The Family Feud: The Family Feud / Stop The Wedding?!

DESPITE THE King Kong-size headache hammering at her skull, Jan closed the boutique and transported her hysterical mother and sister home for a rousing pep talk—that had no effect whatsoever. Sylvia and Kendra broke open a bottle of wine and began another self-pitying tissue-fest that would probably last all night.

Jan’s pounding headache couldn’t tolerate another round of shrill, high-pitched wails so she piled into her car and headed to Morgan Price’s farm where her father had parked his Winnebago camper during the separation. Driving past the wide expanse of peanut fields eased the tension roiling through Jan. The countryside was peaceful and serene, unlike the turmoil at home that triggered her high-level stress.

Jan parked beside the motor home that was hooked to an electrical extension cord running from Morgan Price’s garage. Mr. Nuts and Bolts had apparently done well for himself, she mused as she surveyed the spacious ranch-style brick home. Obviously his ability to manage the hardware store and tractor supply shop in Oz gained him financial success.

Her gaze drifted to the older compact brick home that sat two hundred yards farther down the graveled road. According to Sylvia, Georgina Price lived near her son, and it was there that John Mitchell was working part-time to renovate the kitchen. Also according to Sylvia, there was a little hanky-panky going on. The mere thought of her father having sex with anyone, even her mother, was enough to make Jan shudder. Her headache intensified and she absently massaged her throbbing temples. She didn’t want to consider the physical aspect of her parents’ relationship.

Jan dragged in a steadying breath, noted her dad’s truck and headed toward the Winnebago. Although her dad informed her that he had a date, Jan hoped to catch him before he trotted over to Georgina’s to do whatever it was that a fifty-eight-year-old man did when he was on the make and purposely tormenting his estranged wife—who was at home, consuming wine like it was going out of style and bawling in unison with their youngest daughter.

While Jan rapped on the door she asked herself why she didn’t grab a bottle of booze and get soused. Certainly, this fiasco with her family was enough to drive a teetotaler like herself to drink.

When no one answered the knock, Jan hammered on the door again, then waited another impatient moment. “Be here, damn it.”

“He’s not there.”

Startled by the husky baritone voice, Jan wheeled around on the narrow metal landing. The heel of her navy blue pump dropped off the edge, hurtling her off balance. She flapped her arms like a duck going airborne in an attempt to upright herself, but it was a wasted effort. Shrieking in alarm, she tumbled, pellmell, down the steps, scraped her leg against the metal and landed in an undignified heap in the grass.

“Janna, are you all right?” Morgan asked as he sprinted toward her.

“No, I’m not all right,” she muttered as she levered herself into a sitting position to survey the damage. What could be worse than coming off looking like a world-class klutz in front of a man you wanted to impress for only God knew what insane reason? “I’ve got a Godzilla-size headache from listening to my mother and sister bawling for three steady hours. I snagged my hose, ripped the heel off one shoe and twisted my wrist.” She heaved a defeated sigh. “My family’s falling apart right in front of my eyes and I can’t seem to do anything about it.”

Morgan hunkered down in front of her and flashed her a compassionate smile. “Definitely a rough day out here in peanut country.” Effortlessly, he hoisted her to her feet. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”

“What? A bottle of wine like the one Mother and Kendra are sharing? I don’t drink. Or at least I usually don’t drink,” she amended as she took inventory of the gaping hole in the knee of her panty hose, her scraped shin and her aching wrist. “I’m thinking of making an exception.”

Morgan chuckled as he plucked up Jan’s de-heeled shoe. “I have wine in the house, but I had another kind of tension-reliever in mind.”

Jan eyed him dubiously. “What? Forget-all-your-troubles sex? I’m not interested in that, either, thanks all the same.”

Morgan snickered again, then scooped her effortlessly into his arms and carried her across the driveway. “Not sex, either,” he assured her. “I’m not so egotistical to believe you like me enough for that.”

Jan was surprised by his modesty. She’d pegged him as the Don Juan of Oz because women had fallen all over themselves to capture his interest since high school. If anything, Morgan’s darkly handsome good looks had enhanced with age. A woman would have to be dead at least two weeks not to react to his masculine charm and sex appeal.

Even so, she scolded herself for finding comfort in his muscular arms. She wasn’t accustomed to leaning on a man. She, after all, was the anchor for her family, the troubleshooter for her associates at work. People looked to her for solutions and encouragement. But, after the day she’d had, leaning on Morgan—even if he was the enemy—felt good, necessary even.

To Jan’s surprise, Morgan deposited her on the seat of his hunter-green pickup, then strode around to the driver’s side. “Where are we going?” she questioned. “I need to talk to Dad.”

“John hitched a ride with me when I helped him secure the upper and lower cabinets in Mom’s kitchen. She invited him to supper.”

“Great, and you didn’t stay to chaperone them?” she muttered, trying very hard not to notice how sexy Morgan looked in a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans that hugged his muscled thighs and lean hips like gloves.

He tossed her a wry smile. “I wasn’t invited.”

Jan sighed in frustration, but her gaze instinctively slid back to Morgan. She wondered if she’d ever get past the fact that she’d been wildly attracted to him as a teenager and was unwillingly attracted to him now. Damn, that’s the last thing she needed, while in the middle of the family feud. Morgan was quartered out here in the enemy camp. Hell, he owned the enemy camp. Mr. Nuts and Bolts of the hardware world was aiding and abetting her father and making it easy for Daddy to dally with Georgina who had a reputation as a femme fatale.

Her headache roared back in full force.

Her sullen thoughts evaporated when Morgan drove over the metal cattle guard that led to a scenic pasture, complete with a tree-lined creek and herd of Black Angus cattle.

“This is where I come to escape the hassles and frustrations of the world,” he confided as he climbed down from the truck. “Sit tight while I lower the tail-gate and scatter the range cubes. Then we’ll sit back and enjoy the peace and quiet of our surroundings.”

Jan watched Morgan grab two three-gallon buckets from the truck bed. He ambled forward, whistled loudly, and then scattered cubes across the grass. In the distance, the cattle raised their heads, then trotted eagerly toward him. Jan smiled in spite of herself while Morgan gabbed conversationally with two dozen cows and their young calves. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to do with his leisure time, but it certainly wasn’t this. Having been raised in town, Jan hadn’t had the chance to appreciate the wide-open spaces. Communing with nature, she decided, was good for the troubled soul.

Jan forgot to protest when Morgan swung her up in his arms and settled her on the tailgate. Being pampered had its advantages, especially when she was one shoe short of a pair. “I see what you mean about easing the tension,” she murmured as she surveyed the herd then breathed in a deep gulp of country air.

Morgan leaned over to gently massage the taut muscles of her neck and shoulders. Ah, the man had wonderful hands. She could only imagine how she’d feel if those magical hands were skimming over her naked body…What was she thinking? Damn it, the soft spot she’d developed years ago seemed to be spreading rapidly. That was not a good thing.

“So tell me what else went wrong today that has you knotted up like a rope,” he murmured as he kneaded her stiff shoulders.

Jan hesitated, unsure she wanted to confide Kendra’s fiasco. Then she decided Morgan would hear it through the grapevine because, no way, could Lorna Mason keep her trap shut. Likable and competent though Lorna was, her favorite hobby was gossiping and she was quite proficient at it.

“I came to tell Dad that Kendra’s wedding has been called off.”

“Yeah? How come?” he asked, continuing his marvelous massage.

“Because she found her fiancé in bed with another woman and now she and Mother are at home, drowning their troubles in wine. I told them that troubles have gills and fins and know how to swim, but their wounded pride wasn’t listening.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Morgan commiserated. “Surprised? No. But sorry just the same.”

“Richard Samson called the house twice while I was there, demanding to speak to Kendra,” Jan confided. “She told me to tell him to go straight to hell and never come back because she wasn’t speaking to him as long as she lived—or he lived, whichever came first. In addition, she told me to inform him that she hoped he was the first to go so she could trample on his grave.”

Morgan chuckled. “So, your sister is in phase one of the Woman Scorned Syndrome. She’s put a death wish on the man she proclaimed to love and respect above all others till death do part. Quite the contradiction.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Kendra have a tendency toward melodrama,” she said as she absently worked the stiffness from her tender wrist. “But I wouldn’t be the least bit forgiving or charitable to a man who supposedly loved me enough to marry me and then had a prewedding fling a month prior to publicly pledging undying love and devotion to me.” She stared inquisitively at Morgan. “Why do men do stuff like that?”

Morgan shrugged, then leaned back to brace his weight on his forearms. “I’m not sure it’s fair to condemn the entire male gender because of one idiot. Richard always had a roving eye to rival my mother’s. He’s handsome and successful, but he sees himself as a ladies’ man.”

“But you wouldn’t pull a stunt like that, right?” she challenged him.

Morgan stared her squarely in the eye and Jan struggled valiantly not to get lost in those mesmerizing silver-blue pools that were surrounded with the kind of long curly lashes that women would kill for.

“If I was crazy in love with one woman? No,” he declared. “Or at least I don’t think I’d be that stupid. But what the hell do I know? I was raised by a mother who was too busy chasing men to notice me.

“And the truth is,” he was quick to add, “I’m not encouraging your dad to consort with my mother. She likes John because she needs a steady stream of male companions. She doesn’t think she can function without a man in her life. I advised Mom to back off because John is vulnerable, but she doesn’t listen to me. Never did.”

“Parents,” she grumbled. “You go off to have a life of your own, but you can’t trust them to behave properly in your absence.”

“Yeah well, Mom never behaved properly,” Morgan replied. “I don’t know a damn thing about family dynamics because my string of stepfathers weren’t around long enough for me to figure out how a family is supposed to function. For me, turmoil and upheaval were a way of life.”

One corner of Jan’s heart melted. She never realized how good she’d had it, growing up in a loving household—even if that household had shattered recently and she was left to pick up the pieces. Life for Morgan couldn’t have been easy, despite his popularity and athletic prowess.

Jan sighed audibly. “I want to apologize for coming down on you like a ton of bricks this afternoon. You just sort of got caught in the crossfire of my frustration with my parents. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

“And you never forgave me for the Homecoming incident,” he put in perceptively. “I hurt and embarrassed you and I’m sorry as hell.” Morgan reached over to curl his finger beneath her chin, raising her gaze to his. “For what it’s worth, I took that stupid dare because I was curious about how it would feel to kiss that shy, unbelievably sweet sophomore who was infatuated with me, even if she was caught up in the fact that I was supposedly the superstar athlete of Oz.”

“That wasn’t the reason I had a crush on you,” she blurted out, then withdrew into her own space. His touch was seriously affecting her vital signs and her thought processes. Plus, her emotions were already spinning like a Tilt-A-Whirl carousel because of today’s fiasco.

“No?” he asked skeptically. “In those days all the girls I dated were caught up in my celebrity status. The image is what attracted them.”