Chapter Eighteen
His bedroom lived up to the rest of the house she’d seen, or so she judged after she actually had the opportunity to really look at it.
And really looking at it from the middle of the glorious four-poster only added to it. An elegant marble fireplace, French doors leading out to a terrace, a cozy sitting area, local art displayed on walls of rich, deep blue set a tone of relaxed indulgence.
And lying under him, she felt both relaxed and indulgent.
She imagined the lovely cedar chest at the foot of the bed held blankets and throws, and the double mahogany six-panel doors opened to his closet.
She’d still bet that imaginary million he had a suit in there very close to her vision.
She’d gotten a glimpse through the open door to the en suite and its big freestanding claw-foot tub. But only a glimpse, as he’d been dragging her clothes off as he pulled her into the bedroom.
“You’re thinking again.”
“Not really thinking. More admiring. This is a beautiful room. If the third-floor turret room’s a hideaway, this is a sanctuary. You don’t work in here.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“It’s a lot, what you do.” Absently, she toyed with his hair. “It makes my job easier.”
“How’s that?”
“Most guests who come into Après are happy. They’ve had a spa treatment, or taken a hike, had an adventure or a good meal. They’re just looking to continue the happy over a drink. The service shines, and that comes down from the top. The details shine, and ditto. It spreads out to the community when guests go into town, wander around the shops. Anytime I help out at Crafty Arts I see guests come in. And they rarely leave empty-handed.
“So it’s a lot, what you do.” Relaxed, so relaxed she realized if she closed her eyes she’d drop straight into sleep, she gave his back a last stroke. “I’ve been awhile. I should go.”
“You owe me dinner. I took a couple of steaks out of the freezer when you were out on your phone. I’ll grill them. You can handle the rest and we’ll call it even.”
“The rest? What’s the rest?”
“It’s steak on the grill, Morgan. You do something with potatoes.”
He wanted her to stay for dinner, and that was wonderful. But. “I really only know how to do two somethings with potatoes that don’t come frozen in a bag, and only one thing I’ve done more than once. And I usually have supervision.”
“You’ll wing it.”
“I’ll wing it.”
Later, she got an up-close look at the bathroom and enjoyed a sexy, steamy interlude in the biggest shower she’d ever seen outside of HGTV.
She could regret she hadn’t brought so much as a tube of lipstick, but he’d seen the rest of her naked anyway.
Then she got a look at the kitchen.
“Oh, this is so smart. Open this up, because this is how people live now, and still respect the origins. It’s what Gram and my mother did with the Tudor. Do you cook a lot? Because this is a very scary stove.”
“Not a lot, no. Enough to get by.”
“My getting by used to be a salad, takeout, or order in.”
“With frozen potatoes.”
“My Tater Tots are excellent. I can make pork chops. It’s my one thing. And Mexican potatoes—they’re spicy.”
“I like spicy.”
She wandered to the glass doors. “Your back gardens are fabulous. And you have herbs, so I can use fresh. It’s Nina’s mother’s recipe, but the problem is she—and everyone in my house—doesn’t understand or believe in using precise measurements.”
“You don’t measure behind the bar,” he pointed out.
“Don’t attack me with logic when I’m obsessing over potatoes. Where are they?”
He pointed to a lower cabinet, where she found wire baskets and red potatoes.
“Do you have a scrubber thing?”
“Under the sink. How long do they take?”
“About an hour once I— Crap, I’m supposed to preheat the oven. See? Supervision. Jesus, there’s a lot of knobs on this thing.”
Because it amused him, he let her figure it out while he chose a bottle of wine. “I have white if you’d rather.”
“No, the Cab’s more than fine. There! Did it. I think. I’m already feeling the flop sweat.”
While she scrubbed the potatoes, Howl sat beside her, head pressed to her leg. Miles went to the door, opened it. Said, “Out.”
“He’s not bothering me.”
“He needs to patrol.”
“He does?”
“It’s his idea, not mine.” After he closed the door, he turned to her. “Are you going to say this meal requires a salad or a green vegetable?”
“I’m absolutely not going to say that.”
“I’m starting to think you may be, almost, the perfect woman.”
He set a glass of wine on the counter beside her.
“I like salads and green vegetables fine, but I’m currently obsessing about potatoes. I don’t have room for more than that. I need to use that cutting board and one of those knives you have on that magnetic strip like a restaurant kitchen.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Then I need the herbs and spices and olive oil and a baking sheet. And scissors or shears so I can cut some of the herbs out there. He actually looks like he’s patrolling.”
“Because he is.” He set out a baking sheet, kitchen shears, and pointed to the olive oil dispenser, then to a cabinet. “Spices.”
He watched her cut the potatoes into wedges. Amused all over again at the intensity of her focus, he leaned back on the counter, sipped his wine.
He enjoyed his Sunday solitude, he really enjoyed it. But he found it surprisingly pleasant to have her in his kitchen.
She muttered something about garlic, so he pointed again.
When she went out for the herbs, Howl interrupted his routine to race to her so they had another round of mutual admiration.
She came back in, chopped things up. Pulled more things out of the spice cupboard. Dumped things on the potatoes, used a wooden spoon to stir and coat. Grabbed the pepper mill, added that—obviously forgotten, as she stirred it all up again.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it. Anyway, here goes.”
She put the baking sheet in the oven, set the timer.
“You said an hour. That’s thirty minutes.”
“Because that’s when I’m supposed to stir it all up again. I don’t know why, and don’t care. It’s just what I’m supposed to do.”
She grabbed her wine, said, “Whew!” And drank.
“Did you have kitchen duty in your resort training?”
“Oh yeah.”
“That’s why yours is so organized. I skipped kitchen training. My mother cooked. When my father was deployed, we ordered in or went out about half the time. Otherwise, dinner at seven sharp, and there would be green veg.”
“Strict.”
“You bet. Looking back, I realize she’d get nervous when she started dinner. I’d set the table, but she’d check that. Everything lined up just so. Military precision. After the divorce, she kept that up awhile, then she’d toss something together or we’d order in.”
She lifted a shoulder, sipped more wine. “Anyway, that might be where my kitchen phobia comes from. Now she and Gram cook together, talk, laugh. Mom bakes bread.”
“From flour?”
“I know, right?” With a laugh, she tossed back her hair. “She says it relaxes her, and it really seems to. So far, I’ve managed to escape her attempts to teach me.
“What does Howl patrol against?”
“Uncertain. The occasional squirrel gets by him, but I’ve yet to see a bear or deer get through the perimeter. Let’s sit outside.”
He took the bottle.
Howl deserted his duties to prance to the patio table and lay his head on Morgan’s lap.
“It’s so quiet,” she murmured. “You must love it.”
“I do. See much of your father?”
“Hmm? Oh, no. None. I lack the desired chromosomes. For which I’m grateful,” she added, “or I’d probably be saluting or being saluted right now.”
“Plenty of women go into the military.”
She rolled her eyes with another laugh. “The Colonel believes, firmly, women have their place. This is not in uniform unless assigned to office work or nursing.”
“Strict,” Miles said again.
“Oh hell, he’s a down-to-the-marrow misogynist. I didn’t know there was a name for it when I was a kid, but I knew what it was. Anyway, he married again right after the divorce, which made it pretty clear that was the reason he wanted out. I’d say we’re all better off this way.”
Maybe through her filter, Miles thought, but he couldn’t see cutting a child out of his life that way.
“Does Howl patrol while you’re at work?”
“What he does when I’m not here is his business.”
“But when it rains? Then there’s the winters.”
“He’s the one who decided to live here.” Then he shrugged. “He’s got a dog hut in the side yard.”
As if he knew the discussion centered on him, Howl grumbled.
“Is that right? All those late nights, shivering in your hut.”
“It’s heated.” He didn’t like admitting it, but both the dog and the woman stared at him. “And the mudroom has a dog door.”
“All right then. That’s a good deal,” she said to Howl. “You take care of your pet.”
“He’s not a pet. He’s more of a tenant.”
“A tenant.” Her eyes laughed over the rim of her wineglass. Those eyes of sizzling green. “What’s the rent?”
“He keeps bear out of the bird feeders and deer out of the gardens.”
“Fair enough. I’m going to keep all that in mind if I ever get a dog. I wanted one when I got my own place, but it didn’t seem right. Two jobs, hardly ever there. Right now, Gram’s not ready, not when she lost Pa and their Lab within weeks of each other.”
“Same with my father. Not ready, so he spoils this one every chance he gets.”
“Who could help it? Look at that face.” She crooned it while she took that furry face in her hands.
“Timer!”
She dashed to the kitchen.
“I can help it,” he told Howl, then got up to turn on the grill.
When she announced she liked her steak medium rare, she edged closer yet to the perfect woman.
And the potatoes she’d obsessed over hit the right accompanying note. While they ate, Howl—fed and knowing the rules—settled down several feet away.
“So we’re square,” Miles announced as the sun began its western dip.
“If making half a meal qualifies, I’ll take it. And I’m about to feed your ego again.”
“I can make room.”
“I’m so relaxed. I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in—probably never. Thanks.”
“I’ll say you’re welcome, though it’s been pretty obviously my pleasure.”
“And all I had to do was bake cookies. I’ll add to that by doing the dishes before I go. It’s one of my top skills.”
When they’d put the kitchen to rights, he gripped her hips, boosted her up.
“Let’s finish where we started,” he said, and took her back to the couch.
When they’d finished where they’d started, she got dressed again. “Do I really look like I’ve spent the afternoon and most of the evening having sex?”
“Yes. I did my job.”
She pushed a hand through her hair. “Then the reaction when I get home is on you. You be a good boy,” she told Howl while she rubbed and stroked him into delirium.
“You’ve got tomorrow off.”
“Monday’s fun day.”
“Not for me, but I should work it to get home by seven. Come back.”
She looked up from the dog, met those fascinating eyes. “I could stop in town, pick up a pizza.”
“That’ll work. Get a large. Pepperoni, and anything but mushrooms.”
“All right.”
Back in his boxers, he walked her to the door. “See you tomorrow.” Then he backed her against the door and kissed her until her bones melted and poured out of her body.
“Good night. ’Night, Howl.”
He waited in the doorway while she got in her car, waited until she’d driven away before he closed the door.
When he did, the dog let out a mourning howl.
“You’re a grown woman.” Morgan lectured herself as she walked from her car to the front door. “A grown, single woman. You’re allowed to have sex.”
Besides, they couldn’t ground her.
She went in, dealt with the alarm. And seriously considered the cowardly route of going straight up to her room. There, she could shut the door and do a crazed happy dance.
Because she hadn’t just had sex. She’d had lots and lots of great sex and felt, simultaneously, as if she could sleep for the next three days and scale a mountain.
Cowardly and rude, she told herself, because she heard their voices from the kitchen. She strolled back, casually, she thought, to find them sitting at the counter over tea and cake.
Audrey smiled at her, blinked, then ratcheted up the smile.
“Just in time for some of Gram’s famous pound cake. Did you have dinner?”
“Yes. Sorry I was gone so long.”
“You should have fun on your day off. Sit, have some tea. We’re thinking of adding the pound cake to the café menu. Have a slice and see what you think. We’re toying with serving it with raspberries and cream.”
Since they’d brewed a pot of tea, Morgan got out a cup.
“So, you and Miles went out to dinner?”
She felt her back itch as Olivia asked it.
“No, he grilled a couple of steaks. I made those potatoes I know how to make.”
“Isn’t that nice?”
The itch turned into a burn as she grabbed a dessert plate.
“And yes, we had sex. Lots of sex. And I’m going back for more tomorrow.”
Silence rang for a beat, then a second while she lifted the dome off the cake plate.
“Well.” Olivia sipped at her tea. “Those must’ve been some cookies.”
At Audrey’s burst of laughter, Morgan could only stare.
“Oh, sit down.” Audrey patted a stool. “Gram and I remember what it was like. We’re not going to pry. We really want to pry.”
“It’s killing me,” Olivia admitted.
“But we won’t. I’ll say I missed your first time. I did miss your first time, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Morgan got a fork, sat. “College. It wasn’t wonderful.”
“I missed yours,” Olivia said to Audrey. “But I knew when you got home from spring break.”
“That uniform. I was a goner.”
“You’re not talking about Dad? Dad was your first?”
“First and only.”
“The only’s your own fault. I bet that sommelier would put the look in your eye that Morgan’s got in hers.”
“Mom. Wasn’t Pa your first?”
“Please.” Snickering, Olivia ate a forkful of cake. “Remember the era. Free love, baby.” She tossed up a peace sign. “No, he wasn’t my first. But he was my best.”
She looked over at Morgan. “I know Miles is a good man. A bit of a workaholic, but that would suit you, as you’re the same. He wouldn’t have pressured you into sex, and you don’t wear the look of a woman who felt pressured. All that matters.”
“I guess I sort of started it. He has turrets.”
“Is that a sexual euphemism? Do I have to look it up in the Urban Dictionary?”
“No, Gram.” Now Morgan laughed. “Literal turrets. On the house. He caught me goggling at them. And he has this adorable dog. I asked if I could see the inside of a turret, which is just wonderful. And one thing led to another.”
“Do you love him? Is that prying?” Audrey wondered.
“I raised a very old-fashioned daughter. I’m still not sure how that happened. Audrey, they’re young, healthy, single adults.”
“I like him,” Morgan qualified. “I’m attracted to him, obviously. He’s so interesting, with all these layers. And yeah, I respect his work ethic and his dedication to the family business. We’ll see where it all goes, but I’m absolutely fine with where it is.
“This cake is fantastic. I remember this cake now. And yeah, I can see the raspberries and cream. Pretty presentation, plus serious yum.”
“You could take some for Miles when you go over tomorrow,” Audrey suggested.
“That’s okay—he has cookies. And I’m picking up a pizza on the way.”
“Ah.” Sitting back, Olivia sighed. “Pizza and sex—those were the days. It’s hard not to envy youth. And now, since I’m old, I’m going up so I can fall asleep reading my book.”
“You’re not old, Gram.” Morgan pushed off the stool to hug her. “You’re timeless. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“Timeless.” Olivia gave her an extra squeeze. “Even if you weren’t my only grandchild, you’d be my favorite just for that. Good night, ladies.”
“She is timeless,” Audrey agreed. “And I only hope I have her energy in another twenty-odd years.”
Maybe it was the mood, or maybe it was the moment, but Morgan turned to her mother.
“I’m going to pry.”
“I can’t think of a thing I have that’s worth prying into.”
“Why no one since the divorce?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Morgan.” Audrey sighed a little, flushed a little. “I mean, at first I wasn’t sure what to do or where to do it. You were still young enough to need me around, but I had to work. I wasn’t good at anything.”
“Why do you say that? That’s just not true. You could pack up a house on a moment’s notice, then unpack everything in a new place in no time. You ran the house, and when he wasn’t around, you did everything. I barely had chores.”
“I wanted you to make friends, have the kind of happy, easy childhood I’d had. Which was stupid because it wasn’t at all the same for you, ever.”
“It’s not about me right now. I’m asking about you, and I realize I should have asked a long time ago. You weren’t happy. You pretended to be, but you weren’t. Why did you stay?”
“I loved him. Oh, I loved him so much right from the first minute, and it look me a long time to get over that.”
Idly, she turned her teacup around and around in its saucer.
“Maybe that was the problem. I fell so hard, so deep, so fast. I only wanted to be a good wife, a good mother, and I didn’t measure up on either.”
“Stop that. I mean it.”
“You never lacked for anything—other than a solid place, a solid group of friends—and those mattered so much to you. You hated moving, and I kept that right up after the divorce. I was so afraid of making a mistake, admitting I’d made one, that I kept making them.
“You made your own place, your own life, so—”
“Not about me,” Morgan repeated. “Not now.”
“All right.” After letting out a long breath, Audrey nodded. “All right. I stayed because I loved him, and because I wanted you to have a father. I wanted—and it took a long time for me to understand it—but I wanted both of us to have what my parents had, what I had because of what they had together.”
“They loved each other. They loved you.”
“Always. Just always. I couldn’t make that happen for me, for you, and it made me feel like a failure.”
“He failed,” Morgan corrected. “He failed us.”
“Yes. Yes, he did. I’ve been careful what I’ve said about him because I kept hoping he’d soften toward you, reach out to his only child. But he hasn’t, and he won’t.”
“He never loved me.”
Audrey’s eyes welled, but she shook her head, drank more tea.
“No, I’m so sorry. He never loved either of us. Or just stopped, I’ve never been sure. We weren’t what he wanted, or felt entitled to, I guess. I’d get so nervous when he was about to come home.”
“It showed.”
“Parents can be so blind to what their kids know. I was afraid of him—not physically,” she said quickly. “Not that. Never, ever that. But of disappointing him, which I constantly did. He didn’t really want children, but if he had one, he wanted a son. Then I disappointed him by giving him a daughter. He wanted me to get my tubes tied after you were born. I was twenty-four—barely—and wanted more children. It probably stands as the only thing I absolutely refused him. So he got a vasectomy, and that was that.”
“He’s cruel in his way.”
“No, no, not cruel, Morgan. Just always right in his mind, and rigid with it. I wanted a child, I had a child. As long as you were clean, well-fed, well-mannered, well-educated, he’d fulfilled his duty as he saw it. He didn’t want me to work outside the home, so I didn’t. You and the house, wherever it might be, they were my duties. My performance rating, on his scale, never reached above adequate.
“We weren’t suited,” she concluded. “I should’ve let go, taken you, come home. But that meant failure, so I didn’t. Then he let go. He met someone he wanted, who suited him. So he told me he’d filed for a divorce, laid out the terms. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. Shouldn’t have been brokenhearted, but I was.”
“You cried at night for weeks after we left.”
“What we think our children don’t know,” Audrey murmured. “Still, I didn’t come home. Gram and Pa never liked him. They gave him respect as my husband, as your father, but there was never any genuine affection there on either side. So I didn’t come home, because that meant I’d failed.”
And that, Morgan realized, she understood perfectly. Hadn’t she done the same thing after Rozwell?
“Instead, I dragged you from place to place, telling myself we’d find just the right one and settle. But I was running from that failure.”
“You didn’t fail.”
“It felt like failure. He married again the day after the divorce finalized.”
“I didn’t know that. Not that fast.”
“The very next day. God, that was a slap in the face. Replaced, just that easily, after all the years of trying to be what he wanted. So I kept running, then you went off to college, and I was lost.”
“Mom.”
“It came home to me that I’d needed you more than you’d needed me. You’re so like Gram, baby. Strong, driven, independent, and Jesus, so clever. And somewhere in there, I realized I’d done a really good job raising you, and I’d done it on my own. After a while, I came home, and it wasn’t like failure. It was coming home. And somewhere in there, I stopped loving him and saw things, saw him, more clearly. He failed, just as you said. He failed as a husband, and God knows he failed as a father. And we’re still okay.”
“We’re more than okay. I never gave you enough credit for doing so much alone. I’m giving it to you now.”
“It means a lot.” She squeezed Morgan’s hand. “I’m so proud of you. I can regret not coming home sooner, bringing you here, to your grandparents, giving you that solid foundation, but if I had, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now, like this.”
“I resented the moves.”
“Oh, baby, I know you did.”
“But they helped make me what I am. So no regrets. I thought you were weak, Mom, but what you were and are is incredibly strong. Nash women.”
Audrey leaned over, hugged hard. “For purely selfish reasons, I’m really glad you had sex with Miles.”
On a rolling laugh, Morgan leaned back. “Okay. Why?”
“Because, for whatever reason, it opened this door—one I kept closed too long, and just didn’t know how to open again. Now we’ve walked through it together. And we’re just fine.”
“We’re more than fine. I’m glad I came home. The reasons why are horrible, but I’m glad I came home. Did you keep his name because of me?”
“I … I didn’t want you to have a different last name than your mom.”
“You should let that go, too. Hell, so should I.” The idea struck so right she wondered why she’d never thought of it before.
“You know, Mom, we both have the same middle name—Gram’s name.”
“Pa never minded she kept her name. ‘Livvy Nash,’ he’d say, ‘come see this.’”
“I remember. We’d all have the same name if we both went with Nash. Legally. Nash women, Mom. It can’t be that complicated.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Same question to you.”
“Nash women. Yes. Oh, I like that. I really like that.”
“Let’s do it.”
“If you’re sure, I can call Rory Jameson tomorrow, ask how we go about it.”
“Yes. Let’s be who we are, Mom. Audrey and Morgan Nash.”
Later, in her room, she studied herself in the mirror. She couldn’t say if she looked like a woman who’d had a lot of great sex, but she looked and felt like a woman who’d found a kind of contentment she hadn’t expected.
Yes, the reasons for finding it began with horror, and she wouldn’t thank Gavin Rozwell for it. She wouldn’t thank the Colonel either, come to that.
But she lived in a household of strong women, had work she loved, and—at least for now—had a man she liked very much who liked her back.
“Morgan Nash,” she murmured, and smiled to herself. “That’s who I am, and nobody can take that away.”