39. A Higher Power at Work
A HIGHER POWER AT WORK
MORGAN
She was getting used to this.
That was her first thought before full consciousness, before the recognition of where she was or the warmth of the man beside her or the pale morning light coming through the Victorian's curtains.
Just the simple, slightly alarming awareness that waking up in Patrick Callaghan's bed was becoming a habit she could very easily get used to.
She lay still and waited for her mind to take over, listing all the reasons why this was a problem.
The thing was, it didn't feel like a problem.
It felt… right. Like something that had always been going to happen, had finally happened.
She'd heard those words last night across a candlelit table and filed them away for later reflection and analysis, not wanting to waste one precious moment of the fantastic dinner or the beautiful view or—later—the overwhelming desire to finish off the evening in the arms of the man who’d told her she was his one.
An objective analysis simply wasn’t possible when she lay, warm and boneless and thoroughly satisfied. So she pushed everything back into that file and closed the cabinet, opting instead to snuggle more deeply into his embrace.
That was either very good or absolutely terrifying. She hadn't yet decided which.
Possibly both.
When she opened her eyes again, Patrick’s side of the bed was empty, which was both disappointing and necessary.
She was on leave, but he wasn’t. He had his moving company to oversee, and things he had to do to make the security and investigations company he’d told her about a reality—which, she thought, he was perfectly suited for and told him as much.
After taking care of some personal needs, she looked at her beautiful dress draped over the chair and wished she’d had the foresight to pack a change of clothes. Then her eyes snagged on the bed and the items that hadn’t been there when she’d gone into the bathroom.
She picked up the note. Thought these might come in handy - Riley
Morgan smiled and shook her head, pulling on the comfortable jeans and long sleeve cotton tee. Was this what it was like to have a best friend? Or… a sister?
She found Patrick in the kitchen in sweats and a thermal, coffee already made. He looked up when she came in, his eyes warming when he saw her.
She liked that look. A lot. It said, I’m thinking about what I did to you last night and I want to do it again.
“Coffee,” he said, already reaching for a mug.
“Thank you.” She accepted it, wrapped both hands around it, and leaned against the counter. The house was quiet. Morning light shone through the kitchen windows, which meant she’d slept later than she was used to.
Then again, she wasn’t used to having great sex for half the night, either. Her body ached in all the right places.
“Where is everyone?”
“Wade and Garrett left for work already. Declan works late and doesn't surface until closer to lunch time.” He set the coffee pot down. “Why?”
She looked at her mug. “Well, I was all psyched up for the walk of shame but…” She made a waving motion with her hand encompassing her outfit and the room in general.
Patrick laughed. “You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not,” she countered. “Just surprised.”
“Don’t be. They get it.”
“Get what, exactly?”
His answer was a devastating grin.
“I just don’t want it to be awkward.”
“It’s not. And it won’t be.” He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her lips before sitting down at the table. Was it wrong that she wanted to crawl onto his lap and demand more?
“You sound so certain.”
“Morgan,” he said, sounding both amused and slightly exasperated. “You’ve met my parents and my sister, and they like you. Riley’s already vetted you and given her stamp of approval, which is a major achievement.
“So… yesterday’s shopping trip was a test?”
“More like a confirmation,” he said with a grin.
“Believe me, she wouldn’t have brought clothes over for you this morning otherwise.
As for my housemates, well, you earned Wade’s respect when Bruno attached himself to your side and you doted on him.
Declan said that I should—” he stopped and changed what he was going to say.
“Well, let’s just say that Declan expressed a positive opinion of the situation, as did Garrett.
” He picked up his own mug. “Nobody has a problem with you being here. The opposite, in fact. They think you’re good for me. ”
She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “What did Declan say you should do?”
“I'm not repeating it.”
“Patrick—”
“It was complimentary,” he said firmly. “That's all you need to know.”
She pressed her lips together. But something in her chest had warmed.
Patrick drove her back to Frank’s an hour later. She couldn’t help noticing how beautiful the mountains looked in the late morning light, or how the sky was again a stunning blue. Maybe that was what being happy—instead of just being content—did for a person. It changed their whole outlook.
Or maybe it was just the afterglow of a night of good food, better company, and truly spectacular sex.
As Patrick’s thumb made those calming strokes on her hand, she thought about the events that had brought her here, to this moment.
About a newbie dispatcher’s mistake that eventually led to her reconnecting with her grandfather.
Of a mob-related hit man being taken out by a CIA operative on Sullivan land.
Of a clumsy, coffee-toppling misstep that had turned into something so, so much more.
For someone whose mind worked better with facts and figures than intangible concepts, it was hard for Morgan to believe in things like destiny and croies. And yet, it was harder to completely dismiss the possibility of a higher power at work.
Donna was in the kitchen when Morgan walked in. Donna gave her an assessing once-over. Finding Morgan clearly fine and smiling, she simply nodded and went back to stirring whatever was in the big cast iron Dutch oven.
Neither Frank nor Shadow were anywhere to be seen, which meant they were probably puttering around in the garage, doing whatever it was they occupied themselves with out there.
That worked for her. She had some serious thinking to do.
She made herself a cup of tea and retreated to the guest room to sort through things. She’d barely settled cross-legged on the bed when her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen and saw a notification from the Philadelphia Medical Examiner's Office.
She set down her mug and opened it.
The message was brief and formal. Her administrative leave had been rescinded effective immediately. Her personnel record had been expunged. She was welcome to return to her position at her earliest convenience. The office looked forward to her continued contributions.
She read it twice, once again waiting for something. Something like relief or joy or excitement. She felt none of that.
She could go back to Philadelphia. The door was open, the path clear, four years of good work officially restored. She'd built something there. She knew the job, knew the routine, and knew how to be the person who did it well. She'd been very good at it. She still would be.
But did she want to?
She looked around the room with its dark wood beams, plaster walls, sturdy Shaker style furniture, and handmade quilts and compared it to her small studio apartment, spray painted a flat builder’s white with cheap vinyl tongue-and-groove flooring and furniture slapped together from particle board.
Then she looked out the window. Outside, the last of the leaves were coming down.
The tree line stood clear and dark against the blue.
She caught sight of Frank carrying more wood and Shadow bounding after a squirrel.
She compared that to the view in Philly.
Tall gray buildings and faded gray concrete, covered by cars and people, not a tree in sight.
She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scents of Donna’s beef stew and baking bread, and thought about her freezer at home, stuffed with frozen entrees for one.
She thought about sitting at her tiny table every night, laptop open, reviewing notes and crime scenes and writing reports.
Compared that to eating at the kitchen table with Frank, sinking into a comfortable armchair with a good book in front of the fire, and investigating leads with DeepTrace and Archivist in person, instead of via impersonal, semi-anonymous forum posts.
About waking up with Patrick’s big, muscled body wrapped around her protectively, sharing coffee and theories. Dress shopping with Riley. Sitting at the pub with Jack Callaghan.
She picked up her phone and turned it face-up. Looked at the message again.
The question wasn’t whether to return to Philly. It was whether she was brave enough to stay.
She was sitting at the kitchen table when Frank came back in, Shadow immediately greeting her with a wagging tail and a wiggling butt.
Frank washed his hands in the sink, then ladled stew into two bowls—one for him and one for Shadow, then sat down at the table. Morgan pushed the basket with freshly baked bread toward him.
Frank dipped the bread in the stew. “Looks like you've got something on your mind.”
“My leave's been rescinded,” she said. “My record's been cleared. I can go back to my job anytime.”
Frank looked at her steadily. “So what's stopping you?”
She held his gaze. “I'm not sure I want to anymore.”
Frank was quiet for a moment. “Worse places than Pine Ridge to put down roots,” he said.
She took a piece of bread for herself, slathered it with the hand-churned butter Donna got from the farmers market, and bit into it.
“I already have roots here,” she said.
Frank looked at her for a long moment. And then he smiled. A real smile, the kind he’d only hinted at until now. It changed his whole face into something that let her see, briefly, the man underneath the decades of careful reserve.
“That you do,” he said. “You tell him yet?”
She didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. “About my leave being rescinded? No. You’re the first.”
Frank grunted, making Morgan smile. She’d become quite fond of the sound.
Then she refilled her bowl from the Dutch oven set on a low simmer, sat across from her grandfather, and enjoyed every bite.