A - Immortal Sea

Morgan had no right to dump this on her. “We need to talk about this, Em,” she said gently. “You‟re just starting camp. A pet

is a lot to take on right now.”

“That means no,” Zack said.

Emily‟s face fell.

Liz drew a careful breath. “It means we need to talk. You caught me by surprise.”

“That‟s „Hell, no,‟ ” Zack translated.

“We have to be responsible,” Liz insisted. “We have to consider the consequences.”

“Why?” Morgan asked.

She turned on him. “Excuse me?”

He took a step toward her, holding her gaze. “You are taking something simple and making it complicated. Your daughter

wants a cat. I found her a cat.”

“You found it.”

He nodded. “Behind the restaurant.”

A stray. It probably had germs. Fleas. Parasites.

And none of that mattered compared to the look on her daughter‟s face. Emily sat on the floor with the kitten in her lap,

happiness shining in her eyes.

“We don‟t have anything to feed it,” Liz said weakly.

“Regina has been feeding it scraps from the kitchen.” Morgan moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“Let go, Elizabeth. Give in. There is no harm in losing a little control.”

Her face burned. “This isn‟t about us. This is about what‟s best for Emily.”

“Your daughter needs friends. She needs this.”

Oh, God, he was right. How could she have missed it? How could he understand what her children needed better than she

did herself?

Her sense of failure tightened her throat. She forced herself to smile. “Advice from an expert?”

“Easy enough to give her what she wants.” His smile gleamed. “You are more difficult.”

Her breath shuddered out. No one else looked at her the way he did. Wanted her the way he seemed to. How could he say

such things to her now, in front of her children? Emily, thank God, was too young to understand, but Zack . . .

“I can bring home the food and litter and stuff,” Zack said from above them on the stairs. “When I get off work.”

“It‟s too much for you to carry.”

“I can do it.”

“I‟ll pick you up,” she said. “When do you get off, eleven? It‟ll be dark anyway.”

“And Em will be in bed,” Zack said. “Stop treating me like a kid, Mom.”

He was a kid. Her kid. She didn‟t want to coddle him, but life had taught her how unexpectedly things could go suddenly,

horribly wrong.

“I‟m still responsible for you.”

Zack shook his head. “I‟m out of here.” He thumped down the stairs, stepped over Emily in the hall.

“Zack . . .”

“See you.” He brushed by Morgan and slammed out the door.

Liz closed her eyes.

“If you want him to be a man,” Morgan said, “you must let him take a man‟s part.”

It was a relief to have someone her own age to fight. She opened her eyes to glare. “He‟s only fifteen.”

“Old enough to pull at a tight rein. Did you never take the bit in your mouth when you were his age?”

“Not really. I was a good girl. A good student.” Her voice was only faintly bitter. “I spent my time cramming to get into a

good school.”

“Ah, yes. The Plan.” His lips curved, cool and amused. “I remember.”

She blinked. “You do?”

His gaze met hers, and her heart jolted. His eyes were not cool at all. “There was a time you wanted more than your parents

wanted for you.”

She swallowed. “And I got more than I bargained for.”

“An adventure,” he said softly.

Memory thumped in the pit of her stomach.

“More than an adventure,” she reminded him. Her rash decision that night had life-changing consequences. Morgan had

given her a baby.

And now, it seemed, he‟d given her a cat.

She looked at Emily, playing with the kitten on the floor. The little pucker between her brows was gone, her expression

open and more relaxed than at any time since their move to World‟s End. Liz would accept anything and anyone who put that

smile on her daughter‟s face.

And the kitten was responsible, she thought. No, Morgan was responsible.

He arched an eyebrow. “Regrets?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “Thank you. For the cat.”

Emily‟s head shot up. “We‟re keeping him?” She sought confirmation in her mother‟s face. “We‟re keeping him!”

Scrambling from the floor, she launched herself at Morgan, hugging as high as she could reach. “Thank you! Thank you,

Morgan.”

He stiffened like a startled dog.

Liz bit her lip, a pang at her heart. He wasn‟t used to children, she reminded herself. Emily wasn‟t his. Despite his kindness

this afternoon and his gesture with the kitten, he could not give her open-hearted daughter the affection she sought.

“It‟s Mr. Bressay, honey,” she reminded gently.

He raised his large hand and slowly, carefully stroked her daughter‟s curls. “Morgan.” His voice was harsh. He cleared his

throat. “I told her to call me Morgan.”

Emily tipped back her head and beamed. “Because we‟re friends.”

“Yes.” His deep voice made the word sound like a vow. “We are.”

He crouched beside her. “Now that the cat has a home, you must give it a name.”

They both watched the kitten. Deprived of Emily‟s attention, it stalked across the floor and pounced on Morgan‟s boot.

Emily giggled. “Tigger.”

His brows rose in question.

“From Winnie the Pooh ,” Liz supplied. “He bounces.” Morgan looked blank.

Poor man. He really was out of his element.

Yet there was nothing false about his interaction with Emily, none of the fake heartiness of her male colleagues who had

tried to hit on her with her children around. He treated Emily with the same grave courtesy he might have shown an adult.

And Emily, Liz saw, soaked up his masculine attention like a flower turning its face to the sun. “I‟ll take good care of

him,” she promised. “He can sleep on my bed.”

“In a box,” Liz said.

“In a box on my bed,” Emily said without missing a beat.

“I saw big boxes in your garage,” Morgan remarked. “Big as houses, if you were the size of your kitten.”

Emily‟s eyes rounded. “We could make a Tigger house.”

“I imagine we could,” he agreed.

Smooth, Liz thought. He was very good at getting what he wanted.

“ I want you, ” he had said last night, his tone low and thrilling, dark desire in his eyes.

She gnawed her lower lip again. She appreciated his intervention with Emily. He was perceptive, he was kind. But he was

not safe.

“The moving carton is a great idea,” she said. “Emily, honey, why don‟t you look in the linen closet and see if we have any

towels to make a bed for Tigger? The green ones.”

“Can I take Tigger?”

“Tigger will be fine down here with me. Now scoot. The faster you get the towels, the sooner we can get started on his

house.”

Her daughter bolted up the stairs.

She faced Morgan, trying to ignore her stuttering heart. “What are you doing?”

That beautiful mouth curved. “I believe I am turning a carton into some kind of cat accommodations.”

“You didn‟t come over tonight to build a kitty condo.”

“My plans will wait.”

“But you had plans.” For God‟s sake, why was she pushing this?

“I have . . . hopes.”

The look in his eyes made her stomach jump. It was uncomfortable and intoxicating to flirt like this, to want like this, with

her daughter only a flight of stairs away.

“I can‟t . . .” She inhaled and tried again. “This isn‟t appropriate.”