Buckhorn Beginnings (37 page)

Morgan moved up over her, settling his hips gently against hers. His hands cupped her face until her eyes opened. “I'm going to come into you now.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me if I—”

“You won't hurt me.” If he didn't get on with it, she might be forced to rape him. A gentle pulsing from her recent climax still shook her, but she wanted more, she wanted it all, she wanted Morgan.

“Put your legs around me.”

As soon as she'd gotten her shaky limbs to work, he smothered her mouth with his own and pushed cautiously into her. Her body bowed, trying to accommodate him, then wilted as he sank deep, entering her completely. His raw groan echoed her own.

A moment of suspended pleasure and building anticipation held them both, then he began moving in deep, gentle thrusts. He stayed slightly propped up on his elbows rather than giving her his weight. Misty tried to protest, wrapping her arms tight around him and doing her best to bring him to her.

“No, sweetheart. I'm too heavy,” he panted, his jaw tight, his shoulders bunched. His eyes blazed at her and he kept kissing her, as if he couldn't get enough; deep, hungry kisses and gentle, tender kisses.

Even now, he was being so careful with her. Her heart swelled painfully. “Please, Morgan.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched, and the sight of him, so strong, so powerful and so gentle, added to the physical pleasure and made her climax again with a suddenness that took her breath away. She strained against him, her thighs tightening, her fingers digging into his powerful shoulders. The second her muscles tightened around his erection, Morgan cursed, then gave up the struggle.

He allowed her to pull him down and pressed his face into her throat, hugging her closer still, his big body straining and shuddering as he came.

For long moments he rested against her, dragging in air, his body gradually relaxing. She felt him kiss her throat…and she felt his smile.

Misty squeezed him again. She didn't know what she had expected, but the contentment, the happiness, the peace nearly overwhelmed her. “That was wonderful,” she whispered to him, needing to say the words. “You were wonderful.”

As though it took a great effort, Morgan slowly struggled up onto his elbows and smiled down at her. “So you're satisfied?”

She bit her lip, then slowly shook her head. “No, never.”

Morgan blinked at her, then threw his head back
and laughed. “Damn, Malone, I never thought I'd like hearing those two words leave your lips.”

She touched his mouth with a finger. She no longer vibrated with need, but the curiosity was still there, and the love. “What you did to me, Morgan? I want to do that to you, too.”

Morgan jerked. He breathed deep and he cursed and he shuddered. Finally he just laughed again, the sound low and rough. “From the moment I met you I knew on a gut level exactly how things would be with you.”

“Did you?” When Morgan smiled, he made her want to smile, too.

“Yeah. Why do you think I've been going so crazy? I'm glad to see I wasn't wrong.”

He rolled onto his back so that she was perched above him. His grin was so wicked and so lecherous, she almost blushed. “Now,” he said.

And before she could ask him, “Now what?” his cell phone rang.

I
T WAS ALMOST
two in the morning by the time he got home, and he felt exhausted down to his soul. A three-car mishap had dragged him out of Misty's arms. Luckily no one was seriously hurt, but he was still pissed off. A few idiots from the next county over drank too much and tried joyriding over their deeper roads. They'd taken out not only a length of fence along Carl Webb's property, but they'd also knocked over a telephone pole. Cows had wandered loose in the road and into the neighboring field, Carl had been infuriated—and rightfully so—and many people had been without phone service.

In the pouring rain, it was damn inconvenient trying to sort everything out. One of the fools had a concussion, the other a broken nose. Morgan thought they deserved at least that much, though they'd both whined and complained endlessly.

He hadn't had a chance to say anything to Misty. He'd made love to her, and he'd made her laugh, but he hadn't told her that he wanted her to stick around as a permanent member of the family. He hadn't told her that he wanted her to be with him forever.

And she hadn't said a thing about how she felt,
other than that she'd enjoyed making love with him. That was just dandy, but it wasn't enough. Not even close.

He kicked off his muddy boots just inside the kitchen doorway and made his way through the silent house to his room. His wet clothes went into a hamper and a warm shower helped to relieve his aching muscles, but not his aching head. He needed some sleep, but as he threw back the top sheet, the thought of climbing into his big bed all alone didn't appeal to him one bit. He glanced at the door, thought of Misty all warm and snuggled up in her own bed, and it felt like that fat elephant was on his chest again.

He stood there undecided, at the side of the bed for a full three minutes before cursing and pulling on underwear. Grumbling all the way down the hall, he got to Misty's room and started to knock, then changed his mind. The doorknob turned easily and the door swung open on silent hinges. He could barely see Misty curled on top of the mattress, her room nothing but shifting moon shadows as the trees swayed outside with the wind. But he could hear her soft, even breathing. She was likely exhausted and he promised himself he wouldn't keep her awake, but he wanted to hold her and there was no longer any reason to deny himself.

When he stood next to her bed she shifted and yawned, then opened her eyes to look at him. Immediately she sat up, shoving her silky hair out of her face. “Morgan? What's wrong? Did you just get in?”

Her normally deep voice was even rougher with
sleep, and sexy as hell. “Yeah.” He bent and scooped her out of the bed, lifted her up against his bare chest, and started out of the room. She had on a thin knee-length cotton gown, and her warm, sweet scent clung to her skin, making him regret his resolve to let her rest.

She tucked her face under his chin. “Where are we going?”

“To my room. I want to hold you while I sleep.”

She made a soft, humming sound of pleasure and curled closer. As he toed her door closed from the hallway, he heard another door open. He turned, Misty held tight in his arms, to see Casey leaving the bathroom.

Casey blinked, then quickly averted his gaze. “I didn't see a thing.”

“Make sure you don't repeat a thing, either.”

Casey waved him off, too sleepy to care. Misty groaned. “How do you always embarrass me like this?”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” He went down the hall to his room and once inside he nudged the door closed. He didn't immediately put her in the bed; he liked the feel of her in his arms, the trusting way she accepted him.

“What will Casey think?”

“That I've got too much sense to sleep alone with you nearby.” When she didn't comment on that he turned her slightly to see her face. Her eyes were closed, her expression relaxed. Not really wanting to, he gently lowered her to the mattress and climbed
in beside her. “Sleep, sweetheart. We'll talk in the morning.”

Before he could pull her against him, she had her arm around his waist, her head on his shoulder and one thigh covering his. And damn, it felt right. He wanted to sleep this way every night for the rest of his life.

Misty kissed his chest. “I'm awake now, you know.”

Her voice was even huskier, and he eyed her in the darkness. “Shh. Don't tempt me. It's late and we both need some sleep.” And he fully intended to explain a few things to her before he made love to her again.

Her soft little hand slipped down his stomach, making him suck in a deep breath. “Malone,” he growled in warning. “Behave yourself.”

She sat up, and he expected her to start arguing. He grinned, wondering what she would say, if she'd come right out and admit that she wanted him enough to force the issue.

Instead, she shifted around, and when she curled up against him again, she was naked. She shimmied onto his chest, cupped his face in both hands and said teasingly, “Don't make me get rough with you, Morgan.”

He stroked the long, silky line of her back to her lush bottom and gave up. “All right, but be gentle with me. I've had a trying night.” She laughed at that, her first kiss kind of ticklish and silly. But he had both hands on her bottom now and the second
his fingers started to explore she groaned, and for the next hour neither one of them thought of sleep.

 

M
ORNING SUNLIGHT
nearly blinded him when he heard Misty's soft, pain-filled moan. He immediately sat up to look at her. She had both hands holding her middle, her mouth pinched shut and her eyes closed. She looked pale. He said very quietly, “Morning sickness?”

She gave a brief nod. “It hasn't been this bad lately. But I don't usually wake up with a hairy thigh over my belly, either.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Morgan shifted away from her, trying not to shake the bed overly, then said, “Don't move. I'll be right back.” When she didn't answer, he said, “Malone?”

“All right.”

He pulled on jeans and darted into the kitchen. Honey was there, and Casey and Gabe. They all smiled at him and treated him to a round of inanities. He grumbled his own greetings, then stuck bread in the toaster and water on to boil. He glanced at Casey, who pursed his mouth, silently assuring Morgan he hadn't said a word about Misty.

Not that it mattered now, anyway. The world would soon know how he felt about that woman.

“What exactly are you doing?” Gabe asked as Morgan dug out a tea bag. Everyone in the family knew for a fact he wasn't a tea drinker.

“Misty has morning sickness. Mom said nibbling on dry toast and sipping sweet hot tea before she got out of bed would help.”

“Ah.”

Honey started to rise from her chair. “If Misty's sick—”

Gabe caught her arm, earning Morgan's gratitude. “It's nothing Morgan can't handle. Isn't that right, Morgan?”

“It's under control.” He set the toast and tea on a tray and left the room. He heard Gabe chuckling, then some whispering, but he didn't care. He was going to ask Misty to marry him, so they could gossip all they wanted.

Misty was still flat on her back in the bed when he reached her side. “I have a remedy here. First, nibble a few bites of toast…that's it. No, don't argue. I promise, it'll help.”

Crumbs landed on her chest, and he brushed them away. He imagined he'd have to change his sheets more often if this ritual continued, though his mother had claimed the morning sickness usually didn't last that long. Generally not past the first trimester, and Misty should be about through that.

“Now some hot tea.”

“I hate tea.”

“Tough. It'll help. And I made this real sweet.”

She sipped carefully while he held her head, then sighed. “Not bad.”

After several minutes of repeating the procedure, she cautiously sat up and smiled. “You're a miracle worker. I won't even need to sneak off to the lake.”

Morgan smoothed her hair, thinking she was about the most precious-looking woman first thing in the morning, with her eyes puffy, a crease on her
cheek from the pillow. He frowned at himself. “If you ever do want to go to the lake, let me know and I'll keep you company, okay?”

Instead of answering him, she asked, “You've taken care of a lot of pregnant ladies, huh?”

“No, you're my first. Why?”

“How'd you know the toast and tea would help?”

She was naked under the sheet, which barely kept her nipples concealed. Now that she no longer felt sick, talking required major concentration on his part. “I asked my mother.”

She jumped so hard she spilled her tea. Yep, his sheets were in for a lot of washing.

He eyed the spill on the top sheet and started to pull it away from her before she got soaked, but she gripped it tightly to her chin and glared at him. “You did what?”

She sounded like a frog. “I asked my mother. I figured she had four kids so she had to have had morning sickness, right? She told me what worked for her. And by the way, she sends her love.”

Misty pulled her knees up and dropped her head. “I don't believe this,” was her muffled complaint.

Morgan smoothed her hair again. He loved her hair, shiny black and silky. Between the two of them, they'd likely have dark-haired children. He wondered if their eyes would be dark blue like his, or vivid blue like Misty's. It didn't matter to him one whit. “Will you marry me, Misty?”

She jerked upright and thwacked her skull on the headboard. With a wince, she rubbed her head, then eyed Morgan. “What did you say?”

Damn. Morgan took in her expression of stark disbelief and faltered. Her eyes were narrowed, her pupils dilated. Her soft mouth was pinched tight.

And he was hard again.

“I said,” he muttered through his teeth, “will you marry me?”

“Why?”

Morgan stiffened, and he knew his damn face was heating. He hadn't blushed since sixth grade! “What the hell do you mean,
why?
”

She didn't blink, didn't look away from him. As if talking to a nitwit, she asked slowly, “Why do
you
want to marry
me?
”

A knock on the door saved him from trying to give a stammering reply. He sure as hell hadn't expected her to answer his proposal with an interrogation. He gave her a glare, waited until she'd pulled the sheet higher, then called out, “Come in.”

Gabe stuck his head in the door. He kept his gaze resolutely on Morgan, and not on Misty. “You have a phone call.”

“Take a message.”

“Uh, Morgan, it's from out of town. I think you'll want to take it.”

He could tell by Gabe's tone who the caller was. Hating the interruption, even while he was relieved by it, he stood. “I'll be right back.”

Misty nodded, her face almost blank.

He put his hands on his hips. “We'll finish this conversation when I get off the phone.”

“All right.”

She sounded far from enthusiastic, and he wanted
to demand to know how she felt, but knew he'd do better to bide his time. Patience, more often than not, wasn't his virtue.

He didn't look at her again as he left the room.

Twenty minutes later he was lounging against the wall outside the hall bathroom when Misty finally emerged, fresh from her shower. She put on her brakes when she saw him and stared at him warily without saying a word.

Morgan noticed her wet hair, her pink cheeks, her bare feet. She had on a T-shirt and loose cotton drawstring pants. “You going somewhere?”

“I have to be at the diner in about an hour.”

He wanted to curse, to insist she skip work today, but he knew without even asking that he'd be wasting his breath. The woman was bound and determined to make all the money she could. Well, that'd be over with soon enough.

“All right. Then I guess we ought to get right to it.”

“You're going to tell me why you want to marry me?”

There was no one else in the hallway, but he'd definitely prefer more guaranteed privacy. He took her arm and led her to his room. When he closed the door, he leaned against it and watched her. “Do you remember a woman named Victoria Markum?”

Misty backed up until her knees hit his mattress, then dropped onto it. “Yes. She was Mr. Collins's girlfriend.”

He nodded. “Well, I hired some people to talk to her.”

She frowned in confusion. “You hired people?” At his nod, she asked, “But why?”

“To prove your innocence. And don't give me that look, Malone. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to start squawking about me spending my money. This is something I wanted to do, all right?”

“I'll pay you back—”

“The hell you will.” Morgan went to her and sat beside her, then took her hands. “Can't you just accept that I care and I want to help?”

She searched his face for a long time before she grudgingly said, “Thank you. I don't know what to say.”

“You could ask me what I found out.”

“All right.” She bit her lip, her face filled with anxiety. “I hope, judging by the way you're acting, it's good news?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. You see, Malone, I believed you when you said you hadn't taken the money. That meant someone else did, of course. I wondered if perhaps Ms. Markum might have done it.”

Misty squeezed his fingers; her hands were ice-cold. “I never even considered that. I kept wondering if someone had managed to slip into the store and open the register while I was in the restroom, or if maybe the money had just been miscounted, but… Victoria didn't seem like a thief to me. She was…I don't know. Too ditzy. And I think they were planning on getting married, so she'd have been sort of stealing from herself, right?”

Morgan held both her hands between his own to
warm them. “Actually, they were planning on marrying, or at least, Ms. Markum was. But we found out that Ms. Markum and your boss had a falling out. He, it seems, took the money she'd been holding for him in her own savings account, and ran with it, so she was more than willing to talk to us. It didn't even take much prodding, from what the investigator told me. You see, she didn't steal the money…but he did.”