Okay. Not too bad. He was a little light-headed, but as he stood there the sensation faded.
His steps as he crossed the open space were slow. He couldn’t do his normal confident stride; the best he could do was kind of shuffle his feet along. His body had always been a powerful machine that did his bidding, and now he didn’t recognize himself in this weak, aching shell. Maybe the worst part of this whole shitty situation was the uncertainty that he’d ever get back physically to what he had been before being shot.
He took the time to look around, noticing details that he hadn’t before. There was a keypad beside the door, and a red dot glowing on that told him she had a security system, and at some point had activated it. Guess it was a good thing he didn’t need to go out to the Tahoe to retrieve anything.
The barn was uncluttered, except for the dog’s toys strewn around. There was furniture-the living room area, the kitchen area, the dining area, and what looked like a small office space-in the whole open space that was the downstairs, but the furniture was only what was needed. The whole vibe was kind of barn mixed with industrial, which was weird for a woman. He didn’t know shit about decorating, but he knew women and how they liked to surround themselves with stuff. Isabeau Maran evidently either didn’t have a lot of stuff, or didn’t like stuff.
He was relieved that, however slow he might be, he made it to the bathroom without any real problem. At least he could walk it under his own steam. Driving all day had knocked him flat for a while, which was humiliating in and of itself. Before being shot, he could and had swum and/or run for miles, but now just sitting upright for a few hours had done him in. That last hour of driving had been accomplished by sheer determination, and he’d made it by the skin of his teeth. By the time he’d parked in the driveway in front of the barn, he’d been glad no one was there because the best he could do right then was lay his head back and take a nap. He’d been there about forty-five minutes before his hostess arrived.
Mac had neglected to mention that his ex-stepsister was a crazy dog lady, which Morgan supposed was better than a crazy cat lady. At least there was just one dog, and dogs were easier to corral than cats. He liked animals in general, just not right now. He didn’t have the energy to play, pet, or fend off an overly friendly retriever. Ms. Maran had made it plain where the dog was in the pecking order, and that was above him.
Okay, he got that. His presence was an unpleasant surprise. He was a stranger, and an imposition. He was as uncomfortable in this situation as she was.
They’d get through it though; he because he didn’t have any choice in the matter right now, and she because she needed the money. Despite the fact that she was being paid well to house him, he was grateful she’d accepted. From what he’d overheard when she was talking to Mac, she’d been on the verge of refusing even after the money had been offered. She’d been adamant that no one here be endangered by his presence. Morgan was fairly certain no one would be, but he couldn’t swear to it. Even the best of plans tended to get hiccups, or fall apart entirely when something unforeseen fucked up everything. He’d keep that to himself, though, or he’d likely find himself on the road in the morning, with nowhere to go and unable to get there under his own steam anyway.
He made it back to the sofa, stared without interest at the silent TV for a while, then got the remote and clicked the off button. The room went dark, a dark he found soothing. A hospital room-even one that was makeshift-was never dark. Once he had regained consciousness, the constant light, even a dim one, had become so annoying he’d have shut off every machine, smashed every light, and sealed the door… if he’d been able. He hadn’t been, but now he could certainly turn off the damn TV. He knew that once his eyes adjusted, he wouldn’t be in complete darkness; clocks on the microwave and the oven in the kitchen would be pinpoints of light, but normal pinpoints, not on machines that were hooked up to him. It hadn’t been only the light that had bothered him; the unceasing noise had too, the sounds of the machines running, conversations outside his room, people walking.
He drew a deep, cautious breath-everything in his chest still protested the expansion of muscles and rib cage-and felt something in him relax at the silence, the darkness.
Bo didn’t sleep well because she knew there was a stranger in the house. Sharing space wasn’t something she liked or was accustomed to. Her bedroom door was closed, and Tricks was accustomed to having the run of the house so she was restless. Tricks got up on the bed, she got down on the rug beside the bed, she went to the door, she nosed around the bedroom. Finally Bo sat up and said, “Get up here and go to sleep.” Tricks made the throat noises she did when she was arguing, but she jumped up on the bed and finally settled down. Bo thumped her pillow and tried to settle down herself.
She did finally go to sleep, but woke up annoyed-with herself, with Axel, with the man downstairs for getting shot in the first place. If he’d been more careful, he wouldn’t be in this shape. On the other hand, neither would she be making a hundred and fifty thousand-!!!-for taking care of him, so from that point of view, she was grateful he’d been careless.
As she threw back the covers, Tricks jumped up as bright eyed as ever, ready for her first trip outside. She dashed to the door and stood there with her tail wagging, looking expectantly from Bo to the doorknob, as if trying to show her how to open the door.
Normally Bo didn’t bother getting dressed, but now she did. She hit the bathroom herself, stopped to drag a brush through her hair and drink a glass of water. By the time she was dressed, Tricks was going back and forth between her and the door, letting her know this delay was unacceptable. Bo forcibly shoved her annoyance away. This was the way things would be for a while, she’d agreed to it, so she’d damn well be an adult about the situation. She wouldn’t blame Morgan Yancy for being careless; instead she would do her level best to take care of him and actually earn the money Axel was paying her.
She thought of his gray, exhausted face, and her conscience twinged. She’d let her massive dislike for Axel color her interactions with a man who was barely hanging on.
With that in mind, she’d have clipped a leash to Tricks’s collar if she’d had it with her, but the leash was downstairs. All she could do was do her best to keep Tricks from bounding up in his lap and generally making a nuisance of herself. Bracing for whatever Tricks might do, she opened the bedroom door and said, “Let’s go outside.”
No matter what, watching Tricks greet the morning always made Bo smile. Tricks never just walked. She pranced, she danced, she all but skipped. She was overjoyed with the prospect of going outside, of having her breakfast, at life in general. Bo also suspected Tricks got up every morning plotting a world takeover, because she never stopped trying to arrange everything to her liking.
The broad, industrial-type stairs were open to the floor level, and she could see that Morgan was still stretched out on the sofa, though the blanket that had covered him was now on the floor. Poor guy, as tall as he was, the sofa couldn’t be all that comfortable. Until he could make it up the stairs under his own power, though, the options were limited.
Tricks immediately started for him, of course, and Bo said again, “Let’s go outside,” and grabbed the tennis ball from the floor. Immediately distracted, Tricks began bouncing in anticipation. Bo detoured through the kitchen to hit the magic button on the K-cup coffeemaker and slide a cup into place, grateful that the cup would be full when she returned. After disarming the alarm, she opened the door, and Tricks shot through the opening.