d settled on the Russian Blue. The Snowshoe would’ve been her second choice. And because the breeds weren’t widely known, their price tag made them affordable only to an exclusive club of cat owners.

“I’ll have to see her before I decide to introduce Ras to her.”

The clock on the parlor table chimed the hour. Dipping his head, Nate pressed his mouth to Morgan’s cheek. “It’s getting late. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

Morgan stared up at him, committing everything about his face to memory. “Call me before you come.”

He nodded. “Good night and thank you for dinner. I’ll be certain to return the favor.” Turning, he opened the door and closed it softly behind him.

“Good night,” she whispered.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she locked the door. When she’d gotten up earlier that morning Morgan never would’ve predicted how the day would end. Nate had agreed to re-create the slave village, he wanted her to decorate his apartment, she’d agreed to accompany him to Happy Hour, and her pet had bonded with another human being, something he’d never done.

Perhaps Ras knew that his mistress cared for Nate more than she was willing to admit.

Sitting on his sister’s enclosed back porch, Nate watched lightning illuminate the darkening late afternoon sky. He was house-sitting. The Millses had embarked on their annual road trip, this year stopping in Colonial Williamsburg, Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia.

He’d begun spending several nights at the barn, sleeping on an air mattress. He was still awaiting Morgan’s call about when she would come by to see the apartment and get decorating ideas. As promised, he’d stopped by her office and repaired the showerhead. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to return the favor of buying dinner for her because she was in a meeting with her project manager. However, she’d stepped away to tell him that whenever she was able to clear her calendar she would call him.

Nate caught movement out of the corner of his eye seconds before Sharon’s cat sprang up from the floor and settled down on the cushion beside him. His sister liked cats, whereas he was partial to dogs. After his divorce, he’d regretted moving into a complex that wouldn’t allow pets of any kind, but he planned to get a dog in the coming months.

Running his fingers over the soft shorthair, he thought about Morgan’s cat. She may have named him for a Russian monk and purported mystic, but he thought Big Blue was a much more suitable name for the exquisite feline. Another flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Patches meowed softly as she slipped onto his lap.

“It’s just a little lightning,” he cooed, hoping to soothe the agitated cat. Mother Nature was putting on her own light show, although there was no thunder or rain.

He shifted, attempting to get into a more comfortable position. Nate felt a restlessness he hadn’t experienced since his return. Perhaps it had something to do with his finishing the barn’s construction and needing another challenge. He’d installed kitchen appliances and the bathroom’s plumbing fixtures. All that remained was to decorate the two bedrooms, the living and dining area, and the kitchen and bathrooms.

A wry smile tilted the corners of his mouth. It would be the first time he would live in a home that would suit his personal tastes. When he’d attended college, he’d lived with his aunt, then it was motels and furnished apartments when he worked for contractors and developers. Once he married Kim, it was the mansion her father had given them as a wedding gift. Not only was the ten-thousand-square-foot house much too large for two people, but its furnishings were as ostentatious as their over-the-top lifestyle. And after the divorce, it was another furnished apartment.

Living above the workshop was a win-win situation. There was no commuting to his place of business, and he could work at odd hours without disturbing anyone. When he’d decided to restructure Shaw & Sons Woodworking, Inc., he’d also revised the hours of operation. After he conferred with Bryce, they’d decided to begin their workday at six in the morning and end at two in the afternoon, when daytime temperatures reached their zenith. This arrangement suited his brother because he had most of the afternoon and evening to himself.

Bryce had revealed that he’d reconciled with his longtime girlfriend, who’d ended their relationship following his arrest. The elementary school teacher had convinced him to reenroll in college so that he could finish the twenty-two credits he needed to earn his degree. His brother had spoken to his probation officer, who would have to approve his leaving the island to attend classes at the College of Charleston. Nate was relieved that Bryce was finally getting his life back on track.

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Patches stood up, arching her back. It was obvious the cat was feeling the effects of the approaching storm. She jumped off the love seat and hid under a corner table. Nate remembered the storms that swept across the island when he was a child. His mother would gather him and his sister in her bed, where she would read to them to take their minds off what was going on outside the house. It wasn’t until years later that he suspected Manda was more frightened of the storms than her children were.

Sinking lower on the love seat, Nate wondered what Morgan was doing. Was she sitting on her porch with her cat, watching the lightning display? Was she out on a date? Or was she home working well into the night on the restoration project? It’d been more than a week since he’d last seen her, and he couldn’t get the images of her dimpled smile and the sound of her sultry voice out of his mind.

His cell phone vibrated on the table next to where he sat. Picking it up, he punched in his pass code. “Nate here,” he drawled—his usual greeting.

“Hello, Nate, this is Morgan. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you before—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said, interrupting her and sitting up straight. It was as if thinking about Morgan had conjured her up.

“I did promise to get back to you before now.”

He smiled. “Whatever you were occupied with had to be more important than looking at my place.” A throaty chuckle came through the earpiece.

“Now who’s being self-deprecating?”

Nate felt properly chastised when he remembered accusing Morgan of being self-deprecating. “That’s something I’ve never been accused of.”

There was a distinct pause before Morgan said, “I didn’t call about your apartment, but to ask you if you wanted to go to Happy Hour with me.” Nate clenched his teeth to keep from shouting for joy at the same time he pumped his free fist. “I know, the weather looks bad, but I figured it would keep a lot of folks from coming out.”

“You’re probably right about that. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Eight is good. I’ll call Jesse and tell him to save us a table.”

“I’ll see you at eight.”

“Thanks, Nate.”

He shook his head. “No, Mo. I should be the one thanking you.”

She laughed again. “What if we thank each other?”

“That’ll work.” Nate ended the call, then stared at the time on the phone’s display. It was after five, and that meant in less than three hours he would see Morgan again. It had been a long time since he’d felt this excited about seeing a woman.

M
organ sat on the porch swing with her eyes closed and took a deep breath. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. She was going out on a date with Nate, and if she didn’t steady her nerves she was certain to have a meltdown. First things first. She had to decide what to wear. It should be feminine but not too sexy, and her makeup had to be subtly dramatic.

Get a grip, Mo. Everything is going to work out just fine.
Counting slowly to ten, Morgan managed to listen to her inner voice long enough to gather her wits. All she had to do was let everything unfold naturally.

She couldn’t hide the fact that she was anxious to get in touch with Nate after spending four hectic days in New York City looking at wallpaper patterns. Her usual vendor had closed up shop without notifying her, and when she called a shop in Atlanta the proprietor told her the patterns she’d inquired about had been discontinued.

Morgan realized that wallpaper was nearly passé when it came to decorating residential interiors. However, there were textile companies that continued to manufacture it for commercial clients. She’d made the rounds to several firms until she finally found what she wanted.

Once the workmen began stripping the walls at Angels Landing, she realized that the layers of wallpaper were so dry and rotted it was impossible to distinguish one pattern from another, so she decided to choose a new pattern that resembled that of the last layer, a velvet-flocked damask. Fortunately, she found samples and colors that would complement the furnishings in the mansion. She’d taken photos of the samples with her digital camera, left her business card with the salesman, who’d patiently answered all her questions, and promised she would get back to him once she reached a decision.

She was exhausted after walking all over Manhattan looking for materials. And because she hadn’t booked a return flight, she had to take a red-eye, arriving in Charleston at four in the morning. She fell asleep in the taxi on the ride back to Cavanaugh Island and didn’t wake up until the driver stopped in front of her house.

After a quick shower, she crawled into bed and fell asleep again. The telephone woke her sometime after three in the afternoon. It was Irene, checking to see whether she’d arrived home safely. She’d suspected her sister wanted to bring Rasputin back because she wasn’t overly fond of cats. Morgan would’ve left her pet with Rachel if she hadn’t been pregnant. Rachel’s obstetrician had cautioned her not to come into contact with a cat’s litter box because of possible harm to her unborn baby.

She’d retrieved the office’s voice mail and there was a message from Kara, asking to meet her Monday morning for breakfast. After Irene dropped off Rasputin, Morgan called Francine to see whether she wanted to hang out at Happy Hour, but her friend declined, saying she had plans to meet her grandmother. So then Morgan called Nate.

She knew she’d piqued Jesse’s curiosity when she asked her cousin to reserve a table for two but wouldn’t tell him whom she was bringing. There was no doubt many would be surprised, if not shocked, to see her and Nate together, but she was past caring what people said about her. Surviving a hellish adolescence had taught her that sticks and stones might break her bones but names would never hurt her. It had taken a while, but she was now immune to disparaging remarks.

It had taken a long time, but she’d come to accept what she wasn’t able to change. Morgan wasn’t as secure as she let on, but that was something she would never reveal to anyone; it probably would take the rest of her life to feel completely comfortable when interacting with the opposite sex. Pushing off the swing, she went inside the house to prepare for an evening with a man who was unaware that a teenage infatuation was back, and this time it was stronger than it had been then—what seemed like a lifetime ago.

When Nate maneuvered up to Morgan’s house and saw her rise from where she’d been sitting on the front porch waiting for him, his foot hit the brake so hard that the truck skidded to a sudden stop. In that instant he would’ve actively campaigned for her to win the title of sexiest woman alive. Slipping out from behind the wheel, he met Morgan as she approached him.

Reaching for her hands, he kissed her fingers. “You look incredible.”

The off-the-shoulder dress, patterned in vertical black-and-white stripes, hugged her body like a second skin. His gaze moved slowly from her face to her feet, encased in a pair of black-and-white pin-striped stilettos. He stared at the smoky shadow on her lids, which made her large, dark eyes appear mysterious, before letting his gaze slip down to the shimmering raspberry lip gloss that highlighted her sensual mouth.

Morgan smiled and lowered her lashes. “Thank you.”

Tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow, he led her around to the passenger side of the Sequoia. Opening the door, he caught her off guard when his hands went around her waist, lifting her effortlessly. Her arms looped around his neck as he set her on the leather seat. Morgan’s eyes appeared abnormally large in the glow coming from the porch lights and lanterns lighting the path leading to the house.

“Thank you,” Morgan repeated.

Waiting until she was belted in, he came around the SUV and took his seat behind the wheel. Nate wanted to tell himself that he wasn’t affected by Morgan, but that would be a lie. There had been women before and after his marriage, yet he hadn’t thought about any of them as often as he thought of Morgan. It hadn’t even been that way with Kim.

“I’m sorry for calling you at the last minute,” Morgan said apologetically as he backed out of the driveway.

He gave her a quick glance. “I’m glad you called. I would’ve spent the night hanging out with my sister’s cat.”

“At least she’s a female.”

Nate smiled. “You’re right about that. But she’s the wrong species.”

Morgan stared through the windshield. “That’s where we differ. I enjoy Rasputin’s company.”

“More than that of a man?”

“Now you sound like my sisters.” There was an accusatory tone in the statement.

Downshifting, he turned onto the road leading to the club. “Why? What do they say?”

“They tease me about growing old in a house filled with cats instead of a husband and kids.”

Nate’s chuckle reverberated inside the vehicle. “I don’t see you that way at all.”

“How
do
you see me, Nate?”

“You’re going to marry a man who will love everything about you, and the two of you will share a house with at least three kids and several cats and dogs.”

It was her turn to laugh. “You left out the white picket fence.”

“That, too.”

“Is that what you wanted when you married?” Morgan asked him.

Nate exhaled an audible breath as he concentrated on navigating the dark roadway.

“It was, but I knew within minutes of exchanging vows I wasn’t going to get it.”

“You went into something knowing it was doomed?”

“Crazy, isn’t it?”

“No, Nate. I don’t think you were crazy.”

“What do you think I was?”

“You were in love,” Morgan whispered. “And love can make you do crazy things.”

The sweep of the Sequoia’s headlights lit up the club’s parking lot when Nate pulled into an empty space and shut off the engine. Resting his right arm over the back of Morgan’s seat, he unbuckled his belt and then shifted to face her. “Were you ever afflicted with the love crazies?”

Releasing her seat belt, she turned to give him a direct stare. “Twice. I didn’t learn the first time, so I was doomed to repeat it.”

His eyes met hers in the dim light. “Were the men from Cavanaugh Island?”

“No. Why?”

“I thought they would’ve been, since you claim you’d never marry a man who grew up here.”

Affecting a wry smile, Morgan shrugged her shoulders.

Cradling the back of her head, Nate pressed his mouth to her ear. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And we have all night.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “You’re right. I think we’d better go in, because Jesse is holding a table for us.”

Jesse was standing near the door when Morgan and Nate entered the club. He pulled her close, kissing her cheek. “I guess it’s true,” he whispered.

Morgan went stiff as she stared at her cousin, who was built like a football linebacker. In fact he did play college football, and had been drafted by the NFL, but quit after his first season to care for his younger brother and sister after their parents were killed by a drunk driver. Jesse married a girl from the Landing, was now the father of two boys, and had opened the Happy Hour with his brother-in-law.

“What is?” she whispered back.

“You hooking up with Shaw.”

She wasn’t given the opportunity to reply before her cousin released her to slap Nate’s hand before pounding his back. “Hey, man. It’s good seeing you out and about,” Jesse said.

Nate gave him a sheepish grin. “I have to admit I was going a little stir-crazy spending so much time alone.” He curved an arm around Morgan’s waist, pulling her close to his side. “If it wasn’t for Mo, I’d still be living a monkish existence.”

Morgan went completely still when he said “monkish,” hoping and praying that Jesse wouldn’t misinterpret the word to mean “celibate”—and therefore that she and Nate, having abandoned his monkish ways, were sleeping together.

Nate reached into the pocket of his slacks, taking out a money clip, but Jesse shook his head. “There’s no cover charge for family.”

“Did you save us a table?” she asked her cousin.

“Yes.” He beckoned the hostess. “Please show my cousin and her boyfriend to their table.”

She opened her mouth to tell Jesse that Nate wasn’t her boyfriend, but the words died on her tongue when Nate squeezed her hand. “Let it go, baby,” he said in her ear.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I told you before that your eyes give you away. People are going to draw their own conclusions because we’re together. I really don’t care and neither should you. We’re both consenting adults, so let’s enjoy each other.”

Morgan knew he was right, but that didn’t explain the internal conflict that had her nerves on edge. She wished she could be as indifferent to the situation as Nate was. He wanted friendship, while she wanted more. The problem was Morgan was uncertain what the “more” was. She knew that sleeping with Nate would be disastrous. It would be the same as her first relationship. Even after she and her boyfriend had split, she continued to see him every day because they took many of the same classes together.

“This place is nice,” he said as they followed the hostess to a table in a corner that provided a modicum of privacy while permitting them to view the stage, where a quintet played a soft, bluesy piece. He pulled out a chair for Morgan, then sat opposite her.

She glanced around the dimly lit club. The U-shaped bar was the Happy Hour’s centerpiece, and its mirrored walls made everything appear bigger. Tables with seating for two, four, and six were positioned closely together to maximize the club’s capacity. It was after eight and the place was only half filled, but by the time the waiter took their drink orders several large groups of patrons had arrived. The waitstaff, who wore white shirts with black ties, armbands, slacks, and shoes, was polite and efficient.

Morgan stared across the table at Nate. He was dressed entirely in black, reminding her of New York City, where everyone seemed to favor that dramatic color. The glow from the candle on the table threw long and short shadows over his clean-shaven jaw. The gold from the flame was reflected in his golden orbs, which stared openly at her.

“Are you glad you came?” she asked, smiling.

Nate returned her smile, his gaze fixed on her parted lips. “I’ll let you know later.”

“I have to assume it’s a little different from the L.A. clubs.”

“It’s a lot different.”

“How?”

Lacing his fingers together, he leaned back in his chair. “Folks here seem to come to have a good time, while I found those in L.A. usually go to be seen.”

Morgan placed her hand over his. “How often did you visit the clubs?”

Nate reversed their hands, tightening his hold when she attempted to pull away. “Too many times to keep count. Kim loved clubbing.”

“When we read that you were engaged to Kimberly Mason, it was headline news. Most of us in the Creek were preening because you were one of ours. Miss Odessa couldn’t stop bragging that her stepson was marrying a world-famous supermodel. After a while folks got a little tired of her talking about what she planned to wear to the wedding.”

Nate released her hand and pressed a fist to his mouth. “Would you believe she changed twice during the reception?”

Morgan’s eyes grew wider. “No!”

Struggling not to laugh, Nate nodded. “Odessa had a captive audience, so she intended to make the best of it.”

“What about your father?”

Sobering, he glanced over her shoulder. “My dad knew I was making a mistake, and he tried being diplomatic when he said, ‘If you ever get tired of this circus, remember you can always come home.’”

“It was that bad, huh?” Morgan’s voice was soft, coaxing.

“It had become a nightmare,” he said after a pregnant silence. “The first two years of my marriage were a continuous round of photo shoots, fashion shows, parties, red-carpet appearances, and exotic vacations.”

“Weren’t you working with a developer?”

“The housing market was just beginning to slow down, so I decided to take a break and support Kim. Traveling with her gave me an opportunity to visit places I’d only read about. It also exposed me to people and places I probably would’ve never experienced if I’d stayed in the Creek. But after a while it truly had become a circus. There were nonstop parties with enough booze and drugs to get every inhabitant of a small country high for at least a month.”

Morgan stared without blinking. “Did you get into drugs?”

“Never. My dad told me about soldiers who went to Vietnam and got hooked on drugs. Many of his close friends died from drug overdoses. He preached to me day and night that if I ever got caught up with drugs—and that included selling them—he would beat the hell outta me. My father didn’t believe in hitting his kids, but there was something in his voice that said he wasn’t issuing an idle threat.