Page 33 of Wildest Forever (Lovelock Bay #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MORGAN

I t’s just past four when I walk through the door and my body aches.

Dusty was sick so it was just me lugging bales of hay up onto the trailer before driving the tractor down the bottom of the fields.

Long day with not much work done.

I also needed new fence posts put in but that could wait until tomorrow.

I slump in my pops’ chair and sigh, my heart a little heavy. I sit for a moment longer before I am up and moving towards the bathroom. I can’t be in that room too long.

The memories flood me and I am left feeling haunted for the rest of the day.

Warm water cascades down my body and my aching muscles thank me. My mind races to Pacey and I find myself feeling excited to see him in a few hours.

I know this is business, but I am only human. I wouldn't say I have fallen for him, but I may have a little crush on my husband.

I mean, who wouldn't?

My mind wanders and I am thinking about his day, wondering how it has gone and if it has been good or bad, and can't help wondering whether he thinks of me during his, but then I have to remind myself quickly that of course he doesn't and he is in fact in the right mindset with this just being business.

This is the problem when you have never been in a relationship. I have no idea how to act. No idea what to think or do in these situations.

So I find myself coiling inwards and rebuilding my walls carefully so the next time it gets knocked, it may not fall so easily.

Lathering the soap into my aching scalp, I gently massage it into my roots before letting the warm water wash away the suds, slipping down my back like pure silk. My eyes are closed as I rinse my hair and all I see is him. How can he consume me wholly when it's been a matter of weeks.

Sighing, I twist and reach for the conditioner before smothering the ends of my hair. Exfoliating and shaving whilst that works it's magic, I finally rinse my hair and cut the shower.

Pulling back the shower curtain, I grab the warm towel and wrap it around my body.

Padding into the hallway, I step into my room and close the door softly behind me as I dry myself and dress in a comfy gray lounge suit. Roughly drying my hair, I then tie it into a low bun and tuck a couple of wispy strays behind my ears.

Making my way downstairs, I glance out the window and see the sun lowering slightly. Evening is drawing in and I lift my eyes to the clock on the wall. Pacey should be home soon.

My stomach knots and a slither of worry slips through me, but I push it down with the rest of my feelings, burying it deep inside a crevice.

I busy myself tidying the kitchen, not that it is overly messy, but I needed to keep my mind busy before I start preparing dinner.

Lemon chicken and pomegranate salad with baked potatoes.

Simple but yummy.

We have the Riveras coming over on Sunday for dinner and Friday we're down at Randy's with our new neighbors.

I'm not one for plans, but seeing as the Riveras and Dusty are all I have in terms of family... well... I didn't want to rock the boat.

Sighing, I pull the chicken from the refrigerator and place it on the side. Turning the stove on I wait for it to heat up before lowering myself to crouch down and place the chicken in to cook.

I slam the oven door just as the front door closes and I find myself jumping before looking over my shoulder, my eyes dusting over his body as he steps a little closer and leans against the doorframe.

Straightening myself up, I turn slowly and let my green eyes connect with his. My heart aches silently in my chest and I can feel a sadness deep inside of him that has my feet slipping across the floor to get to him.

“Pace?” my voice is quiet as I stand toe to toe with him, hand lifting and resting on his chest, the feel of his heart racing beneath my fingertips.

His head lowers, his eyes hollow as they drop and panic pricks at the base of my neck.

“What's happened?” and that's when I allow myself to really look at him.

Red dirt dusted across his cheeks, lips cracked and dry and hair messy.

His skin looks a little worn, a little more tired than usual and his eyes are dull, the normally glistening whiskey color looks a little darker, the spark nowhere to be found.

He says nothing, but I feel the deep inhale of breath he takes and before I can say another word, his arms are around my waist as he pulls me close to him, holding my body against his, his face buried between my head and shoulder as he trembles, tears seeping out of him and all I can do is hold him and try my best to comfort him.

“Talk to me,” I whisper, trying to push his heavy body off my frame, my hands gripping onto his head as I lift his red rimmed eyes to mine, a lone tear rolls down his cheek and drops onto the sweater of my lounge suit, the gray material absorbing it in an instant.

“It's just been a day,” he chokes, his dirty palm rubbing his eye and I watch as his throat bobs, my eyes volleying between his.

“This is not because of a shit day,” my voice is still low but he won't look at me, his eyes are locked into the window that overlooks the front of the ranch.

He sighs and I am silently begging for him to look at me, silently begging that he will tell me what is haunting him, but I don't know him well enough to know whether I should push for him to spill all to me or take the hint and step away.

I choose the latter.

I drop my hands from the side of his face and step back, turning on my heel and walking back towards the stove.

“Supper is at six,” I say nonchalant because I am terrified to break in front of him when he is clearly so vulnerable.

I know I shouldn't feel pushed out and bitter, but the truth is, I do.

He says nothing, but I hear the sound of his boots being kicked across the hallway and then heavy footsteps taking him upstairs before the bathroom door is slammed shut making me jump.

Once I know he is out of sight, I drop my head and sigh, shaking my head from side to side.

How the hell am I meant to help him when I don't know him.

Lifting my head, I glance out the same window he did and notice an American robin sitting on the fence line, it's wings flapping slightly before it sits still and my heart jack hammers in my chest.

I ignore the way my heart swells in my chest and my throat burns with a lump that lodges itself there.

And just as quickly as the bird came, it left without warning and a small smile curls at the corner of my mouth.

“Bye pops,” I mutter then find myself walking towards the corded phone on the wall.

I look over my shoulder and make sure the coast is clear before dialling a number and twisting my finger in the cord.

Three rings and she answers.

“Rivera Ranch 895.”

“Orla,” I whisper talk into the speaker of the phone.

“Morgan, sweetie, is everything okay?” and I pause for a moment as I try and collect my thoughts, licking my upper lip and I have no idea whether I should have even made the call.“Morgan?” I hear her voice again and it snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Erm, hi...” I trail off and look over my shoulder to make sure he is still nowhere to be seen.

“You okay?”

I nod before answering her. “Yes... well, maybe... I don't know.” I continue to twist the cord around my finger.

She stays silent.

“Pacey came home... looked broken.” I whisper. “I tried to talk to him, but he just pulled me into him and cried.” My lip trembles.

“I'll get someone over,” and before I can even argue with her, she continues, “thank you sweetie, he'll only talk to two people... he will open up to you, just give him time.”

I nod as if she can see me.

“You did the right thing Morgan,” she says softly before hanging up the phone and my stomach knots.

I have no idea if I have done the right thing, but if my gut is anything to go by then I know it wasn't.

Sighing, I place the phone back in the holder and busy myself with supper.

Pacey will be down in a moment, and I have no idea who else will be joining us.

I hear the familiar bang on the pipes, and I know he is finished with the shower. Anticipation pricks at the base of my neck and my palms are clammy as I begin to prep the baked potatoes.

The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing echoes through the quiet house and I sigh.

A knock on the door has my eyes lifting out the window and I see the black Rivera Ranch truck sitting out front and I know Orla has sent Riggs.

Running my hand down the front of my thigh, I inhale heavily as I begin moving towards the front door and swing it open, my brows furrowing at who I see standing there.

It's not Riggs.

But his wife, Aspen.

“Morgan,” her voice soft, her head tilting to the side as she steps forward and wraps her arms around me, her chin resting on my shoulder before she pulls away and her full lips break into a smile.

“Where is he?” she asks me, her eyes drifting towards the kitchen as I step aside and let her in.

“Shower,” I mutter, nodding towards the stairs and I hear the floorboards creak. “But no doubt he will be down in the next...” and I stop talking when I see his feet appear as he walks down the stairs.

He pauses on the middle step, confusion lacing his handsome face.

Hair still damp and pushed away from his face, stubble a little more prominent and a light moustache that he seems to be growing.

His eyes bounce between me and Aspen, and I know I overstepped the mark.

My eyes are glued to him, and I know he can tell by my expression that this is my doing.

His hand slips in the front of his jeans, his baggy white tee tucked into the waistband slightly.

“I thought I would just pop in...” Aspen begins and her eyes dart to me before they're on her brother-in-law.

“Why?” his voice is gravelly and my heart races a little faster in my chest.