Nymphomania (Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Dalia Daudelin

  Morgan's head feels light from the embarrassment. You always make mistakes. That's true in business, and it's even more true in life. But you get over them—eventually, if you're lucky.

  Well, Morgan wasn't lucky, but she was prepared to deal with the fallout from her actions. And thanks to her business career, she was also prepared to make the first move.

  She wanted the land, and that wasn't going to change. But the days spent with Philip Callahan were among the better days since her father left the company and left her alone almost six months ago.

  Was she willing to trade that for a business win?

  Morgan's throat tightens and her breath catches in it. She eases the car onto the old dirt road that leads past the Callahan ranch. If she gets the land, she'll have to renovate it, put in a blacktop road surface.

  The place isn't busy. It never is. Who would come here? Maybe someone looking to buy a horse, but it's doubtful that there would be a good deal of media attention, and it's doubtful that you would have more than one or two people coming at a time.

  Which means that, fundamentally, it's never 'busy,' not in the sense that places in Vegas are busy. There's work being done, but it's not the kind you see from the street.

  What is less usual, though, is the fact that there's nobody visible from the front. Neither Philip nor the boys are working in the yard. The horses aren't out in the yard.

  And, more noticeable, none of the vehicles are there. It's easy to jump to conclusions, to say that they must be out. That there must be some other place that they've gone. Maybe they're picking up feed.

  Not likely that anyone would need four people to do it. Probably, it just gets forklifted up into the bed of the truck, and they unload it at their leisure when they get back.

  It's possible, though, that there's something else going on entirely. Maybe they're doing work with heavy stuff, in the back of the yard. Where she can't see. The property is ten acres or more; she's not going to see the whole thing from the seat of a sports car, her head no higher than a man's waist.

  She slips out. Either she's the only one here, and they're off somewhere mysterious, or all she has to do is just look around and she'll see them. Either way, it can't hurt to get out and stretch her legs.

  From higher up, she's able to get a little angle on the rest of the ranch. And again, she's able to confirm—there's nobody here. At least, nobody that she can see.

  Morgan lets out a breath. Well, if higher can see better, it doesn't take long to figure out where the best vantage point is going to be. The hill. The one with the little sapling on top of it. That's where the best view is going to be.

  It's not a long walk. It's only a hundred feet past the house, after all. Five minutes. The soft grass beneath her feet crackles a bit, a little dry from the lack of rain the past couple days.

  As she gets closer, the hill looms a little larger. It seemed like a real small hill from far away, but it might be twenty feet up. She scrambles up the side, the last little bit steep enough that her shoes threaten to slip off with little or no purchase.

  But once she's up, she's got a good view of the ranch. She can see all the way down the road, all the way to where the country road turns off the main road and breaks suddenly through the Callahan land.

  She follows that line with her eyes. She can almost make out, a few miles down, a second house. That one is owned by Lowe, now. It's not going to mean a hell of a lot without Callahan's ranch, but when they've got the entire block…

  Well, it's something for later. The road disappears behind the house into a speck too small to see clearly from this distance.

  The view is amazing, from up here. Anything a person can see, she can see that far. Like the entire hill captures all the nature around her, and captures the way that the Callahan ranch works with it, around it, and sometimes, against it.

  The entire thing is a little humbling. As it always is, but this time is special. This time, she's not thinking about how she can make this space into hers. Not right now.

  Once the papers are signed and the ink is dry, she can think about how she's going to set this land up. But right now, all she's doing is admiring the natural beauty. And oh, how abundant it is.

  Morgan turns further. No matter where she looks, there's no one there. A whole lot of nothing going on. Something below her vision, though, catches her eye. A pair of stones, set into the ground. There's no dirt or dust on them. Last time it rained, some mud would probably have splashed on them, which means that more than likely, they've been cleaned.

  The larger reads "Sara Callahan, beloved wife." A pair of dates thirty-two years apart. Morgan's stomach twists up. She shouldn't be here, after all. She should be out of here. She's not just trespassing on Philip's land. This is a private place. A sick, twisting worry in the pit of her stomach forces her to look at the second plate.

  "In Loving Memory," the top line reads. The second, in larger letters: "Roy Callahan." The first and the second dates are the same. It tells her all she needs to know. And it tells her something else.

  It tells her what she should've known all along. What her father must have known, whether by doing his research or on instinct or by sheer luck—

  She shouldn't be here at all. No matter what she does, Philip Callahan's not going to sell the land. This is his place, and he's not going to leave for anything.

  And more than that, she shouldn't come back.

  Because as much as she's liked the time that she's spent with him, she's already intruded enough.

  Her stomach twists up and for a moment she has to check herself before she loses her fight against panic.

  And then she's slipping down the side of the hill and taking her footing, and going back where she belongs. Anywhere but here.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Randy looks strange, lying there in the bed. He's got three inches on Phil Callahan, who'd never thought of himself as short, and he's as strong as the ranch owner ever was. He's got the advantage in terms of age, though, after all.

  And yet, now Callahan stands over him, broad-shouldered and stable and he has to keep his face a from getting a little twisted up, because Randy looks like he's practically withered since they were horsing around that morning.

  Horses can kick like a son of a bitch, and that Black was always a danger. He was a smart kid, and knew better that to get behind an ornery stallion. But sometimes, it happens, even when you make your best efforts to avoid it. And that's what had happened this time. Nothing to be done about it.

  Callahan's gut feels like it's threatening to turn itself inside out, right there on the floor in front of all of them, but there's nothing else that he can do but do but watch. He's no doctor, after all.

  It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. It could have been his head. It could have been his neck. A kick in the back, it could mean any number of things.

  It was tempting to tell himself that the kick missed the kid's spine. It was awful tempting indeed. He re-played the scene in his mind, over and over again, and it looked like it did. Looked like it hit below the shoulder blade. Right in the meaty part of his back.

  But what if he was wrong? What if he was just a little bit wrong, off by a couple of scant inches?

  Well, then it is a very different thing. The boys sit. Whatever their nerves are telling them, whatever they're thinking, they've both settled into their chairs, like stony-faced twins.

  Except, of course, that it'd take an idiot not to see that James is taking it worse. He's hiding it as best he can. His jaw tightens and he keeps it tight. By itself, that helps to hide the panic in his eyes.

  But you can see the thoughts running through his head, clear as day, as if they were on a ticker-tape across his forehead. If they weren't so stupid. If he had been smarter. If he hadn't let this happen.

  He hadn't. Nobody could blame him, not in any honest way. But that wasn't stopping him from finding a way to blame himself, and if that was what he wanted to do, n
obody could stop him.

  For a moment Callahan almost considers giving him a few consoling words. He keeps his mouth shut. He hadn't wanted to hear them, after Sara and he lost Roy. He hadn't wanted to hear them when Sara went to keep their little boy safe up in heaven.

  And now, it wasn't his turn to not want to hear it. It was his turn to stand by the bed, his face drawn with panic. It was his turn to not know what to do, to want to tell them that it would be okay. That they'd feel better, some day. That it was all alright and none of it was their fault.

  But that's not the problem. The problem isn't knowing that it's not your fault, because you know instinctively, deep down. There's nothing that could have been done to prevent it, except maybe not being such god damn fools.

  But that doesn't stop the constant questions. The constant desire to find a way that you could have stopped it. That was a thousand times louder than anything anyone could say to you.

  James had to get out of the woods—if he was lucky, and Callahan hoped he was, Randy had to get out of the woods as well—before he'd hear it. Before he'd hear anything other than someone lying to him, trying to make him feel better with petty lies and platitudes.

  Callahan reaches out and sets a hand on the boy's foot. There's work left to be done. Work that needs doing. But right or wrong, that work can wait. It has to wait. Because right now, they've got bigger concerns.

  A doctor finally comes in. He's got a folder that's nearly an inch thick and has a bunch of x-rays sticking out. Callahan's heart jumps into his throat. Moment of truth time, now.

  The doctor's got the same look doctors always have. It's bad. It's always bad. If you've got the flu, it's bad. And yet, somehow, when your wife isn't going to wake up again—that's just as bad. Doctors aren't ever happy with the prognosis.

  No, it's the nurses who are constantly telling you that it could be fine. People get better all the time from 'never gonna wake up again.' You'll see, Phil. Don't worry about it, it's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done.

  He sets the folder on the counter by the bed and flips it open.

  "I just got the x-rays back. We did them as quick as we could, so we can assess the damage and make sure we know what to do about it."

  James is the one to respond. Philip's throat's tight, now. Too tight for talking. And for that matter, it's not his place to lead the talk. He might feel like the boys' father sometimes—but he isn't.

  "How's he look? He gonna be alright?"

  The doctor looks at the x-ray photo, as if it's going to tell him something new this time.

  "Should be. You boys are lucky."

  James's jaw tightens up. Michael seems to hear something entirely different than what his older brother hears. For the first time since they've come in, he almost seems relaxed.

  "What's the damage?"

  "He's got a few broken ribs. Pretty badly broken, to be honest. But a few inches to the right, and he could be in a wheelchair the rest of his life. So as far as that goes—"

  Callahan watches James's eyes flutter shut. He knows the expression. It's the face he'd made right after they'd told him that Sara was going to be fine. The knowledge that at least he had something left.

  The doctors had been wrong that time. Hindsight being what it is, and all. Callahan looked as best as he could at the x-ray in the doctor's hand, from this distance. He hoped that they weren't wrong this time.

  Then again, broken bones were what they were good at. Not a whole lot to internally bleed in the mid-back. If it was in the lungs, they'd know it by now. They'd probably be able to see if his liver were punctured, right?

  So—he dares, for the second time in his life, to imagine that everything might not get worse. It's not something he'd thought he would do again. And the second he does it, he regrets it.

  Because last time went poorly enough that it wasn't an experience he should be repeating. If anything, he should assume by default that things are only ever going to get worse. When Randy wakes up—and he will wake up, and has been in-and-out thanks to the pain pills conking him out—then Callahan can get funny ideas about the boy recovering.

  Until then, it was best to assume the worst.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Morgan supposes that she should be satisfied. There's plenty of good to say about the factory. It's coming along nicely. Aside from that one snag, it's been nothing but successes. No problems to speak of at all. Which is great news. Wonderful news. Honestly the best.

  It also doesn't count for as much as she'd thought it would. As the foundation goes up, as the girders go into the ground…

  Well, it doesn't count for very much at all.

  She takes a deep breath, because she shouldn't be thinking any of this. She should be giving herself credit for the successes she's been having. They're all very real successes. But it's hard to see it as anything other than things just going according to plan.

  She's hired good people. She trusted the people who knew more than she did. She made a plan that was aggressive but obtainable. It was all by the numbers, from the top to the bottom.

  As long as they stuck to the plan, there wouldn't be any trouble. If there was no trouble, then things would be easy. They'd stuck to the plan, and there wasn't any trouble. None except for the sink-holes.

  It hadn't even eaten up the rest of their buffer. They still had three solid days of clearance before they hit their deadline. Days that, if things went anything like they'd been going, would go unused. Days that would be a little gold star next to Morgan's name at the end of the project.

  But what would it mean in the end? Anything at all? Would it mean that suddenly she'd get all the respect in the world? Would it mean that everything would be easy from here on out?

  No. None of that was the case. She'd still be sitting here having to babysit two new factories for another three years. At that point they'd be in a position where she can sit back and look at the next step.

  Maybe they move further east. Maybe they move north. Maybe they consolidate their power here and start trying to branch out into new markets. Maybe they try to expand market share.

  Whatever the next step was, it was still going to be just as hard as it had been before, only now they'd have two new plants, and they'd have created four hundred jobs. It would be a little feather in her cap, no doubt about it. But compared to her father, compared to the man who had built the company from the ground up, it was only a little thing.

  Morgan swallows her thoughts as footsteps outside approach the door. A knock.

  "Yes?"

  Brad Lang's been back at work for two days, and to her very real surprise, he's been as helpful as he's ever been. Maybe more.

  "You wanted to get a report?"

  "Come in."

  The door opens. He's not any different than he was before. But at least now he's doing his job instead of trying to do hers.

  "Just got done with a walk-around. No problems. Still thirty minutes until lunch, so they're just…" He makes a wave with his hand. "Workin'."

  "The new guys are settling in alright?"

  "Sure. No problems. You want me to go check the other location? Get any information they've got?"

  Morgan shuts her eyes. "Yeah, sure."

  "Oh, one more thing," he says. He steps up to the desk. Her office isn't large. There's not much point in building large offices, before the factory's even finished going up. And even once it is up, the larger office won't be in this plant. But this is the location with the new guys, and that means it's the place she ought to watch more closely.

  "Is there something wrong?"

  "Well, ain't nothing wrong, per se." He's close to her, now. A little too close, but maybe she's just imagining things.

  "What is it, then?"

  "You want to go out some time, little lady?"

  She looks at him. He's not a bad-looking man. Some women would even find him attractive, Morgan figures. Not that he's her type, but she could find something to like about h
im.

  There's a lot she could find not to like about him, though. Not the least of all being that he's her direct subordinate. Nor the fact that he seems to think that it's his personal mission to 'set her straight,' whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

  There's a lot she could find to like about him, if she put in the effort.

  And there's a lot more that she could find not to like, and with a lot less effort.

  She keeps her face as straight as she can. She's rejecting the man, not trying to humiliate him. "No, thanks."

  "Some other time, maybe?"

  "No, not some other time. But if you leave, I'll forget this happened."

  He looks at her. His lips pinch together like a man who doesn't like to be told 'no.'

  "Yeah. I'll get to the eastern campus. Give you a call when I get there."

  "Brad?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't ever come to me like this again."

  He doesn't slam the door. But that doesn't mean that Morgan can't see how angry he is about it.

  That's all too bad. It's not her job to worry about his personal feelings, especially when he lets those personal feelings cross lines like that.

  It's her job to make sure that she gets factories built, and that's his job, too. He'd do better to make sure that he doesn't forget it again in the future.

  It's not until a few minutes after he's gone that she realizes her hands are shaking. She closes her eyes. Part of her wants to call someone. To get all this shit figured out.

  But who would she call?

  A name pops into her head. A name whose number she isn't going to call again. Phil Callahan's had enough trouble without her sticking her nose into his life again.

  She's going to let him keep his land, and she's going to stop nosing into his life. He doesn't want her there, and she doesn't want to force herself someplace she's not wanted.

  The man's had a hard enough life as it is, without her just making it worse for him.