More than life, p.28
More Than Life, page 28
“It ain’t just you,” he said flatly. “It’s the rule ya lemme have when we started this thing together, you an’ me.”
“Yes,” I agreed because I remembered that now.
“I told ya that I didn’t want no one off the ranch alone.”
He had, and I’d forgotten the reasoning and blown it off.
“The rule’s for everyone, not just you.”
And it was. From Wes to Marla to Crew to the newest person at any given time…the rule was the same. He’d made it because over the years he’d seen too many people, from the Ironwood as well as other ranches, get into trouble while they were out alone. From picking fights to road rage to someone else taking out their day on them. If there was another person to be backup, a voice of reason or simply a safety net, it was a great idea, and one I’d agreed with. Just apparently, not for me. It had to be for me as well. There was no special treatment; it wasn’t fair.
“Folks get hurt sometimes, make poor choices, get drunk, get mad—you got someone with ya, gets less likely.”
“Yes.”
“We need everyone, ya reckon?”
“I do.”
“An’ ya know who we all need most?”
I couldn’t meet his gaze, there was no way.
“The ranch is home to a whole lotta people and more than a few animals.”
In retrospect, falling to my death didn’t seem like such a horrible way to go.
“If anythin’ were to happen to ya, where would that leave ’em all?”
Big breath in. “They would all have you, Morgan. You own half the—”
“Somethin’ happens to you, Hart…I’m gone.”
I couldn’t even imagine the ranch without him.
“And if you leave the ranch alone once more,” he said in a hoarse whisper that was scarier than having a gun pointed at me, or the fall through the sky, “I’ll leave ya.”
My breath froze in my lungs.
“I’ll go and I won’t never come back.”
The shiver that ran through me was violent, and I would have dropped to my knees if he wasn’t holding on to me so tight.
“Did you hear me? Are ya listenin’?”
I nodded quickly.
“I will not lose ya ’cause me or my men are not vigilant, ya understand?”
Another nod as I swallowed hard so I wouldn’t cry.
“Ya ain’t a prisoner on the ranch. Ya come and go as ya see fit. But ya won’t do it alone. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I managed to get out, but just barely.
He yanked me forward, back into his arms, and I pressed my face under his chin and sobbed. And yes, a lot of it was the whole day, starting with Blake and ending with Mr. Masters, with Lee thrown in for good measure. But there had been Morgan in there too, with his amazing epiphany about love and sex and new beginnings and hope. It was all running together, a blur of motion in my head. What was clear was the fact that I could lose him simply because I wasn’t listening when he told me what was important to him, to all the people who called the Ironwood home. They all needed me, Morgan the most, and I would take his concerns seriously and act accordingly. Any other choice was both reckless and selfish.
“I won’t do it again,” I whispered into his skin, unable to stop the tears once they started.
“Good,” he said gruffly, squeezing me tighter, face in my hair.
“Don’t leave me. I’m sorry,” I rushed out, rambling. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Just don’t leave me. I love you more than—”
“Life,” he murmured. “I know. Ya told me.”
I had. He knew.
It took several long minutes for me to be able to breathe without crying, but when I was finally done, I realized the tears had been cathartic. And even though my eyes hurt and were red and puffy, the emotions I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying around the whole day were all cleared out. I felt new as I faced Sheriff Lange.
“So,” she said softly before gesturing over her shoulder at her cruiser that Travis Masters was sitting in the back of, “Mr. Masters just confessed to killing his son and trying to kill you. He was going to frame you for Gavin’s murder.”
“Yeah, he told me.”
She nodded. “Did he tell you why?”
“Yes. He’s dying, and because he’s dying, he already signed the ranch over to Gavin, and he, in turn, was going to deed it over to Henry.”
“Jesus.”
“It’s too bad that Asa has to find out about any of this.”
She nodded her agreement. “Well, this does nothing for the issues you have with Henry Quantrell, but it does put the murder to bed.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I,” she said softly, squeezing my arm.
We had to follow her to the station so I could give my second statement in one day. Morgan put me in the passenger seat of my car, and Declan drove the ranch pickup that they’d come in.
“What happened?” I asked Morgan as we pulled out onto the road, following Lange. “How did you know I needed help?”
“I didn’t,” he told me, reaching for my hand and taking it in his. “You left by yerself, and Crew came by the house to tell me.”
“And woke you up, and you found my note.”
“Yes.”
“Well then, I guess I should thank him for telling on me,” I said, smiling as he lifted my hand to his lips.
“Yes, ya should,” he agreed. “’Cause he’s annoyin’ as all hell, but his heart’s in the right place most of the time.”
I didn’t realize how tired I was until I couldn’t keep my eyes open during the short trip. What was nice was how careful Morgan was when he first woke me up and then helped me out of the car.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I said, yawning.
“Always.”
I didn’t doubt it.
Twelve
I made a mistake and fell asleep the moment we got home from our second trip to the sheriff’s office. I went into the bedroom to take a shower, and when I got out, he was there, drying me off, and steered me not back out to the living room but to the bed.
“I have things to do,” I protested, which came out a little whiny. “I have to contact the PR firm and get ahead of the story about Travis Masters. We want to try and minimize the effect of that narrative on our wedding business and—”
“People love a good scandal,” he assured me, tucking me into bed and then sitting down beside me on top of the covers. “I think it’ll be great for our bookings.”
“Maybe,” I croaked out, my voice going with how tired I was. “But I need to call the PR firm and make sure that—”
“I reckon maybe Wes could do that,” he suggested, rubbing my back and languidly stroking my hair. “But we got other things to discuss.”
“We do?”
Apparently he wanted to discuss the possibility of me accompanying him and Wes to the annual Cattle Industry Convention in San Antonio, Texas, next year. He and Wes went every year, just the two of them, but maybe I should become more involved since the ranch was, of course, a member of the NCBA, the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association.
“Am I awake right now?” I asked, terrified that I was. This had to be a bad dream. “Morg, when we have the school field trips out here and the students line up to hear about the ranch, you’re the one that talks about efficient breeding techniques and the importance of animal healthcare, like deworming and antibiotics, and my eyes roll back in my head just like the kids’.”
He grunted in agreement.
“I like the horse-riding part and the feeding-the-cattle part.”
“Yep, I reckon you like the fun stuff more’n the kids.”
“Yes,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “I can’t go to that meeting.” I tried really hard not to whimper when I said it. “I love you, and if you truly love me, you won’t make me go.”
He chuckled and then, for whatever reason, started talking about how one of the things that educating the kids did, which he hadn’t thought about initially, was that it helped with transparency. Showing people how we did things helped dispel outdated ideas about ranches and how cattle were treated.
There was more, I was fairly certain, but I had to admit that his passion for the cows was not the part of ranch life that interested me. For me, it was the people. And it was for him as well, but he always put the cattle first. It was why we worked as a team. Our priorities complemented one another. I would do whatever he thought was best. It was just that hearing about the step-by-step implementation process of whatever he thought we should do always put me into a coma.
When I yawned and stretched the following morning, on Sunday, awoken by knocking on the door, I realized I’d needed to sleep, and since Morgan Brace was a very smart man and knew that if he told me to sleep I would have fought him—there was a lot to do, always—he had instead begun a conversation that he knew perfectly well would knock me right out. It was very sneaky.
There was more knocking at the front door, and Morgan flung off the blankets and rolled out of bed in a fluid motion that was impressive, considering what he did for a living. The constant demands he put on his large, muscular frame should have caused him to have to shuffle first thing in the morning, or at least move at a much-reduced pace. I myself, four years younger than him, felt every bump and bruise from falling the previous day.
“Someone’s about to be dead,” he growled as he tore out of the bedroom. It hit me then, as he disappeared through the doorway, that he was in flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else.
“Wait,” I said quickly, speeding up my movements as well, limping, holding the small of my back, because I didn’t want everyone to see my half-naked man. Hair tousled, carved chest and abdomen there on display, there was a lot to see, and whereas it didn’t bother me the day before yesterday, today, this morning, since he was mine, he needed to cover the hell up.
I turned the corner in time to see him hurl open the front door and snarl at Wes, who was a bit taken aback, standing there with one of the shopping baskets he made that was weaved from willow. I had no idea why he was carrying the large one.
“You and your man over there best change and get yourselves out here, ’cause Henry Quantrell is comin’ up the drive.”
“What time is it?” Morgan growled.
“About a quarter to eight,” he said, smiling devilishly. “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on, Mr. Foreman? You sleepin’ in every day?”
Morgan looked at him and slammed the door in his face.
“Morgan Brace!” I yelled.
He growled and then threw open the door. Wes was chuckling even as he gestured for him to move. Morgan turned and glowered at me as Wes came in and closed the door gently behind him. I watched, amused, as Morgan stalked back across the room and passed me on the way to our bedroom. Following him, I stared as he tugged off his pajama bottoms beside his dresser, then opened and closed drawers as he retrieved underwear and jeans, a t-shirt, a cardigan, and heavy wool socks. The low moan of appreciation rose out of me.
“What’re ya doin’?” he barked at me. “Put on some clothes.”
“Sorry,” I said with a sigh, admiring the sinewy grace of him as he moved, the knotted muscles and sleek skin. “I like the view.”
He gave me that dark scowl of his as I crossed the room to him and took hold of his hips, staring up into his beautiful eyes. My hands slid up his sides, marveling, as I always had, that touching him was like touching warm steel.
“Yer not awake yet,” he lamented, shaking his head. I leaned in and kissed his chest before I moved to the hollow of his throat. He relaxed a bit, then bent and kissed my forehead and would have moved, but I held on. “Hart, we hafta—”
“I just realized that last night was our first one together as a couple in a home we share, and I passed out on you. I’m so sorry.”
He smiled and then grabbed me and hugged me tight. “I had ya in my arms all night long, and I kept thinkin’ how lucky I am that you love me the same as I love you. I was hopin’ for so long that you’d see me, and ya finally did.”
I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back. “I always saw you. I just didn’t know that I could ever have what I wanted more than anything in the world.”
“In the world?” he teased me.
I turned and kissed the side of his neck. “Yes, in the whole wide world.”
We stayed there, wrapped tight together, until Wes bellowed from the kitchen where I could hear him doing something, hopefully making coffee.
“Ya better be makin’ coffee!” Morgan yelled back, which almost, but not quite, blew out my eardrums before he took my face in his hands. “And you, we didn’t need no big deal made of us movin’ in here ’cause this has always been yer house too, just as yours used to be mine. I never felt separate and I know ya feel the same. You’re a possessive man, and you’ve always thought of me as belongin’ to you. The only difference now is you can tell everybody.”
It was absolutely true, and because it was, I voiced my demand. “I want to get married before Christmas, and I want you to wear a ring.”
He didn’t bat an eye. “I can’t wear no ring when I’m workin’, but when I am, I’ll put it on a chain,” he said like the conversation made perfect sense in the moment I’d chosen. “Will that suit ya?”
I nodded as tears filled my eyes.
“All right then,” he rumbled before he kissed me softly, morning breath and all.
As he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, I made lots of noises as I changed into jeans and a t-shirt and a thick cardigan with a wide shawl collar that would protect my neck. I also grabbed one of the many wool beanies Wes had made me.
I was in the bathroom next, to splash water on my face and brush my teeth, and Morgan gave me a kiss on the cheek as he walked out, on the phone with someone, possibly the sheriff. God, she really must have been tired of us.
Finally, I walked out into the living room in time to see Wes putting cups on a tray.
“Morning,” I said, making more noises, one per step, wincing as I began toward the kitchen, whining for good measure.
“Why do you look broken?”
“I fell off a cliff yesterday, in case you’ve forgotten,” I groused at him.
He tipped his head toward the front door. “Just get on out there. I’ll bring ya some water so you can hydrate, along with some ibuprofen and coffee.”
“You’re a nice man,” I told him, changing course, “no matter what Morgan says.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered, but he looked pleased.
When I opened the front door, it looked like some bad Western where everyone was standing around waiting to see who could draw their gun the fastest.
Morgan was on the porch, arms crossed, staring out at the driveway where Henry Quantrell stood in a suit and bolo tie, flanked by Lee and an older man and four others, two of whom looked familiar.
“Morgan,” one of the men said, “long time no see.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’re not supposed to be on the ranch, Ray.”
It hit me who he was then. He was one of Henry’s wranglers that I’d fired for the way he broke horses. It looked like abuse to me, and when Morgan agreed, I’d given him his last paycheck and Morgan took him off the ranch.
“Didn’t figure you for a fag,” he said, the derision clear in his voice.
“Call the sheriff,” Morgan said, sounding bored, as he looked at Henry. “We have people trespassin’ on the ranch.”
So clearly he hadn’t been on the phone with the sheriff earlier. Now I wondered who it was as I turned for the door.
“Wait,” Henry barked at me before telling the four men, who were clearly supposed to be his muscle, to take the second car and drive back to town.
It took a few minutes for them to believe that he was serious, and in that time, I opened the front door, poked my head in and told Wes that we had company, so could he please start on some biscuits, because I was dying for some with honey.
He nodded. “You invitin’ everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Ya gonna insist?”
“I am.”
“Good boy.”
We shared a look before I smiled at him. “Would you call the sheriff for me?”
“You invitin’ her for breakfast as well?”
“Yes,” I said as I realized I was done with waiting. I was proactive in every part of my life except dealing with Henry Quantrell and his son. Even with finding out who killed Gavin, I had dragged my feet until I decided it was time to take a stand. The same needed to happen now. “Have her come eat. Call her on her cell.”
“I would have waited to feed the men and we could’ve all sat down together, but me and the boys been up since five as God intended,” he finished loudly, his voice rising the whole time.
I whined.
“The coffee’s about done,” he said irritably even though I knew very well that he was pleased with me. “Go get your better half.”
“Why is he the better half?”
“Ya don’t see him fallin’ off cliffs now, do ya?”
Christ.
“You oughta be whipped, you know that?”
I was groaning as I ducked back out the front door. After walking over to Morgan, I put my arm around his waist and leaned into his side. One of the SUVs was pulling out, which left only Henry, Lee, and the older gentleman in front of the house.
“Where’s the coffee?” Morgan almost whined. “I could die.”
I snorted. “We’re having it inside.”
He turned to look at me, and I saw how pleased he looked. “Are we?”
“We are.”
His smile was wicked and warm at the same time. “All right.”
“Mr. Quantrell,” I called over to Henry. “May I invite you in, sir?”
His jaw dropped, and I smiled because I had surprised him. Without waiting for him to accept, I tugged on Morgan’s arm until he turned, wrapped his arms around me as I laughed, and carried me to the front door. After opening it, he carried me across the threshold back into the warmth of the house. Wes had started the fire, and I smelled coffee and cinnamon.
