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If he couldn’t perform for the woman he loved, what hope was there of anyone else working out?
He was tired of hoping. Of wondering if he would ever be a man again.
Chapter 13
Becca faced herself in the spotty mirror above the basin in the old-style bathroom. She looked like death warmed up, all her colour drained, leaving her the same colour as her hastily donned trackpants and sweater. And tears. She never cried.
She’d been insane to think she and Morgan could live this closely. With her wanting him and him indifferent, it was a recipe for humiliation. She’d been almost sure he’d been at least partially aroused when she first kissed him. Yet a necking session where he’d sent her soaring left him cold. Which only went to prove any sexual desire he’d had for her as a teenager was long gone.
Scraping her hair back with her fingers, she splashed water over her face and tried to rub some colour into her cheeks. Her mouth was swollen and pouty from kissing Morgan and there was an ache in the pit of her stomach. Not to mention the nausea rising at the back of her throat. Only the first one would be visible to Grace when she went to pick up the children. It was almost dark, so perhaps she could hover at the door and avoid the well-lit kitchen.
Flicking off the light, she walked carefully along the dimming hallway to the back porch, slipping on her pull-on runners and letting herself out silently. It only took a few minutes to cross the open space to the fence separating the two properties. She could see lights on at the Cavanaugh place but Morgan’s house remained pitch black. Anxiety stirred, and she wondered how upset he’d been by what happened. She turned away, finishing the short journey but hesitated at the bottom of the Cavanaugh stairs, seeking out the window of his room across the paddock. For a moment she thought something stirred in the shadowy frame, but no light pierced the darkness.
‘Rebecca? What are you doing hovering around outside?’ Grace’s voice showed none of the passion of their earlier conversation. But the woman had a lifetime of controlling her feelings under her belt. Sympathy stirred at the memory of the woman’s grief over her children, but the recollection of her resentment of her own grandchildren’s existence stiffened Becca’s spine.
‘I think we’re in for a cold snap. There’s a bite in the air.’ In more ways than one. But that was par for the course. She hadn’t expected Grace to soften after the earlier revelations. Quite the opposite. People usually regretted revealing themselves to the enemy.
Gabby poked her nose out the door. ‘How come you took so long?’
‘I needed to talk to Morgan about Saturday night.’ Not a total lie. She’d spoken to him yesterday briefly and she would have confirmed it if they hadn’t been distracted.
‘Is he coming with us?’
Becca nodded and an ache settled in her chest at the disappointment they were going to feel at the change of plan about the house. She hadn’t said anything to Morgan yet, but he must feel the same way after her trying to seduce him and failing dismally.
Both children were ready to go, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Grace obviously didn’t want Becca lingering. Maybe she was feeling a little exposed too. Becca sent them on their way, waiting until they were out of earshot before she spoke to Grace.
‘You don’t need to worry. We won’t be going ahead with the house sharing scenario.’
If she’d expected Grace to show her pleasure at winning her point, the sombre response was a disappointment. ‘I think it will be for the best in the long run.’
For who? The losers would be the children, but Becca had found the one thing she couldn’t sacrifice for their sakes. Her self-respect. She fought too hard for it over the years.
Against the gossips of the town, the cool disdain of Grace Cavanaugh, and her own weakness.
It wasn’t until Friday that Becca had a chance to speak to Morgan alone. Half the town seemed to have come down with flu, making for long hours in the surgery.
Morgan had meetings with Michael Long a couple of evenings; though he’d made time to go to the bistro with Sabine Mallings on the Thursday night according to the rumour mill.
No-one seemed to be linking him with Becca which she told herself was a relief in the circumstances. Karen mentioned a few people made comments about Morgan’s resemblance to Gabby, but not in a nasty way. It seemed the town accepted Morgan’s relationship with the two children without making a thing of it. For the locals who might have remembered Morgan and speculated it was old news and for the rest of the town, including the many new people, it was a matter of indifference.
Grace would be pleased.
Morgan was engrossed in something on his laptop when Becca ventured into his office after the last patient left. He glanced up as she sat down in the chair usually relegated to the patients. ‘Half a moment.’
It was no hardship to sit and watch him, sketching in her mind the changes since he’d arrived home still recovering from his illness. He’d been steadily improving those first weeks, but this last week he seemed to have gone backwards, the bones on his face more prominent and shadows under his eyes.
Lowering the lid of the laptop, he shifted on his chair to face her. ‘How can I help?’
‘I want to talk to you about the house sharing thing.’
‘Can’t it wait until we’re out of here? I’m free tonight.’
‘I don’t think it can wait. I’ve been trying to talk to you all week.’
His lashes fluttered as he lowered his lids to mask his eyes. ‘What’s so important?’
‘I’ve taken my house off the market. The whole sharing thing isn’t going to work.’
