appeared again, then she stopped. She turned and tilted her head and, even at the distance, he felt the impact of her gaze meeting his. Instinctively, he raised his hand in greeting and saw her do the same. He didn’t even think twice before cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting down at her, “Come on up!”
She cocked her head to one side, then touched her right ear. He thought he could hear her reply, “What?”
He yelled louder. “Come up!”
This time he knew she heard him and was pleased when she nodded, waved, then started walking toward the bluffs. She was soon out of sight, and he waited. Just when he was starting to think she’d simply vanished, he heard her footsteps hit the wooden treads of the deck steps, then she appeared around the corner of the house.
Her hair was curling furiously around her shoulders, and her makeup-free face showed more than a few freckles. She wore slender jeans, her leather jacket open to show a white shirt tucked into the band at her narrow waist and boots that looked too heavy for her to walk in. The smile she gave him made his heart catch for a moment, then he smiled back. “Another house call?” he asked, wondering why he couldn’t just say, “Good to see you again.”
She came closer, and he saw her lips were as pale and as full as he remembered, and she probably wasn’t more than five foot three or four. She had her hands pushed into the pockets of her jacket and color touched her cheeks from the cold.
“I guess you could call it that,” she responded in a voice that was soft yet throaty at the same time. He saw her gaze flick over him before she met his eyes again. “You know, if you run around half-dressed in this weather, it can’t be good for you.”
He waved aside her comment, saying, “I’m cold-blooded,” and was taken back when she flashed a grin so bright it felt as if the sun had just broken through the clouds.
“Like your ancestor?”
He chuckled at that. “No, that old guy was hot-blooded, in the truest sense of the word. He had eight children, two illegitimate, at least that he knew of.”
Her smile turned rueful. “Well, that’s a fact I hadn’t heard before. How about you? Eleven small Graces hiding around here?”
“I told you, I’m cold-blooded.”
She shrugged. “I guess so. It’s freezing out here.”
He motioned with his head toward the open door. “Come on in, and I can get you some hot coffee or something more robust.”
“Hot grog?” she asked, the smile growing again.
“If you want it, you’ve got it.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” she admitted, and he thought he saw a dimple on her left cheek.
“Come on inside and I’ll get the recipe.”
He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then. It was as if he was standing back watching himself flirt with the doctor, and he wasn’t at all sure what the other Ethan was doing. Or if he really wanted it to go anywhere. But with her less than a couple of feet from him, he wasn’t going to question his actions too much. He liked looking at her, enjoyed her smile and remembered her lying on top of him in bed during their first meeting.
“If you have to cook grog, don’t bother. I don’t cook.”
He motioned to the doors again, and she entered the house. He followed her inside and closed the door behind them. “I don’t know if it’s cooked or not, but it does sound good on a night like this.”
She turned to face him, and for a moment, the overhead light caught her in its soft glow. He felt his stomach tighten. She really was pretty in a simple way with her freckles and the bluest eyes. He would have laughed at that little summation if she hadn’t been standing there. Simple? What woman was ever simple? None he’d known.
“Do me a favor and hit the button on the fireplace by the wood cradle.”
She headed toward the couches that faced the view outdoors and the huge stone fireplace. He watched her as she stripped off her jacket, laid it on one of the couches, then crossed to crouch in front of the hearth. Her jeans were tighter than he’d thought, and he felt a familiar tightening in his. It has been a while, he thought as he sat.
He heard the whoosh as the fire caught, and Morgan stood, watching the leaping flames before she looked at him. “Good?”
He studied her. “Perfect.”
She took a seat on the edge of the other couch and clasped her hands on her knees. She’d seemed at ease outside, but now he could sense tension in her. He hoped she didn’t think he was being predatory getting her in here or that he had ulterior motives. Okay, maybe he did, but he hoped he wasn’t that obvious. Calm down, he told himself. Take a deep breath. Enjoy what you can. And he smiled at Morgan. “I’m glad you came.” That was the truth.
She smiled back and murmured, “So am I.”
Good, he told himself. Very good.
LAST NIGHT Morgan hadn’t had time really to look at Ethan Grace beyond the checkup she gave him. Now she had the chance to see the man who held the fate of her father’s whole future in his hands, and to some extent, her own fate. The brown eyes that had been blurred from pain the night before, were now sharp and focused. His dark brown hair was combed straight back from a wide forehead, and his face was all ridges and angles. He had a strong jaw and a nose that surprisingly looked as if it might have been broken at one time.
She had been so relieved to have an excuse to come here and talk to him, but now that she was facing him, her mind was blank. The well-rehearsed words she’d gone over and over on the walk here were gone. “So, the grog,” she heard herself saying simply to fill the silence, “is it cooked?”
He frowned slightly. “I’ll find out.” With that he reached for a phone sitting on a side table to his right and pushed in four numbers. Without preamble, he said, “Find out how you make hot grog.” He hung up and looked at her as if to say, “Mission accomplished,” but all he said was, “Done.”
It was that easy for him—pick up a phone, give an order and know that it will be carried out. An order, such as, “Get Dr. Kelly out of his offices and home by March.” That thought gave her focus and got her past the man himself. “I can’t say I’ve lost sleep at night wondering about hot grog, but just knowing can be a good thing.”
“I guess so,” he agreed.
She felt her hands start to tingle and knew she was clasping them much too tightly. Deliberately she eased them apart, pressed her palms to her knees and rubbed the rough denim of her jeans. “I came here to…” She cleared her throat and didn’t say what she thought she would right then. “To say that I never sent you a bill, so I certainly didn’t expect any payment.”
“I needed help, and you were there. I owe you for that.”
He owed her. This was perfect. Thankfully she didn’t call him on it and say, “You owe me my father’s office and our home.” She shook her head and just said, “I’m glad I could help.”
“So am I,” he replied.
The
