And talking to yourself was the first sign of madness.
CHAPTER FOUR
MORGAN WRIGHT wasn’t a man given to second-guessing himself. In fact he’d built his small empire by going for the jugular and to hell with it if he’d got it wrong—which, it must be said, he rarely did. He was at the top of his game professionally and comfortingly satisfied with life in general. So why, he asked himself as he sat absently ruffling the fur on Bella’s head, the rest of the dogs piled round his feet, was he regretting inviting Willow to stay the night? It didn’t make sense.
A muscle knotted in his cheek and he swallowed the last of the Negroni he’d made for himself after coming downstairs. The bittersweet cocktail was one of his favourites and he usually took his time and enjoyed it in a leisurely way, but tonight the mix of Campari, sweet vermouth and gin barely registered on his taste buds. He was all at odds with himself and he didn’t like it.
He set the squat, straight-sided glass he always used for his pre-dinner cocktails on the small table beside him, frowning. He would have bet his bottom dollar she was no older than twenty, but if she was to be believed you could add practically another decade to that. And he didn’t doubt her. What woman would add years to her age, after all? No, she was nearly twenty-nine.
He raked back a quiff of hair that persisted in falling over his forehead, and the restrained irritation in the action brought Bella’s eyes to his face as she whined softly.
‘It’s all right, girl.’ He patted the noble head reassuringly even as a separate part of his mind asked the question, but was it? He didn’t like the way his new neighbour made him feel, that was it in a nutshell. He was way past the sweaty palms and uncontrollable urges stage, damn it. That had died a death after Stephanie and since then he’d made sure his head was in full control of his heart and the rest of him. He had a couple of friends who’d let their hearts rule their heads and both of them were paying for it in hefty alimony payments and only seeing their kids every other weekend—if they were lucky. Women were another species, that was the truth of it. Love, if it even existed, was too fragile a thing to trust in, too weighted with possible pitfalls. Like another wealthier, more successful patsy coming along.
Knowing his thinking was flawed, he rose abruptly from his seat and walked across the room to stand looking out over his grounds. OK, there were men and women who loved each other for a lifetime—maybe. But how many of these ‘perfect’ relationships were for real? How many merely papered over the cracks for reasons of their own? Thousands, millions.
‘Ten minutes to dinner.’
Kitty interrupted his thoughts and as he swung round and nodded it was as though the small, plump woman standing in the doorway was a challenge to his thoughts. He couldn’t doubt the strength and authenticity of what Jim and Kitty had, but they were the exception that proved the rule. There were hundreds of millions of men and women in the world; you had more chances of winning the lottery than finding what the women’s magazines called a soulmate.
‘The lass not down yet?’ Kitty asked cheerily.
‘No, not yet.’ He hoped she’d take the hint and disappear.
Kitty came further into the room, her voice dropping as she murmured, ‘I wonder what’s made a young lass like that buy Keeper’s Cottage? Someone of her age should be sharing a flat with friends and having fun. Tisn’t right to bury yourself away like she’s done.’
His voice dry, Morgan said, ‘She’s older than she looks.’
‘Oh, aye?’ Kitty nodded. ‘That makes more sense. How old is she, then?’
‘Nearly twenty-nine,’ Morgan said expressionlessly.
‘Is that so?’ Kitty nodded again. ‘Fancy that.’
Morgan grinned. Kitty was trying very hard to appear nonchalant but he could see the matchmaking gleam in her eye. The little woman had been on a mission to find a ‘nice’ wife for him for years; it was an irresistible challenge to her despite knowing his views on the subject. Walking across to her, he gently tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear as he murmured softly, ‘Forget it, Kitty. Between you and me Miss Willow Landon doesn’t like me very much so there’s no hope in that direction, OK?’
It clearly wasn’t. Visibly bristling, Kitty stared at him. ‘I don’t see why after the way you’ve helped her.’
‘Personality clash,’ he said briefly. ‘That’s all.’
‘Personality clash? And what’s that when it’s at home?’
Wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, Morgan took a deep breath, then let it out. ‘She’s been polite and grateful so don’t get on your high horse, woman. I just meant I’m clearly not her type any more than she’s mine.’