Haven Creek

by Rochelle Alers

  “Do you need a ride?” the young man with the colorful tattooed arms shouted over the cranked-up volume.

  Morgan shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said to the grandson of the man who owned one of the Creek’s last remaining pig farms.

  She wanted to tell the teenager that he’d better lower his music before entering Haven Creek. The mayor was a stern enforcer when it came to disturbing the Creek’s quality of life. He’d persuaded the town council to pass a resolution prohibiting horn honking, except in cases of dire emergency, and loud music. Whether the music came from residences or vehicles, the consequence was the same: an initial warning followed by a hefty fine for the second offense.

  She continued walking, and ten minutes into her walk she saw Nate in the distance. A smile parted her lips with his approach. He wore a white T-shirt, ripped jeans, and construction boots. Her stomach did a flip-flop when she noticed skin showing through the torn fabric. As he grew closer she saw the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, knowing Nate would have to shave every day to remain clean-shaven. Her gaze shifted to his forearms and bulging biceps, remembering the rock-hard, solid feel of his body pressed to hers when they’d danced together at the club.

  Morgan didn’t want to be this affected by Nate, but the way her body was reacting to the sight of him made it impossible not to be. Her pulse was racing, her stomach muscles were tight, and her throat was suddenly dry. Nate was a living, breathing work of art. He had it all: face, body, and brains. It was no wonder one of the world’s most beautiful women had claimed him as her own, and Morgan knew that if Nate and Kim had had children they would have produced incredibly attractive offspring.

  If he were food, he definitely would’ve been dessert: frothy, sweet, and best eaten slowly, while savoring every morsel, a feast of oral gratification.

  Heat swept over Morgan’s face and chest with her licentious musings. Either she’d been without a man for far too long or she was lusting after someone beyond her reach. Nate had laid out the ground rules: friendship only. Maybe it was good that he had established the limits for their association beforehand, if only to prove to Francine that her vision was wrong.

  Nate extended his hand, taking Morgan’s and pulling her to his side. Dipping his head, he kissed her cheek. “How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “You look adorable.” She wore a pair of skinny jeans, a tank top, and running shoes.

  She laughed. “I look like I should be hanging out at the mall.”

  “I love seeing you dressed down. You appear less intimidating.”

  “Come on, now, I can’t imagine you being intimidated by anyone.”

  He smiled at her. “Maybe I should’ve said you appear more relaxed.”

  “Do you think my clients would take me seriously if I dressed casually? It’s very different for male architects. They can wear jeans and a hard hat and no one would think anything of it.”

  “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

  There came a comfortable silence broken only by the sounds of birds and a rustling in the underbrush bordering the road. This was Nate’s favorite time of the day, when every living thing on the island appeared to slow down to welcome the stillness and solitude that accompanied dusk. Vehicular traffic decreased, and people gathered on front and back porches to escape the heat that came from the kitchen, where they’d prepared Sunday dinner. It was also a time to relax and wind down from weekend activities in an attempt to prepare for the coming workweek. School was out, and that meant children could stay up far beyond their school-year curfews. Many of the older kids took either the causeway or the ferry to Charleston to party without having their eagle-eyed relatives monitoring them.

  “I had a problem with a few male clients when I was first hired by Ellison and Murphy. I could’ve filed sexual harassment charges, but that probably would’ve derailed my career. When I approached the partners with what I was going through, they decided I would handle only their female clients from then on. It worked out well, because that’s how I met Kara. She asked how long it would take for me to move up at the firm, and I told her about ten years. That’s when she decided to commission me to oversee the restoration and preservation of Angels Landing Plantation. One of the conditions was that I had to resign my position at E and M and set up my own firm.”

  “Good for you.” Nate gave her delicate fingers a gentle squeeze. “Talk about girl power.”

  Morgan glanced up at him, smiling. “You guys have the old boy’s club, so we do whatever we can to help a sister out.”

  Slivers of waning sunlight coming through the canopy of trees slanted over Morgan’s flawless dark skin. Nate felt as if he’d been punched in the gut when he looked at her face. He couldn’t pull his gaze away. His physical attraction to Morgan was never more apparent than it was the night he’d come to her office. And if he hadn’t been sitting at the drafting table, Morgan would’ve thought him no better than the male clients who had come on to her. Nate couldn’t believe he’d waited to get to this age to find himself lusting after a woman. Even as an adolescent, he’d learned to control his urges.

  “I promise not to sexually harass you,” he said glibly.

  Morgan made a sucking sound with her teeth. “I’m not worried about you, Nate.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why would you say that?”

  “I doubt if you’d risk dishonoring your family’s name by getting arrested for harassing a woman on the island.”

  “You’re right, Mo. I would never bring that kind of disgrace on my family.”

  “By the way, how is Bryce doing?” she asked, deftly shifting the conversation to a safer topic. She didn’t want to talk about their relationship.

  “He’s okay. He’s working with me now.”

  “How did you get him to do that?”

  He eased Morgan off the road when he heard a car coming from behind them. They stood closely together under the trees until it passed. “I told him he had two options. Either straighten up or I was going to call his probation officer and have him violated.”

  Morgan gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You would’ve done that?”

  Nate nodded. “I wasn’t issuing an idle threat. His reckless behavior was also affecting my father and stepmother.” Stepmother. It was the first time he’d uttered the word aloud. In the past it had always been “Odessa” or “my father’s wife.” “I remind him constantly that his actions have consequences. He could spend the next two years of his life behind bars for one mistake. It’s not that hard to do the right thing, Mo.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  He frowned at her. “You must think I’m a monster.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” he shot back.

  “For you it’s, like, all or nothing. Don’t you leave room for compromise?” Morgan asked.

  “Compromise is for business deals, not for people’s lives or their futures. If my father had died from a stroke as a result of Bryce going to jail, it would’ve impacted all of us, especially Gregory and Gabrielle, who worship the ground their grandfather walks on. It’s not just about Bryce and what he wants, so if I have to play bully badass to keep him out of jail, then I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

  Silence descended on them again, and Nate wondered if what he’d said to Morgan would affect their working relationship. He wasn’t as concerned about their professional relationship as he was about their personal friendship. He hadn’t wanted to lie to her about Bryce. There were times when he’d had to threaten or intimidate his brother, but it was for Bryce’s benefit.

  There were also occasions when Nate had wanted to lash out or confront his father about what he’d witnessed between him and Odessa, but something wouldn’t permit him to do it. He’d kept all his hurt inside, where it’d festered for years, nearly eating him alive. As he matured he realized he should’ve confronted Lucas instead of living with the demons that wouldn’t allow him to trust anyone.

/>   Crossing the road, Nate led Morgan along the path leading to the workshop. Several hundred feet away stood the newly erected barn. Working alone to put up the structure had offered him the solitude he needed to begin the process of healing and forgiveness. The day he finished putting on the roof, he carved a plaque with words from one of his favorite books of poetry: Between Tears and Laughter by Alden Nowlan. He wasn’t certain where it would hang, but it was a constant reminder of how far he’d come in his quest for maturity.

  “Why do you keep that old wagon and pickup truck on the property?” Morgan asked as he punched in the security code, unlocking the door.

  “My great-grandfather used that wagon to haul the wood that had come from the mainland. The pickup belonged to my grandfather. It was built in 1947 and is considered a classic. If you look closely you can see the words Shaw Woodworking painted on the doors.”

  “I suppose you keep them here as a reminder of where you’ve come from.”

  Nate stepped inside the air-cooled cabin and punched in another code to disarm the security system. Track lighting illuminated the space, making it as bright as daylight. “The first time I mentioned getting rid of them, my father went ballistic. I think I was around eight at the time, but I still remember it.” He smiled when he saw Morgan run her fingertips over one of the half-finished pieces. She caressed it lovingly, and it filled him with pride that she understood his passion, because that was something his ex-wife never appreciated.

  Morgan stared at the workshop’s many built-in shelves, from which hung every conceivable carpentry tool. The room also contained a large wooden table with benches on either side, sawhorses, cans of paint and varnish, and finished chairs, tables, and cabinets affixed with tags bearing the names of those who’d ordered the pieces. She noticed a small refrigerator, a table with a microwave, and door in a far corner with a sign indicating a restroom.

  “You have a lot of space here. It looks to be about fifteen hundred square feet.”

  Nate met her gaze. “You’ve got a good eye. It’s exactly fifteen hundred square feet. My father expanded it to twice its original size because we didn’t have enough room to store the wood we wanted to keep on hand.”

  Pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Morgan walked over to a large piece of reddish wood resting on a pair of sawhorses. “The wood smells wonderful.”

  “It’s like an aphrodisiac,” Nate said as he moved next to her.

  Her jaw dropped when she realized what she was staring at. It had to be one of the doors to the replica of the eighteenth-century French armoire Nate had mentioned. “May I touch it?” She couldn’t disguise the awe in her voice.

  “Of course.”

  The wood was cool under her fingertips. “How long did it take to bring out the patina?” she asked, rubbing her bare arms as the cool air raised goose bumps on her flesh.

  “Are you cold, baby?”

  It was the fourth time Nate had called her baby, and Morgan shrugged it off as a slip of the tongue. “A little.”

  Wrapping his arms around Morgan’s waist, Nate pulled her back against his body. “This is my dad’s project. The client wanted cherrywood, so we knew the wood had to be padauk. It’s an exotic wood that’s bright orange when freshly cut, but later oxidizes to a darker, rich, purple-brown over time.”

  Morgan tried not to react to the warmth of the hard body molded to hers, wondering if Nate was aware of what he was doing. “The grain is slightly wavy.” She had to say something, anything, in an attempt to ignore the pleasurable sensations coursing through her.

  “It’s called interlocking, and that’s what makes it difficult to work with. The dust from this type of wood can pose a health risk to carpenters. It can cause respiratory problems, swelling of the eyelids, and itching if precautions aren’t taken beforehand.”

  Looking over her shoulder, her gaze met and fused with Nate’s. “How would you know that if it’s first time you worked with it?”

  “Before I work with unfamiliar wood I read everything I can about it. The Shaws have an unwritten rule that everyone must wear long sleeves, protective eyewear, and dust masks. We keep it cool here year-round to preserve the wood.” He dropped his arms. “Come with me next door. I can assure you it’s a lot warmer there.”

  He was right. The barn was warmer than the workshop. The first floor consisted of an open space abutting a built-in shed. Nate said the shed would be used to store lumber. There were workstations fitted with grinders, sanders, chisels, vises, and clamps. An industrial vacuum sat in a corner among at least a half dozen sawhorses.

  “How many windows did you install?” she asked, glancing upward.

  “Seventeen in total. The plans came with or without horse stalls.”

  “And you opted for the one without the stalls.”

  “Not having the stalls gives us more work space. And even if I raised horses I couldn’t see myself sleeping under the same roof with them.”

  Morgan scrunched up her nose. “Don’t like the smell of horseflesh and hay?” she said teasingly.

  “Nope. Remember when the Creek had a lot of pig and chicken farms? Whenever the wind blew everyone had to close their windows.”

  She shuddered noticeably. “Please don’t remind me. That’s when the smell of salt water was like an expensive perfume.”

  “Come upstairs with me and I’ll show you the apartment.”

  Nate opened a French-style door leading to a staircase and cedar balcony. Morgan was impressed with the design and layout of the building because of the separation of the barn and the residence. There was a set of French doors at the end of the balcony leading into an expansive living and dining space. Her mind was churning with ideas about how to decorate the area. Nate stopped in the middle of what would become the living room as she made her way into the kitchen. She’d counted nine windows, three spanning the width of the balcony and six running the length of the living room to the kitchen. Nothing excited her more than decorating a residence flooded with natural light.

  The black-and-white kitchen, with its double stainless steel sinks, dishwashers, ovens, microwave, and an island with a cooktop and grill, was a chef’s dream. The pantry, utility closet, and laundry room were concealed behind louvered doors. She opened the sliding glass doors leading out to a deck with a cedar railing. The vistas were spectacular, offering an unobstructed view of the island and the steeples of the many churches dotting Charleston’s landscape. To the left of the deck was the staircase that led to the first floor.

  Morgan continued exploring Nate’s apartment, opening the door to a bathroom with a shower, vanity, and commode, a smaller bedroom that could be used as a guest bedroom or home office, and a master bedroom with an adjoining full bathroom and a wall of walk-in closets. Selecting furnishings for the apartment was certain to become an interior decorator’s dream.

  Leaning against the wall separating the living room from the master bedroom, Nate gave her a hopeful look. “What do you think?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll do it,” he repeated.

  Her dimples winked at him. “Yes.”

  Morgan wasn’t given time to react before Nate swung her up, holding her above his head as if she weighed no more than a small child. “Please, Nate! Put me down.”

  His response to her desperate plea was to spin her around while singing the theme to Rocky, “Gonna Fly Now.”

  “Now!” she screamed.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to drop you.” He spun her around several more times, then slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor at the same time he brushed his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss until her lips parted under his. When the kiss ended, he kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

  Morgan was certain Nate could feel the runaway beating of her heart against his chest. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Pick you up or kiss you?”

  “Both.”

  “But I wanted to thank you.”<
br />
  “What are you thanking me for?” she asked.

  “For agreeing to decorate my place.”

  She shook her head. “Kisses fall into the benefits category.”

  “Not to me. It’s a perk.”

  “Perks and benefits are one and the same.”

  “A benefit is payment or a subsidy, while a perk is an incentive, privilege, or even a freebie.”

  Her lips twisted with a cynical smile. “You made that up.”

  “No, I didn’t.” The warmth of Nate’s smile was reflected in his voice. “Anyone with a degree in business knows that.”

  “Well, I happen not to have a business degree.”

  “Well, I do,” he countered.

  “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

  “I’m not smug, baby. I just know I’m not going to be the one to break our friends-without-benefits agreement.”

  “So what about that kiss?” She slapped his arm playfully.

  “That doesn’t count.”

  Morgan rested her hands at her hips. “Put up or shut up.”

  Cupping his ear, Nate gave her a wide grin. “Oh,” he drawled facetiously. “Do I hear a challenge?”

  “Bam!” she retorted, holding her hand in front of his face. “Yes, you do!”

  Nate captured her wrist. “Why don’t you concede now?”

  “You want me to give up?”

  Staring deeply into her eyes, he nodded slowly. “Either you give up now or suffer the humiliation of defeat.”

  Morgan narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the man she’d spent years fantasizing about; the man she’d wanted to introduce her to a world of sexual pleasure; the man who still had the power to make her heart beat fast. She wanted to beg him to make love to her the same way an addict pleads for a fix.

  “What constitutes defeat?”

  “The repeal of our agreement and…”