Morgan's Hunter (8 page)

He hadn’t experienced an episode in months. After his return from Afghanistan, panic, anxiety and wrenching nightmares plagued him almost daily. With time, his symptoms faded, only sneaking up on occasion.

The military shrink had called it post traumatic stress disorder. Hunter called it bullshit. He remembered the quack telling him that until he was ready to deal with the guilt and pain of his losses and could willingly explore strong emotional attachments with others, he might suffer occasional bouts of anxiety.

The asshole didn’t know what he was talking about. What did a dance with Morgan Taylor have to do with crap talk like that?

Long after the last guest left, Morgan sat by the pool wide awake. Comfortable in cutoffs and a ratty gray sweatshirt from her alma matar, she dangled her feet in the heated water. Cricket song surrounded her as she moved her legs in restless circles, creating waves and small whirlpools.

Her parents’ home was dark but for the three upstairs windows of Hunter’s guestroom. He walked back and forth in gym shorts and a t-shirt as he talked on his cell phone, gesturing with his hand.

Hunter had occupied her mind from the moment he pulled up on his bike. No matter how she tried, she’d thought of little else. Morgan had watched for him from the crowds at the fundraiser, waiting. After two hours, she figured he wouldn’t come and was shocked by her disappointment.

When she’d glanced over and saw him staring at her in his suit, her heart had pounded as their eyes locked. She had never seen anyone as perfectly handsome as Hunter—although handsome was too tame a word for his in-your-face good looks.

His kindness surprised her. Her first impression had been perfect features, amazing muscles and an ego to go with it. When he’d pulled her against him, looking at her with understanding in his eyes, she thought she might’ve made a mistake.

Shockwaves had coursed through her body when his fingers brushed and caressed her skin. But then he’d pulled away as if she’d grown fangs, and he’d gotten all pushy-shovey, had started bossing her around in his irritating tone, and the ass she met in the driveway was back.

Morgan pulled her feet from the water and stood, drying her legs. She stopped abruptly when she felt Hunter’s gaze. She glanced up to his window. Despite the distance, their eyes locked, challenged, and a slow grin spread across his lips. Her pulse bumped up a notch. Unsettled by her reaction, she turned her back on him and walked to her house.

Chapter 8

T
HE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WALKED PAST Hunter carrying a trash bag bulging with cups and napkins. She stopped short when he held up an empty water bottle. The pretty blonde’s finger brushed his knuckles as the plastic exchanged hands.

She gave him a wide smile, showing off straight white teeth. Her gaze flicked over Morgan before she stepped away and moved down the aisle, looking back once, smiling again. Hunter sent her one of his best grins. Why the hell not?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot said, “our descent into Bozeman will be delayed momentarily due to a medical emergency on another flight. We’ll be circling for a short time until we get the all clear for landing. Sit back, relax. We’ll have you on the ground shortly.”

As the pilot spoke, the wing flaps extended with a mechanical whirr. Hunter closed his book, gently shook the shoulder Morgan slept against. He bent close to her ear, breathing in the tropical scent of her shampoo. “Hey, Morgan, time to get up. We’re almost there.”

Murmuring something inaudible, she snuggled closer, nestling herself against the crook of his shoulder. She wrapped her hand around his bicep as her hair brushed his jawbone. Her breathing deepened and steadied out again. Hunter cleared his throat, moved his arm once more. When she didn’t respond, he blew out a breath and let her be.

Morgan lost her battle with exhaustion shortly after they’d changed planes in Chicago. He’d watched her head bob to her chest several times before she finally pushed her seat back the miserly half inch it allowed and gave in to sleep. By the time pretzels and drinks were served, he’d had a shoulder-f of Morgan. She’d been dead to the world for over four hours.

When they’d met at the gate in Regan International for their nine a.m. departure she’d looked like hell. Attending three funerals in one weekend had taken its toll. The light purple circles under dull green eyes had been the only color to her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been cleared to land.”

The plane dipped slightly and the landing gear descended from the belly. The lights of Bozeman were visible through the droplets of rain scattering across the window.

Hunter shook his arm, moved his shoulder up and down. “Morgan, we’re going to land. Wake up.”

She blinked several times before she bolted upright in her seat. She stared at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Creases from his shirt imprinted her rosy cheek. “Sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair.

Hunter shrugged. “You don’t look quite as bad as you did this morning.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, just you.”

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” She hissed out a breath as she smoothed her hair again.

The plane swayed from left to right, jolted as the wheels made contact with the runway. The whoosh of the aircraft’s quick deceleration filled the cabin.

As the jet taxied to the gate, Morgan gathered her belongings from under the seat. Hunter pulled down the shirt sleeve that had ridden up while Morgan rested upon it. A dark, wet circle lay in its center. He frowned at her, wiped his hand on his pants. “Christ, Morgan, you drooled all over me.”

She glanced at his shoulder. A smug smile played across her lips as she gave his thigh a quick pat. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hunter. I assure you it wasn’t because you’re irresistible.”

Before Hunter could respond, the plane came to a stop. His seat was jostled from behind as passengers moved into action. The flight attendants thanked everyone for choosing them as their carrier while Morgan stood and opened the top latch, stepped into the aisle, grabbed her overhead baggage and made her way toward the front without looking at him again.

Loaded down with luggage, they walked through the sliding doors of the airport into the patchy fog and cool, misting rain.

Hunter held a rental contract and keys in his hand. “We’re looking for lot C-12. The lady said the car should be down a row and to the right.” He walked off, leaving Morgan to struggle with her pack and suitcases.

He scanned the cars until his gaze landed on the black Buick Regal lit up by the street lamp. “Here we are.”

The brake lights blinked twice when he hit the button to unlock the doors and pop the trunk. He threw his pack and carry-on in, turned to see Morgan limping toward him, weighed down by the suitcase she dragged at her side.

“I told you not to bring all of this.” He strolled over, hauling her bag up as if it were empty.

“I wouldn’t have if you’d brought some of the stuff yourself.”

He took the rest of her belongings, crammed them in, slammed the trunk closed. “I’ll drive. We need to make a quick stop.”

“Fine. Whatever. I just want to go to bed.” Settled in and buckled up, Morgan rested her head against the seat and her eyes drooped closed.

“Why don’t you grab another nap? It’s going to be a good half hour or so before we check in.”

Morgan’s eyes flew open as she gaped at him. “But we’re ten miles from our exit.”

He took a left out of the parking lot. “I said I have to make a stop.”

She muttered an oath and something about the hotel having food and toothbrushes.

They merged on the interstate as Hunter punched a number into his cell phone. “Cooke, it’s Phillips.”

“I take it you’re in Montana.”

“We just landed. Is everything all set?”

“Yeah. A man named Frank is waiting for you. He’ll hook you up with what you’ll need.”

“Good. I’m on my way now.” Hunter passed a car, moved back into the right hand lane.

“Let me know if you have any problems.”

“Will do.” He closed the phone and glanced over at Morgan dozing off again.

The car came to a stop. Morgan opened her eyes, frowned. She and Hunter sat in front of a small warehouse instead of the drug store or fast food chain she expected. “Where are we? What are we doing here?”

“Lock the doors. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Hunter got out and knocked on the heavy metal door of the grimy-looking building. A hulking man with a long, silver beard let him in.

What was he up to? Morgan got out of the vehicle intending to follow him. She tried twisting the doorknob. It was locked. “Damn.”

Through the shadows surrounding the building, Morgan walked toward a small lighted window covered with dirt and cobwebs. She glanced over her shoulder, uneasy in the creepy silence of the dark, before standing on her tiptoes to peer inside. Hunter spoke to the man with the beard, picked up the pistol the guy laid on a counter. Hunter aimed at something, nodded, and put the weapon into a leather holster under his shirt.

He isn’t really going to bring a gun…

Hunter shook the man’s hand and headed back toward the front of the building.

Morgan rushed from the window as the door opened and Hunter stepped outside.

“What are you doing? What in the
hell
do you think you’re doing?” Morgan repeated as she ripped the paper sack he carried from his hand. Pulling it open, she saw two boxes of bullets. “Are you out of your mind?”

He yanked the bag back. “Get in the car.”

“I absolutely will not until you tell me what you’re thinking.” She paced in front of him. “We’re going to a national park tomorrow. It’s illegal to discharge a firearm.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He walked back to the vehicle. “Get in so we can get out of here.”

She stormed over to his side, slamming the door he just opened. “You’re not bringing a gun onto federal property. You could—”

Hunter grabbed her arms and she gasped as he gave her a small shake. “Listen to me. This isn’t your show anymore, got it? I was hired to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do. I won’t tell you how to do your job. Don’t tell me how to do mine.”

“Get your hands off me.”

He gripped her tighter, pulled her closer, pushing his face nose to nose with hers. “You don’t seem to understand, Morgan. You aren’t the boss. You’re on my watch now, which means you do what I want, when I say. That’s how I keep you safe.”

“You can go to hell. You’re here with
me
. I’ll tell
you
how things will be.” She jerked her knee up to prove her point, but his reflexes were fast.

Hunter yanked her forward, killing her momentum. In a flash, he turned them around so her back pressed to the window of the vehicle, pinning her against him. “That wasn’t a good idea,” he said between clenched teeth.

Her breasts rose and fell against his chest as her breath rushed in and out.

He moved his face closer, until the warmth of his breath tickled her lips.

His eyes darted to her mouth and he hesitated before stepping back. He let her go. “Get in the car, Morgan.”

Heart pounding, Morgan stormed around to her side, slammed her door, glared at him. She stared out her window as they made their way through the industrial park back toward the hotel.

Hunter had one hell of a nerve. What was he thinking bringing a gun into Yellowstone? What if he accidentally shot an animal—or even another person? And he had
grabbed
her. Who did he think he was? In charge of her? Do what he said when he said? The hell with that. This was her assignment. He was just along for the ride.