The Buckhorn Brothers Box Set: Sawyer\Morgan\Gabe\Jordan (26 page)

She flinched at his tone but didn’t bother trying to move away from him. Just that simple touch, his hand on her shoulder, made her acutely aware of him as a man. She almost hated herself. “What now?”

She turned to face him, trying to look irritated when she was actually breathless. The moonlight was brighter. She could see his every feature—the strong, lean jawline, the harshly cut cheekbones. He was by far the most impressive male she’d ever seen, but then, his brothers were nothing to sneeze at. There must have been a mighty impressive gene pool somewhere to create all that masculine perfection.

He stared at her, not answering at first. He shook his head, distracted, and just when he started to speak, another voice intruded.

“There you are.”

Morgan looked up. “Casey. What in hell are you doing out here?”

Misty turned to see Sawyer’s son. At sixteen, Casey already showed signs of his own masculine superiority. He was tall, nearly six feet, and had the bone structure that promised wide shoulders and long, strong limbs.

“Dad wanted someone to find you and haul you back inside.”

Morgan shook his head. “And of course, you just naturally volunteered for the job.”

Casey chuckled. “Actually, Uncle Jordan and Uncle Gabe beat me to it, and they did seem pretty anxious to come out here and fetch you in, but Dad told me to go instead, on account of he said you wouldn’t slug me.”

Morgan threw an arm around his nephew, held him in a brief headlock and then started them all toward the door. “Don’t be too sure of that, boy. My affection for you is kinda thin at the moment.”

With a laugh, Casey said, “I’m not worried. I can still outrun you.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m fast—and you’re getting old.” Casey ducked quickly under Morgan’s arm and came to Misty’s side. Walking backward, his grin wide, he said, “Dad also told me if you didn’t want Honey to get after you, I should walk Misty in and you should come in after.”

“He said all that, did he?”

“He said you wouldn’t want to shatter Honey’s skewed illusions, being as she doesn’t know the real you, yet.”

Casey was having a fine time of it, pestering his uncle. Misty smiled to herself, amused at their close camaraderie and a little wistful. Her own family consisted of Honey and her father, since her mother died when they were young. Her father had been overbearing and overcontrolling, cold, without the foundation of love that would have made those personality traits more bearable. If it hadn’t been for Honey, she didn’t think her childhood would have been at all tolerable.

Casey seemed to have a fantastic family foundation. It was easy to see why Honey had fallen in love with the whole clan.

Morgan stopped just out of reach of the patio, still in the shadows where the lights didn’t reach. “You go on in, Casey, and tell your dad I expect him to control his wife. We’ll be there in just a moment.”

“Dad said you’d say that, and then I was supposed to tell you he’s sending Uncle Gabe and Uncle Jordan out in two minutes.”

Morgan made a playful grab for Casey, but he jumped back, laughing. Holding up his hands, he said, “Hey, it was Dad, not me!”

Morgan reached for him again and Casey hurried to the door. After he opened it, he yelled back, “Two minutes, Uncle Morgan!”

“Damn scamp.”

Misty was still smiling, though she felt great sadness inside. “You’re all very close.”

“We helped to raise him. Sawyer got full custody when Casey was just a little pup, and between raising him and finishing med school, he would have been frazzled for sure if we hadn’t all pitched in. Not that it was a chore. Hell, Casey’s always been a great kid, even if his sense of humor is sometimes warped.”

Misty stared at him, dumbfounded. “
You
helped raise him?”

“Yeah, sure. Along with my mother and the others. What’d you think, that I was too reprehensible to be around a youngster?”

Actually that was exactly what she thought, but she kept the words to herself. “I was just…surprised. The idea of four men raising a baby…”

“Yeah, well, like I said, my mother taught us what we needed to know. But she felt real strong about Sawyer being involved as the dad, and that meant the rest of us just kinda chipped in. I was…let’s see. Nineteen at the time. I’ll admit, the diaper thing threw me for a while there, and having formula spit up on me wasn’t exactly a treat.” Then he grinned. “But the whole uncle bit really turned the girls on. Hell, every time I took Casey into town with me, they’d come on like a mob.”

Misty rolled her eyes. “What a lovely image.”

Morgan laughed, but then his laughter died. “Look, about what happened…”

“You already made yourself pretty clear, Morgan. I don’t think we need to beat it into the ground. I said I’d leave in the morning, and I will.”

He ignored that and sighed. “Malone, I care a lot about your sister. I wouldn’t want her upset.”

She could only stare at him. “You’re worried I’ll say something to Honey? What? Am I supposed to go tattle on you, is that it?”

Even in the dim light she could see the way he locked his jaw. “She wanted us to be friends.”

“Good God!” she exclaimed, and when he frowned she added, “All right, forget the disbelief. For your information, I happen to love my sister.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I wouldn’t do
anything
to hurt her, and that includes disillusioning her about her new family.” She poked him in the chest, her frustration level going right out the window. Her entire life was presently in the toilet, and Morgan Hudson was worried about her discretion? Ha!

“As far as I’m concerned, Honey can think we got along like best pals. But until I can get out of here tomorrow morning, stay the hell away from me.”

She turned and stalked in, but at the door, she couldn’t resist looking back one last time at Morgan.

He stood there in the moonlight, head tilted toward the dark sky, eyes closed, jaw clenched. His big hands were knotted into fists on his hips. Misty felt herself shiver, even though the evening was oppressively hot.

She knew then that he was right. Tomorrow morning she would leave Buckhorn behind. Hopefully, she’d think of somewhere to stay in the meantime.

She’d spent all her savings fighting the criminal conviction, and lost. She was homeless, out of a job and with no prospects.

And that was the least of her problems.

* * *

I
F
M
ORGAN HADN’T
been lying there awake, his body frustrated, his mind disturbed by sensual images, he might not have heard it. But he hadn’t slept a wink all night, too busy remembering the sweet taste of Misty, the way she’d felt pressed against him. Perfect. Willing.
Hot.
Though his head told him things had ended when they should, his imagination had insisted on conjuring up a different ending to the tale, and he’d been rock hard and hurting for more hours now than he cared to admit. It was like suffering the curse of wretched puberty all over again, and he had Misty Malone to thank for it.

The squeak came again, and Morgan recognized the sound as the porch swing that hung in the huge oak at the back of the house. Throwing off the sheet that covered him, he stalked naked to the open window and listened. His room was at one end of the house, opposite to Sawyer and Casey’s, with the entire living quarters in between so they all had privacy.

Morgan’s bedroom faced the lake, as did Sawyer’s. As did the porch swing.

Someone was out there and his gut instinct told him it was Misty. He felt it in his bones, by the way his heart beat faster, by the way his stomach knotted. Only Misty had ever had that intense effect on him, and he figured it was mostly because he had to deny himself. If she wasn’t related by marriage, if he could have spent a long, hot weekend with her, indulging all his cravings, he’d be able to get her out of his system.

But he couldn’t, and that was the only reason for his obsession. He was sure of it.

Morgan saw that the moon hadn’t completely set, even while dawn was struggling to break. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was barely five-thirty. What was she doing up so early, hanging around outside? Looking for more ways to torment him?

It took him a mere two seconds to decide to go see her. He knew all the reasons he shouldn’t, but something overrode them all, some basic need to spar with her one more time before the rest of the family would be there to pull him back.

He was still buttoning his favorite pair of worn, comfortable jeans, and wearing nothing else, when he stepped out of his room. At the last minute, he stopped, went back into his bedroom and then into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth, giving a disgusted glance at his morning beard and disheveled hair, then decided to hell with it and headed out. But when he passed the kitchen, he halted again and concluded a cup of coffee was definitely in order, if for no other reason than to help him get his bearings before facing her again. She threw him off balance with just a glance, and set his teeth on edge with blinding lust.

As he hurriedly measured the coffee, being careful to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake anyone else, he thought about Misty and how she would look so early in the day, her dark hair still tousled, her eyes soft and warm. He imagined her still in her nightgown, something thin and slinky, and he almost dropped the carafe of water. The anticipation he felt was ridiculous, but real.

For at least a few hours this morning, he’d have her all to himself.

Jordan had an apartment above the garage and would be oblivious to anything and everything until at least ten o’clock. He liked to sleep late on the weekends, his only chance to catch up from his busy week.

Gabe might not even be back yet. He’d been surrounded by the single women of Buckhorn when last Morgan had seen him. But if he was home, his rooms in the basement would insulate him from the normal busy-house noises.

As for Sawyer, he was no doubt occupied with his bride. Morgan wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t leave the bedroom all day. He grinned at that thought, remembering how Casey had told his father to feel free to linger, that he’d take care of all the chores for him.

Morgan was still grinning and feeling a little too anxious when he silently stepped outside with two steaming mugs of coffee. His bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wet morning grass as he walked to the swing. It was a bit chilly, a heavy fog hanging over everything, which turned his first sight of Misty, her back to him, curled up on the swing, into a whimsical, almost ethereal picture. He was only two steps away from her when he heard her give a delicate sniff.

Everything masculine in him froze, and he experienced that incomparable dread men suffered when women turned to tears. He didn’t know what to do. He strained to hear, hoping he’d misunderstood the sound, hoping she had a cold.

She sniffed again, then dabbed at her eyes with a wadded tissue.
Oh, hell.
Morgan felt a hard, curling ache around his heart and closed his eyes for a moment. The fact that her tears bothered him so much was a sure sign that things were out of control. Just physical attraction, he insisted to himself, despite his burgeoning sympathy and concern. Shoring up his nerve, he announced himself by clearing his throat.

Turning around so quickly she nearly upset the swing, Misty stared at him. She had glasses on, which he’d never seen before, and her hair was tied back with a plain elastic rubber band, long tendrils carelessly escaping. Even in the gray predawn light, he could see that she blushed.

Truth was, she looked like hell, and he hadn’t thought such a thing was possible. Her nose was red and her eyes were hidden behind the reflection of the glasses. His simmering lust died a rapid death, not because of how she looked, but because he knew she was upset, and he was horribly afraid that
he
was the reason.

Not knowing what else to do, he held out one cup of coffee, for the moment ignoring her distress. “I heard the swing and figured you could use this.”

She glanced at the cup as if it might hold arsenic. Morgan sighed. “It’s coffee. Lots of sugar and cream. I figured since Honey drank hers that way, you likely did, too.”

She took the cup, sipped, then quietly thanked him. Without another word, she turned her head to stare toward the lake, which could barely be seen through the fog. She had simply and plainly dismissed him. Her wishes couldn’t have been any more clear than if she’d come right out and said,
Go away.

Nettled, Morgan pretended not to notice.

He moved to sit beside her, never mind that there wasn’t really enough room. She quickly scrambled to get her legs out of the way, and it was then he noticed she was wearing a soft old cotton housecoat. No belt, just fat buttons all the way down the front. It looked loose and comfortable, like something that his sixty-year-old mother would wear when she wasn’t feeling well. All the buttons were done up except the top one, and Misty clutched that small span of material together with a fist.

Morgan pushed a bare foot against the ground, making the swing sway gently, mindful of the coffee they each held. He kept his gaze on her profile. “You wear glasses.”

She didn’t answer him.

“I guess that answers the mystery of your big blue eyes, doesn’t it? I always figured the color was a little too clear, a little too good to be real. Colored contacts?”

Her shoulders stiffened and she turned to him. Over the rim of the glasses, she glared and gave him a view of those perfect, clear, startling blue eyes, unadorned.

Morgan stared into her eyes, then whispered, “I guess I was wrong.”

She turned away again, but muttered, “It’s not the first time.”

Ignoring that, he touched the rubber band sloppily knotted in her hair. “Rough night?”

One hand clutched the coffee mug, the other a damp tissue and the top of her housecoat. She hesitated, then slanted him another look over her wire-framed glasses. “If that’s what you want to think, why not? I mean, you left before me, so it’s entirely possible that once you were gone, I staged an orgy in that nice little gazebo you showed me.”