by Renee Reeves
Don't get involved, don't get involved, don't get invol—aw ... fuck it.
Calling himself all kinds of a fool he opened the door, wondering if he was about to give up another six years of his life.
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Chapter 8
Crap, Morgan thought as she lifted the board, struggled to hold it in place and reach down for nails at the same time. She jumped at the sound of a vehicle's door slamming, but in the position she was in, with one arm and a shoulder bracing the board and her body bent to grab the nails, she couldn't turn to look at whoever had pulled up. Uneasiness made her clumsy and her fingers slipped on the board. The far end tilted and then slid down. The end she was holding became deadweight and pushed her off-balance, making her stumble back and drop it.
"Damn it!” She never cursed, but the words gave her some satisfaction.
"Need some help?” The low male drawl was serious and instantly familiar.
Startled Morgan spun around. The movement was too sudden and her bad leg, incapable of such limber moves, cramped at the hip. Sudden tight fingers of pain slid up her thigh and into her side. She yelped, grabbed at her hip with both hands and stumbled backwards over the board, ending up flat on her butt. An unintelligible shout came from Nick and she heard him rushing towards her. Humiliated she stayed as she was, on her butt with her legs sprawled across the board as she desperately rubbed the now-easing muscles.
"Shit. Are you okay?” he said, hunkering down in front of her and grasping her shoulder with one big hand. Morgan grabbed his wrist, but he ignored her attempts to remove his hand. There was no laughter in the question or in his voice, which she had partly expected. “I'm sorry I startled you."
Morgan shook her head, still clutching his thick wrist with one hand, acutely aware that her fingers only reached halfway around it. She used her other hand to rub until her leg began to loosen up. “I'm fine now ... please...” she pushed lightly on his arm, “let me go so I can get up."
Nick withdrew his hand and rose, but didn't step back and she could see by the intense way he watched her that he was ready to catch her if she collapsed again. Morgan shoved away the silly spurt of pleasure and carefully pulled herself up off the ground. She busied herself with brushing bits of grass and dirt off her jeans, hoping that the motions hid her nervous tremors.
"You're sure you're okay?” His eyebrows lowered in a frown and he was looking her over like he was expecting her to buckle at any moment. “Do you want me to go get that chair for you?” He pointed in the direction of her green lawn chair across the yard. “You should be sitting down, resting that leg."
"No, really ... it's alright. I'm used to moments like this. It's nothing new.” She smiled slightly, hoping to erase the lines of concern between his thick black brows. “Although I don't usually have episodes in front of an audience."
Morgan got the feeling that that little revelation hadn't helped because his dark brows lowered even more and the muscles in his jaw clenched. Thick cords in his neck bunched as he looked around, surveying her property. His mouth formed a tight line, drawing her gaze. Her breath caught and she couldn't look away, her eyes glued to his face. Dark stubble shadowed his jawline and she wondered what it would be like to smooth her palm across it, to feel those short bristles scuffing her skin. Like in her dream...
"Why the hell are you trying to do this by yourself?"
Jarred out of her musings by the ferocity in his voice and the fact that he had stepped close enough to intrude into her space, she backed up a step, suddenly reminded that she was alone and he was very big.
"Where's your husband, Morgan?” he continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort, “He should be out here helping you.” He glanced towards her house, eyes narrowed as if trying to see inside. “In fact you should be inside, in bed and off that leg, while he does this shit."
Morgan swallowed tightly, the words almost choking her, “I'm not married."
"What?” His head swung back around to her. Nothing in his face had changed, but the penetrating intensity in his blue eyes seared her, so scorching hot that she almost recoiled from it, except that her whole body felt heavy, unwilling to move away from him. His voice, so hard with anger a moment ago, now lowered into a mild drawl, the sound brushing like velvet along her nerves, sending tingles of responsiveness coursing through her, tightening her nipples and flushing her skin. Even her mouth felt fuller than normal, plumper.
"You're not married?” He moved closer, crowding her, letting mere inches separate their bodies.
She shivered, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Her heart thudded and she fought the natural instinct to back away. She shook her head, unnerved by the force of his gaze; the fierceness of it and the overwhelming maleness of him. She swallowed, then stammered, “W-Widowed..."
Her breath caught. She was sure he was going to touch her. She braced herself. No need to panic, she told herself firmly, he hasn't done anything to hurt me and he put himself in danger to save my life. A prickling of awareness rushed up her spine and she glanced up, looking directly into ice blue eyes shuttered beneath half-lowered lids and thick black lashes. His gaze was hot, piercing, and suddenly she felt like a mouse being cornered by a big hungry hawk.
Her lips parted, her body softened. Temptation peaked, but just as quickly she slammed the door on it, mentally berating herself for her momentary weakness. Sexual attraction was something she couldn't deal with, didn't want to deal with, especially not with the man standing before her. She had been fooled once before. Richard had never hurt her until the honeymoon, and this man could do so much more damage.
The image flashed again in her mind—her underneath Nick while his hips thrust forcefully against hers, driving his flesh into hers, again and again ... She shuddered, willing herself not to go there.
"Widowed. So when you said your husband was away you really meant he was dead and you just didn't want me to know.” He crossed his arms over his chest; drawing her attention and making his biceps bulge under his tan shirt.
She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, feeling strained and tired for some reason and then nodded, forcing her voice to work, “Yes."
He was studying her again, giving her that hunter versus hunted feeling that, combined with the intimate vision she had just had, made her even more uncomfortable. The blush that stained her skin felt like a five alarm fire. She curled her fingers together, desperately trying to think of something, anything but him. Against her will her eyes were drawn to his arms and she noticed that on both of his biceps shaded grey edges of tattoos peeked out from under his short sleeves. Intrigued she wondered what they were and, blaming her artistic nature, she fought the insane urge to touch them.
He tilted his head and looked her up and down, then said, “I suppose I can see your reasoning."
Morgan had opened her mouth to reply with an automatic “thank you,” but snapped it shut when the expected “I'm sorry about your husband” never came. Not that she cared. She had never really known how to answer expressions of condolences because she had hated her husband.
But just coming out and saying how much of a sadistic bastard he had been and that she was glad he was dead would have shocked most people and probably made her look loony.
After all, in circumstances like hers nobody ever believed the victim because the abuser always put up such a good front.
Exactly as Richard had.
Wide-eyed and feeling a little unbalanced with the way the conversation had gone she wondered if the man in front of her would believe her or if he would side with his own gender and blame her for what Richard had done. Would he see her as willful and as disappointing as Richard had? In need of constant obedience lessons?
The sharp acid taste of bile rose in her throat and Morgan swallowed tightly, fighting against the swelling sickness.
A single candle slivered the darkness; shadowy flames danced and swirled on the bedroom walls. Morgan hurried to smooth every crease out o
f the freshly made bed. He would be home soon and everything had to be perfect, exactly the way he wanted. He liked the darkness, said it hid her true self, her ugly self that he had to constantly discipline ... “If you weren't so mouthy, Morgan,” his voice would whisper from the dark, “I wouldn't have to discipline you. Now look, you made me bruise my knuckles. Get down on your knees and show me how sorry you are..."
Something touched her cheek.
"No!” Startled she lashed out with her hand, hitting warm, hard flesh and then jerked back, stumbling like she'd been poked with an electric prod. Her back came up against something hard and rough. Trapped she stood there, chest heaving and sweat clinging to her forehead. Slowly she became conscious of bright sunlight, heat, and the large man standing very close to her, calling her name over and over again. Nick ... not Richard. Nick. Relieved tears trembled on her lashes and Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, willing them not to fall.
"Oh God...” she whispered, taking big gulping breaths, “I'm so sorry Nick."
Silence stretched long and loud between them. Finally he sighed, cursing under his breath.
"No, I'm sorry. I knew better ... but you looked so ... hell, I don't know. Lost ... vulnerable.” Slowly he raised his hand again, letting her see every move he was making and giving her ample time to protest or stop him. The rough pad of his finger touched her skin, stroked softly down her cheek. Morgan drew her breath in, then quieted when he did nothing more than caress her skin. Her lashes fluttered and she made a helpless little choking noise. It felt so good ... His finger was hard, callused, but his touch was gentle—the touch of a man who knew his own strength and when not to use it. Morgan raised her eyes up, gold meeting cool blue. Unbidden came the dream again, of his body on top of hers, pressing her down, his hands touching her, his lips kissing her ... the image was so potent that it cleared her brain of everything else, wiping out Richards malicious voice and replacing it with Nick's roughly sexual one.
'You want me...'
Oh God ... heat infused her face; she could feel it spreading all the way from her chest to the roots of her hair. Her skin burned where he touched. Her heart skittered in her chest, racing and pulsing as her brain fast-clicked through the erotic imagery.
Nick let his hand drop and moved slightly away from her, apparently taking sudden interest in the barn behind them.
Morgan cleared her throat and struggled to return their conversation to something more mundane. Something safe that she could handle, wimp that she was.
"Thank you for helping me the other day."
He smiled, or rather, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “You're welcome. But you've thanked me several times already and I've told you it was no problem, though it was quite an introduction to my new neighbor."
She choked, then stammered, “Ex-excuse me?"
Neighbor? She blinked in disbelief as he raised his hand and gestured around the perimeter of her acreage, “Those woods are mine, and beyond them is my farm."
His farm. The horse sanctuary. Out of all the land she could have picked in Montana, she had chosen a plot next to trouble with a capital ‘T.’ Absorbing that bit of news she glanced back at his face. He was watching her closely, almost predatorily and there was something in his eyes that she couldn't discern.
She frowned at him, “But ... but why didn't you mention it when you brought me home the other night?"
Nick knew she had been scared of him, but until now he had not realized she was scared of him as a man, and not just because he was a stranger.
He shrugged, “You'd been through a lot, and you were tired and scared."
The fear of him as a man was obvious now in retrospect. The fear had been there in those big gold eyes, and in the shaking of her small form, especially when he had almost lost control of himself and had almost kissed her that night at the hospital. Christ, had he really wrapped her hair in his hand and forced her head back like that?
Nick wished he could kick his own ass for that one.
Wincing inwardly he glanced towards the woods, and then looked back at her, knowing he was about to take a huge risk and wishing he had never brought the subject up. At least not yet.
Oh hell, just spit it out.
"You, uh, should probably also know that I'd seen you before—before the accident that is—you like to sit near the stream. My stream.” He smiled at her to let her know it was okay. “I didn't say anything because you looked so peaceful and I didn't want to scare you. Plus,” he added hastily, “there's really no good way for a man to approach a lone woman, especially in the woods. I recognized you at the accident."
Her eyes widened briefly, large pools of sunlit gold, and then she went utterly still, staring at him.
"Morgan...” He said her name clearly and deliberately, “No ... don't look at me like that, I'm not stalking you Morgan."
She blinked and cleared her throat, then glanced past him towards the wood line. “You, you should have said something, I didn't realize I was trespassing, if I had known ... I just thought the woods were...” she shrugged, then finished lamely, “...free."
"Forget it,” he shrugged, then strode purposely over to the barn and knelt down in front of the hole she had been working on, pulling away some of the crumbling pieces. “I didn't mind. I still don't.” Grunting he yanked another piece away, cursing when several more came down on top of it. “Termites have really done a job on this. It's going to take more than just some patchwork to make it safe again."
He'd rebuild the whole damn barn if it meant spending more time with her.
Aware that she was watching every move he made Nick winked at her, grinning at her sudden blush, then wiped his hands on his jeans and stood up. “If I remember right Dalton kept his tools in here. Let me see what I can find."
"No, wait!” Morgan called, but he had already disappeared behind the huge double doors. Unused for years they swung slowly back on their hinges, creaking and groaning in protest. Concerned for his safety she hurried over and peered into the dark entrance. Murky sunlight drifted through numerous cracks in the walls, highlighting dust and cobwebs but also the boards that formed several open stalls. Straw, old and musty smelling still littered the floor. Morgan hesitated, then, hearing movement at the back of the barn, stepped just inside the doorway.
"Nick?” She leaned forward, straining to see and gripping one of the old doors for support.
"Back here,” he called. “Don't come in, the floor's littered with debris. You might step on something.” There was more noise, then rustling as if he were moving a tarp or something similar. “I knew Dalton had several sawhorses."
Morgan saw a vague movement, then heard a low crash and muttered curses. She flinched, backing up a step. You bitch, I told you to pick this shit up! A shoe flew past her head, shattering the bathroom mirror. Glass, glittering like minuscule diamonds flew everywhere. She screamed and covered her head with her arms, ducking away from the mirror. Tiny shards cut into her feet as she tried to move away from him. Heart racing Morgan stumbled backwards out of the barn, dimly aware that a huge dark shape was moving quickly towards her, closer and closer, stalking towards her from the gloom.
Hide and Seek. Oh God.
Morgan gasped for breath. Fear gripped her stomach, churning like the beginnings of a violent storm. Hide and seek had been one of Richard's favorite games. A black fog swirled through her mind, clouding her vision until all she could see was a pitch black hallway and all she could hear was her husbands laughing, mocking voice: I'll find you, Morgan, and then the fun will begin ... you know what fun we always have together.
She whimpered, covered her ears and dropped to the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible so he wouldn't find her this time. Have to hide, hide, hide ... Oh God; don't let him find me again!
The shadow closed around her, trapping her. No escape ... the fun will begin...
Hard fingers closed on her shoulders.
I've found you again...
"No,�
� she moaned “please no."
"Morgan!"
No, it wasn't going to stop. She had tried to hide but—
"Morgan!” The voice was urgent, almost bullying. “Morgan, its Nick. Come on sweetheart! Snap out of it."
Fighting was futile, she knew that. Morgan went limp but something was bracing her, keeping her from collapsing.
"Morgan, honey ... nothing's hurting you. It's all over. I'm not letting anyone hurt you.” She was rocking, back and forth, back and forth, engulfed in hard arms. Slowly she raised her eyelids, blinking in confusion. Dark skin engulfed her vision. Her head was pressed into the base of his neck and he was rocking her and stroking her hair back from her face.
Nick. It had happened ... again, and he had stayed through the whole nasty thing. Richard had won. He had made her look like a fool, a loon. She wanted Nick to leave her alone, but even more she wanted to stay in the security of his arms.
She wanted everything and nothing.
She was used to nothing. Nothing was safe. If she had nothing, especially emotionally, then she could never be hurt, could never be used and had no reason to be afraid. Emotional nothingness was safe and Morgan had longed for it for years. Loving a man meant she would have to give up every ounce of self she had, would have to identify herself as his, and Morgan knew she would never, never, be that stupid again.
Ignoring the pain in her heart Morgan shoved her palms hard into Nick's chest and, surprised by the sudden attack, he loosened his grip. Immediately she sprang to her feet and half limped, half ran across the yard towards her house, stumbling up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind her.
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Chapter 9
"Okay bro, you going to tell me when your head will be free of your ass?” Jake asked as he walked into Nick's kitchen at six AM the next morning and grabbed a plastic bowl and a cup out of the cabinet.
Nick arched a brow, sat back in his chair and watched his brother rummage through his refrigerator until he came out with a jug of milk. “Excuse me?"