Silver Nights With You (Love in the Sierras Book 1) (12 page)

Morgan approved of the changes he saw in Lila over the past two weeks. She had made such a bedraggled, pitiful sight the first day he'd come back from the mines to find her sweat-soaked and bleary-eyed from a full day of good, hard work. With each passing day she appeared stronger and surer, not as tired or wilted. Never mind that every day he'd come home to find her wrapped up in some encounter with David.

He'd find them sitting on the porch bench chatting or playing cards with other miners or eating their suppers together, always with him imparting some gift to her and her rewarding him with a smile. Each time it was like a hammer to his gut. But then he would remember their kiss, and how eagerly she participated in it, and he would tell himself to be patient.

He replayed that kiss in his mind. It had been passionate for him, but there was definitely something on her end as well. It pleased him to know the pleasure of that kiss was not his alone. It gave him even more pleasure to know that it knocked her so off kilter. She was used to teasing and flirtation, not raw sexual desire, and he knew she was feeling it as strongly as he was. It was tangible any time they were near each other, like a cord of muscle stretched between them that strengthened with each meeting. If he needed further evidence, it was in the way she was determined to avoid him. They’d exchanged shallow pleasantries each morning and evening, but she fled him any time he sought to make it more.

Puffing away on his cigar in the doorway of the barn, he watched a group of miners set up a makeshift card table in preparation for their nightly game with David and Lila. This night, Val decided to forego his brother's company and join in the game. Morgan considered following him, but decided against it. He was in a quieter mood and made his way into the parlor to enjoy a whiskey and a book.

As he settled into the corner chair, he opened a volume of Turgenev and immersed himself in the world of the Russian peasantry. Every so often he heard the raucous laughter of the poker players on the porch and had to fight back the envy he felt at the men enjoying her company and her smiles. No sooner had he hosted the thought than the parlor door creaked open and she appeared.

He said nothing, but waited for her to notice him. She shut her eyes, closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh of…relief? He studied her body language. She was running from the crowd, seeking solace the same way he was. When she pushed away from the door, she headed toward the bookshelf, massaging the back of her neck beneath her braid.

She was in a dark blue skirt, a recent purchase, and a plain white blouse with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Her fingers looked slim and delicate as they ran along the book spines, and he imagined the way the same caress would feel on his skin, feathery and teasing. She finally found one that appealed and pulled it from the shelf, opening it before she turned around.

Morgan smiled at how oblivious she was to his presence as she made her way to the settee and sank onto it. He looked at the cover and saw that she held a copy of Madame Bovary. She brought her thumbnail up to her mouth and bit lightly on it while her eyes darted back and forth, scrolling along the text.

"That is a bad habit you have," he finally said, and she gasped, dropping the book onto her lap.

"Morgan," she said as she panted in relief. "You startled me."

"I apologize. It wasn't my intention. I would have been content to sit here looking at you, but I thought you'd like to know that you weren't alone."

He watched the tiny dip in her throat shift as she swallowed.

"You shouldn't say such things to me," she said, though her voice was hoarse.

He chuckled. "What things? That I enjoy looking at you or that you’ve got a bad habit of biting your nails when you read?"

Her forehead wrinkled, and she glanced down at her fingernails. "I don't always bite my nails when I read."

"I beg to differ," he said with a laugh. "I've watched you do it on several occasions. With as much as you read it's a wonder you have any nails left."

She frowned and curled her nails into the fabric of her skirt. "It's just as well. If I didn't bite them off then I'd be sure to work them off in this place."

"Your fingers will strengthen. You are just not used to such work."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," she said quickly. "I mean, it was difficult at first, but I actually find it quite invigorating." Her eyes flicked to the wall and she smiled, as if some humorous thought flew into her mind.

"What?" he asked. She was still smiling when she looked back at him.

"For years I've been complimented on how accomplished I am, and I always wondered at that word. Accomplished. Why do people say that to me when I haven't accomplished anything? Sure, I can speak languages and paint and compute, but what have I actually
done
to recommend me? I find it funny that I've never felt so great a sense of achievement as I did today when I finally milked the cow on my own and carried two pails into the kitchen without spilling a drop."

She laughed, and Morgan admired the delicate lines around her mouth and the shine of pride in her eyes. When her laughter faded her eyes fell to his, and he held them there until she glanced down to the book in his hands.

"You're reading Turgenev?" she asked.

"Yes, have you read it?"

"No." She shook her head. "I've wanted to. You'll have to let me know what you think when you're finished."

"I can already tell you it's worth your time. This is my third read through."

Her eyes widened. "It must be good then, much better than my current read." She held the tome up for him to see. "Have you read it?" When he nodded, she asked, "Did you like it?"

He tilted his head. "Did
you
like it?"

Her lips pursed toward the side of her mouth as she ran her fingers over the embossed French words. “I find it very hard to sympathize or identify with the heroine, or anyone else for that matter. It’s difficult to enjoy a book whose characters you loathe.”

“You don’t pity her?”

“She was selfish from the beginning and could not even bring herself to love her own child more than herself. I think that’s when she lost any pity she had from me. I have no sympathy for people who turn their back on their family.”

“You judge her without trying to understand her situation.”

“That’s not true. I tried very hard in the beginning to understand her, but the more devious she became, the less I cared about understanding her. The popularity of this novel in France disturbs me. Are all French women like this?”

“Perhaps it’s just a study on pre-revolution France,” he offered with a dismissive shrug.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But I think it’s a universal truth that selfish individuals will always be unhappy regardless of their circumstances. I happen not to agree with the notion that people are solely a product of their environment and so I believe she chose to be the person she was.”

“Good point, Miss Cameron, and I agree.”

She seemed pleased by his compliment. Silence fell and brought back to life the consuming heat between them. He watched her squirm beneath the weight of it. She couldn't look him in the eye, and she couldn't sit still. Finally, she glanced at the door.

"I should go," she said.

“Stay," he urged quietly. "It’s been a while since I could converse like this, especially with you.”

“You and Val don’t discuss literature?”

Morgan chuckled wryly. “Val doesn’t care about novels or philosophy or existential truths. He thinks reading is a waste of time, though he can do it, and in several languages, too.”

“Can he? That’s impressive.”

“Val is the busy kind. If he had enough time to sit and read a book he’d consider himself a lazy man.”

“Well, reading is as good for the mind as physical exertion is for the body, no?”

“I reckon so. There’s more than one way to feed your soul.”

“So, you’re the thinker and he’s the doer?” Lila said with a sweet smile, and Morgan laughed.

“I’ll say we both think and do in the ways that suit us best.”

She laughed, a sound he knew he would never tire of. Before either of them could speak again, he heard David's voice calling her name through the house. Her face darted to the doorway, and she stood. Slowly, he came to a stand and sighed.

"I guess now you really should go," he told her as he stepped toward her. "Can't keep David waiting."

She frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just my observations. He calls, and you go scampering like a little puppy to eat up his compliments and gifts."

"It is common courtesy to give someone your attention when they seek you out," she defended.

"Not so common with me," he returned as he came to a stop in front of her. "You don't seem to have any problem shooing me away. Although, you have been
alone
with me in this room for some time now. It was not as terrible as you thought it would be, was it? I am not some dangerous predator, Miss Cameron."

She took a step back until her legs hit the settee. "Then why do I always feel like your prey, Mr. Kelly?"

The smell of her was sweet, a delicious mingle of roses and sweat. Her breath was hot on his throat, and his fingers itched to reach out and pull her to him. The door opened and David stood there, his eyes widening at first to find them so close together, and then they fastened firmly onto Morgan in a glare. Lila hurried away and fled the room. Morgan said nothing, and neither did David. The fire of contempt burned in each of their eyes, and it was David who finally walked away, no doubt in search of Lila.

She knew the men on the back porch were playing cards and she had no desire to be in their company. The front porch was empty and she fled to it, walking halfway down the steps until she sat down. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, she wanted to cry. Morgan was creating a torrent of emotion in her. She felt like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to another. He could be the greatest comfort or the most unsettling presence. He could prick her temper in one second only to make her smile in the next. With a look, he could make her feel warm and womanly and then shrink her down to a little girl with his words.

The niggling feeling in the back of her head told her he only had that power because he spoke the truth. She did go out of her way to be near David, to please him and shower him with smiles, but she wasn't even sure of her true motive anymore. He was handsome and every bit the respectable gentleman. He brought her gifts and told her she was beautiful in every sentence, but she couldn't help feeling that there was something empty about their whole courtship. From her and from him. But all it took was one look into Morgan's golden eyes and she fled straight to David, where she felt safe and comfortable.

Her impulses were at war. The more she
wanted
to be closer to Morgan, the more she determined to stay away. Ever since the kiss she seemed unable to control the way her insides clenched and her body flooded with heat when she so much as thought of him, let alone when he was near.

She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. The night sky was clear and speckled, and she thought of her mother. She wished she was there more than anything to help Lila sort through the chaos of her thoughts and feelings.

David emerged from the house and joined her on the steps. For a long time, he said nothing but planted his gaze on the stars. When he finally did speak, he didn't look at her.

"Lila, is there something going on between you and Morgan?"

The question startled her. "What do you mean?"

His face turned toward hers, and there was a coldness in his eyes she'd not seen before. "I'm going to be blunt with you. Don't toy with me if it's his affection you crave. I was under the assumption that I was courting you. Are we of the same mind?"

"Yes, you have been courting me."

"Then do you agree that it was disturbing for me to find you and him in such an intimate setting tonight?"

She swallowed, adding guilt to the heap of feelings coursing through her. "Yes."

He nodded, peering into her eyes with his fierce blue ones. "I don’t like being made the fool. This is your chance to back out of our courtship. If, however, you decide that I am the man you want courting you, then know this. I will call Morgan Kelly out the next time I catch him so close to you."

Her heart skipped a beat and she filled with panic. "David, you can't be serious. Morgan is your friend."

"Val is my friend. Morgan is my friend's brother." He gently folded her hand in his. "And you are the woman I've invested my thoughts in…and my heart. So, tell me now where your heart is."

Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head. "I don't know, David. I don't know my own heart right now. Things are happening so fast, and I can't keep focus. In my head,
you
make sense. Everything about you is perfect." He seemed to relax at that. "But don't you feel like there is something missing? Some small piece of something significant?"

He kissed the back of her hand and smiled. "Everything is perfect to me. You are perfect to me. Perhaps you are missing that part of courtship that involves outings? We've gone nowhere interesting and done nothing entertaining. We have the opera tomorrow. Perhaps it's simply that sort of excitement you crave?"