Megan's Mate tcw-5 Read online

  Nathaniel dropped the hat back on Kevin's head, pushed up the brim. “Keep it.”

  The boy's eyes went blank with shocked pleasure. “For real?” “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Look, Mom, I can keep it. I'm going to show Aunt Coco.”

  He raced upstairs with a clatter of sneakers. When Nathaniel straightened again, Megan was eyeing him narrowly.

  “What did he ask you?”

  “Man talk. Women don't understand these things.”

  “Oh, really?” Before she could disabuse him of that notion, Nathaniel hooked his fingers in her waistband and jerked her forward.

  “I've got permission to do this now.” He kissed her thoroughly, while Delia did her best to snuggle between them.

  “Permission,” Megan said when she could breathe again. “From whom?”

  “From your men.” He strolled casually into the parlor, laid Delia on her play rug, where she squealed happily at her favorite stuffed bear. “Except your father, but he's not around.”

  “My men? You mean Kevin and Sloan.” Realization dawned, and had her sinking onto the arm of a chair. “You spoke to Sloan about... this?”

  “We were going to beat each other up about it, but it didn't come to that.” Very much at home, Nathaniel walked to the side table and poured himself a short whiskey from a decanter. “We straightened it out.”

  “You did. You and my brother. I suppose it didn't occur to either of you that I might have some say in the matter.”

  “It didn't come up. He was feeling surly about the fact that you'd spent the night with me.”

  “It's none of his business,” Megan said tightly.

  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. It's water under the bridge now. Nothing to get riled about.”

  “I'm not riled. I'm irritated that you took it upon yourself to explain our relationship to my family without discussing it with me.” And she was unnerved, more than a little, by the worshipful look she'd seen in Kevin's eyes.

  Women, Nathaniel thought, and tossed back his whiskey. “I was either going to explain it to Sloan or take a fist in the face.”

  “That's ridiculous.”

  “You weren't there, sugar.”

  “Exactly.” She tossed back her head. “I don't like to be discussed. I've had my fill of that over the years.”

  Very carefully, Nathaniel set his glass down. “Megan, if you're going to circle back around to Dumont, you're just going to get me mad.”

  “I'm not doing that. I'm simply stating a fact.”

  “And I stated a fact of my own. I told your brother I was in love with you, and that settled it.”

  “You should have...” She trailed off, gasped for air that had suddenly gone too thin. “You told Sloan you were in love with me?”

  “That's right. Now you're going to say I should have told you first.”

  “I... I don't know what I'm going to say.” But she was glad, very glad, that she was already sitting down.

  “The preferred response is 'I love you, too.'“ He waited, ignored the slow stroke of pain. “Can't get your tongue around that.”

  “Nathaniel.” Be calm, she warned herself. Reasonable. Logical. “This is all moving so fast. A few weeks ago, I didn't even know you. I never expected what's happened between us. And I'm still baffled by it. I have very strong, very real feelings for you, otherwise I couldn't have stayed with you that first night.”

  She was killing him, bloodlessly. “But?”

  “Love isn't something I'll ever be frivolous about again. I don't want to hurt you, or be hurt, or risk a misstep that could hurt Kevin.”

  “You really think time's the answer, don't you? That no matter what's going on inside you, if you just wait a reasonable period, study all the data, balance all the figures, the right answer comes up.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “If you're saying do I need time, then yes, I do.”

  “Fine, take your time, but add this into your equation.” In two strides he was in front of her, dragging her up, crushing her mouth with his. “You feel just what I feel.”

  She did—she was very much afraid she did. “That's not the answer.”

  “It's the only answer.” His eyes burned into hers. “I wasn't looking for you, either, Megan. My own course was plotted out just fine. You changed everything for me. So you're going to have to adjust your nice neat columns and make room for me. Because I love you, and I'm going to have you. You and Kevin are going to belong to me.” He released her. “Think about it,” he said, and walked out.

  Idiot. Nathaniel continued to curse himself as he spun his wheels pulling up in front of Shipshape. Obviously he'd found a new way to court a woman: Yell and offer ultimatums. Clearly the perfect way to win a heart.

  He snatched Dog out of the back seat and received a sympathetic face bath. “Want to get drunk?” he asked the wriggling ball of fur. “Nope, you're right, bad choice.” He stepped inside the building, set the dog down and wondered where he might find an alternative.

  Work, he decided, was a wiser option than a bottle.

  He busied himself with an engine until he heard the familiar blat of a horn. That would be Holt, bringing in the last tour of the day.

  His mood still sour, Nathaniel went out and down to the pier to help secure lines.

  “The holiday's bringing in a lot of tourists,” Holt commented when the lines were secured. “Good runs today.”

  “Yeah.” Nathaniel scowled at the throng of people still lingering on the docks. “I hate crowds.”

  Holt's brow lifted. “You were the one who came up with the Fourth of July special to lure them in.”

  “We need the money.” Nathaniel stomped back into the shop. “Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

  “Who's ticked you off?”

  “Nobody.” Nathaniel took out a cigar, lit it defiantly. “I'm not used to being landlocked, that's all.”

  Holt very much doubted that was all, but, in the way of men, shrugged his acceptance and picked up a wrench. “This engine's coming along.”

  “I can pick up and go anytime.” Nathaniel clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Nothing holding me. All I got to do is pack a bag, hop a freighter.”

  Holt sighed, accepted his lot as a sounding board. “Megan, is it?” “I didn't ask for her to drop in my lap, did I?”

  “Well...”

  “I was here first.” Even when he heard how ridiculous that sounded, Nathaniel couldn't stop. “Woman's got a computer chip in her head. She's not even my type, with those neat little suits and that glossy briefcase. Who ever said I was going to settle down here, lock myself in for life? I've never stayed put anywhere longer than a month since I was eighteen.”

  Holt pretended to work on the engine. “You started a business, took out a mortgage. And it seems to me you've been here better than six months now.”

  “Doesn't mean anything.”

  “Is Megan dropping hints about wedding bells?”

  “No.” Nathaniel scowled around his cigar and snarled. “I am.”

  Holt dropped his wrench. “Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You're thinking of getting married, and you're kicking around here muttering about hopping a freighter and not being tied down?”

  “I didn't ask to be tied down, it just happened.” Nathaniel took a deliberate puff, then swore. “Damn it, Holt, I made a fool of myself.”

  “Funny how we do that around women, isn't it? Did you have a fight with her?”

  “I told her I loved her. She started the fight.” He paced the shop, nearly gave in to the urge to kick the tool bench. “What happened to the days when women wanted to get married, when that was their Holy Grail, when they set hooks for men to lure them in?”

  “What century are we in?”

  The fact that Nathaniel could laugh was a hopeful sign. “She thinks I'm moving too fast.”

  “I'd tell you to slow down, but I've known you too long.”

  Calmer, he took up a ratchet, con
sidered it, then set it down again. “Suzanna took her lumps from Dumont. How'd you get past it?”

  “I yelled at her a lot,” Holt said, reminiscing. “I've tried that.”

  “Brought her flowers. She's got a real weakness for flowers.” Which made him think that perhaps he'd stop on the way home and pick some up.

  “I've done that, too.” “Have you tried begging?”

  Nathaniel winced. “I'd rather not.” His eyes narrowed curiously. “Did you?”

  Holt took a sudden, intense interest in the engine. “We're talking about you. Hell, Nate, quote her some of that damn poetry you're so fond of. I don't know. I'm not good at this romance stuff.”

  “You got Suzanna.”

  “Yeah.” Holt's smile spread. “So get your own woman.” Nathaniel nodded, crushed out his cigar. “I intend to.”

  Chapter 10

  The sun had set by the time Nathaniel returned home. He'd overhauled an engine and repaired a hull, and he still hadn't worked off his foul mood.

  He remembered a quote—Horace, he thought— about anger being momentary insanity. If you didn't figure out a way to deal with momentary insanity, you ended up in a padded room. Not a cheerful image.

  The only way to deal with it, as far as he could see, was to face it. And Megan. He was going to do both as soon as he'd cleaned up.

  “And she'll have to deal with me, won't she?” he said to Dog as the pup scrambled out of the car behind him. “Do yourself a favor, Dog, and stay away from smart women who have more brains than sense.”

  Dog wagged his tail in agreement or sympathy, then toddled away to water the hedges.

  Nathaniel slammed the car door and started across the yard. “Fury?”

  He stopped, squinted into the shadows of dusk, toward the side of the cottage. “Yeah?”

  “Nathaniel Fury?”

  He watched the man approach, a squat, muscled tank in faded denim. Creased face, strutting walk, a grease-smeared cap pulled low over the brow.

  Nathaniel recognized the type. He'd seen the man, and the trouble he carried with him like a badge, in dives and on docks the world over. Instinctively he shifted his weight.

  “That's right. Something I can do for you?”

  “Nope.” The man smiled. “Something I can do for you, ”

  Even as the first flash of warning lit in Nathaniel's brain, he was grabbed from behind, his arms viciously twisted and pinned. He saw the first blow coming, braced, and took a heavy fist low in the gut. The pain was incredible, making his vision double and waver before the second blow smashed into his jaw.

  He grunted, went limp.

  “Folded like a girl. Thought he was supposed to be tough.” The voice behind him sneered, giving him the height and the distance. In a fast, fluid movement, Nathaniel snapped his head back, rapping his skull hard against the soft tissue of a nose. Using the rear assailant for balance, he kicked up both feet and slammed them into a barrel chest.

  The man behind him cursed, loosened his grip enough for Nathaniel to wrest himself away. There were only seconds to judge his opponents and the odds.

  He saw that both men were husky, one bleeding profusely now from his broken nose, the other snarling as he wheezed, trying to get back his breath after the double kick to his chest. Nate snapped his elbow back, had the momentary pleasure of hearing the sound of bone against bone.

  They came at him like dogs.

  He'd been fighting all his life, knew how to mentally go around the pain and plow in. He tasted his own blood, felt the power sing up his arm as his fist connected. His head rang like church bells when he caught a blow to the temple. His breath burned from another in the ribs.

  But he kept moving in as they circled him, lashing out, dripping sweat and blood. Avoiding a leap at his throat with a quick pivot, he followed through with a snapping, backhanded blow. The flesh on his knuckles ripped, but the pain was sweet.

  He caught the quick move out of the corner of his eye and turned into it. The blow skimmed off his shoulder, and he answered it with two stinging jabs to the throat that had one of the men sinking bonelessly to his knees.

  “Just you and me now.” Nathaniel wiped the blood from his mouth and measured his foe. “Come on.”

  The loss of his advantage had his opponent taking a step in retreat. Facing Nathaniel now was like facing a wolf with fangs sharp and exposed. His partner was useless, and the man shifted his eyes for the best route of escape.

  Then his eyes lit up.

  Lunging, he grabbed one of the boards waiting to be nailed to the deck. He was grinning now, advancing and swinging the board like a bat. Nathaniel felt the wind whistle by his ear as he feinted left, then the wood slapping on his shoulder on the return swing.

  He went in low. The rushing power took them both over the deck and smashing through the front door.

  “Fire in the hole!” Bird shouted out. “All hands on deck!” His wings flapped frantically as the two men hurtled across the room.

  A small table splintered like toothpicks under their combined weight. The wrestling wasn't pretty, nor was there any grace in the short body punches or the gouging fingers. The cottage rang with smashing furniture and harsh breathing.

  Something new crept into the jungle scent of sweat and blood. When he recognized fear, Nathaniel's adrenaline pumped faster, and he used the new weapon as ruthlessly as his fists.

  He closed his hand around the thick throat, thumb crushing down on the windpipe. The fight had gone out of his opponent. The man was flailing now, gagging.

  “Who sent you?” Nathaniel's teeth were bared in a snarl as he grabbed the man by the hair and rapped his head hard on the floor.

  “Nobody.”

  Breathing through his teeth, Nathaniel hauled him over, twisted his arm and jerked it viciously up his back. “I'll snap it like a twig. Then I'll break the other one, before I start on your legs. Who sent you?”

  “Nobody,” the man repeated, then screamed thinly when Nathaniel increased the pressure. “I don't know his name. I don't!” He screamed again, almost weeping now. “Some dude outa Boston. Paid us five hundred apiece to teach you a lesson.”

  Nathaniel kept the arm twisted awkwardly, his knee on the man's spine. “Draw me a picture.”

  “Tall guy, dark hair, fancy suit.” The squat man babbled out curses, unable to move without increasing his own agony. “Name of God, you're breaking my arm.”

  “Keep talking and it's all I'll break.”

  “Pretty face—like a movie star. Said we was to come here and look you up. We'd get double if we put you in the hospital.”

  “Looks like you're not going to collect that bonus.” After releasing his arm, Nathaniel dragged the man up by the scruff of his neck. “Here's what you're going to do. You're going to go back to Boston and tell your pretty-faced pal that I know who he is and I know where to find him.” For the hell of it, Nathaniel rammed the man against the wall on the way out the door. “Tell him not to bother looking over his shoulder, because if I decide he's worth going after, he won't see me coming. You got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

  “Now pick up your partner.” The other man was struggling onto his hands and knees. “And start running.”

  They didn't need any more urging. Pressing a hand to his ribs, Nathaniel watched until they'd completed their limping race out of sight.

  He gave in to a groan then, hobbling painfully through the broken door and into the house.

  “I have not yet begun to fight,” Bird claimed.

  “A lot of help you were,” Nathaniel muttered. He needed ice, he thought, a bottle of aspirin and a shot of whiskey.

  He took another step, stopping, then swearing, when his vision blurred and his legs wobbled like jelly.

  Dog came out of the corner where he'd huddled, whimpering, and whined at Nate's feet.

  “Just need a minute,” he said to no one in particular, and then the room tilted nastily on its side. “Oh, hell,” he murmure
d, and passed out cold.

  Dog licked at him, tried to nuzzle his nose, then sat, thumped his tail and waited. But the smell of blood made him skittish. After a few moments, he waddled out the door.

  Nathaniel was just coming to when he heard the footsteps approaching. He struggled to sit up, wincing at every blow that had gone unfelt during the heat of battle. He knew that if they'd come back for him, they could tapdance on his face without any resistance from him.

  “Man overboard,” Bird announced, and earned a hissing snarl from Nathaniel.

  Holt stopped in the doorway and swore ripely. “What the hell happened?” Then he was at Nathaniel's side, helping him to stand.

  “Couple of guys.” Too weak to be ashamed of it, Nathaniel leaned heavily on Holt. It began to occur to him that he might need more than aspirin.

  “Did you walk into a robbery?”

  “No. They just stopped by to beat me to a pulp.”

  “Looks like they did a good job of it.” Holt waited for Nathaniel to catch his breath and his balance. “Did they mention why?”

  “Yeah.” He wiggled his aching jaw and saw stars. “They were paid to. Courtesy of Dumont.”

  Holt swore again. His friend was a mess, bruised, bloodied and torn. And it looked as though he were too late to do anything other than mop up the spills.

  “Did you get a good look at them?”

  “Yeah, good enough. I kicked their butts back to Boston to deliver a little message to Dumont.”

  Half carrying Nathaniel to the door, Holt stopped, took another survey. “You look like this, and you won?”

  Nathaniel merely grunted.

  “Should have known.” The news made Holt marginally more cheerful. “Well, we'll get you to the hospital.”

  “No.” Damned if he'd give Dumont the satisfaction. “Son of a bitch told them they'd get a bonus if they put me in the hospital.”

  “Then that's out,” Holt said with perfect understanding. “Just a doctor then.”

  “It's not that bad. Nothing's broke.” He checked his tender ribs. “I don't think. Just need some ice.”

  “Yeah, right.” But, being a man, Holt was in perfect sympathy with the reluctance to be bundled off to a doctor. “Okay, we're going to the nextbest place.” He eased Nathaniel into the car. “Take it slow, ace.”