nearness and attention after so long of being starved for even a crumb of care from him was almost impossible to resist.
But then he was laying her on the bed and she stirred enough to realize that he’d managed to pull down the comforter and top sheet. Her eyelids were too heavy to open so she lay there, unable to rally a protest as he made quick work of her shoes then pulled the covers over her.
As suddenly as if someone had switched off a lamp, Selena fell deeply asleep.
She’d slept the day away, and it worried him. He’d almost paged the doctor, but when he was able to rouse her and she’d muttered, “Go away,” Morgan decided she was resting naturally.
Once she woke up, she’d feel like hell after sleeping in her clothes, but there was nothing he could do about that. If he’d gotten her to the ranch, there’d be women around to help her with things like nightgowns.
And bathing. He doubted she could stand up by herself very long, especially on a slippery shower surface, so she’d need help or close supervision. He couldn’t handle that for her either. He’d spent too many years keeping on his side of that line, and he didn’t expect to ever cross it.
The reminder made him wonder again why he was here, why he was doing this, but he didn’t let himself think too deeply on that subject. The tension in his gut was proof of something; instinct warned him to leave it alone.
All he wanted to see was that he’d gotten a call and he’d been compelled to do something for Selena. She didn’t have family who’d close around her at a time like this, so he’d had to at least look in on her. That was explanation enough for why he was here. That and the fact that she might have been killed.
Most of the time, he didn’t let himself think about Selena Keith. But the notion that she’d had a brush with death—and if the impact had hit the driver’s side door just a little more squarely, she might have died—had given him a peculiar sense of foreboding that still rode him hard.
Though he rarely allowed himself think about her, he suspected it was partly because he’d known exactly where she’d been all this time, that she was making her own way and doing well. Until now, he’d let it be enough to know she was somewhere within easy reach. If he’d ever felt inclined to see her, he’d known where to look.
She was still on that same invisible tether he suspected they might always have between them, but her brush with death had jolted that sense of connection. He’d suddenly known that if he didn’t do something to take up the slack between them—and quick—that their invisible tether might snap.
It was a hell of a way to feel, a hell of a thing to want to keep, and it made him restless. There was nothing useful to do in her apartment but wait for her to wake up. He’d looked closer at the pictures in the hall that he’d noticed earlier, seen a couple of himself and felt a sharp nick of regret, then turned on her TV to channel-surf and check the weather and market forecasts. He finally made a few business calls including one to the ranch, before he settled sullenly in her living room to wait.
When suppertime finally came around, he found her phone book, called a restaurant to place a carryout order, then left the apartment to pick it up.
Selena focused blurrily on the alarm clock on her night table. It was 6:00 p.m. She lay there a few moments more, listening, but the apartment was silent. It was the kind of silence that told her she was alone, so she slowly got up, grateful Morgan had gone.
She went to her dresser for fresh underwear and a T-shirt and jeans then walked into the bathroom, pleased that she felt stronger. Nevertheless, by the time she took a quick shower and washed her hair, she was worn out.
Selena sat out in her bedroom on a chair to blow-dry her hair and tried to remember what she had in the kitchen to eat. Her arms tired long before her thick mane of straight hair was completely dry, but it would finish rapidly enough on its own. Since eating something would go a long way to boosting her strength, she got up to make her way to the kitchen.
The moment she stepped into the hall, she heard the apartment door open. Her heart sank as the sound of bootsteps confirmed that Morgan must only have gone out for a while. She’d forgotten he still had her keys so of course he’d be able to come and go at will.
Morgan was just walking into the kitchen from the entryway as she stepped in from the hall. The boxes of hot food he was carrying had the name of a local steak house stamped on the side, so he’d evidently gone out to pick up supper.
The rich, meaty aroma of marinated beef made her stomach clench with real hunger. Hospital food hadn’t appealed to her at all, and now suddenly she was starved. Morgan’s voice was gruff.
“If you’ve got an appetite, this’ll fix it.” And then his blue gaze made a head to toe sweep of her and his neutral expression went stony.
He’d noticed that she’d showered, and it was clear he took a dim view of that. At least he’d kept his disapproval to himself. On the other hand, she couldn’t have missed reading it in his face so he’d communicated as efficiently as if he’s said it out loud.
“Sit down wherever you want and I’ll bring it to you.”
Selena felt her heart shrink in self-protection. “Morgan…I appreciate the food, but after we eat…” She let her voice trail off. She sounded ungrateful enough without adding some version of “you’ll have to leave,” but Morgan knew exactly what she’d left out.
“We’ll discuss it later,” he growled, and Selena was reminded of how very often he growled or was gruff. And also that Morgan rarely “discussed” anything. She wasn’t too sure he knew the definition of the word, at least not the dictionary one.
She offered a lame-sounding, “We can sit at the table.”
“This one or the one in the front room?”
Selena felt an unexpected spark of amusement that she concealed. “The front room,” she said, though she was referring to the apartment’s combination living room/dining room.
For all his wealth and business finesse, Morgan had a very informal manner of speech, along with a few down-home expressions that only a handful of people used anymore. His big house had an old-fashioned parlor that was rarely used, a dining room, a family room, and a living room he called the “front room.”
Since her living room/dining room was nearest the street, he’d of course refer to it the same way. Household terms weren’t a priority for Morgan, and he had a way of making himself understood that didn’t encourage him to amend his vocabulary. And anyway, he hired others to pay attention to those kinds of things because his domain was the outdoors.
Morgan waited for her to lead the way into the dining room end of the “front room” while he followed with the food boxes.
“D’you still eat medium rare?” he asked as she sat down and he put the boxes on the table.
Selena nodded then remembered they’d need something to drink. She braced her palms on the edge of the table and stood stiffly.
His low, “Now what?” made her glance his way.
“I’ll make some coffee. Or get sodas if you’d prefer those.”
“I’ll get the sodas. You can tell me how to make coffee later.” He opened one of the boxes and set out a cardboard
