Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  What she wasn’t wearing was mascara. That was gone almost sooner than Josh had left the Campus House to go after the woman he really loved.

  Tory came into the living room and handed Morgan a big cup of cocoa. “You want me to get rid of him?”

  “Morgan.” Josh’s voice came through the door again, pleading. “I’m not giving up. I will stand here all night if I have to.”

  Tory shot Morgan a look. “All night, he said. It’s only eight-thirty. He sure wasn’t at that wedding reception very long.”

  “Morgan, please?” His rapping accompanied the calling. “It’s cold, but I don’t care. I’ll wait until they have to remove me with ice-melting salt.”

  At this Morgan pulled a smile. It released some kind of endorphin in her that gave the first iota of relief from her dark fog of misery of the past two hours since she walked away from Josh. She’d told him she loved him, had lain bare her whole heart to him, and he’d said those dreaded words, if only.

  It turned her soul into a giant cavern, with the re-echoing words bouncing back and forth inside her ever since.

  If only. If only. If only.

  She couldn’t agree with them more. If only she hadn’t talked to him from her truck. If only she’d ignored his little problem at the mailbox. If only she’d never gone to him for help with Nixie. If only she’d never said anything about her own financial aid problems. If only she’d been stronger against the gleam of his teeth. If only she hadn’t thought every word he said was charming. If only she hadn’t let his kiss pierce her. If only she hadn’t let him cure her incurable Conversation Coma. If only he hadn’t become her best friend.

  If only.

  The tears were welling again, and she needed to blow her nose.

  “Morgan, I’ve got to talk to you.” He sounded cold, desperate now. Morgan’s heart trailed out to him. He wasn’t a monster or anything. She’d just told him she loved him, and he’d said he loved her, too, but that he’d loved someone else first. It was like that awful Jane Austen book Sense and Sensibility where Mr. Ferrars can’t be with Elinor because he promised that awful, scheming shrew his heart first.

  Not that Brielle Dupree was an awful, scheming shrew. She was probably a very nice person or Josh wouldn’t have ever fallen in love with her. She had a mean friend in Claire, but that didn’t automatically prove she was mean herself. Just because Chip and Heather didn’t think much of Brielle didn’t mean she was wrong for Josh. Only Josh knew who was right for Josh.

  Wincing, Morgan sipped the cocoa Tory brought her, but it burned her tongue.

  Tory came and sat down beside Morgan, bringing a blanket against the cold. “It’s dark. It’s New Year’s Eve. This apartment complex gets patrolled regularly by the local cops looking for drunk and disorderlies. Josh could get in trouble, and you two would be in the paper again in the police blotter.”

  “Again?” Morgan’s heart jolted. “We were in there?”

  “Your little speeding charade on Christmas did make the news. Luckily, almost no one takes the paper anymore.”

  Morgan sank lower into the couch. She held the side of the hot stoneware mug up against her cheek, letting the warmth seep into her skin. It was probably making her face red.

  “The paper also said the county attorney’s office was not pressing charges, due to extenuating circumstances.” Tory raised a brow. “You must have told them about the ex-girlfriend showing up on Christmas morning of your newlywed Christmas and going all ape and stealing your husband.”

  Morgan just nodded. That was pretty much the story she’d told through sobs. The prosecutor had been a woman, and she was extremely sympathetic. She’d said she had a lead foot herself, especially when provoked, and she couldn’t imagine anything more provoking.

  The knocking on the door stopped. Now there was a scraping sound.

  “Is he trying to dig through the door like that raccoon that came in last spring?” Tory went to the window and lifted the curtain. “Oh, no. He’s just got out a pencil and paper and is writing something.”

  Morgan’s head lifted. “What’s he writing?”

  “I don’t know. It’s on a piece of yellow stationery.”

  Oh, that yellow stationery. How she loathed it, every sheet of its eye-searing text. “Tell him to go away.”

  Tory slid the window open, and cold air blew in, freezing Morgan to the bone. “Josh? Morgan’s just not up for it tonight.”

  “Can you just give these to her, then?” Josh came over and handed Tory a stack of yellow stationery through the slice in the broken window screen of the ever-luxurious Estrella Court. “I’m going to be in the car. After she reads them, she’ll want to talk to me, I’m pretty sure. They’ll require some explanation. I’ll be in the parking lot.”

  Morgan heard his unmuffled voice, and her traitorous heart leapt.

  Tory slid the window and the curtain shut, and came and dropped them on Morgan’s lap. “I’m going back to Rich’s house. We’re ringing in the New Year together, and then I’ll be home.”

  Tory had someone. And soon, she’d probably have someone permanently, and Morgan would be all alone. Even Mom had Nixie. Morgan sucked in a shuddering breath. Her future gaped its dark maw before her.

  “Go on. Have a good New Year’s. Sorry I interrupted it.”

  Tory closed her eyes then looked at the cracked ceiling. “Don’t be a fool, Morgan. No matter what happened today, marrying him is the best thing you’ve ever done. Don’t flush that down the drain.”

  Cold air blasted through the door as Tory went out. The door shut with an extra slam of the wind. Morgan held the big mug of cocoa with both hands, wishing the warmth could radiate through all of her, thaw the block of ice that was left in the cavity of her chest, where her heart should be.

  Slowly, she let her eyes drift toward the pile of letters.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  With a fight against both the fear build-up around her icy heart and the logic that kept shouting, He left you, and he would have loved you IF ONLY, Morgan let herself lift a sheet of the cream-colored stationery. The top letter began,

  Morgan,

  Even if I couldn’t tell you out loud all these months, my feelings for you have been real, and they’ve grown like a living thing. I’m no poet and not even much of a writer. The notes may all be short, but they’re the realest thing I’ve ever told you—without telling you. I hope you’ll read them—and give me another chance.

  Love,

  Josher

  He’d called himself Josher. Memories of their first day spent together leapt to her mind when she’d called him that. Morgan smiled in spite of herself. Just because he’d hurt her, it didn’t mean her love for him was dead. It had grown too slowly, too strong-rooted to be completely killed by his rejection this afternoon.

  He’d signed it, Love, Josher. The first word of that phrase hit her next. The ice in her chest cavity crackled, like a cube being dropped in a drink. It was still there, but it wasn’t as strong as it was before.

  I can’t look at these. These are the letters he wrote Brielle—aren’t they? Morgan’s throat was dry. She picked up the cocoa and sipped it, holding the hot cup again for a while as she fought against herself.

  Finally, curiosity won. Her hand trembled as she slid the recently scribbled letter off the top of the stack and saw the date at the top of the first letter: August. But—Josh and she had only just met then, and married. He didn’t know her at all.

  You’re not what I was planning on, but I so scored.

  That was all there was to it. No argument—he wasn’t a poet. Something else was written and then scribbled out, so it looked like he’d attempted to write more but lost his nerve. He hadn’t put her name at the top or signed it. It wasn’t exactly everything Morgan would ever wish for in a love letter, but maybe it was better than nothing. In a way, it was shallow but sweet. That pretty well described their beginning together. A few innocent, meaningless kisses to go along with their scheme to h
elp one another get through school against great odds. Shallow, but sweet.

  Morgan lifted that page and looked at the next.

  Never saw that coming, the way you fit in my arms when your sister made me hold you for the pictures. After that, more was blotted out. What else did he mean to say? Morgan remembered that fit and that it had surprised her. Huh. He’d noticed, too.

  The next few were just sentence fragments.

  Those blue eyes, I can’t—

  The ring isn’t what I would’ve chosen, but on you—

  We never should have done this, but you’re a good sport and—

  Where did you learn to— Morgan assumed he was talking about her cooking, from the date at the top. But it could have been about her kiss.

  You made Bronco smile. Who can do that?

  After that, they started to focus less on her appearance, or little things she could do, but more on what he felt.

  I’m with you and I’m free.

  You actually cheered when I told you about the breakthrough—

  It’s a different world than I expected opening up—

  None of the letters could ever be considered a love letter. They didn’t express love, or praise, exactly. However, they did chronicle some of the things they’d faced—together. They were just a line here and there, incomplete fragments of thought, stillborn ideas almost. Why did he even keep them? Morgan would have crumpled them up and thrown them away. Oh, but she was so glad he hadn’t. Each line gave her a tiny glimpse into his mind and the metamorphosis of his attitude toward her. From a pretty-eyed object who could cook and be a good sport when the chips were down, to someone who made him look at the world in a new way—these proved he’d changed how he viewed her.

  But why give them to her now—when he’d gone to Brielle as Morgan insisted, gone to his duty with his prior commitment and made good on it? Brielle had come for him, and Josh was bound. Then why bring her these notes? It was either to torture her or to beg for her forgiveness.

  Or to ask for her back?

  The question burned in her, almost hotter than this cocoa, almost hot enough to melt the ice around her heart, but not quite.

  The final letter from the stack lay on the couch next. With trepidation at what it might say, and with disappointment that they ended too soon, Morgan waited with her hand poised over it. At last she slid the paper aside and revealed the note.

  My love.

  That’s how the letter started, and suddenly, Morgan’s eyes burned with the salt tears that were her near-constant friend this evening.

  I think of so many things we’ve experienced together, from laughter and kisses to heartache and stress, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go through them with than you.

  Her heart crashed from side to side in her chest, a roaring in her ears sounding as the blood raced through her veins, and that ice went into insta-vapor.

  That letter she’d read inadvertently on Christmas hadn’t been for Brielle. It had been for me. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to inhale, and she hiccupped instead.

  “Josh?” She jumped up from the couch, threw open the door and went tearing out into the cold night in her Cookie Monster slippers and red dress over her sister’s sweats. “Josh!” She made a run for the parking lot, to the gravel spot where he had always parked, expecting to see the old Ford Explorer there, and being confused when something else was parked there instead. “Josh!” she called, and the lights of the interior of that interloping car came on, and Morgan realized he was there in the Land Rover. Past and present collided, and in a second, Josh was out of the driver’s side and running toward her.

  Morgan threw herself into his arms.

  “I’m your love?” She echoed the words from the final letter.

  “You are.” He smothered her mouth with kisses. “You most definitely are.”

  “But what about—”

  “Never mind her. She’s not you. You, Morgan Clark Hyatt, are my love. I want you. I choose you. I choose the life that lies ahead of us together.”

  Morgan kissed him back, ignoring the cold wind off the coast, pressing herself up against Josh as if doing so could make the two of them one entity. “I have waited so long to hear you tell me this. I can’t wait to let Mr. Seagram know tomorrow.”

  “I can. Because there’s a lot to do before that.” Josh put her in the car.

  “I left Tory’s door open!” Morgan hopped out of the car and dashed back to Tory’s apartment. In a flash, she gathered up the letters from Josh, pressing them to her heart. She slipped off Tory’s sweats and slippers, and slid her feet back into her amazing heels. The necklace from Josh still hung at her collarbone, and she ran her fingers across it. A note scrawled to Tory on a post-it on the table said, You were right. As always. I love you, sister—almost as much as I love Josh Hyatt.

  ∞∞∞

  The living room glowed with nothing but the lights of the Christmas tree still lit and the fire, which made a warm spot just the right place for Josh to say what he needed to say to Morgan, as soon as the moment arrived.

  Tomorrow they had the big assignment of going to see Seagram, apologizing, taking him a printout of the bank statement showing that they had held his hundred thousand dollars in trust, and hoping he would be understanding and not treat them with the full brunt of how the two of them deserved to be treated. At least of how Josh deserved to be treated; he didn’t figure even Seagram in his most volatile eccentricity could enforce dire consequences on Morgan. Seagram, just like that county prosecutor over her ridiculous speeding ticket, was totally charmed by Morgan and taken in by her sweetness. Just like Josh.

  Tonight, however, he had other plans.

  What was taking her so long? He went to the kitchen island and watched from a barstool while she finished making them a snack. She’d insisted, since neither of them had eaten dinner. She wouldn’t take his help even though he offered because she said she loved doing something for him. He wouldn’t put the brakes on that. Besides, his nerves had started to ramp up, and he would probably get clumsy or get in the way.

  “Cold ham sandwich okay?” she asked over her shoulder, her hair falling down her back in blonde curls and waves, over where he’d helped zip up her red dress earlier.

  Anything. Anything was fine. Josh couldn’t sit on the barstool anymore. He came around and stood next to her, handing her the bread from the bread box.

  She’s mine.

  Almost.

  They sat at the table, where he ate his sandwich in three bites, washing it down with a Coke, aching for her to eat faster. But she paused to look up at him with those eyes blue as the sea.

  “Josh, was that last letter really for me?” Morgan’s voice had a hint of trepidation as she looked up from her sandwich.

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t believe she was still thinking about them. “But I don’t know what possessed me to give them to you, when they’re nothing but worthless, one-line mess-ups.” They were so embarrassing.

  Morgan’s eyes dipped and she set her glass of water down. “They’re worth something to me. More than you know.”

  Really? They even made sense? At the moment, Josh had been desperate. She wasn’t answering his calls or coming to the door at Tory’s place. The letters on the back seat of the truck hit his eye, and in a fit of recklessness he thought of giving them to her. As soon as he’d made that decision, peace had come over him, and for the moment it seemed like the right thing to do. Then, the moment they landed in her hand, he’d been sick, realizing she’d know—one, that he was a sucky writer of love letters; two, that he had been keeping notes all the time they were together, and that he’d been pretty surface-focused for a long time about her; and three, that he was a goner and had been so for a long time, all while keeping her at a distance and being untrue to both Brielle and Morgan at the same time. And himself.

  “Really? How much?” He hadn’t known how she’d react to them. However, his instinct, or maybe his prompting guardia
n angel, had been right. They’d been the thing that brought her running to find him. He glanced toward the kitchen and caught sight of the sink. Memories of the day he’d burned his hand and she’d healed it with the cold running water flashed to his mind. He stood and lifted her to her feet, pulling him close to her. She was amazing.

  “Everything.” She placed her arms around his neck and twirled the back of his hair with her fingers. It was heaven. She kissed his chin, along his jaw, up to his ear, where she whispered, “Absolutely everything.”

  Shards of electricity shot through every part of his body. “Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her to the living room. First, he placed her on a chair beside the glow of the tree, which made her hair look like spun gold. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

  Morgan laughed softly, that flirty, feminine laugh that went straight to his heart. She was looking up at him, her blue eyes deep and wide and expectant. At the dip of her collarbone lay the jewel he’d given her on Christmas Day, glinting a dark red against the twinkle of the tree’s lights. Perfect.

  Josh, heart pounding in his chest and his ears, slipped to one knee and pulled from his shirt pocket the thing he’d been holding onto for just this moment.

  “Morgan. Everything we’ve done has been out of order. Marriage, then love, then dating. And I’m sure I made you suffer to some degree. Like Oscar Wilde said, if we men married the women we deserved, we’d have a very bad time of it. I’ll never deserve you, but I’ll live the rest of my life trying to. And I’ll do everything in my power to make your life blissful.” These were big promises, but looking up at the calm strength of her face, its beauty and goodness, for the moment, he actually believed he could deliver on them. He was invincible with the power of this woman’s love. “Morgan. Will you be my wife?”

  Josh knew Morgan understood all he meant by this. It was more than just a living arrangement, a joining of their legal affairs, or a promise to support or be there for one another. It was a request to be one with him, from now on and forever. The thought of forever with Morgan gave him a vast vision that he’d felt when the two of them stood together looking out over the waves and broad horizon of the Pacific Ocean—a never ending expanse to explore. Together. Come what may.