Asking for Trouble (10 page)

“Boo-freaking-hoo. I bet he's a scrumptious kisser.”

“Sheila.” Morgan caught the smile on the manicurist's face before the young woman ducked her chin and refocused on Sheila's cuticles.

Sheila turned her head and arched an expertly shaped brow. “Well?”

Morgan accredited the sudden heat in her body to the steaming water at her feet and not the oh-so-tempting memory of Gage's magic mouth on hers. “It didn't mean anything.” But it could have, should have, meant everything.

Sheila smirked. “About damn time.”

Morgan had to admit she liked the mixture of envy and curiosity on her sister's face. “This feels weird.”

“Then clearly you weren't doing it right.”

Morgan snorted, picked up her cucumber-laced water, and took a nauseating sip. A triple-shot latte would taste so much better right now. “No, I meant having this conversation with you. Shouldn't our positions be reversed? When was the last time you had a date?”

“I banked them ahead of time. Summer party season and all.”

Morgan envied how Sheila could tune out. But then party planning wasn't as all-consuming as running the foundation, or maintaining a stagnating bank account, or keeping a roof over four kids' and two adults' heads. “I've been meaning to ask if you had time to help plan Brandon's tenth birthday party.” She'd learned a long time ago not to take birthdays for granted. When birthdays were a gift, as they were for all sick children, parties should be as big and boisterous as possible.

“The twenty-seventh, right?” Sheila rolled her head to the side and smiled like a pampered Persian cat. “I've already been in touch with Angela. We're doing a cowboy theme, BBQ and a rootin'-tootin' bouncy house, handicapped accessible of course so all the kids can enjoy it. Mark that off your list of things to worry about. It's taken care of.” When Morgan didn't respond, Sheila sighed. “You're welcome.”

“Oh. No, Sheila, I'm sorry, thank you. I just—”

“Don't get to play overworked Superwoman now?”

“That's not fair.” It hurt that Sheila thought she was somehow playing the martyr.

“I just hope Gage will fit into that overextended calendar of yours. Ten minutes here, half hour there. Puts a lot of pressure on a man to perform.”

“It's not like he doesn't know what I do for a living.”

“You don't work
for
a living, you work
instead
of living. The other night you wondered how Mom did it? She knew what to make a priority. We, the family, always took priority.”

“The family is my priority.” Why else would she have gone to such extremes to protect them from what she'd done? And maybe if Sheila knew, she'd stop complaining about Morgan's unavailability. But then the disappointment would set in and the media would pounce and dig and stalk everyone involved. “And this isn't the place—”

“When the hell else are we going to talk about it?” Sheila's voice lowered to dangerous levels, evidence of her boiling temper. “We never see you anymore, Morgan. We rescheduled today four times in the last six weeks and I'd bet my next trust-fund payment you almost cancelled today. So don't sit there and tell me your family comes first for you.”

Morgan couldn't argue. Sheila was right. She did almost cancel. As if recognizing a challenge when issued, Morgan's phone chimed the theme song from
COPS
. Sheila arched her brow again and angled her gaze to Morgan's bag.

“I'm not answering it,” Morgan said quickly.

“You're incapable of ignoring a ringing cell phone. Even with me threatening you with certain death if you tried. What gives?”

“It's, um . . .” Shit.

“Oh, wow, do you need therapy. It's Gage, isn't it? Give me the phone.”

“Absolutely not.” The last thing she needed was for Sheila and Gage to gang up on her.

“Now seems like the perfect time to remind him what he's getting into.”

“All done, Miss Tremayne.” The nail technician got to her feet, did a quick cleanup, then wheeled her table away, leaving Morgan and Sheila to do battle alone.

“Girl knows when to get out of the line of fire. Give me your phone, Morgan.”

“Feel free to get it yourself.”

“You underestimate my concern for a pink passion manicure.” Sheila snapped her fingers just as the phone went silent.

Morgan snuggled into her chair and closed her eyes.

“You've spent most of the morning talking to contractors and landscape engineers,” Sheila said. “Not to mention threatening great bodily harm to a hospital administrator who filed a protest against an insurance claim for one of your future patients. Yet somehow you won't talk to one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen in my life. You, dear sister, are seriously messed up.”

Messed up. Excited. Nervous. Terrified. “One date and that's it. Just enough to get his mother to stop hounding him, and then both of our lives can get back to normal.”
Normal
meant that Gage Juliano was as far away from the foundation and the center as possible.

“Oh, honey.” The sympathy in Sheila's voice had Morgan turning her head, lifting heavy lids so she saw the piteous expression on her sister's face. “I saw the way Gage looked at you the other night. He's not going anywhere.”

***

Not answering Gage's call was the perfect impetus Morgan needed to ignore her phone for the rest of the day. Well, enough of the day that she and her sister enjoyed a sedate and uneventful lunch next to the pool.

That didn't mean Morgan's insides didn't do the antsy dance whenever she heard the vibrations of her cell. She did, however, manage to resist temptation until she pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine.

She didn't expect to find five more missed calls in the last three hours, all from Gage. He hadn't left a message. Maybe he needed to cancel and didn't want to do so in a voice mail?

Morgan's stomach dipped as if she'd taken the first plunge on a roller coaster. She pressed the phone to her forehead, closed her eyes. Not having to go tomorrow would be good news. Right?

Her phone buzzed again and Morgan flipped the vibrate switch off and answered with a tight breath in her chest. “Gage, I was just going to call you back.”

“Way to scare a guy, Morgan. I was about ready to put out an APB. I thought you always answered your phone.” The relief in his voice made her smile. He'd been worried about her.

Not that she cared.

“Sheila bet me I couldn't put the phone away for the afternoon.” She glanced at her watch. Five p.m. Close enough. “I understand if you have to cancel tomorrow.”

“I'm not cancelling.” Before Morgan's dread could take root again, he continued, “I totally forgot I'm in charge of my brother's birthday present for tomorrow.
The
present. From all the kids. It has to be spectacular. It's his thirtieth.”

“I'm guessing that panic in your voice means you excel at choosing gifts, right?” Sympathy and amusement mingled in her chest and Morgan covered her mouth with her hands. She laughed, hoping he couldn't hear. This poor guy with his family. “Calm down, Mr. Inspector. I take it a gift card is out of the question?”

“Stephen gave Jon a gift card for his birthday a few years ago and has yet to get his Christmas stocking privileges reinstated.”

“Wouldn't want you to lose your Christmas stocking.” And still she laughed. She could not wait to meet Gage's mother tomorrow. Anyone capable of inflicting this much mental stress on their oldest son was worthy of worship. “How can I help?”

“Help me pick out the best birthday present ever. I will owe you. Forever.”

There was a sobering offer. “We'll figure something out. Tell me about your brother.” Morgan gathered her stuff and locked up the car and headed to the garage apartment.

“He manages my parents' grocery stores.”

“Which stores?”

“J & J Markets. All seven locations.”

Morgan turned and sat halfway up the stairs. “Are you kidding me? There's one a few blocks from here. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped in for a late dinner. The lasagna makes me cry.”

“Mom's secret recipe. Wait until you try her eggplant parmesan.”

Note to self, wear pants with an elastic waistband tomorrow.
“So that tells me he's organized, efficient. Responsible. What are his hobbies? Interests? What were his favorite toys as a kid?”

“Hobbies, women. Interests, women. Favorite toys—”

“Don't say women.”

“
Girls
. And cars. Anything with wheels. That give you any ideas?”

“Sure does.” She got up, unlocked her door, and went inside. “Grab a pen. Don't panic, but you'll need to do some shopping on your way to pick me up tomorrow.”

“He's been shopping.”

Gage had barely popped open the trunk of his car before Kelley raced down the walkway to greet him. Morgan followed, tugging her turquoise sweater across the matching tank top, hoping she hadn't underdressed for the party. Jeans and sandals were casual to her, and Gage had said casual.

Kelley, on the other hand, didn't know the meaning of the word. Today's princess dress was Rapunzel purple, but the shiny shoes were definitely Wizard of Oz red.

“They aren't for you, sweetie,” Morgan called as she joined them on the sidewalk. “It's a present for Gage's brother. You can help though. If the kitchen is cleaned up.”

“I'll finish. But I can help carry bags.” Kelley swung from side to side and blinked her big eyes up at Gage like a cartoon cat demanding affection. She held out her hands, flexed her fingers. “Gimmie. Please,” she added at Morgan's warning look.

“Actually, there is something you can help me with.” Gage squatted down and rifled through one of the bags. “I was told every pretty princess needs one of these.” He pulled out a long lavender glitter embossed stick with a giant light-up star at the end. Ribbons and glittered beads cascaded from the tips.

Kelley's mouth formed a silent
O
, the expression firmly tethering Kelley's and Gage's hearts before Kelley launched herself at Gage. He held her close as tiny arms locked around his neck. As she heard Kelley whisper “thank you,” Morgan turned away.

She should have realized bringing Gage into her life would risk the kids getting attached.

Stop fooling yourself. You're the one getting attached, and that damned magic wand isn't helping.

Morgan turned around and caught Gage watching her. “Okay, Miss Pretty Princess, grab a bag.”

“Wonder where she learned to overdo?” Gage asked Morgan as Kelley grabbed the biggest bag and tried to drag it on her own. “This one's more your size.” He held out one of the smaller ones. “Trade?”

“'Kay.” She raced ahead, slamming into the house with the force of a tiny tornado.

“Beautiful day for a party,” Morgan said as they walked up to the house and then she stopped. Sniffed the air. Looked up to the second story. “Son of a—”

“What?” Gage followed her gaze and saw the telltale sign of cigarette smoke drifting out of one of the windows. “Oh.”

“I'll meet you in the kitchen.” Morgan slapped the bag she'd been carrying against his chest and stomped into the house. “Drew.”

Gage cringed in sympathy. Poor kid was in for it once she reached the top of the stairs.

“Where is everyone?” Gage joined Kelley in the kitchen.

“Nico's delivering leftover bread downtown and Lydia and Brandon are drawing pictures for his birthday party. Angela's working in the garden. We're going to grow tomatoes and zuchinnini. Here.” She handed him a still-damp cereal bowl and pointed to one of the cabinets. “I'm too little.”

She was indeed, but together they put away the last of the breakfast dishes. Only then did Kelley peer into the bags. “What did you buy your brother?”

“What Morgan told me to. Let's see.” Kelley helped him unload the wooden shadow box and a variety of Hot Wheels cars. “Any idea what she has in mind?”

“She got out the glue gun. Could be anything,” Kelley said then winced when she heard Morgan's raised voice upstairs. “Drew's in trouble.”

“Sounds like.”

“Brandon would like these. Lydia, too.” She plucked at the edge of the packaging of a Porsche 911. “Can your brother come over and play?”

“Stephen's a little old to be playing.” All evidence to the contrary. “I haven't met Lydia yet. Is she your age?”

Kelley nodded. “And my bestest friend. She can't play like she used to but she likes to draw and read and she plays video games better than the boys. But not so much lately since her eyes don't work so good.” She stopped, took a deep breath and then said, “I heard Morgan and Angela talking about how Lydia's really, really sick. They don't know I heard.” Her eyes filled. “I don't want her to die.”

Gage pulled Kelley into his lap, needing the comfort of this child as much as she needed him to tell her everything was going to be okay. But would it be the truth?

Until this moment he didn't realize how lucky his family had been. How would they have coped with a situation like Lydia's? Or Kelley's? Thinking of his own brothers, his heart broke for the one Morgan had lost.

How could anyone, even someone as ambitious and callous as Kolfax, think she would do anything to put her kids or the foundation at risk? No. Seeing her again, being with her like this, he was more convinced than ever that whatever plans Kolfax might have for them, for her, he needed to be standing in the way. Even if Morgan didn't want him there.

“It must be very scary that someone you love is sick.” Gage held Kelley close and found solace in the little girl's presence. “I'm sure Morgan and Lydia's doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I know,” Kelley leaned against him. “Just like she did for me and Brandon. We got better. Maybe Morgan's wrong. Maybe Lydia will get better, too.”

Gage hugged her close, amazed at how easily the little girl fit. He hadn't held a child like this in a long time, not since his sisters had been this age.

“Wanna meet her?” Kelley asked.

“Meet Lydia?” Gage tucked in his chin and looked down at her. “Sure. If you think it would be okay.”

Kelley nodded her head. “Lydia loves meeting new people. Come on. She's in our room. I'll take you.”

She jumped off his lap and took his hand in her tiny one, leading him out of the kitchen and past a motorized wheelchair at the base of the staircase. As they turned left at the top of the stairs, Gage heard definite raised voices from down the hall and wondered if he should intervene.

Kelley knocked on a door covered with drawings and a smattering of Tinker Bell and Hello Kitty stickers. “Lydia?” she called, and pushed open the door. “Morgan's new friend is here. Wanna meet him?”

Special care had been taken to make the room feel as normal as possible. Gage might not have known the children who occupied the space had medical issues save for the fact that the wood floor was bare of rugs and carpet to make a second motorized wheelchair beside the bed easier to maneuver.

Two raised beds sat against opposite sides of the room, one tall enough to see out the enormous bay window overlooking the patiently tended flower and vegetable garden. Everything in the room was bathed in bright colors, especially the portion of the room he assumed was Kelley's, as her princess wall denoted every hue of pink ever created.

The short round table in the center of the room was piled with crayons and markers and stacks of drawing paper and was occupied by the boy he knew was Brandon and a stunningly pretty albeit thin and drawn Hispanic girl.

“Brandon, Lydia, this is Morgan's friend Prince Ch—” She looked up and grinned. “Gage. Gage, this is Lydia. She's my foster sister and my bestest friend.”

“I thought I was your bestest friend?” Brandon frowned at her.

Kelley tugged Gage closer to the table. “You're my bestest, too.”

Brandon's smile lit up his entire face. “I knew it. Hi.” Whatever suspicion he'd held the other day was gone, replaced by a welcoming smile on his face. His features were slightly emaciated, but his eyes were so alive, so charged with sapphire light, he slid right into Gage's heart.

Gage let go of Kelley's hand and bent down between Brandon and Lydia. “It's nice to meet you.” Gage crossed one arm over the other and offered them each a hand.

Lydia looked down, hesitated for a moment. “I'm sick,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have AIDS.”

The word sucker-punched Gage, stole the breath from his lungs, but he pulled his other hand free of Brandon's and picked up Lydia's. “It's nice to meet you, Lydia.”

Lydia glanced over to Kelley, then to Gage. “You don't care?”

“I care that you're sick, not about what you have. We all have things we don't like about ourselves, right?” he asked the three of them.

“I didn't like my leukemia,” Kelley said, nodding vigorously. “But I don't have that anymore.” She knocked against Brandon as if telling him he was next up at bat.

“I don't like—” Brandon scrunched his face as he thought. “That I had to have chemotherapy and it made me so sick. Does that count?”

Kelley nodded as if she were leading a group therapy session. “I didn't like it either. Gage, your turn.”

Well, he'd walked into that one. Given what they were facing, Gage didn't have one thing to complain about. “What's that you're drawing?”

“Pictures for my birthday party,” Brandon announced. “We're having a cowboy barbeque. You can help if you want.”

“I haven't colored in a long time, but I can give it a try.” He grabbed the chair across the table and settled between them. The second he sat down, Kelley wedged herself under his arm and grabbed some paper and a thick black crayon.

“Here,” she announced. “This color's easiest to outline with.”

Gage held her around the waist and leaned over, trying to think of something amazing to illustrate. He looked over the finished drawings, noticed the number of men in uniform Brandon had drawn.

“Looks like someone likes police officers and firemen and . . .” He leaned forward, narrowed his eyes. “Is that a lion tamer?”

Brandon rolled his eyes as Kelley and Lydia giggled. “Vet-er-a-nar-ian,” he said incorrectly, and Gage hid his smile. “But I like police best. I want to be one when I get big enough.”

“I'm going to be a princess and a ballerina and a doctor,” Kelley told him as she waved her new wand over all of their heads. “Like Morgan always says, we can be anything we want. Lydia?”

But Lydia shook her head, her long, thin hair draping over her shoulders as she continued to color.

Gage's hand tightened and he snapped the crayon in two. “I used to be a policeman.”

Brandon's eyes went huge at Gage's announcement. “You were?”

“Yep.” He picked up the blue crayon and shaded in some sky.

“You're not anymore?” Kelley asked, tilting her head to look at him.

“I'm a special kind of policeman now. I work to find special criminals. Extra tricky ones.” He pulled out his ID folder, flipped it open, and handed it to Brandon.

“That's so cool.” Brandon's eyes went wide as he traced his finger over the numbers and shield. “I've never met a real policeman before.”

“Well, now you have.” Gage said.

“What was it like? Being a policeman?” Brandon asked, abandoning his current project as he continued to stare at the badge. “Did you catch lots of crooks? Do you have a gun? How many were there in your squad? Do you still talk to them about cases?”

Gage smiled and hoped none of them would see the traces of regret. “It was a good job, and yes, I did catch a lot of bad guys. I have a gun, but don't carry it unless I want to. I don't remember exactly how many there were, and yes, sometimes.”

Morgan's voice flew through the house like the Wicked Witch on her broom. Gage looked toward the door.

“Drew's in biiiiig trouble,” Kelley sang.

“What did he do this time?” Brandon sighed, looking more like a little adult disappointed in his child.

“He was smoking,” Lydia told them. “And boy is Morgan mad.”

Given what Gage was hearing,
mad
was an understatement. Gage set Kelley on her feet and picked up his badge. “Stay here.”

He closed the bedroom door and walked down the hallway toward the voices. The door was ajar so all he could see was Morgan's back. He was about to step inside when he realized she appeared to be handling things okay.

“I will not have you jeopardizing anyone's health, including your own, while you're in this house. Do you understand me?”

“It was one cigarette,” came the young man's response, and Gage heard the attitude of youthful immortality in his voice. “One fu—”

“Don't you use that language with me,” Morgan blasted in a tone Gage was certain he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of. “I might not be a shining example in that area, but watch how you speak. I'm going to tell you this once. Smoking will kill you. Not because it's stupid and addictive, but because your system can't handle it. We're still figuring out what works and what doesn't, and you smoking will make our job harder in controlling your diabetes.”

“I'm not a job,” Drew yelled. “And it was one cigarette.”

“It was your last. Give me the pack.” He heard shuffling and the sound of a lid slamming. “Is that all of them?” Morgan asked, and Gage noticed her tone had softened considerably.

The kid hesitated too long.

“Every last one, Drew. I mean it.”

More rustling and shifting about the room, and Gage decided now might be the right time to poke his head in. “Everything okay?”

The door creaked under his touch and Morgan spun around. “Gage, I'm sorry. I'll just be another minute.”

“Not a problem. Kelley introduced me to Lydia and Brandon.” He looked at the teen.

Drew was the same boy he'd seen in the window the first time he'd visited. The kid had a lot going on under the surface: anger, resentment, and, if Gage wasn't mistaken, a sliver of fear. His guess? The sagging clothes and long hair were more a defense mechanism than a desire to stand out. He'd seen enough kids from the system to recognize one who knew to protect himself.

Gage met the suspicious glare aimed at him and arched a brow in silent challenge.

“Who's the cop?” Drew asked.

“How do you know he's a cop?” Morgan asked sharply.

“Walks like a cop.” He smirked at Gage. “Acts like one, too.”