by J. J. Keller
“Mommy’s going to time out,” Justin chortled from the middle of the colorful play area. Morgan’s favorite Cubs blanket had been used to create a tent in the corner of the room.
The kid knew how to read his mother’s facial expressions. She grimaced, pivoted, and lost her footing. Morgan’s heart, near to stopping, didn’t fail him as he caught her. His arms wrapped around her and lowered her to the floor, safely away from the fireplace ledge. She twisted around, bringing them face-to-face and placed her hands on top of his at her sides.
She gazed into his eyes. “The last time you caught me falling from a ladder we were painting the little house on Beeker Street. Remember?” Her tiny white teeth clasped onto her lower lip.
“You used that horrible baby-poop yellow color of paint.” The memory warmed him. He kissed her cheek, thankful he finally caught her―forever. She moved her arms to rest on his shoulders, her palms rubbing back and forth, the gesture connecting them as lovers. His hands stroked her back.
She chuckled and nodded. “The paint was more baby-poop than mustard. No diggidy, no doubt.”
She must have found the fresh bag of candies in the cupboard with the circus peanuts, as a spicy scent wafted in the air. He loved those tiny cinnamon dots she always ate.
He laughed. “Diggidy, right. Dr. Dre was your musician of choice during that week.”
“Yep. The paint hit the wall, and I figured out why the can was in the discount bin at Hank’s Hardware.” She inhaled. “I love your spicy cologne.”
She leaned into him close enough that the contact with his chest hardened her nipples. He wanted to lay her down on the sofa, strip the winter garments off, and rub his hands up and down her bare skin. He exhaled. This wasn’t the time or place. Justin played nearby. Morgan lowered his arms and inhaled, taking in her scent.
“The walls looked nice enough after you put that stain on top,” Morgan murmured.
“It was a faux treatment, meant to make the walls look like aged stone.” She finger-combed his hair. He put his face next to hers, stroking her soft skin with his cheek. His stomach tightened in anticipation of a kiss.
“Considering you wouldn’t let me patch the walls, the room certainly had that cracked ruins ambiance.” He wove his fingers with hers tugging her, around the toys and Justin, to the sofa.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” Hands clasped, she stepped over a monster truck, reached the couch and plopped onto the firm cushion. He sat beside her.
“Nope, I’ve the day free to spend with you and Justin.” He rubbed the inside of her palm with the pad of his thumb, replaying their lovemaking from last night.
“Feed the ducks?” Justin hinted. He parked his miniature pick-up truck near the other antique toys. His rrrr sputtering motor sounds created music in the room.
Morgan had dragged the toy box from his parents’ attic. He’d played with the metal trucks, cars, and farm equipment replicas as a youngster and not one of them converted into a robot. The collectibles certainly weren’t old enough to be considered antiques. If they were, he was one as well. He touched the crinkles at the edges of his eyes. Did Shania think of him as old?
* * * *
Shania gazed into Morgan’s face, trying to determine why he’d come home early. A workaholic, he wouldn’t just drop everything because he was thinking of her. Stomach fluttering, heart pounding at a quicker rate, she hoped he might have done just that.
He smiled and nodded to Justin. “Since it’s almost lunchtime, I thought we’d get carry-out and have a picnic in the shelter at Witch Hazel’s Park. Then, if it’s okay with your mom, we’ll go to my parents’ ranch and play with the horses.” Morgan moved his glance from Justin to her. His green eyes held a questioning glint.
Had their shift in relationship from friends to lovers changed the playing field? He’d waited nearly three months to track her down at Briarwood. And what about Justin? Morgan had been his surrogate father since birth. The new dynamics would affect each of them. It would be impossible to go back to being simply friends.
“Horses,” Justin screamed. Toy truck in hand, he ran straight into Morgan’s spread legs and crashed into the sensitive V between his thighs. Morgan’s hands shot over to protect his privates, but wheels and bumper connected. Shania shoved her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter begging for release.
“Yes, horses.” Morgan grimaced and dropped the truck to the floor. He lifted Justin to sit beside him.
“I think it sounds like an excellent idea. Justin, you need to put your toys away,” Shania said.
Justin scooted off the sofa and picked up the monster truck. Carefully carrying the toy to the box, he placed it in the bottom. His thick jeans would keep him warm, but she’d need to add a sweater over the flannel shirt. She hadn’t had a chance to shop for a winter coat. Although the air was chilly, his lightweight jacket would suffice.
“Do you have time? I know you wanted to study,” he whispered into her ear, stirring the fine hairs, multiplying the tingle in her stomach and ache between her thighs.
“Yes, plenty of time.” Her head turned a fraction of an inch. He placed his work-worn callused hand on the side of her cheek, close to her mouth. Physically she had to touch him and kissed his palm.
She eliminated the space, breathed in his spearmint-scented breath. She shut her eyes, wanting to taste his lips, wanting his touch to be in her memory, wanting to recognize his kiss without a visual.
“Ready?” Justin asked.
Shania opened her eyes and glanced at Justin, boasting a wide smile and coat in hand.
Morgan groaned. “Yes, just a second.” He sucked in his breath, dropped his hand to his knee, digging into the denim, and shifted on the sofa.
Shania shot Morgan a half smile and scooted to the edge of the seat. “Come on, Justin, I think it’d be a good idea to use the bathroom and wash your hands before we go.”
“Come on, Daddy, you too.” Justin tugged Morgan’s hand.
“Okay.” He sat forward.
Shania rose from the settee and snagged Morgan’s free hand. “Come on.”
“No fair, two against one.” Morgan pulled both of them into his arms and in turn nuzzled each of their necks.
Justin giggled.
“More,” Shania cooed.
“More for you later.” Morgan snickered. She kissed his cheek and wiggled out of his one-armed embrace.
“I’ll get a sweatshirt for Justin. Do you need one?” She winked at him. His skin begged to be touched. Morgan wore a moss green long-sleeved polo. A white cotton t-shirt underneath showed between the V.
“I’ll be fine with my jacket. The temperature is a balmy forty degrees today. We didn’t get the expected snow, but it’ll come before Christmas.” He stood and tucked Justin under his arm, carrying him like a football. “Good idea to get the kid a sweatshirt though. We don’t want snotty noses in our house.”
Our house. Her stomach flipped like a fish on dry land.
“I don’t have a snotty nose,” Justin bellowed.
* * * *
Shania smiled as Justin raced ahead of her, his path leading straight to the corral. He bypassed a Merle, black-tan-white, collie prancing beside the fence. On a different day he would’ve taken the time to pet the dog. However, every five minutes from the time he found out about the horses, he’d asked when they’d get to see them. They scrapped the park visit and after a quick meal at La Casa’s, they went to the Hardwicks’ ranch. Justin climbed the log hewn fence to perch beside Morgan.
She glanced at him. Morgan planted one work boot on a lower rail, acting as a barrier in case Justin flew backward from his perch on the top rail. Justin hugged the wood beam. His head swiveled back and forth watching brown, beige and mixed quarter horses huddled in groups at the corners. A single stately black stud trotted along the fence in a pen by himself, his tail lifted high in the air.
“Can I ride one?” Justin asked.
“Not alone,” Morgan replied.
; Shania shot a wide-eyed glance to Morgan and quietly stated, “Not at all. He’s only three.”
“I’ll take him for a short ride, Morgan,” a deep male voice stated.
Shania pivoted to see Morgan’s father striding forward. She released the breath caught in her throat, forcing the fear outside. “I don’t―”
“If that’s all right with you, Shania? Maybe you and Morgan would like to take a ride. I’ll take the little guy for a nice easy canter.” He winked at Justin, who stared at him and the black-thick coated horse beside him, standing at least fifteen hands high. The man and the stallion held her son’s interest. “Then, we’ll get a piece of the best chocolate cake this side of the Missouri.”
“Mr. Hardwick―”
“Now, Shania, I told you years ago to call me Mark.” He smiled, Morgan’s sweet cocky smile replicated in the older man. Both had dark blond hair, although Mark’s contained a liberal sprinkling of gray. Carolina blue eyes were surrounded by age-defining wrinkles. At six feet, he was two inches shorter than Morgan. His heart--equal in size.
“Dad, Justin’s a little small to be prancing around on Black Knight.” Morgan lowered Justin to the ground and grabbed her hand from fluttering in the air, as she attempted to snag Justin’s coat. He held her fingers tight.
“I’m a big boy,” Justin blustered.
“You were riding solo at three, but it’s different when your son wants to ride a horse as big as an eight-wheeler’s cab.” Mark’s hooded eyes didn’t give away his thoughts.
Shania jerked at the statement and glanced at Morgan. His stare didn’t hold remorse, only a happy glow. She shouldn’t have been surprised Morgan told his parents about Justin.
“I haven’t seen this little guy since he was a baby. It’d be nice to talk with him.” Mark held out his hand. “Hi, Justin. Remember me? I’m Mark, Morgan’s dad.”
Justin’s fingers dug into the wood rail. He faced Morgan’s father and then glanced at Morgan, who responded with a cockeyed grin. Justin held out his free right hand. “I’ll do it. Bob the Builder rode a horse. I can too.”
Mark took Justin’s hand in his. “Morgan, if you and Shania plan to ride, you might want to start. The sky’s clouding. Rain will be coming soon.”
Shania glanced at Mark, at the horses and then the pout on her son’s face. Justin read her decision and whooped.
Justin jumped from the rail. He and Mark walked toward the barn. “Who’s Bob the Builder?”
Justin described a cartoon whose occupation was making things. He compared Bob to his daddy.
Morgan pulled her to his side. “Do you want to take a ride…together?”
Butterflies tickled her stomach at the thought of riding in front of Morgan on the back of a fine stallion. Her mind kept slipping back to Justin riding a horse, the black one that stood as tall as her Jeep. As a mother, she needed to loosen the strings, but couldn’t. As a veterinarian, Mark understood the ins and outs of animals. Nothing would happen to Justin. Right? Parenting was becoming more difficult. Shania anticipated at the onset of Justin talking that it would be smooth sailing thereon out because he could tell her what he needed, wanted, or where he hurt. No. Not true. Verbal skills created independence for him and new critical decision making on her end. This happened to be one of those times.
“He’ll be fine. My father knows his way around horses.” Morgan tilted his Stetson. He kissed her cheek. “I know of a place in the woods. Abandoned. Sad, but true. Stone exterior, created in the early nineteenth century. Are you interested in taking a look at the house? For creative art purposes of course.”
“You do know how to distract a girl.” She leaned her head against his chest and watched Mark ride out on a pretty dark brown mare. Justin clutched the saddle horn, his face tight with a mix of fear and excitement. Mark leaned down and said something to him. Justin smiled. As they rode past he clung to the horn. He was as stubborn as she and would subdue the fright to have the experience.
Shania twitched.
Morgan held her hand firmly in his. “He’ll be fine. The first couple of bumps are always scary.”
She glanced from the rear of the horse to Morgan. “You’re right, but he’s still a baby…my baby.”
“You’ll need to let him explore life. Come on. I haven’t been on my stallion in months. I’d like to take him out for a ride. Are you game?” He tugged the hat firmly on his head and pulled her toward the barn.
“What’s his name?” She glanced at the brown mare and listened for any signs of distress from Justin. Exuberant laughter resonated in the wind. Her son would be fine.
“Silver Star,” he said.
They walked into the barn. A flashback of her first visit to Morgan’s parents came to mind. Her parents had shunned her, Beck’s parents denied her, but Mark and Maggie welcomed her with open arms. She’d mooned around the first couple of days, and then Mark put her to work. Before the sun opened the day, they’d ousted her from under the warm green, blue and white wedding ring quilt.
She’d dressed in sweatpants, riding boots and one of Morgan’s discarded flannel shirts. A quick cup of hot chocolate and a slice of toast later, she’d trailed Mark to the barn. He guided her through his method of grooming the massive draft horses. She’d never forget how much pleasure the simple act of brushing the rough hairs of a stud or filly’s coat gave her. She garnered a sense of accomplishment and peace invigorated her as the beasts moaned with each stroke. Her stress lessened as it did now, standing in the exact spot nearly four years later.
Morgan led her into the stables and the pleasurable aroma of hay wafted into her nostrils―not excluding the pungent odor of feces. She ran her fingers over the embossed name, Windfall. The steed’s legs moved forward, stirring the straw dust underneath. She touched his velvety soft snout.
“I feel at home here. For some reason when I’m around your parents, and even just by walking into this building, I get a sense of comfort. I’m not sure how to describe it. Security, maybe?” She scratched behind the horse’s white ears. Windfall blew out a rush of air and shook his head, his gray nose standing out against the pearl of the rest of his body.
“I understand. I feel the same way. I’ve given some thought to how relaxed I become when I visit here. Simplify. I believe people should make their lives simpler. By not expecting so much and living an uncomplicated life they will be happier. My parents, conservationists before it became the norm, only invest in necessary products and try not to pollute the air.” He sat down on a bale of hay. “And at dinner, they say grace to thank God for the gifts granted them. Simplicity.” His soft words flowed over her like warm water, relaxing her muscles. The angst of her son riding on a giant horse lessened.
“Simplicity.” She kneed Morgan’s legs apart and rested her wrists on his broad shoulders. “I’m all for reducing stress and appreciating the gifts given to me.”
Shania tilted his hat and smoothed her fingers across his forehead and cheek. “I’m especially thankful you tracked me down in Briarwood.”
His arms wrapped around her waist. “Why didn’t you leave me your forwarding address, or tell me of your plans to move to Briarwood?”
His voice, even in tone, held a hint of reproach.
“Morgan, I tried--”
“Morgan, here’s Silver Star. He’s anxious to get on a good run. Are you sure you don’t want me to saddle another horse for Ms. Miller?” George, the caretaker, asked. Mark must have requested the stallion to be prepared.
Morgan dropped his hands. Shania experienced cold regret and sudden fear. She stepped away and glanced at George. He’d been a member of the Hardwick family since the age of ten. He’d been given a job as a stable boy and he never left. Now he was stoop-shouldered, gray-haired, and his long nose appeared to have continued to grow, as did his smile. “Hi, George. Do you think Mollie misses me?”
“Cantankerous old goat. She needs to be put out to pasture. Draft horses take up space and eat buckets of food.” George rubbed h
is gnarled hand over Silver Star’s neck.
Shania chuckled. “I take that as a ‘yes, she misses me.’”
George tugged a small apple out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “See for yourself.”
She took the apple and glanced at Morgan. “I’ll be right back.”
Two mares down, Mollie nibbled on the side of the stall. “Hey, Mollie!”
Shania handed the large work horse the apple, then gave her a quick hug. Mollie pawed the ground as she bit into the fresh aromatic fruit. Shania hurried to the entrance. Morgan led Silver Star out of the barn and into the yard.
The aroma of leather and horse added to the crisp late fall air. Morgan slipped his hands around her waist and hoisted her onto the saddle. He slid behind her, hips touching. She tingled from the contact. His fingers grazed her thigh as he gripped the straps, then guided the steed down the lane to the meadow. She used the horn to reposition, resting her body snug against Morgan’s.
“Back to your question. You were marrying Patty, and if I couldn’t …” She twisted to look into his face. “I thought you’d married her. You deserved the freedom to start your life together.”
“I couldn’t stay with you the night of the wedding. I had obligations to Patty and to my family.” His strong arm tugged her to connect with his chest. “The next day you were gone. No note. No forwarding address, nothing.”
The gentle sway of the mount across the hard ground relaxed her, allowing her to contemplate his response. “I needed to leave. Start over. I didn’t even know if you’d gone ahead and married her.”
“We both made mistakes, but today we have a fresh start―together. Look, there’s an elderberry bush. Can you believe the berries are still clinging to the vine?” His breath warmed her ear.
She glanced at the black seeds. “Yes,” she croaked out, lust-fire burning a hole in her stomach.
“If you sleep under an elderberry bush on a midsummer night, you’ll dream of the man you’re to marry. Do you think you’d dream of me?”
“Yes.” Marry! Thump clomp, thump clomp. Her heart flapped against her chest as hard as the equine’s steel hooves hit the ground. Glad she hadn’t worn the cap, she turned her head. If she leaned a fraction of an inch his lips would brush her face. “Why did you take so long to contact me?”