A dark cloud passed over her face. He’d hit a nerve somehow but wasn’t sure what it was. “Do you know who you really are?” Morgan asked.

“I think so. I’m not the kind of man who will ever like big parties, kissing people’s asses to make a buck, and anything with fancy frills or empty meaning. I like building houses, having a few beers with friends, and hanging with my dogs. I have a temper, but I don’t think I’m unfair. I can apologize. I don’t like to lie. I don’t like to waste time. I’m boring.”

Her lower lip trembled. She took a tentative step forward. “Boring would never be a word I’d use to describe you,” she said softly. “Felicia was an idiot.”

He laughed then. Damn, he liked her style. “Dalton said he wanted to prove that exact point. Still wish he’d done it another way.”

“Did you really drive Tristan away or was it a misunderstanding?”

Caleb thought about it. He’d gone over and over the scene a million times before, always seeing the truth to his side of the story. But right now he wondered if Tristan had seen it completely differently no matter how many times he’d tried to explain. “I didn’t think so at the time. But he did.”

That was all he really wanted to give her. His ears burned red. He’d never told a woman the real truth about his family’s past, let alone a woman who drove him nuts and knew how to sneak past his defenses. Maybe he’d truly gone around the crazy bend.

She bowed her head as she studied the Italian tile floor. “I don’t have any siblings,” she finally offered. “So I can’t judge or give advice. I do know many times I wished for siblings to bring more messes into my life. Blood is blood. Kind of like land. They’re not making any more of it, so you have to deal with what’s out there already.”

Her analysis startled him on a level deeper than he had time to ponder. Right now, he craved more knowledge about her. “How about your parents? Are you close?”

A soft smile lit her face. His heart did a slow flip-flop, then settled. “Yes. We’re very close, and they’ve always supported me. Through good and bad.”

“Yet you didn’t want to stay in Charleston?”

“No. Once, I thought everything I wanted was in Charleston. I had my path perfectly planned out. But then I realized I had to create something different, so I left.”

“What happened to keep you from staying?”

“Life,” she said simply. “Things changed. So I changed, too. And I have no regrets.”

They fell silent. The kitchen clock ticked. The dogs whimpered.

Cal nodded. “Then I guess you know yourself, too.”

Morgan looked up. He gazed into her eyes, and suddenly he was choking with more than lust. No, deep in those blue depths he found a raw emotion and heat that sucked him in. Made him want to take her in his arms and protect her from hurt. She made him want to be her conqueror of all evil and injustice in the world, and damned if that didn’t scare him worse than the Beelzebub himself.

Balin and Gandalf bumped his hip with their heads. Their faces reflected impatience for their nighttime treat. He cleared his throat, closed the dishwasher, and wiped his hands. “Okay, guys. Treat time?”

They did their ridiculous dance of canine ecstasy. Morgan laughed. “Can I give it to them?”

“Sure.” He reached into the canister and handed her two biscuits. “Balin gets a little eager, so make sure he’s sitting completely before you give it to him.”

Lips curved in an excited smile, she turned to the dogs. “Sit.”

Then it happened.

He’d forgotten to warn her.

Gandalf dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Head back, tongue hanging out of his mouth, he played dead in the ridiculous way he always did to get his treat. Problem was, Cal was so used to his fake death, he recognized the game.

Not Morgan.

With a heartfelt cry, she watched the dog fall onto the tile. “Oh, my God, he fainted! I hurt him!” She flung herself on top of Gandalf’s body and clutched at tufts of fur, trying to rouse him. Balin wanted in on the game, so he jumped on Morgan, tumbling her back in a tangle of limbs as she fought for purchase, until she was surrounded in a wriggling blanket of fur.

Cal cursed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Gandalf, dammit, treat! Get up!”

Gandalf opened one eye, delighted at Morgan’s reaction, and came back to life in time to snap up the treat as Cal tossed it in the air.

Morgan gasped as the dog reared back up, his tail thumping her in the face, and Cal dragged them both off her.

He dropped to his knees on the floor beside her. “It’s just a game. Gandalf likes to play dead to get a treat. I forgot to tell you.”

Her gaze narrowed. Sparks shot from her blue eyes. She sat, legs sprawled out, arms braced behind her, T-shirt riding up her thighs and exposing a pair of cream-colored lace panties. He was getting attached to the color white, and the sight of the virginal fabric made him ache to do very bad things. He tried to focus on her face. “Are you okay?”

She reached out and fisted a handful of his shirt. Her pink lips curled. “You forgot to tell me your dog likes to drop to the floor and play dead? I thought he had a heart attack.”

Humor struck. For the second time that night, Caleb figured it would not be wise to laugh. Balin got tired of waiting for his turn and snatched up the second treat that had fallen onto the floor. The two sensed a change in the air and trotted out of the kitchen, satisfied at the outcome of the evening.