The Right Thing (19 page)

Thea lifted her glass.

“To pasta night then,” she said, clinking her glass against his. “Let’s try twice a week at first. We’ll do the next one this Friday if that works for you,” she told him.

Morgan nodded and sipped his drink. “We could do one Wednesday night. I have a chicken fettuccine recipe that your Aunt Lydia liked.”

“Whatever works for you. Make me a list and I’ll pick up your ingredients. If you can plan ahead a few weeks, I can order from my supplier, which would be cheaper if we do this regularly,” Thea said, knocking back the rest of her drink.

Morgan watched, fascinated as Thea drank the scotch like it was water. “You drink often?”

“Almost never,” Thea said. “But my pride was thirsty today and none of your shed blood was available. I have to let you live now so you can help me save the restaurant.”

Whatever harm he had caused Thea’s pride had added weight and worry that Morgan could see was taking a heavy toll on her.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan told her, meaning it.

Thea laughed. “Me too. I would have had a lot of fun trying to kill you.”

“I see you’re still pissed,” Morgan said, frowning at his still mostly full glass.

Thea nodded. “Yeah. I am,” she agreed, “but I’ll deal with it. Between Amy, Lydia, and Gerald, there’s not much I can do other than hire you. If I don’t and this place goes under, I’ll have to hear about how you might have helped save it for the rest of my life. If it goes under now, I can blame you.”

“
Gerald?
My father talked to you? About hiring me,” Morgan said, his heart in his throat.

“Gerald is convinced you’re a man reborn,” Thea said, waving her glass. “He’s such a damn optimist.”

Morgan sighed and had to look away for a moment. His father had helped talk Thea into hiring him. That was enough to make him feel reborn. He felt like crying, and that just wouldn’t help the situation at all.

When he looked back at her, Thea was tipping up her glass again to drain the last of the scotch off the ice cubes, which almost fell out twice as she drank.

“How many of those have you had?” Morgan asked, grinning at her weaving form.

“I believe this is three, but I wasn’t exactly counting,” Thea said, “I’m done anyway. I can’t wait tables with any more than three in me. I mean, if we ever have any customers.”

She tilted back her glass for a final sip and weaved. Morgan slid off his stool and walked through the opening in the bar.

“Don’t,” Thea said, jerking away before his hands reached her. “Don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” Morgan said, lifting the glass from her hand and pointing to the tables and booths. “Go find a booth and sit. Have you eaten lunch?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Find a booth now or I will put you in one,” he said, irritation and worry hardening his tone with her. “You’re weaving drunk, Thea. We need to sober you up before anyone sees you like this.”

“Yeah, so what if I am drunk?” Thea asked. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need anyone. I’ve been fine for years. I’ll be fine when you’re gone.”

Morgan took a step toward her. It bothered him even more when she flinched away from him again.

“Okay. I’m going to a booth,” Thea said, seeing a look on Morgan’s face that didn’t leave her any choices.

As she walked through the opening in the bar, she watched Morgan turn toward the kitchen and disappear through the doors. By the time he came back carrying two iced teas, she was seated in the most secluded booth in the far corner with her head down on a surprisingly cool and welcoming table surface.

Morgan swallowed hard against the urge to scoop Thea into his arms and hold her while she cried out whatever frustration was eating her alive inside. How he instinctively knew the woman needed to cry was beyond his comprehension. Maybe it matched his own urges. But he couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t let him. So instead, he slid a glass of iced tea over the table to her.

“Sip this. Pete’s making us some food. We’re sharing,” he told her.

“I don’t like eating with the enemy,” she complained, her tongue still loose.

“We’re not enemies anymore. You just hired me,” Morgan corrected. “Now we’re allies.”

He smiled at his choice of words, and then at Pete as the man walked out of the kitchen and over to the booth.

Pete slid the plate into the middle of the table, looked at Thea, and raised his eyebrows at Morgan.

“Drunk,” Morgan said, thinking the one word best explained the situation.

Pete sighed and nodded in reply to Morgan’s comment. Looking again at Thea, whose chin was almost on the table, Pete shook his head as he walked resolutely back to the kitchen to wait for his fate to be decided by what happened next.

“I am not drunk,” Thea denied, watching Pete walk away. “I am opening my mind to a deeper creative expression.”

Morgan snorted, picked up a fry, and held it out to her. “I see your inner English major comes out when you drink. Here—eat this. I find fries always help. Pete’s are the best.”

“I know. I can’t help him either. He used to talk more. After his wife died of cancer, Pete just pulled inside himself. But he keeps showing up and I keep paying him,” Thea said, reluctantly taking the fry but making sure her fingers did not accidentally touch his.

“If I have cooties, you’re already at risk,” Morgan told her. “I’ve had my hands all over you. I’m not even going to mention everything else.”

“Up yours,” Thea said, reaching to the plate for another fry, determined not to think about where Morgan’s hands or anything else had been. “Don’t ruin my appetite.

“These are good,” she said around a mouthful. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

Morgan wasn’t happy with her reaction to his teasing, but at least she was eating.

“I’ll call Tom and tell him to draw up your paperwork,” Thea said, picking up her half of the ham sandwich on the plate. “You’ll start at minimum wage. I’ll give you a raise if sales merit it or we increase the number of nights you work to more than two.”

“I don’t care what you pay me,” Morgan told her. “I don’t want money.”

“Well, money is the only thing you’re going to get out of this,” Thea said, sitting a little straighter as the food began to negate the alcohol. “You’re not working for free, and I’ve learned my lesson about trading favors.”

“I don’t really want anything except a chance to help you,” Morgan, said keeping his gaze on the fries. “I owe you more than I’m going to be able to make up for in a few months.”

“You don’t owe me anything but a fair effort for the wages I intend to pay you,” Thea said, sliding from the booth. “Thanks for the food. I needed it.”

“Thea,” Morgan called before she’d gone far. “I’m just trying to do the right thing. I don’t exactly know what it is, so could you cut me a break?”

“No. You’re trying to convince me and other people that you’re not a bad person, even though I know what makes you tick now. Well, most people are buying your remorse, and maybe some of it is genuine,” Thea acknowledged. “It doesn’t matter whether I buy it or not.”

“It matters to me,” Morgan told her. “Someday soon you’re going to forgive me, Thea.”

“Maybe I will,” Thea agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be handing you another knife you can use to stab me in the back.”

Morgan looked away from her, picked up a fry, bit into it, and then looked back. Her expression was closed and impassive, more hurt than angry now. It bothered him more than the anger had.

“I’ll settle for forgiveness. I appreciate you giving me a chance.”

“I’m not doing this for me or you, Morgan,” Thea said, frowning. “This is just another situation where I’m doing the only thing I can because I have no choice. Don’t weave any other hopes around it. Bring me a list of what supplies to get for your recipe and come by before lunch tomorrow.”

Morgan nodded, but Thea didn’t see it because her gaze was already focused on the kitchen doors as she walked unsteadily toward them.

Chapter 13

Thea wasn’t at the restaurant on Tuesday when Morgan stopped by, so he left his ingredient list with Pete and followed Amy’s directions to the accountant’s office. He stepped into the cool building and breathed a sigh of relief. The heat was really bothering him today.

“I’m here to see Tom,” Morgan told the receptionist, who quickly sent him back through a hall to an office.

Seated on the other side of an impressive walnut desk was a big man with a direct gaze that checked out Morgan without apology.

“Hello. You don’t look much like Gerald. I wouldn’t have recognized you,” Tom said, motioning the man in and to a chair.

Morgan Reed wasn’t classically attractive nor did he seem to have Gerald’s easy nature. But he did have a presence that filled up a room. Tom found himself trying to figure out what it was about him that had appealed to Althea Carmichael.

“Well, don’t say anything to Dad. As far as he knows, Mom was completely faithful.” Morgan said. “People tell me I look like my mother.”

Tom chuckled. “I see you inherited Gerald’s wit.”

“I did?” Morgan asked, secretly pleased to be favorably compared to his father for once. “Damn. I wish I’d inherited his ability to seduce women.”

That got a real laugh out of Tom.

“Well, we all wish that,” Tom said with a shrug. “Gerald Reed is the finest man I know, but I keep my woman the hell away from him.”

Morgan laughed. “Dad is the finest man I know too,” he said, his tone serious.

“So Thea sent you over to fill out new employee paperwork. She tells me she’s hiring you to
cook
,” Tom said, knowing his comment was more like a question.

It was fascinating to watch the emotion flicker in Morgan’s eyes at the mention of Thea’s name.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true for now,” Morgan said on a sigh.

“Is it true Thea hit you and bloodied your nose?” Tom asked. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me. Amy and my daughter are best friends. That’s how I heard.”

“Are you friends with Thea?” Morgan asked, avoiding the question with one of his own.

“Yeah,” Tom replied. “I wanted to be more, but she’s a hard woman to get to know.”

“I know her. In fact, I know her really well,” Morgan said, holding Tom’s gaze long enough for the man to accept and understand his claim on Thea. “She’s strong and mean when she’s mad, and downright belligerent when she’s drunk and feeling sorry for herself. I made a mistake with her and she didn’t take it well. She didn’t break my nose, but she came close.”

“So Thea’s been both mad and drunk with you,” Tom commented, surprised. “Interesting. I could never get her to raise her voice at me no matter how much I poked. For a long time now, I’ve wondered if she buried all her passion with Angus. You must be a hell of a man.”

“Well, come to dinner at the restaurant and you might get a show. Thea tends to not care about what she says to me regardless of who’s around to hear,” Morgan said, only half joking. “Plus, I make damn good pasta.”

Tom was suddenly thinking that maybe it was lucky for him that Thea hadn’t been interested in more than being friends. The man across from him was as sharp a person as Tom had ever met, and Thea Carmichael had brought him to his knees in more ways than one. Sylvia was sexy and sweet, and very accommodating in bed. Thea’s passion might be fun, but he’d leave the anger and meanness to a man like Reed.

“You in love with her?” Tom asked, grinning.

“Am I in love with Thea?” Morgan repeated, laughing as he looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before. I intend to help Thea whether she wants me to or not. And sooner or later I’m going make her forgive me for screwing up. That’s as far as I’ve gotten in my thinking. If I were to mention anything about how I feel to her right now, she would throw something at my head like she did her husband. I’m worried her aim might have improved, so I’m keeping most of my feelings to myself.”

“Fear. Caution. Understanding. Respect. Sure sounds like love to me,” Tom said, laughing. “If Thea doesn’t want you though, there’s plenty of other willing women in this town—I mean if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” Morgan said easily. “Thea’s more addictive than her damn iced tea.”

Tom chuckled and passed a stack of papers over to Morgan. “Fill these out. So you wouldn’t happen to have a CPA license would you?”

“Yes, I do. Why?” Morgan asked.

“I could probably offer you a little better employment than cooking if you were looking for real work,” Tom said lightly.

He liked the man’s straightforward approach to things.

“I wasn’t looking for any work when I agreed to work for Thea,” Morgan said, his eyes on the forms, but his mind on the woman. “I was looking for a way back into Thea’s life. Being a decent pasta cook is just a happy coincidence.”

“Well, if you ever want real work in Sedona, let me know,” Tom said. “Now and again I get forensic requests from the police which I can’t do myself. Then there’s tax season, which covers me every year. It would be part-time, but there would be a steady flow.”