Page 2 of Gentle Persuasion

“Why didn’t I know about this?” he asked, and ran his hand through his dark hair in frustration. Bone straight and in need of a haircut, it fell back perfectly into its state of disarray as his fingers raked across his scalp.

Buddy’s answer was short and, as usual, to the point. “You didn’t know it because you’re never here.”

“Hell!” Cole said succinctly, and glared at his brother, who calmly stared back, knowing that there was nothing Cole could do to argue the point.

“Where is she?” Morgan asked. “I’ve been looking forward to her visit.”

“She’s in bed,” Cole drawled. “I don’t know who’s going to take care of whom. I peeled her out of the floor of a cab and dumped her in Lily’s old room. She’s suffering from motion sickness. You guys are on your own. I’ve got to get to the P.D.” The Laguna Beach Police Department was Cole’s second home.

Cole waved his arms in the air, renouncing the issue as out of his hands, and left. Buddy disappeared into his room, leaving Morgan alone. Silence was a rare occurrence in the Brownfield house, and Morgan relished the opportunity to lean back and close his eyes.

***

His wife had died years ago, leaving him alone with five children to raise. Lily, his only daughter, was the only one who’d moved out of the house. She and her husband, Case Longren, lived on a ranch outside of Clinton, Oklahoma, and were about to present him with his first grandchild. The way things looked, it might also be his only one.

Cole, a detective with the Laguna Beach Police Department, was a loner. Buddy, his middle son, was a virtual genius and loved only one thing: his computers. The youngest were the twins, J.D. and Dusty, actors who, at the present time, were away on location of the latest film on which they were working.

Morgan opened his eyes, glanced down at his watch, and reached for the remote control of his television. It was almost time for Wheel of Fortune. He decided to let Debbie wear off the traces of travel. Tomorrow was soon enough for a welcome.

***

Debbie rolled over on her back, stared blankly up at an unfamiliar ceiling, then down at herself, and wondered where she was and why she’d just spent the night in her clothes. Suddenly, the memory of yesterday came rushing back along with a sick feeling that the man she’d most wanted to impress had all but poured her into bed. At least I’m still alive, she thought. So much for great first impressions.

She rolled out of bed, standing for a moment just to assure herself that the world had finally stopped spinning, and then sighed with relief. Things felt pretty close to normal and that was good enough for her. She pulled her suitcases onto the bed and began to unpack, taking time as she worked to appreciate the very feminine wallpaper and the soft pastel colors on the bed and matching curtains. Framed pictures on the wall indicated she was in Lily’s old room. It made this trip just the least bit less uncomfortable, knowing that she was in the room in which her good friend had grown up.

Volunteering to come had been one thing. Giving up her job as a cashier in a grocery store wasn’t exactly giving up a life-long career. Now that her brother, Douglas, was finally out of college and more or less on his own, she could think about herself. Knowing that she was going to live in the same house with the first man she’d met in years who had even made her think of lasting relationships had been another altogether.

But the memory of a tall, quiet man’s dark eyes and solemn face had been powerful persuasion. The attraction present between them at their first meeting was as fresh as if it had only been yesterday. A neighborhood cookout to introduce Lily’s family to Oklahoma had turned into a contest between Debbie and Cole as to who could ignore whom the most effectively.

But it hadn’t worked. It was hard to ignore a need to be held. It was impossible to ignore each other. Cole Brownfield had been a man to remember. And she had…for months. Now she was here. It was time for action.

A quick shower and a fresh change of clothing sent her in search of her hosts. She entered the kitchen to find Morgan hobbling from cabinet to table and back again, obviously trying to assemble a breakfast for himself. Debbie’s mouth formed a silent O as she took a good look at the mess in the kitchen. Chaos reigned.

“Need a little help?” she asked, and returned the smile of welcome that Morgan Brownfield sent her way.

“Debbie! You’ll never know how glad I am to see you,” Morgan said, “and how much I appreciate you giving up your time to come out and help.”

“Oh, I think I can,” she answered, as she gave him a quick hug of welcome. “The question is, where do I start first?”

“With breakfast,” Morgan commanded. “There may not be order in the house, but there’s food. I have Cole to thank for that.”

Debbie flushed at the sound of his name. “And I have him to thank for helping ground me yesterday. I’ve never been so sick…or embarrassed.”

“You’re young yet,” Morgan teased. “There’ll be other times and other days.”

Laughter was shared along with a quick but filling breakfast as Debbie was brought up to date on Morgan’s progress and on the whereabouts of his offspring, as well.

“You won’t have to worry about J.D. and Dusty,” he said. “They’re off on location, playacting again. Bit parts in some low-budget movie,” he grinned. “But they’re happy and that’s what counts.”

He pointed toward a closed doorway just off the kitchen. “Buddy’s in there. At least I think he is. That’s where I saw him last. And, as you probably have guessed, Cole is on duty. His hours are unpredictable, but he’s not. He’s my responsible son. Sometimes too much so. But my wife’s death left all of us with burdens. Cole took it upon himself to become the father figure to Lily and the boys while I was at work.”

Morgan sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what I would have done without him. For that matter, I still don’t.”

“I understand,” Debbie said. “My folks have been gone for several years now. Dad died of cancer and Mom two years later in an accident. I was nineteen when Mom died. It left me with a seventeen-year-old brother who was nursing a chip on his shoulder. It took me six years to reclaim him and another two to get him out of school. He graduated last year from Oklahoma University with a marketing degree.”

“And where did that leave you?” Morgan asked softly. There was a lot of giving in Debbie’s story, but not much about what she’d had to give up.

“Free to come take care of you,” she answered. “And that’s what I’m about to do. Where do you want me to start?”

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