Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

“I brought dinner,” Morgan said, defending himself. His eyes were flickering over the shop, and he didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “It actually looks as if the two of you are taking this hobby of yours seriously!”

“Hobby?” she asked blankly as she finished cleaning her hands, rubbed a small amount of cream on them and reached promptly for the grocery bag he was more than patiently holding. She forgot about his strange characterization of their work as she rummaged within. “Steaks! You adorable man, you’ve brought a feast!”

And he brought the cooking skills to go with it. Morgan probably knew his way around a kitchen better than she did-cooking, she often teased him, was his second-favorite bachelor’s hobby. She was duly shooed upstairs to shower and change while he marinated the steaks. Within a half hour they were both seated in the living room. Morgan had uncorked the wine and was pouring it into two glasses.

The long cotton dress Erica wore was older than sin and intended for such. Once Kyle’s favorite, it was a mix of forest and leaf greens, with a low smocked bodice and loose, flowing skirt. Barefoot still, with her hair streaming to her shoulders, she had a sensual sparkle in her eyes that the man across from her made no secret of appreciating.

Erica, on the other hand, was noting with amusement that Morgan had lost no time in making himself at home. His tie littered one table, and his coat was draped on another; his shoes were already discarded by the couch and his keys and reading glasses were stashed on the bookshelves. When he left the next day, which she’d already been informed was the plan, she would have to trail after him the way a mother did a two-year-old. But then, it had been exactly that way on his frequent and just as impromptu visits in Florida.

“I still can’t believe you’re really living here,” he remarked. “I knew that when Kyle’s father died you sold up lock, stock and barrel, but I thought you’d be out of this little town by now.”

“Mmm,” she answered absently as she sipped the smooth light wine. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to get addicted to quiet and country, your work right outside your back door, and your hours your own. Kyle’s family did woodworking for generations, you know…” Speaking of her husband made her conscious of his absence, and she wondered uneasily where Kyle had gone.

“But it’s hardly your style, love.” He settled back against the couch and surveyed the room, his gaze coming back to her with an affectionate smile.

The comment struck her as strange, and she stared at him in puzzlement.

“Well, it isn’t, honey,” Morgan said dryly. “God knows what’s gotten into Kyle. In college, he used to swear he’d never come back here; he hated everything about the place. Manual labor? And for you-”

She shook her head at him. “I’ve never met such a total snob in my entire life. Get off it, Morgan. You say ‘manual labor’ as if you’d have to get up and wash your hands afterward,” she teased. “And just for that, you’ve got KP after dinner.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t mean-”

“You certainly did. I haven’t the least idea what you’re trying to imply, but I am absolutely in love with this place. Now that I’ve made it look so fantastic…” She grinned impishly. “You should have seen it when we first moved here.”

It was not exactly fantastic, their little A-frame house. Their home in Florida, for instance, had been a breeze to decorate: She had merely walked into the best furniture store in town and hired the best decorator. Not this time, though. Erica hadn’t known how long Kyle wanted to stay, and in addition to the shock of Joel McCrery’s death, there was the shock of having to count pennies for the first time in her life. The transition from affluence to debt had been abrupt, mind-boggling, but the worst part of it had been Kyle’s unwillingness to tell her anything. Still…

Her eyes skimmed over the changes they had made. A dark pumpkin-colored carpet covered the large living room floor. Cabinets took up one wall: bookcases, a stereo unit and wood carvings. An imposing piece of driftwood served as the base of a coffee table, with a thick plate-glass top. Her huge crewelwork patterns in the oranges and creams and greens that she loved were centered above an oversized couch upholstered in olive. The living room was sunken; three steps up was the kitchen, with a low tan brick wall serving as a divider between the two areas. Copper pans and plants hung from the ceiling. It was all very bright and very simple, and Erica found more richness in the room than she had ever found in the luxurious surroundings she had been accustomed to from childhood on. “The place on the beach seems sterile now,” she said musingly. “I’m not sure I’d ever want to go back.”

“Sure,” Morgan agreed dryly. “Have another drink, sweetheart.”

He clearly didn’t believe her. “Do you honestly dislike this house?” she insisted.

“It’s a measure of your ability to make a home out of anything, Erica. I just have a hard time picturing the two of you in anything so small. Where is your weaker half, anyway?”

“Kyle? He’ll be back any minute.” She smiled obligingly at his quip, but was uncomfortable at not being able to come up with the exact wheres and whens for her husband. For no real reason, Morgan was the last person she would want to know there was trouble between herself and Kyle. “Tell me what’s been going on since we last saw you,” she urged.

Morgan hesitated, swirling the wine in his glass. “The business is going terrific, if you can believe that in these economic times. We’ve been checking out markets in Milwaukee, Chicago, any number of-”

“You know darn well I don’t mean that,” she chided. “What about Marissa?”

“My God, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said dryly as he took a long drink of the wine.

“So you’ve taken up the hunt again?” Erica shook her head, feeling a mixture of sympathy and exasperation with him. “I thought you were almost talking rings a few months ago.”

Morgan shifted to a standing position and poured them both a second glass of wine. When he turned back to Erica the teasing was gone from his eyes and he looked tired, the crow’s-feet prominent at the corners of his eyes. “There’s not much point in getting married when the chances of divorce are edging toward fifty percent, now, is there?” he asked idly. “My married friends aren’t exactly advertisements for wedded bliss-you two are the only exception. At times I don’t know what I’d do without the pair of you. Since you moved, I’ve felt as if my oasis has been ripped out from under me; your home was the only place I could go to get out of the rat race.” He laughed shortly. “Sometimes I’ve wondered, Erica, if you offer everyone the chance to pour out their troubles to you, or is it just me?”

“Trouble, Morgan?” she asked gently. The brooding quality in his voice immediately aroused her maternal instinct. She had no doubt that across a boardroom Morgan was a solid and ruthless adversary, but when he came to stay with them he always had a stray-cat quality. His life was one long howl at night, with lonely silences in between. He always picked women who were takers, as he was, but Erica had the unaccountable notion that a single long stroke down his back would soothe the ruffled fur that seemed a by-product of his frantic lifestyle.

“I look at you and Kyle,” he said frankly, “and I’m jealous. I’ve always been jealous. The way Kyle just picked up and moved, chucked everything on a whim. I wouldn’t choose this lifestyle, but that’s not the point. It’s the inner freedom, the courage to just get out and do it. Change. Even if it’s only short term.”

Erica half frowned. Neither freedom nor choice had motivated their move to Wisconsin. Nor were they engaged in a “hobby.” It had never occurred to her before that Kyle hadn’t told his closest friend the real circumstances following Joel’s death. But before she could say anything, Morgan was rambling on. “I’ve been tied to the business ever since I got out of school, and there are times I’d just like to say to hell with it.”

“Morgan,” Erica said gently, “you have so much to be proud of. You’re a lot younger than your father was when he-”

“Yes. I’m a huge success, money-wise,” he said dryly. “And money buys a lot of toys. In the short run, it buys a lot of women as well.”

She was silent, not so much shocked as saddened by his attitude-for his sake.

“Who’s kidding whom? That’s the life I lead,” he admitted quietly, and looked at her, his features impassive. “But women like you aren’t just walking around, love.”

“Sweetie,” she said affectionately. His compliment, so out of the blue, had warmed her. More than that, she simply wanted to help Morgan if he needed help. But she also felt a strange sort of unease. Where was Kyle? She stood up and teasingly ordered Morgan ahead of her toward the kitchen. “What kind of lady do you expect to pick up in a singles bar anyway?”

If Kyle had been there, she wouldn’t have hesitated to remain sitting with Morgan, to reach over and hug him, to urge him to talk and get his troubles off his chest. But Kyle wasn’t there, and Morgan’s eyes on her had been just a little more than friendly, more than just superficially appreciative. She felt a touch of guilt. It felt good to be wanted, to feel needed-and perhaps she needed that a bit too much right now, when Kyle seemed to be going out of his way to tell her he didn’t need her, when in her heart she was afraid he didn’t want her as he once had.

When Kyle walked in, Morgan was putting foil on the broiler for the steaks. Fresh mushrooms were simmering in soy sauce; the table had been set with china Erica hadn’t used in months, and the second bottle of wine was on the table ready for pouring. In the past hour, Erica had turned all her attention toward urging Morgan out of his depression, and in the process had cheered herself. Candles on the table and a chance to dress up were part of that; for weeks she and Kyle had only snatched a bite in work clothes.