Asking for Trouble (18 page)

“And now?”

She laid her head on his chest and teased his nipple with her tongue. “I think I get it now. I get it really, really well.”

This was where she wanted to be. Right there, in bed with him. Where nothing out there could touch them. Where none of her decisions mattered. Where she could pretend she'd never lied to him.

“I'll take that as a compliment, thank you, and just so you know, I got a clean bill of health after I left the department. That good enough?”

“Yeah. It is.” She waited another moment. “Actually, there is something else we should discuss.” She moved up and over him, her new favorite place to be. “About your mother—”

“Stop,” Gage cried, sitting up, and as he did, parts of him shifted into dangerous areas. Morgan shuddered.

“Stop what?” she practically purred.

“Say whatever you want to me in bed, but keep my mother out of it. Do you understand me?”

Morgan leaned in and laid her forehead on his shoulder. “I'm s-sorry,” she laughed. “It's just she's so obsessed with you giving her grandchildren. She's going to know what we've been doing the second she sees us together.”

“My mother already knows, I promise you that. Why else would she put chocolate cake in that basket of hers?”

“Mmm.” Morgan licked his shoulder and found it salty with sweat. “It did make the perfect late-night snack, but it doesn't hold a candle to you.”

Gage was still frowning, but his sharp intake of breath told her she was on the right track. She felt his hands slide down to cup her buttocks.

“I don't think we should take any more chances without protection.” She nibbled on his neck. “No more, mister.” But she couldn't seem to get enough of him. Knowing it could all disappear in an instant didn't worry her as much as it emboldened her.

“Then stop that.” His arms moved around her. She'd come to anticipate that motion and pulled away, pushed him flat on his back, and moved down his body ever so slowly.

“I meant no more of the same thing, Gage.” She took the hot, hard length of him in her hands. “I didn't say we couldn't try something different.”

She smiled and lowered her head as he groaned her name.

“Morning, Morgan.”

Morgan missed the last step coming out of her apartment. She looked up to find Gage's brother Jon waving at her from on top of the Fiorellis' roof. Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she had to blink twice before she recognized Drew crouched beside him. “Um, hi?” What on earth?

“Gage is out front. Said to send you in that direction when you got up.” Jon picked up his hammer and gestured to a stack of shingles. “Drew, why don't you start on that section over there and we'll meet in the middle.”

“Sure.”

Morgan zombie-walked toward the gate, unable to fathom what Jon Juliano was doing on her roof. Or what Drew was doing with him. She scrambled out of the way as her brother carried a stack of siding on his broad shoulders into the backyard.

“Morning, sis.” Nathan jerked his head behind him. “About time you got up. Coffee and muffins in the kitchen.” When was the last time she saw her brother wearing jeans and a T-shirt? And when did he start looking as if he could try out as a running back for the 49ers? There wasn't enough coffee in the entire state to shake off her eight a.m. confusion.

“Morgan.” Kelley popped up from behind a sawhorse, a saturated narrow roller in her hand. She ran at her, navy blue paint splattering her pink overalls.

“Morning, sweetie.” She caught Kelley and twirled her away from the side of the house out of fear that she'd pull a Jackson Pollock. “What's going on around here? You having a party and forget to invite me?”

“Not a party. It's family. Lots and lots of family. Gina said so. They all came to help with our house. Come see.” She grabbed Morgan's hand and dragged her to the front yard.

Morgan's belly buzzed as if a wasp nest had exploded. She touched a hand to her chest as her soul filled. She forgot how to breathe.

Cars and trucks lined both sides of the street. Gage stood in front of the house, pointing and talking with Nico, and . . . Was that her father? In board shorts and a T-shirt?

Gage's father, Daniel, was whooping it up with her general contractor Kent Lawson and his fellow construction workers as he hefted toolboxes, a table saw, and a stack of industrial extension cords out of the trucks.

Gallons of paint were piled on a tarp on the far end of the lawn, while Brandon bounced between groups like a pinball, stopping to tug on Gage's waistband when he spotted Morgan. Gage bent down to Brandon's level and tightened the little boy's tool belt. He rested a hand on Brandon's head and said something before giving Morgan a smile that melted her heart.

“Are you mad?” Kelley dropped the roller to her side.

“Mad?” Morgan managed as her throat closed up.

“Gina said you don't like to ask for help. That you might not like people taking your work away.”

Oh. Tears burned her eyes as she swallowed. Gage had been right. All she'd had to do was ask. “I'm not mad, sweetie.” How could she be? “They put you to work, too, huh?”

“Painting.” Kelley squealed with the biggest smile Morgan had ever seen on her tiny face. She waved her roller in the air like a torch of victory. “Me and Daniel and Sheila are going to do the spare bedrooms, and we're going to redo Brandon's.”

The cowboy room Morgan hadn't had time to plan let alone start. “Sounds like the perfect way to spend the day. Where's Gina?”

“Inside with Liza and Theresa and Sheila. They're talking about Brandon's party. It's gonna be awesome.”

“There's my helper.” Gage's dad scooped Kelley into the air, flying paint and all, hefted her against his chest. “I set out some baseboard for you, so get to it, little lady.”

“'Kay.” She wiggled to get down, then jetted off like her sneakers were loaded with blasters.

“It's a lot for you accept, having this many people come to help,” Daniel told Morgan, a kind smile on his face.

“That's one way of putting it.” She couldn't seem to process anything at the moment. Had her obsessive tendency toward self-sufficiency gone too far? Instead of being an example for the kids, had she taught them not to trust anyone? “How did you know—”

“Gina found—what was it Sheila called it? Your clipboard of death.” Daniel chuckled. “My daughter doesn't think anyone should have so much to do, and once she gets an idea in her head, well, you've met Gina. Especially when it comes to family.”

Family. Morgan clutched at her shirt with the same ferocity that fear clutched her throat, like the claws of an eagle. “But I'm not—”

“Afraid you are if my wife and son have anything to say about it.” The tenderness in his eyes, the love that shone when he spoke of his wife or children, twined inside of her and took root.

Daniel continued. “Theresa means well. I hope you know that. I had the misfortune of making her very happy all these years. She wants the same thing for our children.”

More people to care about. More people to count on. More people to hurt. God. Did she possess some kind of gravitational force that pulled people in just as her life was about to explode? Morgan's chest tightened at the potential fallout.

“Morgan?” Daniel touched her arm. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She snatched up the mask of normalcy she'd worn for months, but the facade wasn't as easy to slip on. “Like you said, it's a lot to take in. Gina's even sneakier than I thought.”

“Go on inside, check in with her and your sister. Things are under control out here.”

“Brandon and Kelley—”

“They'll be fine, Morgan. Stop worrying.” Jackson strode over, his greying hair catching the sun as he smiled at her. Daniel slapped Jackson on the shoulder and went in search of Kelley.

“Is that a socket wrench?” Morgan tried to remember the last time she saw her dad pick up a tool, let alone wear khaki shorts and tennis shoes.

“It is indeed. Kent's giving me a crash course in that water heater of yours. I don't think there's anything that contractor friend of yours can't fix. But rumor has it the heater's on its last legs.”

Not true. On its last toes perhaps.

“You and I need to sit down and have a serious conversation about what needs upgrading around here, young lady.”

“My house, my responsibility,” Morgan said automatically.

“My mother's house, once upon a time;
our
responsibility. Get used to it. Now scoot. I have a water heater to fix and you have breakfast to eat.” He pushed her toward the front door.

Morgan returned the smiles and greetings of two of Kent's construction workers pulling up the last of the rotted porch planks and replacing them as if they were nothing more than popsicle sticks. “The Twilight Zone has nothing on this place,” Morgan muttered, then braced herself as she walked into the kitchen.

She found the female contingent among the baskets brimming with fresh-baked muffins, gallons of orange juice, and overworked coffeepots.

“Morgan, look.” Lydia pointed at the giant foam rollers in her bangs. “Liza's making me pretty.”

Morgan brushed a gentle hand on Liza's arm in thanks, stopping to examine Lydia from her perch on the edge of the counter. “You are stunning.”

Lydia giggled.

“Gramma Theresa says to get used to them all, cause they're here to stay.” Lydia kicked her legs as if she were about to swim across Lake Michigan. “We've got more brothers now and two more sisters. Can you believe it?”

Gramma Theresa? Oh boy. Morgan took a mental snapshot of Lydia's radiant face, filing it away for when she'd need to remember. Liza hoisted Lydia off the counter and they watched her wobble her way into the dining room, where she was going to help strip off the old wallpaper.

Morgan turned on Gina. “So this is all your doing?”

Gina cringed and hugged her tablet computer against her chest like a shield. “I know I probably went too far, and I know I shouldn't have overstepped. Again.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if she was afraid Morgan would stop her once she got going. “But I saw there was just so much for you to do and you can't do it all yourself and, well, Gage agreed with me and offered to keep you busy while we got everything arranged. I'm sorry but I don't care if you're mad—you're laughing,” Gina accused, looking as if Morgan had just stomped footprints in her wet cement. “Is this funny?” she asked Sheila and Liza. “Why is she laughing? Why are you laughing?”

Even Sheila rounded the counter with a look of concern on her face, but Morgan held out a hand to stop her, sucking in a breath. “It's just now I understand why Gage distracted me in the show—” Her vocal cords froze as Theresa's head snapped around.

“Distracted you where?”

“In th-the—” Morgan couldn't think. What did she say? Oh, God. “In the sh-show. We went to the movies?” Sheila guffawed.

“At seven on a Saturday?” Liza countered. “They don't start before noon. Ow! Hey.” Liza glared at Gina when her sister smacked her hard on the arm. “What was that for?”

Morgan closed her eyes, wishing she could melt into the floorboards like the Wicked Witch of the West. “Please don't tell Gage I told you, Theresa.”

“You haven't told me anything.” Theresa advanced as Sheila backed away. “Yet. In the show—?” She waved her hand for Morgan to finish the confession.

Morgan looked to Sheila for help, then Gina, Liza, and even Angela, but they all looked anxious to hear the details. “Oh, all right. In the shower. He distracted me in the shower.”

Theresa's entire face lit up like a sun gone supernova. “I'm going to be a grandmother.”

Morgan groaned.

Sheila laughed.

“The shower?” Gina shuddered. “I don't want to hear this. Come on, Liza.”

“No way. Knowledge is power.”

“This knowledge is not for you.” Theresa shooed them out of the room. “Out. Both of you. We need to talk.”

“But, Mom,” Liza whined.

Morgan grabbed Gina's arm. “Don't leave me with her.”

“You slept with my brother, Morgan.” Gina gave a sad, exaggerated shake of her head. “You're on your own.”

“We didn't sleep,” Morgan called after her, then realized her mistake and spun toward to Theresa. “I'm begging you, don't tease him about this. You have no idea what it does to him.”

Gage's mother looked as if she'd hit the jackpot in Vegas. “It'll cost you.”

“Cost me what?” Morgan gaped at her. “Blood? Property? My firstborn?”

“Bah. Your firstborn's a given,” Theresa said. “I want a wedding.”

“You had a wedding,” Morgan reminded her, a new panic taking hold. A wedding? Marriage? Nothing like that was going to happen with Gage. Not once he learned the truth, and then nothing, not even the almighty will of Theresa Juliano, was going to change that. “I saw the pictures.” She ignored Angela laughing on the other side of the counter.

“I want a huge event wedding for my boy,” Theresa explained. “The entire family, all our friends.”

“There's not going to be a wedding, Theresa,” Morgan insisted, casting a desperate look at her sister, whose eyes had taken on an excited glow not unlike the one shining in Gage's mother's eyes. “Sheila—” she warned, but her sister was already pulling out her phone to make notes, the event planner part of her taking over.

“How many are we talking?” Sheila asked. “A few dozen? A hundred?”

“Three hundred twenty-four,” Theresa said. “On our side of course. That doesn't include yours.”

Morgan's head spun. She had to stop this. Now. “H-how many? Theresa, you can't possibly know that many people.” Was it getting hotter in here?

“We have a lot of relatives.” Theresa waved a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about cost. We'll split it with your father. Our wedding gift to you.”

“Most people would stop with a Crock-Pot.” Angela chuckled and settled a comforting hand on Morgan's shoulder as she walked around the counter. “Looks like this is out of your hands.”

But it couldn't be. She couldn't do this, let Theresa and everyone else believe there was anything permanent in the future for her and Gage. No matter how much she might wish differently.

“Theresa, please,” Morgan pleaded. “Sheila?” But her sister wasn't listening.

“That's my offer,” Theresa said. “I leave Gage alone, I get your wedding.” Theresa walked to the doorway and rose up on tiptoe to look out the dining room window. “Gage is on the porch. Should I call him in and ask for the details of last night? Or should we start with this morning's shower adventure?”

“Stop!” Morgan cried, running up behind her and waving him off when he popped his head in the door. “Nothing. Just, nothing. Go do, whatever.” Her efforts weren't convincing, as she saw suspicion creep into his eyes. But he withdrew, quicker than she might have liked. Coward. “You are an evil woman, Theresa Juliano. And you're not listening to me. There's not going to be a wedding.”

“My son's not good enough for you?” Theresa challenged.

“What?” Morgan balked. “Good Lord, Theresa, of course he is.” If anything he was too good for her. “That's not . . . We've only known each other a couple of weeks.” She shifted tactics. “It's too early for anyone, even you, to think about marriage, and besides, things are, um, complicated.” And she couldn't very well explain herself at the moment.

“When it's right, it's right.” Theresa knocked her fingers gently against Morgan's cheek. “You two will get married. I know it. And when you do, I want what I asked for.”

“Take the deal, Morgan,” Sheila said, and for the first time Morgan saw a glimmer of concern and understanding in her sister's eyes. She knew this wasn't a joke—at least not for Morgan—any longer. “If there's no proposal, then you have nothing to worry about. And if there is—”