suits, pearl gray, custom tailored. He had tossed the suit jacket over one shoulder and loosened his tie; his blond hair was a bit disheveled from the hot afternoon wind, and there was a lazy look in his brown eyes that she remembered well. He took one look at Erica and started laughing, approaching with the wariness of one who had to search to find a place to kiss. With both hands on her waist from behind, he nudged at the strands of hair at the nape of her neck and kissed with a tickle.
“Morgan! You devil!” she scolded, her eyes automatically brightening at the sight of him. “We haven’t seen you in so long!”
“I just can’t believe it! Miss Country Club turned worker! Honey, when you strip down to the essentials…
“Well, of course,” she said cheekily, knowing exactly what she looked like next to Morgan Shane in his expensive attire. She was barefoot, her hair was tangled and she wore no bra under a T-shirt that should have been in the rag bag. Still, he had the gift. When she first met him she’d been unnerved by the way he mentally undressed anyone in skirts, and because he’d been Kyle’s closest friend he’d been difficult to avoid. Now she felt only a bubble of amusement at his survey of her, immediately aware that Morgan realized she wore no bra, and that her figure was more than passable. Her ego had been low and promptly climbed two notches. “But what are you doing here, Morgan? Aren’t you a little far from palm-tree country?”
“Shane, Inc. decided to have a little look-see in the Midwest with a view toward expansion. That was the excuse. The real reason was to find out why you and Kyle haven’t surfaced above ground since you came to Wisconsin-and besides, I figured you’d be bored by now with no uninvited strangers dropping by once a month to mess up your plans.”
“You’re hardly a stranger. And you could have called ahead of time,” she scolded. “It might just have occurred to you that I’d need thirty seconds to put the house in order and make up a bed.”
“I brought dinner,” Morgan said, defending himself. His eyes were flickering over the shop, and he didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “It actually looks as if the two of you are taking this hobby of yours seriously!”
“Hobby?” she asked blankly as she finished cleaning her hands, rubbed a small amount of cream on them and reached promptly for the grocery bag he was more than patiently holding. She forgot about his strange characterization of their work as she rummaged within. “Steaks! You adorable man, you’ve brought a feast!”
And he brought the cooking skills to go with it. Morgan probably knew his way around a kitchen better than she did-cooking, she often teased him, was his second-favorite bachelor’s hobby. She was duly shooed upstairs to shower and change while he marinated the steaks. Within a half hour they were both seated in the living room. Morgan had uncorked the wine and was pouring it into two glasses.
The long cotton dress Erica wore was older than sin and intended for such. Once Kyle’s favorite, it was a mix of forest and leaf greens, with a low smocked bodice and loose, flowing skirt. Barefoot still, with her hair streaming to her shoulders, she had a sensual sparkle in her eyes that the man across from her made no secret of appreciating.
Erica, on the other hand, was noting with amusement that Morgan had lost no time in making himself at home. His tie littered one table, and his coat was draped on another; his shoes were already discarded by the couch and his keys and reading glasses were stashed on the bookshelves. When he left the next day, which she’d already been informed was the plan, she would have to trail after him the way a mother did a two-year-old. But then, it had been exactly that way on his frequent and just as impromptu visits in Florida.
“I still can’t believe you’re really living here,” he remarked. “I knew that when Kyle’s father died you sold up lock, stock and barrel, but I thought you’d be out of this little town by now.”
“Mmm,” she answered absently as she sipped the smooth light wine. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to get addicted to quiet and country, your work right outside your back door, and your hours your own. Kyle’s family did woodworking for generations, you know…” Speaking of her husband made her conscious of his absence, and she wondered uneasily where Kyle had gone.
“But it’s hardly your style, love.” He settled back against the couch and surveyed the room, his gaze coming back to her with an affectionate smile.
The comment struck her as strange, and she stared at him in puzzlement.
“Well, it isn’t, honey,” Morgan said dryly. “God knows what’s gotten into Kyle. In college, he used to swear he’d never come back here; he hated everything about the place. Manual labor? And for you-”
She shook her head at him. “I’ve never met such a total snob in my entire life. Get off it, Morgan. You say ‘manual labor’ as if you’d have to get up and wash your hands afterward,” she teased. “And just for that, you’ve got KP after dinner.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t mean-”
“You certainly did. I haven’t the least idea what you’re trying to imply, but I am absolutely in love with this place. Now that I’ve made it look so fantastic…” She grinned impishly. “You should have seen it when we first moved here.”
It was not exactly fantastic, their little A-frame house. Their home in Florida, for instance, had been a breeze to decorate: She had merely walked into the best furniture store in town and hired the best decorator. Not this time, though. Erica hadn’t known how long Kyle wanted to stay, and in addition to the shock of Joel McCrery’s death, there was the shock of having to count pennies for the first time in her life. The transition from affluence to debt had been abrupt, mind-boggling, but the worst part of it had been Kyle’s unwillingness to tell her anything. Still…
Her eyes skimmed over the changes they had made. A dark pumpkin-colored carpet covered the large living room floor. Cabinets took up one wall: bookcases, a stereo unit and wood carvings. An imposing piece of driftwood served as the base of a coffee table, with a thick plate-glass top. Her huge crewelwork patterns in the oranges and creams and greens that she loved were centered above an oversized couch upholstered in olive. The living room was sunken; three steps up was the kitchen, with a low tan brick wall serving as a divider between the two areas. Copper pans and plants hung from the ceiling. It was all very bright and very simple, and Erica found more richness in the room than she had ever found in the luxurious surroundings she had been accustomed to from childhood on. “The place on the beach seems sterile now,” she said musingly. “I’m not sure I’d ever want to go back.”
“Sure,” Morgan agreed dryly. “Have another drink, sweetheart.”
He clearly didn’t believe her. “Do you honestly dislike this house?” she insisted.
“It’s a measure of your ability to make a home out of anything, Erica. I just have a hard time picturing the two of you in anything so small. Where is your weaker half, anyway?”
“Kyle? He’ll be back any minute.” She smiled obligingly at his quip, but was uncomfortable at not being able to come up with the exact wheres and whens for her husband. For no real reason, Morgan was the last person she would want to know there was trouble between herself and Kyle. “Tell me what’s been going on since we last saw you,” she urged.
Morgan hesitated, swirling the wine in his glass. “The business is going terrific, if you can believe that in these economic times. We’ve been checking out markets in Milwaukee, Chicago, any number of-”
“You know darn well I don’t mean that,” she chided. “What about Marissa?”
“My God, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said dryly as he took a long drink of the wine.
“So you’ve taken up the hunt again?” Erica shook her head, feeling a mixture of sympathy and exasperation with him. “I thought you were almost talking rings a few months ago.”
Morgan shifted to a standing position and poured them both a second glass of wine. When he turned back to Erica the teasing was gone from his eyes and he looked tired, the crow’s-feet prominent at the corners of his eyes. “There’s not much point in getting married when the chances of divorce are edging toward fifty percent, now, is there?” he asked idly. “My married friends aren’t exactly advertisements for wedded bliss-you two are the only exception. At times I don’t know what I’d do without the pair of you. Since you moved, I’ve felt as if my oasis has been ripped out from under me; your home was the only place I could go to get out of the rat race.” He laughed shortly. “Sometimes I’ve wondered, Erica, if you offer everyone the chance to pour out their troubles to you, or is it just me?”
“Trouble, Morgan?” she asked gently. The brooding quality in his voice immediately aroused her maternal instinct. She had no doubt that across a boardroom Morgan was a solid and ruthless adversary, but when he came to stay with them he always had a stray-cat quality. His life was one long howl at night, with lonely silences in between. He always picked women who were takers, as he was, but Erica had the unaccountable notion that a
