“And you.”
“Not by comparison to them. They stay calm through all Bronco’s machinations. Hey, are you cold, or something?” He looked and noticed she was shivering. “Do you want me to get…” He was going to say his blanket from the truck, but they were using it as their picnic blanket. The weather in Oregon never got too cold, not even in late November like today, but a breeze had picked up, and Morgan looked like she was feeling it.
“I’m all right.”
She wasn’t.
“Come here. I’ll warm you up.” He didn’t wait for her to move; he crawled over and sat behind her, a leg on either side of her hips, undoing his jacket and pulling it around both of them. His face was in her hair, which smelled like vanilla and mint today, and her back was up against his chest. Her torso quaked at intervals. “Wow, you really are cold.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms to warm them and tightened his legs up against hers.
“Thanks.” She leaned back into him, her neck touching his neck, her soft cheek touching the side of his face. Their breathing started to match each other’s as they watched the waves roll in, break, and recede, saying nothing. Josh breathed Morgan’s honeysuckle hair and her essence, and soon he found himself turning his face a little toward her soft cheek, pressing his upper lip against her skin, breathing slowly but feeling his heart rate rising.
This woman fit well in his arms. She pulled her legs up and nestled against him even closer, her face turning slightly, their cheekbones now touching.
If she moved another millimeter toward him, he’d lose it and be kissing her.
Her soft breath rose and fell. The waves crashed. And then he couldn’t hold back a second longer. She was too close, too sweet, too gorgeous. He kissed her cheek, stretched and nudged her face toward his with his nose. His lips were on hers, and they insisted she respond in kind—which they did, with surprising intensity, not to mention endurance.
A bit later, after he’d given her mouth nearly all the attention it deserved and was considering her neck and collarbone, some seabirds’ cries brought them up for air, and Morgan hummed to him, “Oh, you are amazing, Mr. Hyatt.”
“I am, am I?” Nice. He liked being told he was amazing. But maybe she made him amazing.
“I’ve never been kissed so well.”
Josh couldn’t remember being kissed better either. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember much of anything right now. Just the sea and the woman whose lips made him ache for raspberries every meal. “You’re a bit of amazing yourself, Mrs. Hyatt.” When he said that, something happened inside him he couldn’t pass off as pretense. I wish it were her real name.
Things had changed. The dinner at Bronco’s had solidified their friend status, as had the moment she’d cheered for him when he made the breakthrough in his research. She’s basically my best friend right now. Who else did he tell about his research? No one—he couldn’t. It had to be secret from George at work because he was a bio-tech researcher, too, and he’d lost all his former bio-tech friends to graduation. He hadn’t broken into the social hierarchy of his new major. Brielle was gone, and while dating her he’d pretty much cut himself off from other social interactions because they’d been so close-knit.
Morgan was it. She was his person.
He toyed with a curl that had fallen at her temple. She was all warm now, and he had no excuse for staying so close, other than he couldn’t leave.
He half-laughed. Well, that was good—his wife was his friend. Anybody would hope that would be the case.
But that kiss yesterday in the kitchen didn’t have friend written on it. Rearrange and drop some of the letters, and fire was what it spelled instead. The way her spine felt pliable under his hand, the way her hair intertwined in his fingers. The places her touch sent his mind shooting. And their serious togetherness here on the beach had girlfriend written all over it. Friends don’t make out on the beach. Nuh-uh. Not hot, hypothermia-curing making out like this. He could take off his jacket in a Wyoming blizzard after a session like that.
His wife was becoming his girlfriend.
And Josh was getting confused.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I can’t believe they are making us do this.” Morgan shoved another wadded up piece of newspaper into her backpack so that it would look fluffy and full. As if it didn’t look full enough with the metric ton of accounting books she had to carry every day. Television people were psychotic. Why did they have to do this shoot, anyway? Hadn’t they just been on TV moving into Seagram’s Campus House a few weeks ago? Everyone watching would be sick of them. “I have two tests this week. Wasn’t the plan that they were giving us all this so that we would have time to study and be better students?”
“It sucks when testing weeks coincide with holiday TV specials.” Josh had already fluffed up his own backpack. Well, not his backpack, actually; he had on the one Seagram’s studio had given him. His own didn’t pass muster, according to Darshelle. “Should we walk or drive?”
“Oh, I should’ve told you. They’re sending a driver in some kind of golf cart to get us across campus without needing a parking pass. First we have to go to the ice cream shop, then to the top of Old Main, and then we are being filmed walking up that woodsy hill on the north side of campus.”
“The one with the snake infestation?” Josh looked alarmed. And who wouldn’t be? Already this semester three students had been treated at the hospital for snakebite after using the hill as a shortcut.
“That’s the one.” Morgan zipped her bag shut, deciding it looked sufficiently fluffy. “I hope they’re passing out Kevlar socks so when we get bit the snakes need dental work.”
“Stupid animal protection laws. Oh, sorry. I know, I sounded like Bronco for a second.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me for wishing all snakes extinct.” Morgan looked longingly at the pile of books on the kitchen table, knowing it would be a few hours before she could hit them again, and they weren’t hours she had to waste. She’d been up late every night plowing through assignments, writing research papers, and basically memorizing the U.S. tax code. “Does my hair look okay?” She knew it sounded weak, asking Josh this, but he’d been kind of distant ever since the kiss on the beach, or at least it had seemed like it since she wished every day had been as filled with kisses as that one, and there hadn’t been any follow-up, just back to business as usual, so she was genuinely as insecure as she sounded.
It must be that he didn’t think of her that way, and she knew it now, even though it stung deeper than any snakebite.
Josh gave her a short glance. “Yep. Looks great.”
Exactly. Exactly her point. He might see her, but he didn’t see her. Not the way she saw him.
At the ice cream shop, Darshelle seated them across from each other at a small iron table.
“Josh, spoon up some of the butter pecan and feed Morgan. Morgan, look like you enjoy it. That’s it. Yeah, eyes closed like this is ecstasy. Perfect.”
Morgan opened her eyes, and Josh was staring at her, his jaw a little slack. She couldn’t help but pull a smile. “You jealous?” She meant that she was the one eating the ice cream and he wasn’t.
“Of the ice cream? Yeah.”
She pushed his shoulder.
“That’s perfect!” Darshelle said. “So playful. Exactly what we want to see. Man, it’s like you’re not some comfortable married couple; it’s more like you’re just getting to know each other flirting. Love the chemistry. Now, let’s go to Old Main. We’re going up top.”
A swift buzz across campus in the golf cart took them to Clarendon’s oldest building, with its clock tower adorned by a weathercock. It was the defining structure of the university, the one they put on all their brochures, and Morgan and Josh were getting their first trip into the bell tower.
“Is there an elevator?” Ernie the cameraman said. “It’s what? Six million stairs up?”
Morgan was glad for the first time that she only had the fluff-fill
ed backpack instead of her books as she climbed all six million steps of the circular metal stairway up the tower. “Do you need a hand with any of the equipment?” she asked him.
At that, Josh reached down and grabbed one of the cameras. “Dude. No wonder you’ve got forearms like Popeye the Sailor Man. This thing is heavy.” But Josh shouldered it and kept busting his way up the steps. Morgan raised a single eyebrow reflexively. Huh. Nice strength her husband had.
“Now, you two. I want you to lean a little out the window beneath the clock, reach out like you’re waving down to us.” Darshelle had them hooked up to walkie talkies, which were kind of old-fashioned, considering they could’ve just used phones, but whatever. She worked for Seagram, and chances were, the guy insisted on things being done a certain way. Morgan tried to obey, but she was a little short to be leaning out the window that was higher than her shoulder. Josh could do it fine, but Morgan was going to need to stand on something.
In despair she looked around. There was nothing up here on this narrow platform, not even an old two-by-four or tool box. It was bare floor. And her fluffy backpack wouldn’t work.
Josh fiddled with the window and got it open. “We have to lean out? Does she know how far down that is? Like a mile.”
“Don’t fall, Josh.” Morgan teased him despite her worry.
“I won’t. And don’t worry, Morgan. I’ll catch you if you fall.”
“Chances are we’ll go down together.”
“Never were truer words spoken…” Josh gave her a knowing look, and Morgan understood exactly what he meant. They were on a tightrope over an alligator pond with this lie of a life they were leading.
“Morgan? I’m only seeing your hair here in the shot. Can you, uh—”
Before she could respond into the radio, Josh picked her up. “You need a boost.” It suddenly sucked all the air out of her lungs, having his arms so tight around her. It’d been so long since that embrace on the beach, she’d almost forgotten. “There.” He maneuvered her toward the window. She put her hands on his shoulders, he was holding her up so high.
“There. Now we got you.” Darshelle’s voice crackled and fizzed. “There. Now wave to us. And then give us a little kiss.”
Kiss! Again? Morgan’s throat went dry, and her lips tingled. If he wasn’t into her that way, even though he’d seemed it a hundred percent at the shipwreck, it didn’t change how much she wished he were and how much she ached for the possibility that her kiss could change all that.
A look down into Josh’s eyes confused her. Did he want to obey the order? She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there was definitely a hesitation there, and it stabbed at her.
Ernie, the cameraman who’d followed them up to get a secondary angle on the shot, was all set up now. “That’s good. Good pose.” He walked around them. “Darsh, we don’t need the kiss. This will be perfect.”
“Oh, okay.” Darshelle sounded as disappointed as Morgan felt, or maybe only a fraction. When Morgan’s arm’s strength failed, she fell into Josh’s arms. He kept her there a second, and then another second, and then he let her go.
“That’s TV life, boys and girls. You climb six million stairs, get a shot in about ninety seconds, and then you head back down.” Ernie sighed, resigned, as he shouldered his burden again. He already had it packed up. How much time had passed while she’d stayed in Josh’s arms looking at him? Wasn’t it just a second or two? She couldn’t tell now. Time was weird.
They followed Ernie down to the golf cart.
Darshelle took them to the base of Snake Hill, as everyone these days was calling it, and said, “We’ll have a long shot of the two of you climbing the hill while we recap your inspiring story. I’ll be at the top. Walk in a leisurely fashion so we can get the shot. I’d like you to canoodle.”
“Canoodle.” Josh helped Morgan out of the golf cart, just like he got the door for her every time they rode in his car together. “And that is…?”
“You know. Look like you’re in love.”
Morgan shot him a look, but then she gauged herself. “No problem.” She hoped she caught herself in time so Darshelle wouldn’t see her worry. In place of worry she flashed Josh her best flirty smile. Not that she had practiced it much, but it might work. She hoped she didn’t look like an ailing wildebeest as she did so.
Josh played along. “See you at the top.” He said it to Darshelle, but he had both eyes on Morgan, and the look sent radiant heat through her chest. He really did have the most excellent teeth to go with his smile.
Walt, the other camera guy, went with Darshelle, and Ernie stayed with them again. He had the right camera for tight shots. But, to Morgan’s relief, he walked off a distance so Morgan could say a word to Josh.
“What are you thinking?”
“About throwing a canoodling curve ball.”
Morgan laughed. “How?”
“Isn’t this the hill where all the snakes are? Now, don’t freak out.”
“I don’t think the snakes are poisonous, so I wasn’t freaking out.”
“Stick with me.” Josh took her by the hand, and she scooted beside him so their arms touched. It was nice. They walked hand in hand a few yards, taking their time, kicking through the mulch of fallen autumn leaves, looking up at each other occasionally and laughing, getting approving yells from Darshelle. After a bit, though, Josh whispered, “Fake a snake bite.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Ouch!” Morgan grabbed her ankle. “Ouch!”
“She’s been bit!” Josh yelled. He scooped Morgan up in his arms. She had to turn her face to his chest to keep from showing that she was laughing. He ran the rest of the way up the hill, almost threw her on the ground and pulled off her shoe and sock, then said, “I’ll get the venom out. One of you prepare the tourniquet.”
“Tourniquet!” Morgan squeaked. “No tourniquets!”
“I’ll call 9-1-1.” Darshelle came running up. Morgan’s heart leapt. No way should this ruse devolve into an ambulance ride.
“No, no. We’ve got time.” Josh already was bent over her foot and rolling up her pant leg. “If I suck out the venom, we’ll just drive her to the hospital. It’s gonna be fine.” At that, Josh leaned over and started giving her ankle a hickey. “Go with it,” he whispered so only Morgan could hear. And then his lips were on her leg again, and she had to keep herself from going nuts.
“Get away, sir.” Darshelle suddenly spoke with authority, and Morgan looked up. Some strange man with an outrageously large camera had come barreling in at high speed, and he was taking shot after shot of Josh and Morgan. “I’m sorry, sir. This is a closed shoot.”
“I’m not sir. I’m Paulie Bumgartner.”
Josh looked up, and clearly the game was done. “Oh, no.”
∞∞∞
Josh lugged his backpack of textbooks into the house. “Morgan?” No answer. She must still be at class, a thought that disappointed him a little, to his surprise. He’d come back early today, frustrated with the pile of dates and names he’d had to memorize for his Politics of Developing Countries test. Who even cared about a country with a name that had no vowels in it?
Oh, great. Now I’m sounding like Bronco. Josh slogged his way through the house into the room with all the books and slung the eighty pound backpack onto the wingback chair, making it slide a little across the wood floor with a rumble.
A gasp came from the other sofa, and Josh looked over to see Morgan, who he’d obviously awakened, rubbing her face and arms. “Sorry, Morg. I didn’t know you were in here.” Every time he’d seen her face ever since Bumgartner snapped their venom-sucking picture for the tabloids a couple of weeks ago, spears of guilt pierced him, even though Morgan had shrugged it off when Josh brought it up. He knew Paulie Bumgartner the Bum’s M.O. He sat on incriminating photos until the victim’s moment of weakness and then sprang them on the world, and any caption Paulie concocted would sting Morgan deeply when the pictures appeared. He also
knew that every minute he continued to keep her as his wife, he endangered her future as a private citizen.
Josh had almost started avoiding her over it, even though in his heart he knew he should be there to support her, protect her. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he wished he could make things better for her—for them. But the photos were coming, he knew.
She half-smiled. “I must’ve crashed. Tax Accounting is just so stimulating most of the time, but I stayed up too late studying for a test, and bam. Mr. Sandman.” She scooted over, making room for him.
Josh came and plopped down beside her and let out a long exhale. “You have tests, too?”
Morgan stifled a pretty little yawn. “You want me to help you with flash cards or anything? I could quiz you if you need it.”
She’d do that for him? “Uh, sure. Actually, that would be awesome.” Getting all the names and dates and spellings had been his biggest challenge so far, and the only way to get them all was rote memorization. “I can name all the elements in the periodic table forward and backward, with all the atomic weights, but ask me when Laotian King Savang Vatthana had to abdicate his throne at the uprising led by Pathet Lao, backed by the Soviets, and my brain is soup.”
Morgan raised both eyebrows. “I don’t know how you could be expected to spell anything that happened in 1975 in Laos.”
Josh snorted. “How did you know it was in 1975?”
“I heard you studying last night.”
Oh, she had, had she? She was listening to him while he talked to himself in his room? Something about that struck him—but not as all bad. “I guess I’d better be quieter.”
“I don’t mind. Here. Hand me your cards.”
Josh tugged them out of the outside pocket of his backpack and passed them to her, his fingers brushing against the skin on her palm as they made the handoff. She was warm, probably because she’d been sleeping. “I hope you can read my handwriting.”
“I’m an expert.” Morgan began quizzing him on every place from Cambodia to Bhutan to sub-Saharan Africa, leaders’ names and dates of political control, border changes, alliances and war zones. So much of it hurt his brain, but Morgan’s hints made it easier. She gave him a mnemonic clue now and then for names like Zimbabwe rhymes with Mugabe for remembering that country’s president’s name and Burkina Faso had a revolt in 1984 from being named the Republic of Upper Volta. It was surprisingly helpful.
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