“Who?”
“Me.”
She turned to go inside, and as she stirred the air, he breathed in her faint, sweet scent. She crossed the porch, and he tried to burn the image of the woman she’d become into his brain, where it could ground itself in reality. Thick dark waves bounced against her shoulder blades. The narrow straps of a dark pink bra crisscrossed her back beneath her white T-shirt. Faded jeans hugged the contours of her thighs, sat low on her soft, rounded hips. He loved those hips. The memory of holding them as they moved against him blazed across his mind for an instant. He pushed it away.
If only he could...no. He couldn’t. He was sitting on her porch, swallowing his pride for Jeremy. He’d plead his case and go away like she’d asked him to. She'd made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him, and he’d respect that. Wondering what might have been didn’t do anybody any good. His and Morgan’s time had come and gone. Which, in theory, should make it easier for him to stomach deceiving her. But once she was out of his system, and he’d closed that chapter of his life forever, his new life, the responsible, grownup life he was determined to make with a son he barely knew, could finally begin.
And if he believed that, he was a bigger fool than he thought.
Christ, he was in trouble.
Big. Big. Trouble.
He and Tyson were friends, but if Tyson learned Gage had compromised this job, he would hand it over to Bobby Poole or that money-grubbing jerk, Cal Leonard. Neither one of those boys would give a damn about Morgan, or protect her if she got caught in the crossfire. If Tyson found out about his connection to Morgan, he'd tell Gage to get a grip or get the hell out. Then he'd tell him to go to a bar, find some hot little number to shake the cobwebs off his privates, and get back to work.
The screen door creaked. He looked up, and she was standing in front of him.
A little jolt ran through him. He still wasn’t used to having her near enough to touch instead of hovering like an apparition at the edge of his dreams. In the world he was used to inhabiting with her, he’d be waking up right about now, squinting hard against the stark morning light, bracing himself for the mother of all hangovers.
She handed him a beer and sat across from him on the frayed wicker loveseat. Her perfume, so quiet he wasn't even sure it belonged to her, roused his senses as it lingered in the air. She’d turned out the porch light, and the glow from the stained glass lamp in the living room caressed the soft planes of her face, making her look younger and more vulnerable than she had in the harsh light of day. She'd swept her long hair up and harnessed it into one of those plastic claw-things at the crown of her head. A few tendrils trailed against the nape of her neck. He remembered the long ago feel of it sweeping against his bare shoulder. Then later, after they lay tangled in each other’s arms, the tickle as it draped across his chest. He had the urge to unclasp her hair and thread his fingers through it, then cradle her head in his hand.
“You could have asked me this big favor tomorrow, you know.”
“I needed to get out and drive. I love driving. It clears my head.”
“That's what I'm using the beer for.” She took a healthy swallow. “Well, no. Actually, I'm using it as a sedative, but it's going to take a lot more than a bottle of Coors Light to make me forget this day.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t think it will ever be over.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever be over,” he whispered.
“What did you say?”
“I said I should have brought some wine.”
“Well, you do live in a winery. Your uncle’s winery.”
“Blackstone Hollow Winery.”
“Right.” She took another swallow of beer. “So, tell me, how is dear old Uncle Bert? Has he calmed down since the night he caught us going at it on the bow of his catamaran? The night he called me—now, let me get this right—'a conniving little gold-digger, who's not getting one red cent out of this family if she gets herself knocked up.’”
“He was angry.”
“Ya think?”
“I'm sorry for the things Bert said to you. If I could, I'd drag him down here and make him apologize. He can be an awful person.”
“And yet, you’re living with him.”
“I'm living with him because my son needs stability. He needs someone he can count on, something familiar to hold on to. And right now, it’s not me. After Jeremy’s mother died, he wanted to go to Bert’s house, and I couldn’t deny him that. I can’t deny him anything these days. He’s fond of Bert, and believe it or not, Bert has a soft spot in his heart for Jeremy.”
“Good to know. I wasn't sure he had one.”
“A soft spot?”
“A heart.”
Gage laughed softly. “Bert Kirkland can be a pain, but he's given Jeremy and me a home.” He didn’t mention the strings Bert had attached to the arrangement. Or the fact that on most days, Bert expected him to grovel at his feet out of gratitude, exactly as Bert had expected Gage’s father to do.”
“Are you a good father?”
“I’m trying to be. I have a lot of things to make up for. When Jeremy was growing up, I worked sixty hour weeks for the agency. I tried to stay connected to him, but Suzanne wouldn’t—anyway, I ended up being more absent than present. It was my fault. And Jeremy’s paid the price. Suzanne had some problems none of us were aware of.”
“What kind of problems?”
“She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She refused to take her medication, drank too much. She and Jeremy became experts at hiding her condition. He’s still incredibly protective of her. If I’d been around more, I might have realized how ill she’d become and taken the burden off him. It's not easy admitting how often I've failed him,” he said around the stone in his throat. “But when Suzanne died, all my pride where Jeremy is concerned went out the window. I’ll do whatever it takes to make him happy and whole again.” He set his beer on the table and held her gaze with his. “If I promise to stay out of your life, and only see or talk to you when it’s absolutely necessary, is there any chance you might consider—”
“—giving him guitar lessons?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Her eyes softened. “Because I saw his face when he asked if he could take lessons. And then I saw your face. You were looking at him like he’d been lost, and you’d found him.”
“It was like seeing the old Jeremy again.”
“His mother is dead,” she said. “I lost my parents when I was ten, so believe me when I tell you he will never be the old Jeremy again. Not completely.”
“Maybe that’s why the two of you seemed to connect. I think he trusts you.”
“I only talked to the kid for five minutes.”
Gage smiled. “Yeah, but you have a way of getting to people in a short amount of time. Jeremy is smart. I mean, really smart. Eleven-going-on-fifty smart. He doesn’t suffer fools, and he doesn’t pretend to like people when he doesn’t. He’s so sharp, half the people he insults, don’t know they’ve been insulted. I know he likes you. If he didn’t, I’d be standing here apologizing for the things he said today, not begging you for guitar lessons.”
She took a long swallow of beer. Then she moved to the railing, wrapped her arms around her waist, and looked at him with her clear, haunted eyes until he forgot to breathe.
“I’m going to confide in you,” she said. “Not because I trust you, or even like you very much. But because for some unknown reason—a rip in the space time continuum, perhaps—you’re the person who showed up here tonight. If I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode. And you do not want to see that.”
“What’s wrong? Tell me.”
Her eyes glistened. “My brother Sean has been arrested.”
“Why?”
“They think the man I found dead today was murdered. Sean may have been the last person to see him alive. He’s in custody, but he tied one on tonight, so they can't question him until tomorrow when he's sober.”
“Did you or Sean know this man?”
“Oh, yeah. Harlan Spannagel worked here. He managed the orchard.”
“I didn't realize.” His brain snapped into work mode. He tried to keep the concern out of his voice. He didn’t want to scare her until he had the facts. “What do they have on Sean? Exactly?”
“A witness placed him at the scene of the crime and they found a bloody knife with his initials on it near the body.”
Gage whistled through his teeth. “When is the autopsy?”
“I’m not sure. Soon, I guess. Tomorrow?”
“This is a small town. Cherokee Bluff may be able to handle it. If not, they’ll probably have to send him to Knoxville or the county seat.” He hesitated. He didn’t want to destroy any illusions she’d created about her brother, but when a man went off the deep end and took another life, family members were usually the last to know. “Look,” he said gently. “I don’t know Sean. But we all do things in the heat of the moment we regret. Are you sure he couldn’t have—”
“No! My brother is not guilty. He has a pure heart. I know people say that all the time, but if you spent two minutes with him, you'd understand it's true.” She shook her head. “This is not right. Sean couldn't hurt another living soul, especially Harlan Spannagel. Harlan was like a father to him.”
“Does Sean have a lawyer?”
“Not yet. Won't the court appoint one if they charge him?”
“Yes, but let me find you someone decent. I know a couple of high-powered attorneys in Atlanta. I'm sure they could recommend someone practicing in Tennessee.”
“No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I should take care of it.”
“If it's a question of money, most lawyers do a certain amount of pro bono work. I'm sure if I explained he was short of funds, they would be more than happy to—”
“Thanks, but we don't need your help. Financially, the farm has hit the skids. But I have a personal resource I can use if I have to. Something I can sell. Something that would bring in a lot of money if I found the right buyer.”
“What is it?” he asked, knowing exactly what it was.
“A Civil War artifact—a battle flag in pristine condition. Very rare.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It was a bribe from my ex-husband for not having him arrested.”
“Do I want to know what for?”
“No. For years, this flag has been my secret security blanket. But I would sell it in a heartbeat to help Sean prove his innocence.”
“Then let's hope it doesn't come to that.”
She gave a little shrug. “If it does, then I’ll handle it. In this family, if it rains, you can bet your sweet ass a monsoon is right around the corner. Most of the time, I try not to borrow trouble. It cuts down on stress.”
“You sound very capable. I don’t remember you being quite so—”
“Tough?”
“I was going to say resilient. But that sounds like I’m comparing you to vinyl flooring.”
A smile played around her lips. “I wasn’t always so tough. But I’ve had to learn a few survival skills along the way. I’m sure you have, too.”
“Who looks out for you, Morgan?”
“Me?”
“Peach said you’re the strong one in this family, the one who takes care of everybody else. I can’t help but wonder who takes care of you?”
“I take care of me.”
Her square chin jutted out in a soft declaration of defense, but he couldn’t help notice the slight tremble in her bottom lip. His heart squeezed in his chest.
“Let me help you with Sean,” he said. “We can pretend we don’t know each other. I can be some guy who stopped by your farm to give Sean a free consultation and happened to have some information you might find useful.”
“I can’t screw this up. I’ve always been able to protect Sean, but this time I’m not sure I know how. If Sean is convicted for a murder he didn’t commit, he’ll sit in a jail cell for the rest of his life, still looking for the good in people, still believing that justice will prevail someday because he’s innocent.” Her eyes met his, and for the first time, the pure, unadulterated fear she’d been hiding surfaced on her face. “But it doesn’t, does it? Justice doesn’t always prevail.”
“No, it doesn’t. But we can do everything in our power to throw the odds in his favor.”
“And find out the truth.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Because he’s innocent. He is. You believe me, don’t you? Sean couldn’t have hurt Harlan. Sean couldn’t hurt anybody.”
“Come here,” he said huskily. He patted his chest and held out his hand, and suddenly she was in his arms, clinging to him, touching him, sliding her hands around his waist to draw him close. She stood with her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Her warm, sweet breath fanned softly across his throat. He tried to remember if this was how it felt to hold her all those years ago, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t care. She was here, in his arms, where she wanted to be. At least for now. However long she could stand him for, he’d take it. The inexplicable joy of being near her assaulted his senses. It pounded him with awe. He’d felt so little for so long, it was almost too painful to endure.
“Is this where you tell me everything’s going to be all right?” she murmured. When he didn’t answer, she glanced up at him. “I’m talking about Sean.”
“This is where I tell you not to lose it. Wait until the autopsy is over before you panic. You don't know what might turn up.”
She pulled back. “But what if Sean's knife is the one that stabbed Harlan?”
“Well, if he didn't do it—”
“He didn't do it.”
“Then someone is trying to frame him.”
Gage wished he could say something to ease her mind, but this thing with her brother didn't look good. Maybe the guy was innocent. For her sake, he hoped he was. But that didn't always make a difference. Nine years working as a PI was long enough to know guilty people shifted the blame to innocent people all the time. And it almost always worked.
His hand brushed across Morgan's back. Miraculously, she didn't flinch. Through her thin cotton T-shirt, he could feel the sharp swell of her shoulder blades rise and fall with each breath. She let go of his shoulders, slid her fingers around the taut muscles in his upper arms, then dropped her head until her forehead rested against his chest.
“What the hell am I doing?” she whispered.
“I did call you,” he said. “Twelve years ago. I said I would call, and I did.” She lifted her head and stared at him. “Back then, neither one of us had a cell phone. When I called, a man answered. He said you'd gone to a fitting. For your wedding dress.”
She pulled away and stepped back. “And you gave up? One lousy phone call, and that was it? What if the guy you talked to on the phone wanted you out of the picture? What if he was lying?”
“Was he?”
“No. But he could have been.”
“You were going ahead with the wedding.”
“Because you never called!”
He ran his hand back through his hair. “Jesus, Morgan. What was I supposed to do? We spent one night together. The next day, I went home to Atlanta, and you went back to UT. I was seeing someone. You were seeing someone. I know we promised each other we would find a way to be together. But when that guy—”
“Denny.”
“When Denny answered the phone, he sounded so cocky, so sure of himself. I figured you'd chosen him over me, and didn't know how to tell me. Or didn’t want to tell me.”
Her eyes flashed. “You knew I wasn’t married yet. If you wanted me so badly, you could have tracked me down, tried to change my mind. But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t. I called to tell you I couldn’t break it off with Suzanne.”
“Why couldn’t you break it off with Suzanne? It’s a free country. You can marry a wombat if you want to. Well, not in the state of Tennessee. Or Georgia. But s
till. You didn’t have a moral obligation to marry Suzanne unless she was—oh.” She stopped. “Suzanne was pregnant. With Jeremy.”
Gage nodded.
“And you married her because she was pregnant?”
“I’m not the first man to put his life on hold for nine months. I swear, Morgan, I thought that’s how it would play out. I called to ask you to wait for me until after the baby was born, knowing it was a long shot you would say yes. We’d only known each other for one day, but meeting you felt like a miracle. I didn’t love Suzanne, but I wanted to do right by her. I guess I was naïve enough to believe true love would win in the end.”
“That only happens in books.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And speaking of books...” Her tone had grown cold. She picked up The Time Machine. “I think your kid left this here.”
“Thanks. He’ll be glad to have it back. It keeps him from having to look me in the eye.” He tucked the dog-eared paperback in his pocket. “About the guitar lessons. If you’re having second thoughts, I can find someone else.”
“No, I want to do it. I know what he’s going through. When my parents died, there were times when nothing helped except banging out tunes on my mother’s piano.”
The light through the window bathed her face in a soft, amber glow. Regret scraped across his heart. “Can I say one more thing? And then I’ll go.”
“I don’t think we—”
“I should never have let you go without a fight. I wanted to. Oh, God, how I wanted to—”
“Stop it.”
“—fight for you. For us. I just didn't know how.”
“It was a long time ago. We were kids then.”
“We're not kids anymore.” She glanced up at him. The pain that settled in her eyes cut him to the quick.
On impulse, he reached out and traced the smooth contour of her cheek. Slowly, tenderly, as if he were moving through one of his dreams. His fingers trembled. Their gazes locked. She leaned into his hand, grazing it with her lips, savoring the feel of it on her face. A low, involuntary groan rose from the back of his throat. The magic they could still conjure by looking into each other's eyes crackled between them.
“I can’t do this,” she rasped, stepping further away from him. “I’m sorry. But I can’t.”
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