Haven Creek (17 page)

“What are you going to do if Bobby’s been purposefully slowing down?”

“I’ll fire him on the spot,” Morgan replied.

Kara stared, wide-eyed, at the architect. “Who will you get to replace him?”

“Me. That is, until I can find someone qualified to fill the position. I’ll be at Angels Landing every morning around seven thirty to monitor who’s on time and who’s late. The workers are paid to begin working at eight. They’re entitled to a lunch hour, two ten-minute breaks—one in the morning and another in the afternoon—and are scheduled to work until four. If I have to install a time clock for them to punch in and out, then I will.”

“Come on, Morgan. It’s not that critical.”

“Yes it is, Kara. My reputation is on the line here. You’re paying me to fulfill the conditions stated in your father’s will. Stripping wallpaper isn’t like restoring the ceiling and frescoes of the Sistine Chapel.”

Kara held up both hands. “I’m out of this. Do whatever you have to do.”

Morgan nodded. “Thank you.”

Kara pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. “Do you want coffee or tea?”

“Can you make iced coffee?”

“Sure, I’ll make you some. I’ve sworn off coffee, tea, pop, and of course anything alcoholic. It’s just fruit juice, water, and milk.”

“Think of how healthy you and your baby will be,” Morgan said.

“Now you sound like Jeff.”

Morgan stood up and began clearing the table. “I brought my laptop with me so I can show you the wallpaper samples. I need you to tell me which ones you like so I can order the quantities I need for each room before they’re discontinued.”

“We’ll look at them in the sunroom.”

Morgan entered M. Dane Architecture and Interior Design through the rear door. The soft chiming of a bell alerted the receptionist that someone had come in. Seconds later, Samara Lambert appeared in the open doorway to Morgan’s private office. In deference to the heat, Samara had brushed her shoulder-length brown hair off her face, holding it in place with a red-and-white striped headband. With her freshly scrubbed face and white sundress, banded with candy-cane stripes at the hem, she looked as if she were in her early twenties rather than her midthirties. A pair of red ballet flats completed her look.

Samara’s lips parted in a knowing smile. “I know I look like a little girl, but this is the coolest thing I could find in my closet. It’s one of my matching mother-daughter dresses.”

Morgan placed her tote on a chair. “You look adorable, Sam.”

“That’s exactly what Nelson said to me before he left for work this morning.” Pulling a crumpled tissue from her pocket, Samara dabbed the back of her neck. “And you look like the princess of cool.”

“I had to search my closet to find this dress.”

“I nearly melted before I got here. The air went out in my car last night and I had to drive from the Creek with all the windows rolled down.” There were red splotches on Samara’s pale cheeks.

“You can’t drive around in this weather without air-conditioning,” Morgan said.

“I know. I left the car at the service station, and one of the mechanics told me he’s going to try to get to it today. If not, then it won’t be until tomorrow.”

Walking over to the thermostat, Morgan lowered the temperature so more cool air would flow through the vents. “Are we scheduled to see anyone today?”

Samara shook her head. “No, but a messenger delivered an envelope before you walked in.”

“Maybe we’ll—” The doorbell chimed, interrupting Morgan.

Samara turned on her heels. “Let me see who that is.”

Morgan sat down at her desk, picking up several letters. She noted the return address on the envelope that had been hand-delivered. It was from Sullivan, Webster, Matthews and Sullivan. She opened the envelope and read the cover letter, signed by David. He wanted Nate to go over the enclosed contract, sign it, and return it to him within ten days.

Samara returned, handing Morgan a single sheet of paper. “Someone from the mayor’s office delivered this.”

Morgan scanned it quickly. It was a power-outage alert, warning businesses to conserve energy until further notice. The power company planned to have rolling brownouts to prevent a potential island-wide blackout. There was also a recommendation that businesses extend their midday siestas by two additional hours until further notice.

Her head popped up. “Instead of closing between twelve and two, we’ll have to remain closed from twelve until four.”

An expression of panic crossed Samara’s face. “That means I’ll only get two work hours.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam,” Morgan said, in an attempt to put her at ease. “Your pay will remain the same, and you’ll get to spend more time with your children.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Any calls that come into the office will be forwarded to my cell.”

“How long do you think this is going to last?” Samara asked.

Morgan remembered the last time the island lost electricity. It was during a thunderstorm earlier that spring. The power had gone out and wasn’t restored until late the following morning. She wasn’t affected because she’d had a backup generator. The year Cavanaugh Island was hit hard from a series of tropical storms, many of the island’s residents bought generators.

“I don’t know, but I prefer brownouts to blackouts. Why don’t you pack up and go home? After I make a few calls, I’m also leaving.”

Excitement shimmered in Samara’s brown eyes. “Are you sure?”

“You can stay if you want, but after I finish what I have to do I’m going to the beach.”

“I’m gone!” Samara shouted as she rushed to put her desk in order. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you need a ride?” Morgan called after her.

“I’m going to call Nelson and have him pick me up.”

Morgan waited for Samara to leave, locked the front door, and then turned its sign around so that the
CLOSED
side faced the street. She reprogrammed the telephones to go to her cell. Slipping the contract into her tote bag, she adjusted the air-conditioning, turned off all the lights, and locked the rear door.

Outside, the heat hit her as though she had opened the door to a blast furnace, and the humidity wrapped around her like a weighted blanket. Although Morgan was used to the Lowcountry’s subtropical climate, temperatures between ninety-five and one hundred degrees in June were not the norm.

She got into her vehicle, started the engine, and rolled down the windows, waiting for the interior to cool enough to drive off. Reaching for her phone, she punched the speed dial for Nate’s cell. It rang four times.

“Hey, baby.”

Morgan smiled. “Hello, Nate.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m calling to let you know I’m going to drop off your contract. David says he has to have it back within ten days.”

“I won’t be there.”

Her smile faded. Was Nate about to renege on their agreement? “Why not?”

“Right now I’m sitting in the airport. I’m on standby, waiting for a flight to L.A. My former business partner’s sister called to tell me he was shot when someone jacked him for his bike.”

Morgan bit her lip. “Is he all right?”

“All I know is he’s in the ICU.”

“Oh, no.”

“I’m not certain how long I’m going to be away. As soon as I find out where I’ll be staying, I’ll text you the address. Overnight the contract to me. I’ll sign it and overnight it back to you.”

“Thank you, Nate.”

His chuckle caressed her ear. “There’s no need to thank me, Mo. I gave you my word.”

“I suppose I needed to hear it again.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” Her voice had gone up an octave.

“Hold on, Mo. They just called my name. I think I have a seat. Gotta go.”

“Okay. Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks. Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” she whispered.

Shifting into gear, Morgan maneuvered out of the parking lot. Mixed feelings surged through her. She felt a sense of loss at knowing Nate was leaving. When had she begun to lean on him? He’d questioned whether she trusted him, and somehow, despite being away from each other’s lives for more than two decades, she did.

N
ate walked into the hospital room, stopping abruptly when he saw Dwight Wickham sitting up in bed. The machines monitoring his vitals were gone, leaving only the IV taped to the back of his hand.

“Well, look at you.”

Dwight extended a fist, smiling when Nate gave it a bump. “I’m baaack.”

His friend had spent the past eleven days in a medically induced coma to bring down the swelling where a small-caliber bullet had lodged in his brain. Nate had promised Dwight’s sister he would stay in L.A. until the neurosurgeon deemed it time to reverse the coma.

Jacqueline had called him, hysterical, when she’d discovered Dwight lying unconscious in his driveway, his top-of-the-line BMW motorcycle missing. She’d apologized, saying she’d called Nate because Dwight had listed him as a secondary contact in the event of a medical emergency.

Sitting on the chair at the foot of the bed, Nate stared at Dwight. Not only were they friends and former business partners, they were also kindred spirits, sharing the same birth date. His friend always joked about being born in the wrong decade, because he would’ve loved living as a hippie. But that didn’t stop him from looking like one: full salt-and-pepper beard, waist-length ponytail, tie-dyed shirts, and bell-bottoms.

“How are you feeling?”

Dwight’s left hand trembled slightly when he reached up to touch his bandaged head. “Except for a bitch of a headache, I’m good. You know the SOBs cut my hair and beard? It took me more than twenty years to get it that long.”

Crossing one leg over the opposite knee, Nate leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, where he’d spent hours watching Dwight hooked up to beeping machines. He’d told Jacqueline he wanted to be there when her brother woke up.

“It’ll grow back, DW.” He didn’t want to tell the eccentric self-made millionaire that he’d looked like a homeless person with his long hair and unkempt beard.

“I’ll have to see what I look like with a shaved head before I decide whether to grow it back. Women claim men with bald heads are sexy.” He flopped back against the pillows cradling his shoulders. “I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’ve lost twelve years of my life rather than twelve days.”

“You’re alive, DW. That’s all that matters.”

“If they’d wanted the damn bike I would’ve given it to them. In fact, I would’ve taken them to the dealer and bought both of the bastards a new one. The young one with the gun threatened to shoot me before I handed over the keys.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

Dwight’s eyelids fluttered. “No. I installed closed-circuit cameras around the house a couple of months ago. There’s no doubt the police will be interested in seeing the footage.” Dwight’s large gray eyes stared at the ceiling. “When I looked down the bore of that gun, it was as if I saw my life flash before my eyes, Nate. I tried remembering the names of the women I’d slept with and realized there were too many to count. There were a few I loved enough to marry, but I didn’t want to change or stop what I was doing.” His gaze swung back to Nate. “I envied you when you married Kim, because you seemed so happy. That’s when I proposed to Nicole.”

“You never told me that.”

A wry smile twisted Dwight’s mouth. “That’s because she said she couldn’t introduce me to her conservative right-wing parents with me looking like a blast from the seventies. All she did was ask me to cut my hair and beard, and I refused.”

“Do you keep in touch with her?” Nate asked.

“We still exchange Christmas and birthday cards.”

“Is she married?”

“No.”

“Are you still in love with her?” Nate asked.

A beat passed. “Yeah. I always think of her as the one who got away.”

Nate pointed to the telephone on the bedside table. “Call her, DW. Call her and let her know you’re ready to meet her folks.”

“I don’t want her to come back to me just because I’m lying in this bed.”

“It shouldn’t matter where you are. If she loves you then she’ll take you lying down or standing up.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dwight promised. “If I do call her, it’ll be after I’m discharged.”

Nate uncrossed his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m going to make one request.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to be your best man.”

Dwight laughed. “Not only will you be best man, you’ll be the godfather to my firstborn.” He sobered quickly. “What about you, man? Are you seeing anyone?”

Nate thought about Morgan. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day he left. He’d kept his promise to text her the address of the hotel where he’d been staying. Two days later he received the envelope with the contract. He’d wanted his lawyer to look it over before he signed it, but three thousand miles and the ten-day turnaround time made that impossible. He’d scrawled his signature across all three copies, and, using the hotel’s concierge, mailed them back to Morgan.

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d stopped himself from picking up his cell phone to call her just to hear her sultry voice. “Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes, I’m seeing a woman. But it’s not serious.”

“You’re friends?” Nate nodded. “That’s a good sign. Nicole and I dated for almost a year before we slept together.”

Nate pushed to his feet. “It’s time I leave so you can get some rest. Now that you’re okay, I’m going to head back home.” He walked to the side of the hospital bed. “I’ll probably see you once more before I leave.” Resting a hand on Dwight’s arm, Nate gave it a gentle squeeze. “When you’re back on your feet I want you to come to Cavanaugh Island for a little R-and-R. The invitation extends to Nicole. I just built a place with an extra bedroom, so you have no excuse.”

Dwight covered the hand on his arm with his. “I promise I’ll come, with or without Nicole.”

“I’ll haunt the hell out of you if you don’t keep your promise.”

Waiting until he was seated in his rental car, Nate took out his cell and tapped the keys for Morgan’s number. It was a little after eleven on the East Coast. He sat up straight when his call was connected.

“M. Dane Architecture and Interior Design. This is Samara. How may I help you?”

Nate hesitated. He’d dialed her office number when he’d wanted her cell. “Hello, Sam. This is Nate. Is Morgan available?”

“I’m sorry, Nate, but she’s not here. She’s meeting with Bobby. He’s the project manager. Do you have the number to her cell?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I think you should call her.”

There was something in Samara’s voice that made the hair stand up on the back of Nate’s neck. “I will. Thank you, Sam.” Scrolling through the directory for Morgan’s numbers, he tapped in the right one this time.

“Hi, baby,” came her throaty greeting.

“Hi back to you,” he said, grinning.

“I couldn’t believe it when your name came up on the display. I’d thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Never happen, baby. I didn’t call you because I know you’re busy with all your projects.” She laughed, the sound sending shivers up Nate’s back.

“You know I’ll always make time to talk to you.”

“Is everything all right, Mo?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I heard something in Sam’s voice when she said you were meeting with the project manager.”

“You spoke to Sam?” Morgan asked.

“I called your office by accident.”

“What did she tell you?”

A frown appeared between Nate’s eyes as he squinted through the windshield. “Nothing. What’s going on between you the project manager?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Talk to me, Morgan.”

Nate listened as she told him about the wallpaper issue. “There’s a faster method that uses fabric softener and water to loosen the old adhesive.”

“I told him that, but he says he prefers using metal putty knives.”

“That’s old school, Morgan.”

“Well, it’s apparent that Bobby is old school. What he’s going to be is fired if he doesn’t finish all the stripping by the end of the month.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Nate asked.

“No. I’d wanted to talk to you about different stripping methods, but I researched it on my own.”

“I’m coming home as soon as I can reserve a flight. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to show me plans for the house before you take me on a walk-through. I’ve worked on enough old buildings and houses to judge how long it should take to restore something.”

“We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

He heard a soft beeping that indicated his phone’s battery was low. “Before I hang up I’d like to ask whether you’d attend the Island Fair with me.”

“We’ll talk about that, too, when you get here.”

“Did someone else ask you first?”

“No, Nate. You’re the first one.”

“If that’s the case, then why won’t you give me your answer now?”

“Hold on, Nate. David just walked in with your check and a copy of your executed contract.”

“You talk to David. I’ll see you when I get back.”

Nate ended the call without saying good-bye. A shadow of annoyance swept over his face, turning it into a mask of stone. Law firms had messengers on staff to deliver and pick up important documents. Why, he mused, did David feel the need to play messenger boy? Was it a ruse to continue to see Morgan under the guise of business?

Even though he wasn’t prone to listening to or repeating gossip, Nate remembered the talk about someone noticing that David’s Lexus had been parked overnight at Morgan’s house.
What’s funny is there’s nothing going on between David and me. We’re just friends.

Why, he mused, did he remember her words as though she had said them minutes ago instead of weeks ago? Nate wanted to believe Morgan, but David’s name came up much too often for them to be just
friends
. Nate had come to detest the seven-letter word. Children were friends. And David and Morgan were no longer children.

Sitting in the car, he cursed to himself. Nate felt pain shoot through his right hand, and when he looked down he realized he’d gripped the tiny phone so hard it’d left an impression on his palm. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he started the car and drove out of the hospital parking lot faster than the posted speed. He had to get back to his hotel room, pack, and check out. After he turned in the rental car he would try to secure a flight to Charleston. He’d have to see Dwight on his next trip out.

Morgan came awake when she heard the doorbell. Sitting up, she stared at the clock on the bedside table. It was after two in the morning. Swinging her legs over the bed, she practically ran out the bedroom, Rasputin following close behind. She couldn’t imagine who would come to her home at this hour.

Peering through the partially closed blinds, she saw Nate leaning against the porch column. Counting slowly to ten, she tried slowing down the runaway beating of her heart. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably when she was finally able to open the door.

“What wrong?” The two words came out in a breathless whisper.

Taking two long strides onto the porch, she found herself in his arms, his mouth coming down on hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. Her arms circled his neck, holding him close as her lips parted under his. She moaned as their tongues touched. Holding her aloft, Nate carried her inside the house, kicking the door closed behind them.

Morgan felt as if a part of her had left her body, leaving her in suspended animation as she tried to understand what was happening to her. Was she dreaming, fantasizing about Nate making love to her? Cradling his face in her hands, she gave in to the wonderful sensations coursing through her body. It was only when she felt Nate’s growing erection against her middle that she was jolted back to reality.

“Don’t.” The single word of protest sounded weak even to her ears. However, it was enough to make Nate raise his head. His breathing was labored, as if he’d run a grueling race.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he moaned in her ear.

“Then why are you here at this hour?”

“I missed you.”

“You come to my house at two in the morning to tell me that you missed me?” She laughed softly when Nate placed tiny kisses all over her mouth.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve called and told me that.”

Nate angled his head. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Morgan covered her mouth to keep from blurting out how much she’d missed Nate. Missed seeing him, hearing his slow, drawling cadence, inhaling his cologne, and waiting for his kisses.

She lowered her hand. “When I saw you standing there I thought something had happened.”

Nate dropped his arms. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he repeated softly. “I’m sorry if I woke you, but I need to know now if you’re going to the Island Fair with me.”

Morgan was even more confused than before. Nate claimed he missed her, yet she’d gotten only one telephone call and two texts from him in two weeks. She also knew that going to the Island Fair with him would be like taking out a full-page ad in the local paper announcing they were a couple. It had been a tradition among island teenagers that whomever you attended the fair with would become your boyfriend or girlfriend for the summer.

“What’s the rush, Nate?”

“The rush is I want to ask you before someone else does.”

“Even if they do it doesn’t mean I’m going to go with them. Now please go so I can get some sleep. I plan to go to the early service tomorrow.”

Nate touched her thigh, his hand sliding up her bare hip under a cotton nightgown. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until he left, closing the door behind him, that Morgan slid to the floor. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to muffle cries of sexual frustration. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

Everything she’d dreamed had come true, and for reasons she didn’t understand she couldn’t tell Nate that she had missed him. That she didn’t want him to stop kissing her, and that if he’d asked she would’ve let him make love to her. But she feared he wouldn’t continue to date her or be willing to take things to the next level once they slept together.