Buckhorn Beginnings (22 page)

O
H
, G
OD
.
Misty stared at Morgan, horrified by her statement, and ready to be sick all over again. She slapped a hand over her mouth and gulped air through her nose, determined to hold it back. She'd thought the fresh air would help, and it really had, but then Morgan had joined her….

She frowned, her queasy stomach almost forgotten. It was all his fault, and she said, without the demonic tone this time, “I don't suppose you'll just forget I said that?”

Dumbly, he shook his head, his eyes still wide, his jaw still slack. For once he wasn't scowling. He looked too stunned to scowl. “Uh, no. Not likely.”

Her temper snapped. “Oh, of course not. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?” She frowned ferociously, wishing she could hit him over his hard head. “Well, it's none of your business, anyway. And if you tell my sister, I swear I'll make you regret it.”

Morgan's expression hadn't changed. It was a comical mix of surprise, chagrin and helplessness. Something else, too, something bordering on anger, but she couldn't be sure. He blinked, but didn't say a word. With a sound of disgust, Misty rolled her eyes and started to get to her feet. “Look, I'm sorry about
your bushes. Really. Do you think anyone will notice?” Before he could answer, she added, “But in a way, you're the one to blame. If you hadn't kept prodding me… But that doesn't matter now. I'm feeling much better, fine, in fact, so I'll just go get dressed and get on my way. Please thank your brothers for me. And tell Honey I'll be in touch.”

She was rattled, which accounted for the way she was blathering on and on. She wanted to bite her tongue off. She wanted more coffee.

She wanted away from Morgan Hudson.

He'd slowly stood when she had, and now he stepped in front of her, blocking her attempt at a strategic retreat. “I don't think so, Malone. You're not going to make a confession like that and then just creep off.”

She was too tired, too mind weary to deal with him now. As if speaking to an idiot, she said, “I didn't exactly have creeping in mind. I thought I'd dress, pick up my bags, walk out the front door and drive away. There's a big difference.”

“You were crying. Your eyes are all puffy.”

He said it like a heinous accusation. She waved a negligent hand, not about to explain herself to
him.
“Don't be silly. I always look like hell in the morning. Lucky for you, you won't have to get used to it.”

She started around him again, and this time he picked her up. She would have screamed her head off, she was so exasperated, except she sure as certain didn't want the other brothers witnessing her this way.

Gabe was such a comedian, he'd probably start
joking about the whole thing. And Jordan, with that mesmerizing voice Honey claimed could put a cow to sleep, would do his best to comfort her, which would make her cry again.

And Sawyer—she had no idea how he'd react to his new wife's sister showing up pregnant.

So instead of screaming, she held herself stiff and tried to ignore how easily Morgan carried her, his incredible strength, the delicious way he smelled this morning and her twinge of ridiculous regret when he sat her on the swing.

It had been so long since she'd been held, so long since she'd felt anything like caring or concern or gentleness, she was almost starving for it. Even Morgan's aggressive, demanding concern felt like a balm.

But she was also more savvy now, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Morgan Hudson was not a man to take comfort from.

“Uh, Morgan…”

Hands on his thighs, he leaned down in front of her until their noses nearly touched. “I'm going to go get you some juice. If you move so much as your baby toe before I get back, you won't be happy with my reaction. I mean it, Malone.”

He looked more serious than she'd ever seen him. Not that she was afraid of him and his threats, but again, a ruckus might wake everyone else.

She turned her head away. “Bully.”

“Damn right.”

He sauntered off, but as if he hadn't trusted her to stay put, he was back in less than a minute. Misty hadn't moved, only because she was so tired. For
weeks now she'd been trying to come up with a solution, but the problems just kept adding up, and she hadn't a clue what to do. Finding a job was obviously top of the list. Then she could sell her car to make the first month of rent once she found a place she could afford.

Borrowing money from her father was out of the question. She wouldn't ask him for a nickel. They had never been close and she knew without approaching him what his reaction to her most recent problems would be. Probably even worse than his reaction to her pregnancy, which predictably had been disappointment. He'd give her money, but that's all he'd ever give, never understanding or emotional support. She had enough to deal with without his overwhelming condemnation on her shoulders.

No, she'd rather go it alone than go to her father.

She was still frowning, deep in thought, when Morgan handed her a tall, cold glass of orange juice. The juice looked wonderful, and she accepted it gladly. Sipping, she said, “I thank you—at least for the drink.”

Morgan seated himself beside her and crossed his long arms over his massive chest. With his dark frown and set jaw, he looked belligerent and antagonistic. She didn't like his attitude at all.

She liked him even less.

Knowing he hated it when she acted brazen, and hoping he'd go away and leave her alone with her misery, she said, “You know, you really should show a little more decorum. Running around half naked is almost barbaric. Especially for a man built like you.”

He blinked in surprise, and his brows smoothed out. “A man built like me?”

“Yeah, you know.” She glanced at his hard, hair-covered chest, felt a shot of heat straight through the pit of her stomach and raised her brows. “All muscle-bound. You do that to attract the women? Because while I appreciate the sight of your sexy body, I'm not at all attracted.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to distract me, Malone?”

She sighed. “No, I'm being honest. You're an incredibly good-looking man, Morgan. And evidently a pushy one, too. But I'm not interested in any man, for any reason. I'm through with the lot of you—for good. Besides, I'm leaving today, and with any luck, you'll be long married with kids of your own and moved away before I ever visit again.” She nodded at his chest once more. “You're wasting the excellent display on the likes of me.”

“Oh, I don't know about that, considering most of what you just said was bunk. You are interested—at least in me.” His voice dropped, and he looked her over slowly. She felt the touch of his gaze like a stroke of heat, from the top of her thighs to the base of her throat. “Last night proved that.”

Misty swallowed hard, feeling a new sensation in her belly that wasn't at all unpleasant. “Last night was an aberration. I've had a lot on mind and you took me by surprise.”

He let that slide without comment. “The part about me moving out is true enough, though. But I won't
be far. The house on the hill? That's mine. It'll be ready to move into soon.”

She couldn't see the house from here, but she remembered admiring it when she first arrived. It wasn't quite as large as this one, but it was still impressive. She wondered if he already had the wife picked out, too, but didn't ask. “Good for you.”

Tilting his head, his look still far too provocative, Morgan said, “I'm curious about this professed disinterest of yours, especially considering your condition.”

“My
condition?
” She hated how he said that—just as her father had, just as her fiancé had—with something of a sneer. She wanted the baby and she wouldn't apologize for having it, not to anyone, and certainly not to him. “It's not a disease, you know.”

His gaze hardened. “When're you getting married, Malone?”

The words were casual, almost softly spoken, but they sounded lethal. And his stare was so intent, so burning, she looked at his chest instead of meeting his eyes. “None of your business.”

“I'm making it my business.”

The juice did wonders for settling her nausea and she finally felt more herself. Morning sickness was the pits, and she hoped she got past that stage soon, though now that the worst had happened and she'd been sick in front of Morgan, anything else had to be an improvement. “You do that a lot, do you? Butt in where you've got no business being? I bet that's why you took the position of sheriff. It gives you a legal right to nose around into other people's affairs.”

He looked off to the distance, and Misty, following his gaze, saw that the sun was beginning its slow climb into the sky. It was a beautiful sight, sending a crimson glow across the placid surface of the lake, bringing a visual warmth that had her feeling better already. She sighed, knowing she'd never forget this place and how incredibly perfect it seemed.

Then Morgan spoke again, reminding her of a major flaw to the peaceful setting. Him.

“We can sit here until everyone else joins us if you want, but I got the impression you're keeping your departure a secret.”

She sighed again, actually more of a huff. “You've got no right to badger me about something that is none of your damn business, Morgan.”

“You're family now,” he explained with a straight face. “That gives me all the rights I need.”

Something that ludicrous deserved her undivided attention. She stared at him, almost speechless, but not quite. “
Family?
Get real.”

He looked her over slowly, and she knew, even before he told her, that he was making a point. “Oh, you're family, all right, because if you weren't, we'd never have left that damn gazebo, that is, not until things ended in a way that we'd both have enjoyed. A lot.”

The tone of his voice, both aggressive and persuasive, sank into her bones. Her stomach flip-flopped and her toes curled. Damn him, how could he do this to her now, when she'd just been sick, when she didn't like him, when he didn't much care for her? It
wasn't fair that of all the men in all the world, Morgan Hudson had this singular effect on her.

But then, little in her life had been fair lately.

She shook her head, denying both him and herself. “You're twisting things around—”

“I'm stating a fact.”

“The fact is that you want me as far from your family as you can manage!”

His shrug was negligent, but his gaze was hard. “As you pointed out, everyone else feels differently. Jordan even offered you a job.”

“Which I refused.”

His brows shot up. “You did?”

He sounded surprised, but then, she had been purposely harassing him by letting him think otherwise. That had been childish, and not at all smart. She sighed. “Of course I did.”

“Why?”

Exasperated by his suspicious tone, she explained, “This'll be a shock, I'm sure, but I'm not the party girl you seem to think I am, Morgan. I realize both your brothers were likely just fooling around, but I don't intend to take any chances. I'm not interested in fun and games, and as I already told you, I'm even less interested in being serious with someone. I didn't want to accidentally encourage either of them, so I thanked Jordan for the offer, but declined, and I told Gabe I had other responsibilities and couldn't hang around any longer. So you can relax your vigil. Both your brothers are safe from my evil clutches.”

He didn't react to her provocation this time,
choosing instead to hark back to his earlier question. “When are you getting married?”

He wouldn't give up, she could tell. He looked settled in and disgruntled and determined. She was so tired of fighting men, her ex-fiancé, her ex-boss, even the damn lawyers and the judge. Maybe once she told Morgan everything, he'd be glad to be rid of her. She slumped into her seat, all fight gone. “I give up. You win.”

He didn't gloat, and he didn't sound exactly pleased with himself. He was simply matter-of-fact in his reply. “I always do.” Then more quietly, “When are you getting married?”

“I'm not.” She felt him studying her and she twisted to face him so she could glare right back. “I'm not getting married, okay? There's no groom, no wedding, no happily-ever-after. Satisfied now?”

There was a sudden stillness, then Morgan relaxed, all the tension ebbing out of him, his breathing easier, his expression less stern. She hadn't even realized he was holding himself so stiffly until he returned to his usual cocky self. He uncrossed his arms to spread one over the back of the swing, nearly touching her shoulder, and he shifted, all his big muscles sort of loosening and settling in.

In a tone meant to clarify, he asked, “You're
not
getting married?”

“What, do you want it written in blood? I'm not getting married. The very idea is repugnant. I have absolutely no interest in marriage.”

“I see.” The aggression was gone, replaced by something near to sympathy, and to Misty, that was
even worse. “What happened to the father of the baby?”

Why not,
she thought, fed up with fending him off. “He found out he was going to be a father and offered me money for an abortion.” She wouldn't look at him. The humiliation and pain she'd felt that day was still with her. It had been the worst betrayal ever—or so she'd thought, until she'd lost her job. “I refused, he got angry, and we came to an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“I wouldn't bother him with the baby, and he wouldn't bother with me.”

The swing kept moving, gently, lulling her, and though Morgan was silent, it didn't feel like a condemning silence as much as a contemplative one. Finally he asked, “How long have you been sick in the mornings?”