Busting Loose (19 page)

She sniffed, and he felt like an ass. But this was the position he was in, and it was time to make it clear.

“Mom, I love you. You and Dad mean the world to me. But I choose who I want in my life now. I . . . care for Bea. She's important to me. How important, I'll find out. But I won't have you telling me what to do. I won't be belittled for my choice in women. And if you can't manage to handle that, then I just won't come over here as often. Because I plan to spend as much time with Bea as I can before she leaves.”
If she leaves, which she damn well won't if I have any say about it.
“I would hate for that to mean we cannot be over here. But I care enough about her to care that she's comfortable. And if it's awkward here because of how you feel about us, then we'll stay away.”

Cynthia's mouth gaped open a little before she shut it again. “You're choosing her over your parents?”

“I'm choosing to have my woman respected. You raised me to expect that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That was low.”

“But truthful.”

She breathed out shakily, then began placing the now-cooled biscuits into a napkin-lined bread basket. “I can be civil.”

“Be more than civil, Mom. She hasn't had it as easy as she wants people to think. She's thirsty for love.”

His mother watched him from the corner of her eye. “Is she, now?”

“Yes. And not just my kind. Family love.” He kissed her cheek again and took the basket from her to take with him. “Don't worry about me. I have a feeling, if she leaves, she'll hurt more than I will. She'll be alone. I'll still have you, Dad, Meg, Simon, and the terrors.”

“You fight dirty.” She swatted at his hand when he reached for a carrot. “Scoot.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He snagged a carrot before she could catch him and popped it in his mouth on the way into the dining room.

 

“Your mother hates me.”

Morgan was quiet for a moment, out on the porch while his mother and father washed dishes. She'd offered to help, but his mother had declined and pushed them out the door to wait for ice cream and pecan pie on the glider overlooking their front yard.

Honestly, Bea was relieved. She struggled to breathe when Cynthia Browning was nearby.

“Your silence is not reassuring,” she murmured and pushed so the rocker glided once more.

Morgan shifted his arm around her shoulders. Taking the invitation, she let her head tilt to the nook there and breathed in his cologne. Almost as if the scent and feel of him had triggered a chemical reaction, her heart rate slowed and her breathing eased.

So dinner wasn't a runaway success. His father was kind and loved to talk, which alleviated a lot of the strained silence. But nonetheless, Bea couldn't help noticing his mother rarely looked at her, choosing instead to focus on her own plate.

Morgan pushed gently with one hand on the siding to rock them once more. “I think she needs time to process. It's been a while since she's dealt with one of her kids dating anyone seriously.”

She just couldn't work up the energy to protest the idea of being serious. Not now, when she was so comfortable against him, sitting on the front porch and rocking easily.

“It doesn't matter,” she murmured. But it did. And it hurt like hell. It was never fun to be disliked, even if you'd earned it. But this seemed like an attack based on something Bea had done in a past life. Or judging her on her profession. Or, God help her, her mother's actions.

“It's okay, babe.” Morgan rubbed a hand over her arm. “Forget about it. We'll go back to my place and just relax.” He tapped a hand on her chin so she would look up. She did, and found him smiling. “We can eat our dessert naked in bed.”

She smiled back, because he wanted her to. Then held out a hand. “Glasses.”

He handed them over without question. The routine was becoming flawless now. She used the edge of her skirt to polish the lens, then slid them back over his nose herself and kissed him softly when they were settled.

“Knock, knock.” Cynthia stood in the rarely used doorway to the front hall, watching them closely.

Bea jolted away from him a few inches, like a teenager being caught necking in a parked car. But he pulled her back to his side. His point was made quite clearly. He didn't care who caught them, or what his mother thought about it.

“Mom, I think we're going to take off.”

Cynthia bit the inside of her lip for a moment, then stepped out and let the screen door close behind her. “Morgan, can you help your father dish up the ice cream?”

“We're—”

“I'll try that again. Morgan, can you give me a minute with Beatrice, please? I'd like to have a word with her.”

Bea's stomach clenched. Here it was. The Hussy Speech. As in,
leave my son alone, you hussy.
Maybe she'd get really vulgar and substitute
slut
for
hussy
. Sylvia Muldoon's daughter could deserve no less, right?

Morgan watched her a moment. She straightened and put on a bland face. She could take it. She didn't want to, but she could. No human shields for her. “Go help your dad. It's fine.”

He stood, then bent over to kiss her forehead. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for low fat frozen yogurt as a joke, but she held back the urge. “Vanilla is fine, thanks.”

Morgan placed a hand briefly on his mother's shoulder before opening the screen door and heading inside. Cynthia took her time, walking first to the porch railing and staring out over her vast front yard.

“We moved here when Morgan was just a baby. He doesn't remember any other home. And probably won't, if he's still set on staying in the house down the road.” She sighed and headed back to the glider. “My daughter is ten minutes away, and my son is at the corner of our property. It's nice, now that they're grown and have lives of their own, that I still get to see them so often. Not every parent is so lucky.”

Bea waited.

“And sometimes, that leads to me forgetting they're adults now, capable of making their own choices. Morgan's older now than Bert and I were when he was born. He's a smart man. One of the smartest men I know.”

“He's also kind,” Bea said quietly. “Dedicated, determined. Patient, even when you don't deserve it.”

Cynthia nodded, still looking out at the yard. “You seem to understand him well.”

“I think it's the other way around,” Bea responded. “He probably understands me better than my own family.”

“You're here now. That's something you can change.”

She could. Wasn't that what Trace had said? “You have no reason to worry about me, Mrs. Browning.”

“The more this evening goes on, the more I think you're right. But not,” she added with a smile, “for the same reasons you seem to think.”

What other reasons could there be besides that she wasn't staying?

“I must apologize. I was horrible earlier tonight.”

Bea blinked and watched the older woman's face screw up in a grimace.

“I'm not proud of my assumptions, of my thoughts. Nor my behavior. And it shames me it took my own son to point that out. But he was right, God love him. That's what comes of having a smart man around the house.”

“Don't you just hate a know-it-all?” Bea asked affectionately, and his mother laughed.

“Isn't he just? Now, I need to know you understand I've realized my mistake. That I want a do-over with you. And that I want you to feel comfortable in my home. I would hate to think you felt anything less than completely welcome.”

Her throat closed up for a moment, and it was all she could do to nod.

“And so, you'll come in and stay for dessert.” It was said with the firm finality of a mother who was accustomed to getting her way.

“Of course,” Bea said. “I'd love to.”

“Now, let's go before Bert has eaten all the pie. He's a maniac for pie.”

Cynthia stood and held out a hand for Bea. She took the gesture for what it was—a peace offering—and followed her into the house for ice cream and pie.

M
organ waited until she unlocked the door to her apartment. Something was missing. “No Milton?”

“He's having a sleepover at the big house tonight. Easier, since I didn't know when I was coming home from dinner.” She let him in and walked around the small room, kicking off her heels as she did so. They landed in an ungainly pile, as if they'd had too many drinks and passed out mid-step.

Morgan watched the skirt wrap around her legs as she headed into the kitchen. Though the length was modest enough—in deference to dinner with the parents—and the print was traditional, when she moved, it clung to her like wet bedsheets. He doubted she'd want to know that, as she'd tried to dress conservatively this evening. But he could appreciate it, regardless.

“Are you staring at my ass, Dr. Browning?”

His gaze snapped up to her grinning face. She was holding up two bottles of water. He reached for one and downed half of it in one gulp. Christ, she turned him around. “Of course not. That would be objectifying to women.”

“Oh. How disappointing.” Bea set her own bottle on the counter and started unbuttoning the shirt she wore. “I was actually hoping to be objectified tonight. Just a little. You know, for kicks.”

His eyes tracked her fingers as each button loosened, then popped free. “I might be willing to set aside my principles on the matter for the rest of the evening.”

She chuckled softly. Gone was the nervous woman meeting her lover's parents for the first official time. And in her place stood a seductress who boiled his blood and made his throat close up with want. “Males are so wonderful. They're so carnal. They see, they want, they act. It's refreshing.”

“I'm the only male acting on this want.” He jerked her to him when her shirt lay open. Her eyes widened just before his mouth crushed down on hers. He tasted her everywhere he could get his mouth on. Her lips, her tongue, her cheeks, nose, and brow. He worked over to her ear and tugged with his teeth. The low sound vibrating from her throat, as if caught there, made him hard enough to pound nails.

“Christ, what you do to me, Bea,” he whispered harshly, pushing at her shirt and her bra until she was naked from the waist up. Her breasts filled his palms so perfectly. The soft globes with their dark pink tips, calling for his attention. He pulled one nipple into his mouth and felt satisfaction at the cry she let out. At the way her hands fisted in his hair, tugging until he felt needle-sharp pain through his skull.

“Morgan,” she gasped when he took the other tip in his mouth. “Morgan. Bed, now.”

Bed? Screw the bed. He hooked one leg around the back of her knee and jerked so she lost balance. He controlled her fall to the floor of the tiny kitchen area, cushioning the back of her head with his hand, slowing her progress with his arm around her back. She clung to him, and he liked it. Liked sweeping her off her feet—even if it was more of a Chuck Norris move than a Casanova one.

“God, you scared me!” She punched his arm. He held back a wince. The woman was stronger than she looked.

“I've got you.” He kissed her deeply, letting their tongues glide around each other before pulling back to look in her eyes. “I've always got you.”

She melted. It was the only way he could describe that instant letting go of reserves, of forgetting boundaries, of accepting him and his emotions for her.

He loved her. Knew then he would love her forever. That he would do almost anything—become almost anything—to keep her with him. But she wouldn't want the words. She wasn't ready to hear them.

So he'd show her in action. Show her love by making love. And he started with another kiss.

 

Bea could barely breathe. Not because he was on top of her, removing her skirt and panties—though that was breathtaking in and of itself. But what she'd witnessed in his eyes that moment before. She'd be an idiot not to know it was pure love. Not lust, not even just plain need. Morgan loved her. And yet he held back from saying it.

He was a patient man. And he probably knew it would send her running to hear it. He was right, she had to admit while her hands fought with the button of his jeans. So for now, she could pretend she hadn't seen it. Hadn't recognized that complex wave of emotion take him over just before he kissed her senseless.

If he didn't say it, she could pretend it didn't exist. They could keep on as they were. Enjoying each other's company, enjoying each other's bed, and working together seamlessly.

She didn't need to admit to herself that he loved her.

But when he slipped into her, moved over her, in her, bucked against her until his back was coated with a sheen of sweat, she knew she was lying to herself on that one. She could never forget the way he'd looked at her in that instant. She'd take it back to California with her. She'd never again see that sort of acceptance in a man's eyes.

The knowledge, the resulting sadness, and the tiny wish that there could be more between them sent her over the edge of her climax, bringing Morgan with her.

An hour later, she shoved at his shoulder. “You have to go.”

He barely budged. “No, I don't.”

“I mean, I need you to go. I have things to do.”

“Can't make me,” he grumbled.

She sighed and sat up. The floor—because they'd never migrated to the bed like sensible people—was starting to kill her back. Oh God. She was getting old. “Morgan Browning, don't make me call your mother.”

He cracked open an eye. “Like that's a realistic threat.”

“I think she knows what we're up to. We weren't playing poker in your bedroom with me in your robe and you buck naked. Besides, I think she and I have reached . . . an understanding,” she finished. Because really, what else could she call it? She nudged his thigh with her foot. “Upsie-daisy.”

“What in the world do you have to do at”—he checked the clock on the microwave by glancing upside down—“eleven o'clock at night?”

“Girl stuff. Wanna test me?”

“Having had a sister, I can say with certainty . . . no.” He rolled over to his side and grabbed his pants. She couldn't resist the temptation, and so reached over and pinched his butt. He yelped and scooted away. “Woman . . .”

She grinned, then frowned. “Don't ‘woman' me.”

He sprang at her, pouncing like a big jungle cat, covering her before she could blink. “That's what you are. My woman.”

My woman.
Oh God, talk about Neanderthal logic. And yet, she wasn't correcting him. Her instinct was to kiss his chin and pat his shoulder. “Off you go, caveman.”

“If you're sure you don't want company.” He kissed her forehead again and stood. “Want me to run over to the big house and grab Milton and bring him back for you?”

Her heart just melted. Oh, this man was going to be the death of her. “Nah. He's probably asleep by now. Waking him would only wake the whole house.”

“True.”

“Besides, if I leave him over there, he might do something funny, like jump in bed with Peyton and wake her up with a cold nose to the ass.”

“Typical.” He finished dressing and helped her off the floor. “Then you want me to tuck you into bed? I don't mind sneaking under the covers to keep you warm.”

She let him kiss her, let herself extend the kiss and draw him closer before pushing at his chest. “No, I'm good. Thanks for the offer. You go home and get some rest.”

He headed for the door, kissed her once more—the man loved kissing more than any man she'd met before—and waited on her porch until she locked the dead bolt. Bea counted to ten, then heard his truck start. Another thirty seconds after she'd lost the sound of his tires on the dirt and she raced to her closet for her riding clothes and headed for the barn. The cool night air, fragrant with the scent of hay, had her tipping her head back to take it in. God, there were so many stars. She opened her arms wide and just let the breeze wrap around her, pulling at the hair she'd pinned back, at the frayed shirt she'd pulled on.

Okay, enough of that. She was a freaking caricature of Julie Andrews, arms wide and spinning in a field of wildflowers. She would make herself gag in a minute.

She paused outside the door to the barn, listening for any hands that might be pulling an overnighter with a sick horse. But all was quiet inside, the lights dimmed low for the horses' comfort, but bright enough to see the way. She headed toward the tack room for Trace's tack, but it was missing. She stopped short.

Was he out of town? No. His truck and the trailer were both here still. As was Lad, next to Lover Boy in their stalls. She'd just passed him. So where the—

“Looking for this?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth just as the shriek would have flown from her lips and spun. “Oh my God, Trace. Jesus. Give a girl a heart attack.”

Her brother stood at the doorway, holding his saddle over one shoulder. “I ask again, looking for this?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No. Why would I be?”

“Bea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine. If you're going riding, I'm going back to my place for sleep.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Check under the blue tarp.”

She raised one brow. “That sounds like the time you made me lift up that rock in the garden and a garter snake jumped at me.”

“That was fun.” He grinned at the memory. “But nothing's alive under there. Just look, and stop being a stubborn ass.”

“Fine, fine.” She lifted the tarp carefully—they weren't kids anymore, but he was still her brother—and gasped at the saddle sitting on the bench beneath. “Oh my God. It's beautiful.” She ran her hands over the stitching. “Whose is it?”

“Yours, you moron. It counts for, like, five birthday presents.”

She continued to pet the saddle, then found the tack beside it. “Mine? All mine? Trace, you didn't have to.”

“I did, if you were going to stop using mine anytime soon. Now you can wear your own shit out.” He winked at her. “Let's go break it in. Come riding.”

She didn't hesitate. “Yes. Let's go riding.”

 

Morgan stepped out of exam room two and found Jaycee leading Thing Two, one of the basset puppies, out of the shelter and into the clinic. “Anything wrong with Two?”

She shook her head. “He's getting a new daddy. A guy from a few towns over has been looking for a basset, and fell in love with Thing Two here.” She nodded to the man sitting in the waiting room with no leash or animal. “Found us online and came on over. Third one in the last two days.”

Three adoptions in two days. Outside of the adoption fair, it was practically a record. “That's great. Has he started all the—”

“Paperwork's done, background check and interview done by me, as you trained me, and I checked with his old vet. He had a basset that died about a year ago. He's finished grieving and ready for a new four-legged friend. His vet says he's a great pet owner and would be a good home for the new guy.”

“Sounds perfect.” Morgan rubbed the back of his neck to stem the emotion. The rescues weren't his. Not really. And yet, every time one of them left, a little part of him felt like it was being ripped away. “Bea handling everything up front?”

“Like the pro she is.” Jaycee passed by and nudged him. “That new website is fantastic.”

“New website.” He watched as Thing Two bounded toward his new daddy, the man sprawling on the floor with the pup to play and wrestle like a child. “Forgot about that.” He headed for the front desk and set papers by Bea's elbow. “Room Two is coming out soon to check out.”

“Great, thanks.” She didn't look up, only clicked more stuff on the screen, then typed in a few keys.

He should get back to work. But . . . “What's going on with the new site?”

“Went live on Monday. All pets are up on Pet Finder, and calls and e-mails are coming in. I'm just working on how to streamline this so it's easier to manage around handling regular patients. Otherwise, this might end up being a part-time job all by itself.” She beamed up at him for a moment before looking back at the screen. “Two more prospective candidates just e-mailed me their applications and are coming in this afternoon. So we'll see.”

“Can my web tech guy keep up with all those changes?” God, how much was this going to cost him?

“Nope. So I sent him on his way. He was nice enough, but you were getting hosed on maintenance charges. You need someone on staff here who can handle the maintenance and updates to the shelter page.”

“So what, now I have to hire a replacement for you
and
a tech person?”

“Not yet, anyway. I figured it out.” She swiveled in her chair and faced him fully. “I did some research on web coding, talked to a few people, checked out a book or two, and now I think I'm on the right track. I might make a mistake here or there, but nothing too lethal, I think.”

He blinked. “Wow.”

“I know, right?” She bounced a little, then froze, as if remembering she was in public. With renewed composure, she added, “I hope I can train my replacement to keep up. Once I've got everything in place, it won't be that hard. The initial setup was the worst part. After that, it's mostly removing the adopted dogs and replacing them with new candidates, and remembering to update Pet Finder.”

He nodded, like this was all common sense to him. It wasn't. Not even close.

“Have you made a decision on the candidates you interviewed?”