“How’s that possible?” she asked with a lame attempt of sincerity existing in her eyes. “I can’t go to bed with men who love me like the devil, and expect to wake up among angels in the morning.”
“She has a point,” Blake said.
Grant tucked her against his side and kissed the top of her head. “As long as you’re in my arms, I don’t care where we are.”
“Me either,” she said, shifting her gaze between them. “As long as we’re together, we can beat anything.”
Grant closed his eyes then and prepared to go to sleep, praying the bad dreams wouldn’t come for Morgan like they had in nights past. He wanted Morgan to rest. He longed to see her find peace of mind.
He was pretty sure with the love he and Blake had shown her, Morgan was well on her way to recovery through a new addiction she discovered by loving them.
Epilogue
One week later
Morgan strolled the length of the barn. She’d taken two hundred and fifty paces, counting out each step one at a time. “What do you think they’ll say?” she asked, ducking under the crossties where Blake tried to shoe one of Kit’s horses.
“They’ll be glad to see you, Morgan,” Blake told her. “We’ve been over this.”
“How come you didn’t tell them I was here?” she asked, directing her question toward Grant when he entered the barn.
Neither one of them made an effort to answer her question.
“You can tell me, you know,” she said, placing her hand
in the curve of her tiny waist. “I can handle it.”
Grant frowned. Blake cleared his throat.
“You didn’t think I’d stay clean,” she said.
“I never doubted whether or not you’d stay clean if you remained here with us,” Grant told her.
Blake tapped the horse’s shoe, securing the shape to the animal’s hoof. He glanced up. He narrowed his eyes and said, “You always have a choice, ya know?”
“You mean I can choose to go, and you’ll let me walk out of here?”
Grant shot Blake a cold glare.
“Hey now!” she exclaimed. “Don’t show ill will toward the messenger. I’m just asking questions, making conversation.”
Blake left the crossties and grabbed a lead rope from the tack room. When he returned, he hooked the lead to the horse’s halter and released the crossties. The clickety-plop of new shoes resounded throughout the barn.
Morgan shrugged. “I always figured after I said I’d do things your way, I’d never have a choice again.”
“We all make choices, Morgan,” Grant reminded her. “You chose to stay here and let us help you.”
She waggled her brows. “I find the benefits mutually satisfying, don’t you?”
He chuckled. “Fact is, if you wanted to go, we’d have to let you leave. It’s criminal to hold you against your will.”
“Is that why you keep me so busy with extracurricular activities?” she asked, thinking she’d never had so much sex in all her life.
“You never know,” Grant said, arching a brow. “Why, are you getting tired of us already?”
“No, actually,” she began, noting a light blue pickup truck racing down the driveway, “I’m beginning to think Blake was right. I’ve always been a junkie. First it was adrenaline—high school and college sports. Then, it was drugs. Now, believe it or not, I’m a sex junkie. As far as I know, there’s no surefire cure.” A beat later, she added, “Besides, from what I understand, an addict can’t secure help for an addiction when they aren’t seeking treatment.”
“Is that a fact?” Grant asked, grabbing her hand and bringing her fingertips to his lips.