Hunted (20 page)

Samson’s bark echoed along the porch. “Hush,” he said.

The dog stood beside him.

He knew the moment she saw him. She halted in the middle of the cobbled walkway.

Good God. Her face was pale and she was so thin her cheekbones stood out.

“Morg?” he asked, taking one step down.

She just stood there. He watched her shake her head, bow it, then shake it again before looking at him.

“Morgan?” He stepped down the last three steps.

She seemed lost. He glanced at the man behind her, saw a warning in those dark black eyes.

J.D. ignored whoever the man was and focused on his sister. He opened his arms. “I don’t even get a hug?” he asked quietly.
God, please let her be coming home.
He’d kill her later, but right now . . .

She stepped away from the man and flew at him.

He stumbled back but held her tightly against him.
Thank God. Thank you, God
.

Her shoulders shook. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—I—I’m s—s—sorry, Jack. I’m so, so sorry.”

She felt brittle to him, so damn thin. He gentled his hug on her, felt a muscle jump in his jaw.

He pulled her back, just a bit. “You’re home.”

Her eyes, the color of his own, were shadowed with something he couldn’t pinpoint, but chilled his blood just the same. Whatever it was, it was more than hurt. Dark circles bruised the area around them.

The smile on his face hurt. It had been so long since he’d smiled. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

He’d meant to get a smile out of her. Panic fluttered in his chest when her eyes filled with tears and trickled silently over to trail down her cheeks.

“Hey. Hey.” He pulled her close again, felt the tremors wracking her too-slight frame. What the hell? His eyes locked on the man who had turned his back on them. That man, whoever the hell he was, wasn’t Dixon. J.D. had seen a picture of that bastard. “You’re home now,” J.D. whispered into her hair. He pushed her back, ran his hands over her short, blondish-red hair. “You’re home. That’s all that matters.”

She continued to stare at him in that way that had nausea greasing his stomach. So much pain and heartache in that stare. “What is it, Morg? What?”

“I can stay?” she whispered.

What? He squeezed her shoulders. “That’s a stupid question. This is your home. You don’t even need to ask. You know that.”

Where the hell had she been? All this time?

She shook her head, more tears falling. “I don’t know anything anymore, Jack. Not anything.”

On a shuddering breath, she pushed away from him and rubbed her arms.

The silence between them grew. J.D. reached for her, but she stepped back again. He raised a brow. Clearing his throat, he said, “You better get inside and tell Suzy you’re here. She’d like to know.”

He glanced to the man who had turned back to them, but still stayed several steps behind.

Morgan stood, as if rooted to that one spot. One more nod. “I will.” Half turning, she motioned with her hand. “Jackson, this is . . . ” Her voice trailed off before she cleared her throat. “This is Lincoln Blade.”

And who
was
Lincoln Blade to J.D.’s sister? He’d find that out later.

Morgan shivered and the man finally spoke. “You’re cold,” he said in a calm British voice.

J.D. blinked.

Mr. Blade took her elbow, looked straight into J.D.’s eyes and said, “Your sister doesn’t need to be out in the cold. Perhaps we could take this inside?”

Who the hell was this guy? J.D. took a deep breath, raked his hand through his hair and nodded. “Yeah, sorry about the manners.”

The man smiled, a quick flash that made him seem almost human. “No problem. I expect it’s a bit of a shock.”

Morgan reached for J.D.’s hand, dislodging Mr. Blade’s hand on her arm. J.D. slung his arm around her shoulders. “God, Morg.” He kissed the top of her head, a dozen questions racing through his mind as they walked up the rock walkway to the porch.

On a deep breath, she asked, “Is . . . Is everyone coming tonight?”

He wished to hell they weren’t now. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

She licked her lips, then looked at him, and he caught his breath again at the pain in her eyes.

“I—I can’t . . . ” She took another deep breath and stopped on the porch. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t . . . ”

He guided her to the house. His sister acted as if given the chance, she’d bolt.

She stepped away from him. “I know this will seem really rude. But I just can’t deal with all of them. Not now.”

Irritation that she was the same old Morgan shifted through the excitement. He bit the words off, not wanting to fight with her.

“They’ve missed you too. We’ve all missed you. God, Gideon and I were out of our minds.”

Her hands trembled as she raked them through her hair. “I know I would have done this before just out of spite or selfishness or whatever.” Her haunted eyes rose to his. “But please, please Jack, please give me this night. I can
not
deal with Aunt Maybell wanting every detail and Cousin Becky wanting to know about the . . . the . . . m-men. I just—I just can’t.”

A shadow crept over him. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Let’s go inside and tell Suzy hi,” he said softly.

She dropped her head and jerked the door open. Mr. Blade caught it and held it open for them.

J.D. didn’t know what was going on, but he meant to find out.

Chapter 15

Morgan stood in the entryway, the warmth and fragrance of cinnamon mixing with sage from the stuffing and roasted turkey. She took one long shaky breath. Home wrapped its arms around her just as her brother had earlier.

Calm down, she just needed to calm down.

But the shaking wouldn’t quit. It was as if suddenly all the rage and terror and horror and longing were pulling her apart inside.

She fisted her hands and tucked them under her crossed arms.

Her boots clicked on the hardwood floors.

Home. She was home.

“Suzy! Suzy!” Jack yelled.

She glanced at Lincoln standing in the entryway with that unreadable patient look on his face. Instead of worrying what he was thinking, she turned her attention back to Jack, who motioned her toward the dining room. Her brother was still handsome. Long and lean, muscled from early years on the ranch and more recently, if he hadn’t changed, a religious workout schedule. He smiled at her. That crooked half smile she’d missed so much and hadn’t even realized it until she saw it aimed at her. His eyes, the color of her own, questioned without words. There was a bit more gray at his temples in that thick brown hair than the last time she’d seen him. She reached a hand out and ran it over the starched white sleeve of his button-down, noted the man still used enough starch on his Wranglers they could stand alone in the corner.

God, she’d missed him. Missed that hard look that said, “What the hell is going on?” even as he had yet to ask it. He still smelled of soap, hay from the barn, and the cologne she’d bought him every year from Macy’s
in the Galleria. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

“What?” a voice said through the doorway into the kitchen. “As if I don’t have enough to do with all the relatives coming and you not helping a bit. Still stuck in the time when women were supposed to miraculously make a holiday meal appear,” she muttered.

The short woman wiped her hands on a dish towel at her waist, looking over her shoulder back into the kitchen as she walked into the formal dining room, where the table was laid with the best china and crystal.

“I don’t know why . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she turned back toward Jack and stopped.

Morgan saw those green eyes shine. Suzy propped her hands on her slender hips and scowled the tears away. “’Bout damn time you came home. Glad to see you still know where it is.”

The lump in Morgan’s throat grew. She tried to think of something to say.

Suzy, from the looks of it, still visited Tico’s Beauty Parlor once a week to get her hair washed, rolled and ratted. It had always reminded Morgan of a puffed poodle with enough hairspray that a tornado wouldn’t move it.

Morgan smiled.

Suzy frowned. “You look like something the cat drug up and decided to leave alone.” The woman hurried over and wrapped Morgan in a quick tight hug before stepping back. She still smelled like Tresemmé hairspray and honeysuckle.

“I feel like it,” Morgan answered.

Silence settled and netted around them. Morgan gripped her elbows, wishing the trembles would stop. Her stomach tightened.

Suzy looked to the doorway with a narrow-eyed look. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh,” Morgan said.

Lincoln stepped around Morgan and offered his hand to Suzy, smiling. “I’m Lincoln Blade.”

“So?” Suzy shook his hand and jerked her head toward Morgan. “Doesn’t tell me what you’re doing with her.”

“He—” Morgan started, staring at Lincoln. What did she tell them? “He helped me get home.” Finally. She huffed out a sigh.

Suzy relaxed. “In that case, you’re invited to dinner.”

Jack chuckled and Lincoln merely inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Hendelbach.”

Suzy humphed, but smiled.

“No one here y—” a voice said from the foyer.

Morgan whirled. “Gideon?”

“Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch,” he said with a grin. “Morgan?” He hurried across the room and lifted her into a bear hug. “’Bout damn time you came home,” he said against her hair.

She hugged him back, breathing deep. Where Jack smelled of the outdoors and the barn, Gideon smelled urban. Expensive cologne and that stupid stuff he used to clean his computer and equipment. It always stung her nose like alcohol. He whirled her once, laughing, squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe.

“You break anything in this room and I’ll have both your hides,” Suzy broke in, though amusement laced her words.

Gideon held her like he didn’t want to let her go. Uneasy memories coated her. Arms holding her tight.

“Put me down, Gid.”

“In a minute.” He squeezed her tighter. “I’m glad you’re home.”

She pushed against him. “Put me
down
.”

He dropped her on her feet and she swayed. He grinned like a loon. Morgan took a deep breath and tried to calm her chaotic nerves. Another deep breath.

Gideon’s smile slid away. He reached a hand out, saying, “Hey? You okay?”

She stepped back, and into the server. Dishes clanked.

Lincoln stepped around Gideon. “Morgan. Morgan.”

What if they found her here? Should she have come home? She trembled.

“Morgan.” She heard his soft calm voice as if through a tunnel. His hands reached up and turned her to face him. “Morgan,” he snapped.

Her gaze locked with his, her focus sharpened on his face. “It’s not too late, luv. But you’ve got to make a decision and stick with it.”

Dead silence so thick she could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the entryway. A tremble wracked her body. “I’m safe,” she whispered. “I’m safe and I’m home.” She was home. Morgan Gaelord was home. She squeezed her eyes shut.
I’m home. I’m home. Morgan Gaelord is home
. She opened her eyes and looked at them.

“Yes,” Lincoln said. “You’re safe.” A slight grin tilted the edge of his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes. “And you’re home.”

“Calm down,” Jackson said, stepping forward.

Again she automatically moved away, her breath jerking in her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on her breathing, on the here-and-now.

“Morgan,” Lincoln said, in that soft soothing voice. She tried to ignore— “Morgan, look at me.”

Slowly she opened her eyes and stared into Lincoln’s dark ones. His mouth was set, a muscle ticking beside his jaw. His hands came up to rub her arms. “You’re safe. You’re home. No one here will ever harm you.” The words were said quietly, to calm. And it worked.

He was right. She was home, so why was she freaking out? The fear was there, thick and waiting under the glaze of relief at coming home. Lincoln’s eyes studied her a moment more, before he nodded and stepped back.

Gideon stood to the side and shoved his hands in his pockets. Both his and J.D.’s frowns were identical. Two years separated them and people had often remarked they could have been twins, with the same build and features.

The phone rang and Morgan jumped, her hand fisting over her heart.

“I’ll get it,” Suzy said, reaching around the corner to the old-fashioned, wall-mounted landline phone. Her frown deepened as she stared at Morgan. “Gaelord residence.”

Morgan took another breath and closed her eyes. Calm, she just had to stay calm. That was all. They’d think she was crazy.

“Eight o’clock, same as it always is, Maybell. Yes. Yes. See you then,” Suzy said before hanging up without a good-bye.

J.D. motioned them toward the kitchen and they all filed in.

“Anyone want something to drink?” Suzy asked. “There’s coffee, tea, cider, whatever.” Suzy motioned toward the counter where pitchers sat beside the carafe of black brew.

“You have tea?” Lincoln asked.

Morgan felt a smile pull her lips. “Not your kind. Ours. Very sweet tea you pour over ice.”

He raised his black brows. “Yes, well then, a cup of coffee sounds just the thing.”

Suzy busied herself making him one. Morgan leaned against the wall and looked out across the rock-walled yard toward the barn. She turned her back to her brothers and stepped into the kitchen. Both of them brushed by her to stand at the counter. There never had been keeping anything from them.

“So you brought our Morgan home,” Suzy started. “There’s a story there, I’ll wager.”

Morgan closed her eyes and wondered what he’d say. “But it is not mine to tell,” Lincoln answered.

She sighed and looked at her brothers, standing side by side. Both their arms were crossed over their chests, their ankles crossed as they leaned back against the counter. Her brothers were staring at her. She glanced at the big iron-worked clock that hung on the yellow wall. The rest of the family would be here soon.

Not mine to tell . . .
Which clearly stated that if they wanted to know anything, she’d have to tell them. And what could she possibly tell them? Morgan just stared at her brothers. One in starched jeans and a button-down and scuffed boots, the other in a suit and Gucci loafers. They drank coffee and thought the worst was what they heard on the evening news.