A Son's Tale

“I know that.”

“I love you, Morgan Lowen.” He’d never said that to a woman before. Not even to Rose Sanderson, though he’d wanted to tell the woman who’d once been a mother to him that he loved her.

“And I love you, Caleb Whittier. Now are you going to kiss me or do I have to wait until the wedding?”

Like a good professor, he answered her question immediately. Thoroughly.

With a whole lot of passion.

Her college professor taught her that reality was far better than the fantasy worlds they studied. And that she had pretty damn good judgment, after all.

EPILOGUE

“IS HE ASLEEP?” Cal leaned over Morgan’s shoulder to peek into Sammie’s room one night in late August. Sammie had played his first scrimmage game that night—nothing official, just an end-of-summer practice game that his coach had set up with a neighboring junior high school.

“Yeah.” Reaching for Cal’s arms she wrapped them around her, covering his hands with her own at her stomach. “He’s still got his jersey on.”

“He held his own with boys who are all older and bigger than he is.” Cal sounded like a proud papa.

“Thanks to you and your dad.”

Cal gave her a squeeze and led her across the hall to her room. “Sammie’s talented,” he said. “And a hard worker. Wonder where he got that characteristic from?”

She smiled vaguely. She’d been too busy to go out with Cal all week because she’d been making her wedding dress. “About the wedding,” she began, changing the subject.

“What about it?”

“I’m fine with having it at the country club, fine with Mom and Daddy paying our way, but I will not wear a dress that man purchased when I pledge myself to you for the rest of my life.”

Cal’s lips, moving all over her neck, were wreaking havoc with her concentration.

“It wouldn’t have mattered, sweetheart, you know that, don’t you? What you’re wearing or who paid for it won’t affect the meaning of that day. You’d look good in anything,” he said, trailing his lips across one bare shoulder. “Besides,” he added, “your father is your family, even if he is an arrogant ass.”

“Who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but money. And Sammie, because he wants to know that Sammie isn’t going to blow everything my father has worked for his whole life. He wants control of Sammie so he knows that Sammie is well trained to take over for him someday.”

She wasn’t over it yet, the anger her father instilled in her.

“I can’t speak to his caring,” Cal said. “But I know that you care about him. He’s your father. You care. That’s enough for me.”

“After what he did…the way he manipulated me…I—”

“He’s family. He has faults, but we’re on to him. And he did apologize.”

Morgan could still hardly believe that George had actually called to apologize to her. It was only because he’d done so that she and Cal had agreed to her parents’ request to give them a wedding, one befitting George Lowen’s daughter, with all the requisite guests invited.

“I want nothing from him,” Morgan said now. “He can leave everything he has to Sammie, but I wish he wouldn’t do that, either. I want my son to earn what he has. To understand the value of money, which means understanding that there are things in life that are far more important than money.”

“I think Sammie’s already ahead of you on that one. He turned down Hayward.”

“Because he couldn’t play basketball there.”

Taking Cal’s hand, Morgan led him back out to the living room. She had to work in the morning.

And he was far too much of a temptation.

“When did you say Sammie was staying with your folks again?” Cal kissed her long and deep.

She kissed him back until her knees were about to give out on her. And then, at the last second, she dragged her mouth away from his.