Morgan

by Chris Keniston

  “Everything okay?” Joanna asked her.

  “What? Yes. Why?”

  “You’re shaking your head.”

  “Oh.” Val laughed. Her expressions and gestures gave her thoughts away a few times too many. “Sorry, was thinking too hard.”

  “Ah.” Joanna flashed that blinding Texas smile again.

  “Table or booth?” Abbie grabbed a single menu.

  “Booth. In the back.”

  “Got it.” Joanna’s cousin nodded and led them to a corner booth with a bit of distance between them and the nearest table, and handed Val a menu. “Things shouldn’t get crowded for about another hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  It took a few moments to order drinks, establish that Joanna, and just about everyone else in town, didn’t need a menu, and settle into their seats before her phone buzzed and anticipation zinged through her system. “I have to take this. Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course.”

  Weaving her way through the tables to the back hall in search of privacy, she passed a freestanding ladder, briefly considering who leaves an empty ladder in the middle of a hall. Phone to her ear, she debated ducking into the ladies room, but the way her luck had been running, every stall would be occupied and all would echo loudly when flushed at the same time. Turning her back to the dining area, she jammed a finger in her other ear and buried her face in the dark corner. “What did they say?”

  Her best friend since freshman year at UCLA, and a screenwriter for one of the hottest serial adaptations on cable, Marilyn had used her connections to pitch this last idea. The hope had been that Val’s efforts might get farther with an insider in her corner. “No go.”

  Crud. That’s what she was afraid of. Her forehead thumped against the hard wall. Three series pitched, three series struck out. She couldn’t blame them, she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the last project either, but getting out of the reality TV game was her best shot at a new full-time gig and moving her career to the next level. Too bad no one else thought so.

  “You still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry. Switching gears in this industry isn’t easy.”

  Brother, did she know that. The question now was, even if she convinced Joanna to give her an option on the new book, if she couldn’t get backing for anything but reality TV, what did it matter how good a story she brought to the table.

  “They’d be interested if you come up with a fresh concept for a new home renovation show.”

  And again, wasn’t that the problem? How many ways could a producer spin a married couple, any couple, fixing up old houses?

  “That TV home remodel with all those retro stars was a hit. Maybe we should try something like that?”

  “Then it wouldn’t be fresh, would it?”

  “This is Hollywood. Fake it.”

  “Easier said than done.” If only she could fake her dwindling bank account. Lifting her head, she blew out a long, slow breath. “I’m at lunch. Let’s talk later.”

  “Sounds good. Call when you get back to LA.”

  “Will do.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she said a silent prayer. Her gut told her Joanna Farraday’s book held the answer to all her problems.

  Eyes open, she spun around, surprised by the blinding burst of light from a distant window. Taking a short step, she blinked and took another before her toe connected with something clunky. Her gaze dropped to the ground, still struggling to make out what was right in front of her. Who moved the ladder?

  “Sorry.” The voice was deep and low and very male.

  Her gaze lifted. “No prob…” The words dried up in her mouth. Teetering on that once empty ladder, directly in her line of vision, perfectly rounded denim-clad masculine buns of steel came into very clear view. One muscular leg descended a step, pulling the denim more tightly against said steel buns. If she could have conjured up a drop of saliva she would have whistled.

  “Excuse me,” he rumbled.

  Slowly her gaze dropped to his leather boot and back to that well-formed derriere and up to a state sized belt buckle.

  “I need to get down.”

  Down? Once again, her focus wandered up and down before her brain finally began to fire on all pistons, realizing she was standing in his way. Taking a step back, her mouth connected with her brain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were on the phone. It seemed important, but I only had a couple of minutes and I promised Abbie I’d take a look at the light.”

  “Yes.” The single syllable wasn’t quite the appropriate response, but the almost hypnotic timbre of his voice had veered her mind off track again. Stringing coherent words together wasn’t going to happen.

  On the ground, he slid a screwdriver into a pouch that hung from his hip. The way his hand rose to his forehead, she almost thought he was about to tip a nonexistent hat. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

  A smile spread across his face, her gaze leveled with deep twinkling blue eyes, and for the second time in only a few short moments, her mouth went perfectly dry. Somehow she managed to mumble, you too, as he lifted the folded ladder and turned to walk away. The hammer and who knows what else jingled with every step he took. No wonder the network wanted a fixer upper show. She could binge watch that man at work any day.

  Chapter Two

  “Light’s all fixed. The ballast was loose.” Morgan slid the ladder into the storage closet.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Abbie held out a dish with a slice of Frank’s Dutch apple pie.

  “No time. Ryan is heading home this afternoon. I’ll be finishing up Adam and Meg’s on my own.”

  “I still can’t believe how much just the two of you have accomplished in a short time. We could have used you when Brooks and Allison were turning that old mansion into a hospital.”

  Had he and his brothers known, they would have gladly made room for a project like that. Not only had it involved family, but he understood how important good health facilities were for rural areas. Even though Tuckers Bluff had grown a ton since he was a kid, the town was still surrounded by an awful lot of nothing West Texas. And cows. “I’d better get a move on it.”

  “Well, at least let me wrap the pie up to go. Maybe throw in a little bit of today’s meatloaf.”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’ll pass on the meatloaf. Meg already put out a lunch spread suitable for a king, but I might be able to sneak in an afternoon snack of apple pie.”

  How such a deep down rumble of laughter erupted from such a petite woman, he didn’t know, but Abbie’s simple amusement made him laugh too. It was one of the things he loved about being with this branch of the Farradays. As much as he loved his mom, her nature tended toward the serious side. She simply didn’t seem to have that inner joy that was so easily found at every turn of his day here in Texas.

  He’d managed to make it halfway to the front door with only having to wave goodbye at his aunt rather than pause for a proper good-bye. The woman took her poker seriously. Besides, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t see her at the ranch tonight for dinner. He glanced to his left before reaching for the door handle and spotted the striking blonde from the hallway. Just as when her eyes lifted to meet his earlier, his gut tightened, his heart seemed to trip over itself, and his brain reminded him that was exactly the type of woman with high aspirations that led to complications he didn’t need.

  The striking blonde was lunching with his cousin Finn’s wife. His body twisted, shifting his center of gravity and reprogramming the direction of his steps. He set one foot in front of him before his brain shouted at him once again. No matter how intriguing his reaction to the stranger was, he had work to do, and that left no room for tangling with a woman.

  “Forget something?” Abbie stood beside him.

  “No.” He shook his gaze free of the woman whose name he didn’t even know. “For a moment I thought maybe, but no. Catch you later.”

  He’d made it outside and to the
truck before giving in to the urge to look back. Hand on the top edge of the driver side door; he glanced up to the café window. Too bad he’d lost his appetite for complications. They just weren’t worth the risks.

  It had taken everything in Valerie not to search the restaurant for the handsome electrician.

  Joanna gestured around the eatery with her hand. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but trust me the food is delicious.”

  “I’m sure.” She had indeed eaten in enough small-town places along the California coast to know appearances weren’t everything when it came to food, but her mind was still kicking around her reaction to that man, not paying any attention to the menu.

  “Who would think that a grumpy former Marine could make a killer Irish stew.”

  Marine? Didn’t they only eat canned foods and chipped beef?

  “Don’t look so startled. The man does magic with meatloaf.”

  “I think I’ll have an easy cobb salad.” She set the menu down and moved forward with her plan. “As I mentioned in my emails, I was given an advanced copy of your new book, and I truly enjoy your voice.”

  “Yes. Thank you. I was a little nervous shifting from historical fiction to contemporary.”

  “Don’t be. Some people are good writers, some are good storytellers, and you are both. And you’ve proven you can straddle two completely different times in history.”

  “Both were lots of fun to write. Are you planning on visiting the ghost town while you’re here?

  “If I have time.” Sadly, time seemed to be one thing she had plenty of at the moment, which is why she needed to get back to the option. “Series are very popular.”

  Joanna nodded.

  “I think your book could be expanded to work for television or the big screen.”

  Joanna’s mouth dropped open, snapping shut at the thunderous sound of crashing metal on metal that echoed from the kitchen. Abbie, who had only been a few feet away, bolted through the double doors. Across the café chairs scraped loudly on the tile floor as four older women hurried after the owner.

  “That didn’t sound good.” Valerie kept her eyes on the kitchen doors.

  “It sounded worse.” Halfway out of the booth, Joanna had one foot on the floor ready to bolt when the double doors flung open.

  Abbie came through waving her arms. “Sorry about the noise, folks. Everybody take a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign, but I wonder what the heck that was.” The way her lips pressed tightly together and she fidgeted in place, Joanna seemed to have pushed aside any thoughts of books or screen rights and looked anxious to go and check things out for herself.

  “If you’d like to see what’s…” Valerie’s words fell off as an attractive older woman in jeans and cowboy boots scooted up to the table.

  “We have no idea why, but Abbie’s new shelving system that holds all her pots and pans and most of the dishes came crashing down. Thank heaven no one was standing there at the time.”

  “Oh, good grief.” Joanna shifted in place. “I’ve been in there. That’s a ginormous shelf.”

  “Chock full of huge pots, too. The place looks like a bomb went off. The impact actually knocked things off other shelves. It’s a terrible mess,” the other woman added before even noticing Val was seated with Joanna. “I’m sorry. I’m Eileen Farraday.”

  “Valerie Moore.”

  “Where are my manners?” Joanna shook her head. “This is my husband’s aunt.”

  “Don’t stress over it.” Eileen patted her niece-in-law’s arm. “I called Morgan quickly. He was only a little ways down Main Street. He’s turning around to come back. I’d better go help straighten out the mess so he can secure the shelf the right way. See you later.”

  Before anyone could say a word, Joanna’s aunt had spun about and came short of breaking into a full-on run to the kitchen.

  “Do you want to go help? We can chat later.”

  “I do, but I’m not going to.” Joanna reached for her drink.

  “Are you sure?”

  Glass in hand, Joanna nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Aunt Eileen didn’t have everything in order long before Morgan arrives.”

  The old fashioned bell over the doorway sounded and with one glimpse of the tall denim-clad Texan, it suddenly struck Valerie who Morgan was. “The electrician.”

  “That’s my husband’s cousin from Oklahoma, Morgan. I suppose he does electrical. He and his brothers are contractors. Well,” Joanna shrugged a shoulder, “at least he, Ryan and Quinn are. I think some of the other brothers are on the business end of the construction company.”

  Construction company? An idea was starting to form in the back of her mind. If the other brothers looked like Morgan, possibilities for something fresh were beginning to take root. A whole crew of handsome men in cowboy hats could easily make rehabbing a chicken coup seem like fascinating television watching.

  Once again, the bell rang by the door and as sure as her name was Valerie Moore, she was convinced the good looking guy in jeans, a cowboy hat, and a deep frown, hurrying into the kitchen had to be one of the other Oklahoma construction cousins. Construction Cousins. Oh, if the third brother fit the same family mold, she’d just hit the reality television show trifecta. While brothers flipping houses wasn’t exactly a fresh concept, if two were a good thing, three had to be better. Didn’t it?

  “Anyhow, to answer your question, I have considered doing a second book on Sadieville and its decline to a ghost town.”

  Ghost town. A light flickered in her addled brain and her gaze drifted back to the closed doors the two men had raced through only minutes ago. Details were falling into place like a line of dominos. Her gut had been right about Joanna, just the wrong book. She’d still want an option for the contemporary that would make a great TV family saga, or movie, but gold for her was in these cousins and the ghost town. The network big shots and their deep pocket investors were right about one thing. When it came to reality TV, she knew her stuff and could smell a winner from a mile away. Like it or not, it was time to accept this side of the business was where she belonged. That popular retro TV show may have remodeled a famous house, but how many producers had pitched having three hunks bring an old ghost town, or what was left of it, back to life?

  “I thought you were heading home?” Taking in the layer of pots and pans and assorted cooking utensils scattered across the kitchen floor, Morgan turned to face his brother.

  “I was just about to head out when I heard there was a problem.” Ryan’s gaze quickly ran over the same mess Morgan had scanned and now the two studied the torn up wall.

  Sticking a finger in one of the large holes near the ripped sheetrock, Morgan pulled out a dangling piece of shredded plastic.

  “What’s going on?” Out of breath, Jamie rushed through the doors. Eyes bright with concern darted about the kitchen.

  There was little doubt in his mind what Jamie was searching for. Morgan waved his thumb over his shoulder toward the back door. “Your wife just stepped outside with Aunt Eileen to bring in some trash cans.”

  Relief instantly washed over Jamie. “All I heard is there was an emergency at the café. What the heck happened?”

  Morgan held out his hand. “Whoever attached the shelves intended to hold hundreds of pounds of professional kitchen equipment didn’t think finding a stud was necessary. The wall gave up.”

  “Lord love a duck.” Jamie shook his head and leaned over to pick up a pan from the ground and set it on a pile that was started to one side. “Even I know you don’t use plastic anchors for anything this heavy.”

  “I’ll head back to Meg’s and grab some sheetrock to patch the wall.” Morgan slapped his hands together. “Abbie’s going to need her kitchen back.”

  “We’d better get started.” Ryan pulled at a torn piece of hanging sheetrock.

  “No.” Morgan waved an arm at the bag of debris Aunt Eileen had already swept aside. “We’ve got
plenty of help. You go on home as planned. Give Mom a hug from me.”

  Ryan hesitated, his gaze bouncing from the tattered wall to the mess all around him.

  “Go,” Morgan repeated.

  “He’s right.” Jamie nodded. “I handed Brendan off to Joanna. Let me get him and drop him off at Meg’s then I’ll be back to come help.”

  “See?” Morgan waved at his brother. “Go. We’ve got this covered.”

  Lips pressed tightly in a thin line, indecision was clearly painted on Ryan’s face.

  “Here we go.” Aunt Eileen came through the rear doorway, lugging a large gray trash bin. “We’ll have the debris cleared up in no time.”

  “I’ve got another.” Abbie followed in her aunt’s footsteps. “And a box of heavy duty black bags.”

  As if he hadn’t seen his wife in a month of Sundays, Jamie scooted around his aunt and scooped his wife into a tight embrace.

  Abbie smacked him playfully on his hip and pulled away. “It was a shelf—not the roof—and I wasn’t anywhere nearby when it fell.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You, or the wall, still scared the hell out of me.”

  Abbie smiled sweetly and kissed her husband’s cheek.

  “I need to get a few things from my truck.” Morgan bit back a smile of his own. Definitely some kind of love bug in Tuckers Bluff. “I’ll ask Joanna if she can take Brendan over to Meg and Adam’s instead so you can get started.”

  Already bending over and chucking debris into the can, Aunt Eileen called over her shoulder. “Good idea. The sooner we get this straightened up the better. And you,” she turned to Abbie, “go back to handling the customers. Jamie, if you’ll take over here, I’ll hit the storeroom and see if I can find the right paint color for when Morgan patches the wall. By tomorrow morning no one will know what happened.”