Jamie stared at Morgan, because what the actual fuck? How had he gotten into the house, and where had he found the hammer? What was he going to do with the stupid thing, anyway?

Jamie wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The important thing was that he put it down, after gaping at Jamie with almost as much shock as Jamie felt.

“Jamie? It’s like the Biblical flood out there! What are you doing here?”

Jamie ran his hand through his soaked hair and let out a little laugh. “Well, I came up to see if I could still catch you. As it turns out, my car is not made for these conditions. Ark and Audi might start with the same letter, but that’s where the resemblance ends.”

He shook his head, and droplets of water went flying everywhere. He felt like a yellow lab after a bath.

“It broke down about half a mile back. I had to walk, which was about as much fun as it sounds. I tried to call, but I couldn’t get any reception. Kind of like the two texts I tried to send before I left.”

“Jesus Christ.” Morgan pulled Jamie farther into the house and took off his own beat-up canvas jacket. “Here, put this on. You’re shivering, Jamie. You’re going to catch your death.”

Jamie wrapped himself in the jacket without fighting it. He liked the way it felt to be wrapped up in Morgan’s warmth and scent. It had been so long since he’d had the chance to be this close with anyone, where he could just indulge like this.

People always discounted intimate little details like the scent of another person, until they had to go without it. “This feels better already.” He wasn’t lying, even though he couldn’t feel his feet.

Something was missing, though, and as a gust of wind threatened to push the house right back down the mountain, Jamie realized what it was. He sneezed and looked over at Morgan.

“Wait a minute. What are you doing here on your own? That agent guy, Robbie, was supposed to be here.”

Guilt splashed over him. He’d resented Robbie for taking his place, not that Robbie had any clue why Jamie had been scheduled to come. If Robbie had gotten hurt, or worse, because Jamie had been trying to get out here to see Morgan again, he’d never forgive himself.

Morgan froze for a second, and then he looked away. “Warmth first,” he said in a firm and confident tone. “Questions later. Come on.” He slung an arm around Jamie’s shoulder and bustled him into the main room.

He urged Jamie over toward the hearth in the back of the room. Jamie froze, and faked a sneeze to cover it up. The fake sneeze turned into a real one, and he couldn’t fight being sat down anymore.

“I’m pretty sure there’s some firewood out in the kitchen,” Morgan told him. He stood up and moved toward the kitchen, like he was about to head that way to bring some wood in.

“It’s okay,” Jamie told him, jumping back from the hearth as quickly as he could. His stomach twisted, lurching unpleasantly. If he threw up in the fireplace, could he possibly get away with not having a fire?

“It’s not that bad, and we don’t know if the chimney is stable or blocked or what. We don’t want to try to warm ourselves up and wind up dying of smoke inhalation or carbon monoxide poisoning, do we?” The skin on Jamie’s back tingled, phantom flames scorching him anew.

Morgan gave him a long look. “Give me a second, okay?” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Jamie panicked for a second, gulping huge breaths of air in an attempt to avoid passing out. Was Morgan going to light a fire anyway? How would Jamie cover up his reaction — and what if the fire got out of control? It wasn’t like they could go anywhere if the house caught.

When Morgan came back, though, he carried not firewood, but a ratty old sleeping bag and a set of threadbare old clothes. “Here,” he said. “Put the clothes on, and get into the sleeping bag. I’ll be back in a second.” He left the room again.

Jamie blessed him for the privacy and changed as quickly as he could. He couldn’t tolerate having Morgan see his scars, not now. He didn’t want anyone to see them again, not even Anthony.

When Morgan returned, he carried an ancient bottle of booze. There wasn’t much missing from the bottle, a couple of shots at most. Morgan opened the bottle and passed it over to Jamie. “Here,” he said. “It’s not quite a St. Bernard in the Alps, but it’ll have to do.”

Jamie accepted the bottle. The gin was awful, but from what Marianna had told him, her great-grandparents on that side hadn’t been wealthy people. They wouldn’t have been able to afford high-end gin, not that craft liquor had been a thing in rural Nevada in the 1930s.

“I should stop by their graves,” he commented, and closed his eyes. The stuff burned going down, making his throat ache in sympathy with his back. It did help to warm him up.

Morgan leaned a little closer. His eyes widened with interest. “Who, the previous owners? You know who they were?”

Jamie gave a little laugh. It all seemed so far away, now that he was up on the mountain and away from the rest of the family. The mountain house was like a separate dimension, removed from space and time.

“Turns out they were my great-grandparents. Or my great-great-grandparents. I get confused.” He relaxed a little bit and passed the bottle over to Morgan. “They left this behind, didn’t they?”

Morgan ducked his head and gave a sheepish grin. “That obvious, huh?”

“It’s not a style of bottle they sell these days, especially not for gin of this quality.”

Morgan chuckled. He turned on a little Coleman lantern and took a slug from the bottle. “So, what, you want to go and thank them for leaving the bottle behind?”

“Sure. And for building this place strong enough to stand through all the stuff the past hundred and twenty or so years have thrown at it.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place for Jamie. To some extent, he felt bad for not having figured it out before. On the other hand, he had to admire Morgan’s skill in hiding it for so long. Morgan was a brilliant guy. He thought fast on his feet, too.

“Well that’s a good sign, at least.” Morgan’s laugh, now that Jamie was listening for the clues, sounded a little artificial. “I’m sure there’ve been some awful storms up in here, between then and now.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. The only sound came from the storm outside — furious winds that rattled the windows, rain that pelted the house like rocks, and thunder like bombs in the night. It was hard to believe it was only about the middle of the afternoon. Jamie had to wonder if he should say anything at all.

Morgan had always been a proud man. Hadn’t that always been part of their rivalry? If Morgan had just come to Jamie and said Hey, let’s fuck or something to that effect, Jamie wouldn’t have turned him away. He hadn’t ever given a crap about the Patrick-Roscoe rivalry.

Instead, Morgan had wanted to one-up Jamie at everything. If Jamie said anything, he ran the risk of driving Morgan away forever.

And that had more consequences than Jamie not getting laid. If Morgan ran out into the night, he could die. He probably would die, if the storm didn’t let up soon. Jamie couldn’t have that on his conscience.

Morgan had too much to offer the world. He had too much to offer Jamie.

At the same time, he couldn’t keep silent. Morgan was in trouble. Jamie had been suspicious about it for a while, but now he couldn’t deny it.

The way Morgan had clothes on hand, and their threadbare nature, was a big clue. So was the sleeping bag, in an abandoned house, and the Coleman lantern. And the fact that both times Jamie had shown up here unannounced, Morgan had already been here.

He kept his voice low as he asked, “What’s going on?”

Morgan had been trying to wrap Jamie tightly in the sleeping bag. Now he stopped and sat back on his heels. He swallowed and turned his head away. “It doesn’t matter.”

That kind of pissed Jamie off. Of course, it mattered. Morgan mattered, for crying out loud.

He didn’t think exploding at Morgan would solve the issue, though. He’d already been pushed away often enough, by people who should have loved him.

Jamie had learned, or he thought he had, from what had happened with Ryan and Marianna. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Smiling at Morgan, he put a hand on his. “You’re in my ancestors’ house. It matters.”

Morgan’s face darkened, and Jamie knew he’d said the wrong thing. “I’ll be gone once the storm clears. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Jamie sighed. “Morgan, I’m going to worry about it whether you’re in front of me, out in Vegas, or off working a cruise to Tahiti.” He stroked Morgan’s cheek, trying not to smile when Morgan closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I know what we’ve got, what we did, it’s not … well, most people wouldn’t make a big deal out of it or anything. But you’re someone special, Morgan. I’m not about to scream and yell and call the cops."

Not that Jamie could call the cops, given that he had no reception and they couldn’t get up the mountain, but neither one of them felt the need to address that right now.

He traced the line of stitches just above Morgan’s eye. He kept his touch as light as a feather, so it wouldn’t hurt Morgan. “This looks nasty,” he said. “Was it bad?”

“It’s fine,” Morgan told him. He sounded like he was trying to be tough, but the little tremor to his voice told Jamie it was okay to keep going.

He took both of Morgan’s hands. “Whatever’s going on with you, Morgan, it wouldn’t change why I came up here today.”

It was true. If Morgan needed help, Jamie would help him, no matter what. If he needed a place to stay, Jamie had plenty of space in his townhouse.

If Morgan didn’t want to be that close, Jamie had access to plenty of rental units he could just hand him the keys to. The family wouldn’t even notice.

And jobs! Morgan had knowledge, experience, all kinds of things. More, he had an intimate knowledge of the Roscoes’ most vicious competitor. Jamie could make an argument for bringing him on in a heartbeat.

Jamie might not be able to chase all the shadows from his former rival’s eyes, but he could fix this, by God. If only Morgan would allow it. If only Morgan would stay.

None of this, apparently, had occurred to Morgan. He scoffed. “You came up here to give a viewing.”

Jamie grinned. “We both know that’s bullshit.”

They met each other’s eyes. They were so close to one another now, Jamie could smell Morgan’s shampoo. It was a good scent, strong and beautiful. He could reach out and touch his partner.

“Are you feeling warm yet?” Morgan asked him in a whisper. He put his hand on Jamie’s knee.

Jamie smirked. “I wouldn’t mind getting warmer.”