Busting Loose (20 page)

It hurt to admit it, but she'd been right. “I like Nancy for the job.”

“I do, too.” She nodded, and he felt a small amount of satisfaction in that. But he didn't want Nancy behind the desk. He wanted Bea. Working with him day after day.

He left her to the website updates and phone calls and headed back to his desk. Jaycee followed him. “Need something?”

Jaycee handed him a clipboard with the next patient's information. “Exam room one is ready when you are.”

“Great.” He set it on the desk and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “Anything else?”

“You should fight for her.”

He looked up over the smudged lenses. “What?”

“For Bea. Everyone knows you've got the hots for her, and you're seeing each other. And now I know she's got a replacement coming. So what's going to keep her in town?”

He wanted to say it was him, and her family. A nice fifty-fifty split would be healthy. But he couldn't.

“You need to fight for her. Tell her how you feel. Make her understand you don't want a replacement.” Jaycee smirked, looking much older and wiser than her twenty-one years. “I mean, you can throw in a bunch of sexy talk if you think it'll help, but—”

“Out,” he said, and she laughed and walked away.

Fight for her. Tell her how he felt. And watch her sprint away, screaming.

 

Morgan didn't have the chance to tell Bea anything, thanks to an emergency call from a ranch owner thirty miles away. A panicked horse, several injured animals, and a huge mess meant he didn't pull up into his own driveway until nearly ten that night.

And he couldn't resist the smile that spread from ear to ear when he found Bea's car parked by his front porch. She must have found his hide-a-key—located so easily in one of those fake rocks his sister had bought him for Christmas two years ago—and let herself in. Fine by him.

He toed his boots off in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. Dinner. Dinner. He mentally surveyed the contents of his pantry before slowly turning back to the fridge and opening it again. There, sitting on a plate, was a perfectly built sandwich of what looked to be ham and turkey. Praise God, and Beatrice Muldoon. He snatched it off the plate with his bare hands and downed half of it before shuffling, sore as hell, to the bedroom.

Bea sat on his bedspread, fully clothed still in simple jeans and a work shirt—his—with her hair smoothed back with a headband. The glow from the laptop screen in front of her illuminated her features with an otherworldly glow in the dead dark of the rest of the room. And her fingers clicked tirelessly over the keys.

“Your boss is a slave driver.”

She gasped and shut the laptop with a start. “Oh my God, Morgan. Don't sneak up on me like that.”

“Didn't sneak. Made plenty of noise pulling up, slamming the truck door, and rummaging through the kitchen.”

She pointed at his hand, still holding half the sandwich. “I see you found dinner.”

He held it up. “I did. You know what I need.”

“Easy deduction. For men, food seems to soothe many wounds. Everything okay now?” She shifted the laptop over and patted the bedspread.

He sank down easily, then found himself just falling back. He couldn't stop it. His body was giving up the good fight. “Everything but me. Several sprains, a few lacerations from kicks or running into things. But the horses are all going to recover. One of their hands was on his way to the ER, but I think it's just a broken arm. He'll survive.”

Bea surprised him by lying down next to him and smoothing a hand over his chest. “How about you? Will you survive?”

“Is that your way of saying I look like death?” He took another healthy bite of the sandwich.

“It is.”

“I'll survive.”

“Glad to hear it.” She settled down and waited silently while he finished the sandwich, then just pulled her closer to hold for a bit.

“What were you working on?”

“Hmm?” She sounded half asleep.

“The laptop you shut when I startled you. What was it?”

“Oh.” She blushed a little. Now what could that mean? “I've been exploring what it would cost to expand the building out back. Add more shelter space to take in more animals. And also partnering with local ranches for equine fostering.”

He blinked, staring at the ceiling while her words ran through his mind once more. “Equine fostering.”

“Well, there's no room for livestock at the clinic, that much is obvious. But think of all those horses that come from terrible situations. Some of them do have a chance at a better, more peaceful life, but there's nowhere for them to recover. They're just destroyed.” She sniffled a little, then cleared her throat. “My allergies are killing me.”

“Yeah. It's that time of year.” He stroked a hand over her hair and gave her a minute.

“Anyway,” she went on, voice a little thicker, “the way I see it, there are plenty of places around here that might be willing to foster those animals. Either for the tax write-off—though that bears more investigation—or just out of the goodness of their hearts. Some people live on enough land and have barns and stables but don't even own horses.” When he said nothing, still absorbing, she shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

“It's a good one. A great one. I've never thought about it before.”

“And the other part was just easy. Looking around for estimates on what it would cost versus how much more square footage we would gain, which would equal out to how many more animals. And then what it would take to raise the donations to make that happen.”

“More animals at the clinic.”

“Shelter,” she corrected. “You need to start thinking of them as two entities. They exist as such on paper. I know they're connected by a single door, but they're two different things entirely.”

“You're right.” He rubbed her back. “But more animals means more work. We're stretched thin already.”

“I know. Which is why I looked into what it would take to run the fully functioning shelter as an individual component. Have its own staff—mostly volunteer, of course, with the addition of one full-time manager—and not depend on the hours from the vet clinic workers.”

“Holy hell,” he breathed. “You've been a busy one, haven't you?”

“It's not done yet. But I think it's something you really should look into.”

“I will,” he said, sincerely. “You've given me a lot to think about.”

“I'm brilliant,” she said smugly and snuggled in tighter.

Neither was dressed for bed—or undressed, as he preferred. But it didn't seem to matter, as they drifted off to sleep together in what Morgan considered the pose of perfection.

B
ea ambushed Peyton before her morning coffee. It was Russian roulette, playing with her sister's morning routine. She wasn't a morning person—neither of them was, whereas their brother, obnoxiously, got up with the sun. But Bea just had to know . . .

“Well?”

“I hear nothing, I see nothing, I speak to nothing until I have coffee.” Peyton brushed by her at the foot of the staircase and headed straight into the kitchen. She grabbed the mug Emma silently held out to her and drank as if she'd just come from the desert and the mug held precious, life-giving water.

“Got any fruit?” Bea asked Emma, who was scrambling eggs at the stove.

“Chick food,” Emma muttered and scooped some eggs onto a warming platter before popping it in the oven. Milton camped himself directly by her feet, face upturned, hopeful for a moment of clumsiness to score a second breakfast.

“What does that make bacon and eggs, manly fare?” Bea found a Cutie and went to peeling. Seth loved the tiny fruit he could easily fist and smash into his mouth. Revolting to watch, but it did mean they constantly had the fruit on hand. “Chicks aren't the only ones who want low cholesterol.”

Milton trotted over to see what she had, sniffed, and abandoned her for Emma's side again.
Lost cause, buddy. She's not sharing.

Peyton held up a hand and drained the final drop of coffee before holding out the cup for Emma to pour more in. Their quiet morning routine had Bea missing the days when she lived in her old bedroom. The morning companionship had always been a secret pleasure of hers. Even if the company was intent on picking a fight.

After one slightly more ladylike sip of the fresh cup, Peyton motioned with her hand for Bea to continue.

“Okay. First off, I sold a few more pieces, so I'll have a check for you soon, minus my redecoration fee. Which, by the way, I've already earmarked for new artwork.”

Peyton grimaced. “Do I need to ask?”

“You'll like it. It's cowboy chic. Western flair, without being Western cliché.” When Peyton nodded, obviously trusting her judgment, Bea went on. “Also, it's been a few days since I've been able to catch you. I wanted to know how the makeover went down with Red.”

Peyton's eyes widened over the rim of the cup, but she took another sip. Her hair, back in its customary braid, slipped over her shoulder and onto her back.

“Distraction tactics won't work on me. I see right through them. Did he jump you like a wild animal? Come on, tell me. Did he?”

Peyton spit the coffee back in the mug, choking. Emma gave her one heavy slap on the back, sending Peyton stumbling a few feet forward. “Jesus. I'm being attacked from all sides.”

“Just keeping you from choking on your own spit.”

“You're a dream, Emma,” Peyton said dryly, then set the mug down on the counter. “It went fine.”

Bea counted to five, then rolled her eyes. “That's all I get? Seriously? I drag you, kicking and screaming, to the salon and wait with you so you can get made up and surprise your boyfriend and all I get is ‘fine'?” Bea scrunched her nose. “Talk about ungrateful.”

“What, do you want an accounting of how we went at each other like animals?” Peyton shot back.

“Yes, please.” Bea grinned when Peyton scowled. “Okay, maybe not. But confirmation I was right is always appreciated.”

“Yes, you were right. His tongue almost rolled out of his head.”

Bea pushed to sit up on the counter, ignoring Emma's narrowed gaze at the infraction. “And he had good uses for that tongue, right?”

“Ack!” Peyton covered her ears. “God, make it stop.”

“I'd be disappointed otherwise. I have high expectations of Red.”

“Expectations for what?” Red walked in, as if on cue, and picked up the coffee cup by Peyton's elbow. He slugged down a few gulps, then held out the empty mug for Emma to wordlessly refill.

“You guys need a change of pace,” Bea said sadly.

“We like our routine. Right?” He leaned over and kissed Peyton's temple, who swatted at him.

“Ah, love,” Bea sang, then pointed at Red with the last piece of Cutie. “I was speaking of high expectations of you as a lover.”

“I . . . ah.” He took another sip of coffee, then cleared his throat. “That's . . . yeah. I'm going to the barn now, where it's safe.” And he left with the mug as abruptly as he'd entered.

“He's cute when he's flustered.” Bea hopped down and tossed the peel into the garbage can.

“He is.” Peyton paused, as if considering. “I think I'm going to marry him.”

Now it was Bea's turn to nearly choke. “Since when?”

Her sister gave her a purely female, almost feline smile. Bea mentally applauded the satisfaction on her sister's face. “Since he officially asked me the other night, after we went at each other like animals.”

Emma turned, dropping the spatula on the counter, which bounced to the ground. Milton pounced on the utensil, licking happily at the rare treat. Bea waited for Emma to scold the dog, or them for talking about sex so openly. Instead, Emma shocked both her and Peyton by folding her older sister into a maternal hug.

“I'm so glad.” The older woman's voice was thick with tears. “So very glad.”

Bea waited until Emma was done, then went with instinct and took a turn hugging Peyton. Her sister patted her back awkwardly, but it was enough. Then she stepped back and grabbed her left hand. “Where's the ring?”

“I'm not getting one. He sort of did it on the fly . . . I think he surprised himself,” she added in a quiet murmur, looking as if she was replaying the scene in her mind. “But I told him if I accept, I don't want a ring.”

“You're crazy. Who turns down a ring?”

“I want a horse,” Peyton said smugly.

“You're crazy,” Bea reiterated. “Seriously crazy.” She kissed her sister on the top of the head as she started out, mostly because she knew it would drive her mad. “But I love you anyway. Come on, Milton.”

 

Bea walked out to her car, ready to head into work. But Red flagged her down from the barn before she could unlock her door. She checked her watch, sighed, then grabbed her phone to text Morgan that she'd be a few minutes late.

Sleeping with the boss had its perks.

“Bea, glad you're still here. You've got a visitor.”

“A what?” Who the hell would think to visit her . . . Keeley? Bea grinned. “No way.” She took off for the barn as fast as her heels would let her, tripping over an embedded rock. Red caught her arm and helped her before she ate dirt. “Okay, walking now.”

“Good,” he muttered, keeping a firm grip on her arm. “You're going to kill yourself in those shoes.”

“I will die looking good. Where is she?”

“She who?”

“Keeley!” She called it out, expecting her friend to pop out from around a corner and scare her to death. “Where is she?”

“Who the hell is Keeley?” Red asked, confused. “Jefferson Montague wants to talk to you.”

“Jefferson . . .” Bea halted mid-step. “Who?”

“Says you met a few weeks ago at that show you went to with Trace?”

Bea scanned her mind for a moment, then the switch flipped. “Oh, why me?”

Red shrugged, as if saying
I wondered the same thing
. “He's in the barn, hanging out with Lad.”

Bea hurried in, her heels clicking on the clean concrete. It sounded so . . . different from the no-nonsense clunks her boots made when she came in to ride late at night. Lover Boy stuck his head out, but she ignored him and headed for the man toward the back. Lover Boy snorted his disgust at her behavior.

“Mr. Montague.” She held out a hand.

He took it and shook once. “Jefferson, remember?”

“Jefferson.” She smiled and gave Lad some attention. “What brings you our way?”

“Well, I was passing by, and I remembered you talking about your family ranch. Had to come see what the deal was all about. Plus, I get to harass that one over there.” He hooked a thumb at Red, standing a few feet back with his hands in his pockets.

“We're always glad to have a friend swing by.” She rubbed Lad's nose and accepted the bump on her shoulder without stumbling. “Business or pleasure this trip?”

“Little of both. But that's the way it works when you deal in horses.”

She smiled at that. A real horseman would see it that way. “I can go get my sister, if you want. She's the brains of the operation. Or my brother, though he's probably busy with his son at the moment. I'm sure if you can wait a minute he—”

“I'll take you.” He hooked an arm through hers and guided her to the front of the barn, stopping in front of Lover Boy's stall. “This one seemed to have a yen for some affection when you passed by. Friend of yours?”

She stepped up to the stall door, and raised a brow when Lover Boy turned his back on her. “Oh, come on. Really?”

He pawed at the ground once, as if to say,
yes, really
.

“Don't be like that. I can't stop by every single time I walk in here.”

He flicked his tail.

She shrugged a shoulder and turned to face Jefferson. “He's not in the mood.”

The nip on her shoulder made her yelp in a combination of shock and pain. “Ow, dammit! Now I have horse saliva on my work shirt.”

Jefferson laughed a little, and Red stepped forward to pull her away from the stall door, but she waved him off. “I'm fine.” She turned to Lover Boy. “You. Are. Glue.”

Unphased by the threat, he whickered softly. Jefferson continued to chuckle.

When he nudged the injured shoulder, as if to apologize, she scratched his forelock. “Don't do that again.” He nuzzled into her, a contrite child hoping for extra mama snuggles.

“Ugh.” But her arms went around the big animal's neck and she pressed a quick kiss behind his ear. “Dumb beast.”

Red cleared his throat. “Should I go get Peyton?”

“If you want.” Bea glanced around and grabbed a pair of barn boots. “I'm just going to change shoes and show Jefferson around a bit. But not too long, I'm afraid.” She glanced at her watch and smiled at him. “I'm late for work as it is.”

Red walked up to flank her. “I'll come with you.”

“No need.” Jefferson easily guided her toward the workout areas. “We're good, Red. Thanks.”

Bea's mouth dropped open for a second. Nobody brushed Red off. In their area, Redford Callahan
was
horses. “I really think—”

“I think you're exactly what I need to get the full picture of the operation.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation or argument, but his grip on her arm was still gentle. “Now, we ready to start?”

Oh hell. Peyton's gonna kill me.
“Sure, of course. Let's head back this way. Maybe when we get to the arena, Trace will be out and doing a workout with Lad. He can show off for you. My big brother loves showing off.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Red.

He correctly interpreted it as
get my brother out here now,
and hurried off.

“Tell me everything you know,” Jefferson said easily as they walked up to the fence surrounding the hot walk area. “Including the transition from soap opera star to rancher.”

Here goes nothing.
“Jefferson, how much time do you have?”

 

Morgan settled down with the sandwich Nancy—the new receptionist in training—had picked up at Jo's and his laptop, with an article on a new bovine inoculation to read during his lunch hour.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he nearly dumped the sandwich reaching for it. Bea, this needed to be Bea.

And damn. His mother. He opened the text—his parents had both learned how to send texts a year ago at his sister's insistence—and smiled.

It was a start. Something had shifted, for his mother to issue the invitation unprompted. Either Bea had won her over, or her ideas about what her son deserved had changed. Either way, he wasn't going to say no. He texted back a
yes,
then made sure he hadn't missed another message from Bea.

Damn woman had messaged him to say there was an urgent issue at home and she'd be there late. He'd assumed a fashion emergency, and fifteen minutes. But after an hour, and no call and no Bea, he started to worry. Couldn't be that bad, right? They'd have called him. Someone from M-Star would have called to tell him.

He stared at his sandwich, not hungry any longer. But he needed to eat.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” Bea busted into Morgan's office right as he started to take a bite.

Morgan set the sandwich down slowly and chewed. Bea looked frazzled, red-faced and a little the worse for wear. Her clothes were streaked with mud, hair was sticking up straight on one side, and her breathing was still erratic. He fought down rising panic that she'd somehow been injured. But if she was injured, she wouldn't be moving so fast on those damn heels.

“I didn't want to be late, I promise.”

“Urgent, you said. But that was all I got.”

“I know, I know. Something came up last minute at home. Ranch business.” She sank down into his other chair and all but melted. “That was so not what I expected.”

“Nobody's hurt?”

“No, no. Sorry.”

His heart returned to normal after a moment. His temper, however, rose exponentially. “It didn't occur to you that telling me there was an ‘urgent issue' and no details might lead me to worry?”