The Cowboy's Craving (Book 4, the Mackenzies—Morgan) Read online

  He hesitated, glanced around as if looking for help, and returned his gaze to her and sighed. “I think you’re beautiful.”

  She spluttered and choked on the wine. Morgan took her wine glass from her and patted her rather too firmly on the back as she continued to cough.

  “You okay?”

  “I suppose.” She took back the wine glass from Morgan. “You don’t beat about the bush when it comes to saying what you think, do you?”

  “I’m not into making noise for the sake of it. No point.”

  “I guess you’re right. So… you think I’m beautiful.” She felt the color flood her cheeks again, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember anyone ever calling her beautiful before, except maybe her father when she was little, and that didn’t count.

  “Yes. You are.” A flicker of a grin creased at the corners of his mouth. “In every way.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I can’t stop looking at you. I guess you’ve noticed.”

  “Well,” she shrugged, then laughed. “It’s been drawn to my attention.”

  “Do you mind?”

  She thought for a moment. She should mind. She’d come over to Morgan to let him down gently, to tell him she wasn’t the woman for him. “No,” she heard herself saying. And it was true. She didn’t. In fact, she positively liked the thought of him looking at her. The thought drove flutterings deep inside her. “No, I don’t.”

  His eyes narrowed sexily and there was a corresponding jolt of pure lust which made her gasp. She swayed toward him and he stepped a little closer as if to meet her half way. He was so close now, as people mingled all around them, that she could smell the freshly laundered smell of his shirt, and something more… something mouth-wateringly male.

  There was a whoop of laughter close by and the noise level rose. He dipped his head toward her. “Good,” he whispered in her ear. His breath warmed her neck and lower. It was all she could do to stop herself from pulling his head to hers so she could feel his breath against her mouth, in her mouth. But he withdrew and looked at her through eyes that, despite their narrowed gaze, seemed to look deep inside of her. And goodness only knew what he’d see there. She didn’t want him to see into the place where she was vulnerable, to the place where she didn’t even allow herself to look.

  She stepped away. “But, oh”—she looked at her watch—“it’s time I got going. Night shift at the Observatory, you know. It’s where I work.”

  He nodded. “I know. You’re a star-gazer.”

  “Oh, no. We don’t just gaze at stars. It’s very scientific. My project involves constructing theoretical models to show that the link between star formation and molecular clouds results from the correlation between chemical phase, shielding, and temperature.” She paused, wondering if she’d gotten carried away. In her enthusiasm for the subject, she often did. “It’s cutting edge stuff.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure.”

  “Do you, er, like stars?”

  “Sure. As a kid I spent a lot of time looking at them. I used to make shapes of them.”

  “What kind of shapes did you make?”

  “Taniwhas, mainly. Maori monsters,” he elaborated, obviously thinking she wouldn’t know what they were.

  “Oh,” Rebecca said, unable to prevent a certain disappointment. Because she also liked to make shapes from the stars—the geometric kind—and not one had ever been a taniwha. She sighed. “Anyway, I need to go. I’ll find Gemma and…” She looked around in vain. “Where is she?”

  “You don’t have a lift home?”

  “No. But that’s fine. It’s not far. I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “Really, I don’t want to put you to any bother.”

  “It’s no bother. Though I came with Callum so I’ll get his keys.” He looked around. “Looks like he’s gone too. I’ll walk you home instead.”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You won’t be. Remember, I’m here to look at you and I can do that for a little while longer if I walk you home.”

  “I guess you can. But it’s a bit stalkerish, isn’t it?”

  He frowned. “What? Me walking you home?”

  “No, you wanting to look at me.”

  “I don’t mean it in a weird way. I guess I’m saying I find you very attractive and I’d like to spend time with you. Does that sound less stalkerish?”

  “Yes. That’s much better.”

  “So, can I take you home?”

  She glanced around for Gemma but couldn’t see her and turned back to Morgan and smiled. “Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you.”

  Morgan took a step forward and the crowd seemed to part before him. He unhooked his coat from the old fashioned coat stand by the door. “Where’s your coat?”

  She grimaced. “In Gemma’s car.”

  “Here, take this. Really. I don’t feel the cold.”

  She shouldn’t have, but for some reason she let him slip his coat around her shoulders. They walked out onto the road in silence. Rebecca looked around. “I wonder where Gemma’s gone. I really should say goodbye to her.

  Morgan nodded toward the lake where a couple stood under a lamp post. “Might be a good idea to give her and Callum a bit of space.”

  “Oh, right! Hm! About time they sorted out their differences.”

  They both looked at Callum and Gemma just as they kissed. “Looks like they’ve done that all right.” He looked at Rebecca and she could have sworn his gaze dropped to her lips. She licked them and he looked back into her eyes. “Here”—he held out his coat so she could slip her arms into the sleeves—“put the coat on properly. You’ll freeze.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” she said, noticing that snow was beginning to fall. “It’s not far.”

  They fell into step, Morgan slowing his to match her smaller strides.

  “How often do you work nights?”

  Thank God. A normal question which didn’t involve her either fantasizing about his body or racking her brains for what to say next. “Just a couple of nights a week. My main job is at the computer. I also do some community education work in town for tourists.”

  “Wednesdays. When you go to the Tourist Information office.”

  “Yes.” Gemma was right. He had been following her. It didn’t pay to think about. It made her feel dizzy. “But I miss being at the telescope. You can see everything then.”

  “Must be magic.”

  They turned the corner and her small cottage was up ahead. “Magic?” She shrugged under his massive jacket. “I don’t know about that. Fascinating though.”

  She stopped at her picket fence and followed his gaze up to the starry sky.

  “Looks pretty magical to me. Makes you believe in things you shouldn’t.”

  She frowned. “I don’t usually star gaze without the telescope. Not much point.”

  “Do you need a point to do things? Sure, they’ve helped me find my way around the bush at night but sometimes I just look at them because they’re just so damn pretty.”

  It was her turn to smile. He was full of surprises. “Seems to be a habit with yours, looking at pretty things.”

  She faltered then, as she realized she’d just called herself “pretty”. Not something she was in the habit of doing. Slowly he looked down at her. “All I do is look, sweetheart. No need to worry.”

  “I wasn’t.” She looked away, embarrassed. “Worrying, I mean.”

  He nodded. “Goodnight, then.” His face was shadowed from the street lamp by his hat. But as he turned she caught sight of the line of his jaw, strong and determined.

  “Goodnight,” she called out but he was already walking away. She didn’t want him to leave like that. Not without knowing how she was feeling. “Morgan!”

  He stopped and slowly turned around. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to speak again.


  She went running up to him, slipped out of his coat and handed it to him. “Thank you. For the coat. For the walk home.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And… if you wanted to, you know, come and look at me again, some time, that would be fine.”

  He grinned. “It sure would.”

  He walked away, his footsteps muffled on the slowly accumulating snow. She waited until he turned the corner and then suddenly aware of the shivers that were beginning to course uncontrollably through her, returned to her gate and walked up the short path to her front door.

  Before she went inside she glanced upward. The stars that people came from all over the world to see in the Mackenzie Country’s dark sky were indecently bright and abundant. And for a moment she looked at them through Morgan’s eyes and they became mysterious, unfathomable, and magical. But then she spotted the pulsating red giant star of Mira and she made a mental note to catch up on the latest research paper on the pulsations and shock waves produced by low mass supergiant stars.

  She went inside the small cottage, still warm from the damped down fire. She briefly paused as she passed the spare room where Gemma had been staying. It looked like she wouldn’t be back tonight. And would no doubt be moving back to Glencoe. It hadn’t been easy for either Gemma or Callum but Rebecca was glad they’d made it up. Not just for the baby’s sake but for their own. She knew they loved each other. But she also knew the course of love rarely ran smoothly.

  She walked into her bedroom, set down her bag and opened her notebook to the page at the back, where her list was.

  For years she’d been so focused on her studies and work that she hadn’t wanted a serious relationship. But Gemma’s pregnancy had stirred Rebecca’s own maternal instincts and she’d done what she always did in response to a problem—made a list.

  She glanced through the ten points that she required of a potential mate.

  1. Self-confident (but not arrogant)

  2. Respectful of women and feminists

  3. Good career

  4. Careful with money

  5. Tall (but not too tall)

  6. Steady and responsible

  7. Well-traveled

  8. Good conversationalist

  9. Well-educated

  10. Of neat build (not too slim and not too broad)

  All reasonable, or necessary. She wanted someone who would fit in. Someone much like herself. Except taller of course. But not too tall. A logical list. If only people had a more scientific approach she was sure there would be fewer separations, fewer unhappy marriages like her own parents who still lived separate lives in their terraced house in Manchester. No, her list was the only rational approach to finding a husband.

  Suddenly the line of Morgan’s jaw, lit by the streetlamp, filled her mind, giving her stomach a little flip of desire. This was swiftly followed by her memory of his back, the soft, well-worn shirt pulled across his broad shoulders as he reached over to pick up a beer. And those muscles.

  She swallowed. And doodled beside point 10. She hesitated only a moment before crossing it out. Adding ‘Strong physique’ instead. She’d simply got it wrong. Hadn’t considered it sufficiently. Now she’d seen the kind of physique she liked, she could alter her requirements.

  Nothing was ever set in stone, after all. Maybe there was room in her life for someone a little different to the man on her list. Maybe she should tweak her list a little over the next few weeks. It’s what scientists did with a good hypothesis. Nothing wrong with that.

  She was sweet, Morgan thought as he walked back to the Café. Sweet and way out of his league. Still, as he’d told her, he was just looking, just passing the time of day with her. Nothing more. He’d be moving on in a few months. Just as he always did. Didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate her company from time to time.

  He smiled as he remembered the way she spoke. There was no pretense about her like there was with other women. She meant what she said—direct. But it also made her vulnerable. He stopped walking and frowned. He didn’t like to think of her as vulnerable.

  “What’s up, mate?”

  He turned to see Callum leaning against the lamppost, alone now. “Nothing. Ready to go?”

  Callum shook his head. “I’m waiting for Gemma. She’s coming back with us to Glencoe.”

  “Good. I’m pleased for you. She’s a good woman.”

  Callum grinned. “High praise from you.” He paused. “Thanks for staying on to fill the manager’s role. Are you sure you won’t take on the role long term?”

  “No. I’ll be moving on as soon as you get someone to replace me.”

  “Where to?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Just on. Something always turns up.”

  Callum shook his head. “Always moving, eh?”

  “It’s the way I like it.”

  “Fair enough. Would you mind driving the truck home?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Callum tossed Morgan the keys and pushed himself off the post and walked to the Café door as Gemma stepped out. “See you later. Tomorrow.” He grinned and greeted Gemma with a lingering kiss.

  Morgan turned away abruptly and opened the door of the Glencoe truck and jumped in. He revved the engine, drowning out the laughter of the happy couple as they lingered in the falling snow.

  Yeah, he’d be moving on… just as he always did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The snow-capped mountains looked pristine against a bright blue sky as Rebecca drove along the road which led to Glencoe. Gemma didn’t know she was coming. It was a spur of the moment decision. A basket of presents for the baby from Rebecca’s co-workers at the observatory was excuse enough.

  Then her phone went and she glanced at it. It was a text from Gemma. Rebecca picked it up and, with half an eye on the empty road, quickly read it. Gemma was in town and wondered if they could catch up.

  Rebecca felt only a momentary pang of guilt before tossing the phone back onto the seat without answering. Instead, she gripped the wheel and focused on where she was going. If she’d answered, Gemma would wonder why she hadn’t turned back to meet her. So… she wouldn’t answer. Because Gemma was only an excuse. As much as she loved her best friend, it wasn’t Gemma she was going to see.

  Rebecca drove carefully around some of the sheltered bends, the ice still lying in shadowy pockets, untouched by the low sun. She drove past the lake and the place where she usually parked and pulled up instead outside the art studio where she knew Morgan would be working. And where Gemma might have been, if she’d been at Glencoe.

  Gemma had told her that Morgan was extending her art studio. As the months had gone by with Morgan working at Glencoe, Callum had increasingly come to rely on him as his right-hand man, despite his lack of permanence. But apparently Morgan hadn’t exactly relished office duties and, rather than delegating, at the first opportunity to get his hands dirty on some building work, Morgan took it on.

  Rebecca got out of the car and heard the tell-tale sound of hammer on wallboard and knew it was him. She slammed the door but the rhythm didn’t pause. She smiled to herself. Just like him. Concentrating on what he was doing and not about to stop out of curiosity. Besides, she realized, he wouldn’t imagine for one moment that the visitor would be for him.

  She’d waited long enough for him to phone her. He hadn’t. So it was up to her. But she hated phones. Never knew what to say. So here she was… holding a basket of baby clothes.

  She walked up and opened the doors and stepped inside. She was immediately assailed by the smell of fresh sawdust and the heat coming from the potbelly stove. She couldn’t see him but she could hear him though. Clutching the basket of presents, she walked further into the studio. The sound was coming from beyond a partition. She paused to look at some of Gemma’s recent work. Her artwork was changing, developing, more settled somehow. She’d obviously been painting a lot, knowing she wouldn’t be getting so much time after the baby had arrived. Gemma’s baby was already ove
rdue.

  Then she laughed. She walked towards a painting and saw it was of her, frowning slightly as she stared with unerring focus at the painter. Gemma had caught her “intense” look as Gemma called it, to a T.

  She was suddenly aware the sound had stopped. Not so much by the cessation of sound but by a little shiver that ran up her body. She turned to see Morgan appear from behind the partition. He was clad only in jeans, no shirt, and his body was slick with sweat.

  “It’s you,” he said, with characteristic brevity.

  She swallowed. All memory of the little speech she’d prepared vanished. He stood there like a god. From his broad shoulders and strong arms—on which the golden sunlight shone, highlighting the contours of his muscles—to the dark gold hair that trailed into old jeans sitting low on his hips, the denim paler where a certain part of his body pressed against them. She looked up abruptly, suddenly aware of where her gaze had lingered. “Yes, it’s me,” she answered, her voice strangely husky. She cleared her throat. “I’ve come to…”

  Morgan tossed the hammer onto the work bench with a clang and took a step towards her. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her unable to finish her sentence. She didn’t move—she couldn’t move—as he walked up to her, his eyes searching her face. He stopped in front of her, too close. Sawdust covered his chest and the chiseled muscles on his stomach in a dusting of pale gold. His muscles, pumped by the recent activity, gleamed with fresh sweat of which she instinctively took a deep breath.

  She looked up into his eyes. “Hello,” she managed to croak from between dry lips. She licked them and noticed his gaze flicker briefly to her mouth.

  A whisper of a smile briefly lit his face. “Hello.”

  The seconds lengthened until it turned into a silence which neither of them seemed in a hurry to break. Gemma’s head was usually full of thoughts, full of words and facts and figures but now, for some reason, only one fact floated into her mind and stayed there—for all Morgan’s strength and hard muscles, his lips curved with a sensual flare when he was amused. And apparently he was now amused.

  “If you’re looking for Gemma,” the beautiful lips said, “she’s not here.”