she put that tree up herself. She stepped back from the door, and he stepped in.
She touched the board. “That’s not what I was expecting,” she said. “Something worn and weathered. When you said it was barn wood, I thought gray.”
“It was, before I ran it through the plainer. Some of this old wood is amazing. This piece came from a barn they pulled down last year that was a hundred and ten years old.” His fingers caressed the wood, too. “Solid oak, as strong and as beautiful as the day they first milled it.”
Morgan was struck again by something about Nate. His work always seemed to be about things that lasted. There was something ruggedly appealing about that in a world devoted to disposable everything.
Including relationships.
There was a tingle on the back of her neck. A relationship with this man would be as solid as he was, a forever thing, or nothing at all.
Don’t you dare think of him in terms of a relationship, the devoted-to-independence woman inside her cried. But it was too late. That particular horse was already out of the barn.
“Where’s Ace?” she said, glancing behind him.
“The Westons took her to the Santa Claus parade and then she’s sleeping over at their place. Ace is thrilled.”
As she closed the door, she read a moment of unguarded doubt on his face. “You, not so much?”
“I don’t know. I don’t quite get the purpose of it. I get going tobogganing, or to a movie. I don’t get sleeping at someone else’s house.”
Don’t blush, she ordered herself. They were not talking about adult sleepovers.
“Sleeping is not an activity,” he muttered.
“Believe me, they won’t be doing much sleeping. Probably movies and popcorn. Maybe some makeup.”
“Makeup?” He ran a hand through his hair and looked distressed. “I hoped I was years away from makeup. And don’t even mention the word bra to me.”
Believe me, that was the last word I was going to mention to you.
He could fluster her in a hair, damn him. She tried not to let it show. “Not serious makeup. Not yet. You know, dress-up stuff. Big hats, an old string of pearls, some high heels.”
“Oh.”
“Is there something deeper going on with you?” she asked. “Something that needs to be addressed?”
Morgan saw she could fluster him in a hair, too.
“Such as?” he asked defensively.
“Any chance you don’t like losing control, Nate?”
He scowled, and for a moment she thought she was going to get the lecture about knowing everything again. But then she realized he wasn’t scowling at her. After a long silence, he finally answered.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted reluctantly. “I felt like I wanted to call the Westons and conduct an interview.”
Interrogation, she guessed wryly. “What kind of interview?”
“You know.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. He sighed. “Just casually ferret out information about their suitability to have Ace over. Don’t you think I should know if anyone in the house has a criminal record? Don’t you think I should know if they consume alcoholic beverages? And how many, how often? Don’t you think I should know if they have the Playboy channel? And if it’s blocked?”
Morgan was trying not to laugh, but he didn’t notice.
“Even if I got all the right answers,” he continued, “I still would want to invite myself over and just as casually check their house for hazards.”
“Hazards? Like what?”
“You know.”
“I’m afraid I can’t even imagine what kind of hazards might exist at the Westons’ house.”
His scowl deepened. “Like loaded weapons, dogs that bite, unplugged smoke detectors.”
She was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She knew it would be the wrong time to laugh. “The Westons are very nice people,” she said reassuringly. “Ashley is active in the PTA.”
He sighed. “Intellectually, I know that. That’s how I stopped myself from phoning or going in. I grew up with Ashley Weston. Moore, back then. She was a goody-goody. I guess if Ace has to sleep somewhere other than her own bed, I want it to be at a house where I know the mom is a goody-goody. Sheesh. The PTA. I should have guessed.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Morgan suggested drily.
“I’m not trying it. Don’t even think about sending me a note.”
There were quite a few single moms in the PTA, probably the same ones who swarmed him at the supermarket, so, no, she wouldn’t send him a note.
“Still—” he moved on from the PTA issue as if it hardly merited discussion “—what about next time? What if Ace gets invited to someone’s house where I didn’t grow up with their parents? Or worse, what if I did, and I remember the mom was a wild thing who chugged hard lemonade and swam naked at the Old Sawmill Pond? Then what?”
No wonder he had an aversion to doing his grocery shopping locally. That was way too much to know about people!
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
“Oh, great. Thanks a lot, Miss McGuire! When I really want an answer, you don’t have one. What good is a know-it-all without an answer?”
Morgan was amazingly unoffended. In fact, she felt she could see this man as clearly as she had ever seen him. She suddenly saw he was restless. And irritable. He had needed to do something tonight to offset this loss of control.
“Is this the first night you’ve been apart since the accident that took her mom?” she asked softly.
He stared at her. For a moment he looked as though he would turn and walk away rather than reveal something so achingly vulnerable about himself.
But then instead of walking away, he nodded, once, curtly.
And she stepped back over the fallen tree, motioning for him to follow her, inviting him in.
Morgan knew it was crazy to be this foolishly happy that he had picked her to come to, crazier yet that she was unable to resist his need.
But how could anyone, even someone totally emancipated, be hard-hearted enough to send a man back into the night who had come shouldering the weight of terrible burdens? Not that he necessarily knew how heavy his burdens were.
He hesitated, like an animal who paused, sensing danger. And what would be more dangerous to him than
