A Lifetime of Love

By Verity Norton

Emma Hartley has loved Morgan McCullough since she was seven years old. He was eleven years old and punched a classmate for bullying her. But unfortunately Morgan has never seen her as anything but his little sister’s best friend. But now she is home after graduating college and is all grown up. It is time to tell him how she feels about him. There’s only one problem with her plan. He is about to propose to another woman.

Morgan McCullough is so anxious to get married and start a family of his own that he decides to ask his girlfriend to marry him. But as the days get closer to that proposal, he begins to wonder if he and Samantha are right for each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TheFictionWorks
• Release date: Oct 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781581243031

Book preview

Nisbet

Chapter 1

He didn’t see her. He never saw her. Emma Hartley sighed and tucked her legs underneath her on the McCulloughs’ living room couch. Maybe some day. Maybe before she was old and grey. She laughed and scolded herself for her negative thoughts.

She looked over at him again. Still no reaction. He hadn’t even noticed her sitting there waiting for him to notice her. Another sigh, deeper this time. Maybe she’d be better off not letting herself think about him at all. If only.

Em? Are you okay?

She looked up at Mairi and smiled. Of course, I am. My best friend is home for a couple weeks—finally. Why wouldn’t I be okay?

Uh, maybe because I’ve been standing here trying to hand you this glass of lemonade for ten minutes?

Emma snickered and took the glass. Slight exaggeration, I’m sure.

Mairi raised a knowing eyebrow and glanced over her shoulder at her brother who was across the hall in the den, going through a stack of books. She should have known. Some things never changed. Like the crush Emma had had on her big brother since second grade when he’d punched one of his fifth grade classmates for bullying his little sister and her best friend. She cringed, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Emma.

What? Emma asked.

Mairi blew out her breath and joined her on the couch. She’d known she’d have to tell her at some point. She just hadn’t expected it to be the moment she arrived home. He’s, uh, he’s—

He’s—?

Morgan is seeing someone.

Nothing new there. Morgan is always seeing someone.

Yes, but this time it, uh, it seems, kind of serious?

Emma’s heart sank as it often did when Morgan McCullough’s love life was the subject of a conversation . . . or her thoughts. She reached for the locket that always hung from a chain around her neck. It was her comfort, her courage. It had belonged to her mother. Is he still seeing that model you told me about a while back?

Yeah, he is.

Damn. This was the longest he’d ever dated anyone. Exactly how serious is it?

But before Mairi could answer, a pile of books hit the floor, followed by a string of swear words.

You okay, bro? Mairi called out to her brother.

Do I sound okay?

Not really. What are you doing anyway?

Mom asked me to go through these books she’s giving away. Morgan scooped up the last pile from the floor and set them on top of the bookcase. It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d given me more than a minute to go through a hundred books.

Slight exaggeration? Mairi asked, mimicking the words her friend had just used on her.

Only slight. He left behind the books and went to find his little sister in the living room. Hey, when did you get home, squirt?

Ten minutes ago? Mairi answered, standing on tiptoe to hug her five-foot, ten-inch tall brother whom she hadn’t seen for several weeks.

Oh, hey, Em, how’s it going?

Better than it is with you, Emma answered, relieved that he had actually noticed her sitting on the couch where’d she’d been since he’d walked through the front door of his parents’ house.

When did you get here?

Twenty minutes ago. Emma looked into those beautiful blue eyes that matched his sister’s. Before you burst through the front door and started manhandling those poor books. But you were obviously too preoccupied to notice me sitting here watching your every move.

Manhandling? Slight exaggeration? he teased.

Want some lemonade? Mairi offered, chuckling at his use of the same expression that she and Emma had just used.

Good idea. Thanks, sis. Morgan sat down on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table before glancing at his watch. Shit.

What? Emma asked as Mairi left the room.

I have to be somewhere in an hour. Hurry with the lemonade! He called out to his sister. Need to get home and shower and change first.

A date? Emma bit her tongue too late.

If Sam isn’t still mad at me.

Sam? She crossed her fingers that it wasn’t short for Samantha and that this wasn’t the one he was serious about.

My girlfriend.

Damn.

She’s mad at you? Emma asked.

Oh, yeah.

Again? Mairi reentered the room and set his drink on the table. She may have been away on a music tour for the last several months, but she always managed to keep up with the family gossip. Not an easy task considering that there were fourteen McCullough cousins. But her brother Matt and her sister Megan always kept her up to date on Morgan’s escapades. What’d you do this time, forget to give her diamond earrings for her birthday?

Her birthday isn’t for a couple weeks. And it wasn’t the diamond he was planning to give her.

Just kidding.

Hey, you don’t even know her, Mairi. You’ve only met her what, once, when we came up to hear you sing in San Francisco?

That was enough to know her, Mairi mused. Too well. And it wasn’t just because she’d seemed totally bored with the folk music she and her band were playing. The multiple yawns and the constant texting throughout the café concert hadn’t exactly endeared his girlfriend to the singer, but Mairi had managed to withhold judgment until they’d actually had a conversation. A conversation that consisted of where the best places to shop were in the big city. So, why is Sam mad at you?

If I could figure that out, she wouldn’t be mad at me anymore. Women, Morgan muttered under his breath. Realizing what he’d said, he looked up and gave the two women who were glaring at him, his most charming smile. Present company excluded. When neither smiled back, he tried again. You two are much more reasonable than most. When there was still no response, he reached over and patted Emma on the shoulder. If only all women were as reasonable as you two are.

Okay, now you’re just being patronizing, Mairi said, standing up at the sound of the ringing telephone and heading for the kitchen. Back in a minute.

Is she mad at me? Morgan asked.

Disgusted is probably more accurate, Emma said.

What did I say? I thought I was giving you guys a compliment.

Guys?

You know what I mean, he defended.

Unfortunately she did. That may be the problem.

Morgan threw his hands in the air and let out a guttural groan. Will I ever understand women?

Not if the past is any indication of the future. Emma stretched her legs out in front of her as Mairi burst back into the room.

Gotta run next door for a minute. Belle needs my help. She’s trying to choose a dress to wear to her first school dance, and Arielle isn’t home. Won’t be long.

Are you sure it isn’t an excuse to hang out with her favorite aunt? Emma asked.

I’m sure it is. But I’ll promise to take her shopping later or something. Won’t be long.

Bring her back with you, Emma said.

You’re sure?

Of course. We can all hang out for a while. We’ll have plenty of alone time later.

Mairi winked at her friend. Best friend in the world, she thought. She even understood the close relationship she had with her thirteen-year-old niece. Thanks, Em.

No problem. It’ll be fun.

It was silent for a minute after Mairi rushed next door to her brother Matt’s house. Emma was used to this. The McCulloughs were a close family and never failed to be there for one another. When Matt’s first wife had left him and their two children, the family had rallied around him. No one more than Mairi who had been a kid herself then, being the youngest in the family. When she’d become a teenager she had also become favorite aunt and babysitter, a job she’d taken to almost as well as she’d taken to her singing career. Emma had never minded. She adored Matt’s kids too, and was happy to hang out at their house playing monopoly instead of going to parties. After all, the only guy she’d ever really been interested in was next door in the house where she would spend the night with her best friend, dreaming about him.

She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and reached for her glass of lemonade.

You’re a good friend, Em, Morgan said, offering her another pat on the shoulder. Not exactly the gesture she had dreamed of, but she’d take it.

Mairi’s the best, she said.

Yeah, but you never get jealous, you know?

Not sure I do know.

You never seem to mind when she does stuff with the family. You pretty much put up with whatever comes your way. Not like other—

Emma choked out a laugh and set down her glass. Other women?

Am I getting myself in trouble again? He ran his fingers through his thick dark brown hair as if that would help him understand better.

By implying that I’m not a woman?

I’m not implying that. I’m simply saying you’re more reasonable. Damn. Sorry. That’s what got me in trouble in the first place. Let me try again. You’re very understanding and from my experience, a lot of women are not as understanding and tolerant as you are.

Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Morgan cringed at the realization that he wasn’t convincing her. I would never imply that you’re not a woman. Of course, you’re a woman— He looked her up and down, briefly scanning her from head to toe. Damn. Where was the tomboy who’d followed him around for all those years? Definitely a woman, he mumbled.

Now her cheeks were really burning. Maybe she wasn’t invisible after all. She was no longer the flat-chested, pony-tail wearing tomboy best friend of his little sister. It had taken a few years, but she had finally grown up . . . and filled out. She had given late bloomer a whole new meaning.

Say something, Morgan pleaded. Can I come out of the dog house yet?

She chuckled, unable to resist him. Nothing had changed there. Uh, thanks, I guess. And yes, you can.

You look really nice, Em, Morgan said, still stunned that he had failed to notice. Okay, so he was preoccupied, but that was no excuse. Hell, how many months had it been since he’d seen Emma anyway? With her away at college and Mairi away at school and then on tour, he hadn’t seen much of her over the past few years. But still, how the hell had he not noticed? It was as if suddenly she was a whole different person, or at least in a whole different body.

Her legs had always been muscular, not unexpected, seeing as how she was a runner and a soccer player. But for some reason, they seemed more shapely now. Maybe because she was wearing a pair of light blue shorts that seemed to accentuate the tone and length of them. But it was the tank top that had caught his attention and held it. Emma never wore anything but T-shirts. What was she doing wearing this skimpy white tank top that would convince any man that she had turned into a full-on grown-up woman? Damn. Even her hair looked sexy. She rarely wore it in anything but a pony tail, but today the thick golden waves were hanging down across her shoulders. And was that makeup on the girl—woman’s—face? He couldn’t remember ever seeing her wear makeup. It wasn’t a lot. Just a little eye makeup and a hint of color on her mouth, her lips, that seemed to be smiling seductively up at him.

Seductive? Damn. Emma Hartley had definitely grown up.

You okay? Emma asked softly, pleased with the reaction she’d finally succeeded in getting from the man. It had taken long enough. What, almost fifteen years?

Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Morgan grabbed his glass of lemonade and drank half of it down.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after his little sister’s best friend . . . when he was practically engaged.

He’d always liked Emma, had always enjoyed her company. Actually, he’d always thought she was attractive. But she was so young. And she was his little sister’s friend. Off limits, so to speak. So he had never allowed his attraction to go beyond his imagination. Even then he had curbed it the instant it had kicked in. It hadn’t seemed appropriate.

Shit, he had known her since she was a kid. She was seven and he was eleven. He had watched her play with dolls, climb trees, bake cookies with his mother, learn to dribble a soccer ball—hell, he had taught her how. And since video and computer games were banned in his house by his school teacher mother, he had played endless games of Candyland with her and Mairi which had thankfully progressed to Monopoly. When he was old enough, his parents had even let him babysit the two girls. Not that he had wanted to, but it had earned him a little spending money. And as kids went, they had been pretty cool.

He had watched her grow up for God’s sake. And grow up, she had. Somehow he had missed the last few legs of that growth. Man, had he missed it. The girl—the woman—was downright gorgeous. Shit. He was lusting after his little sister’s best friend. And he was practically engaged.

He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his lemonade. Gotta go. Can you tell my mother I promise I’ll come back tomorrow and finish going through the pile of books?

But before he could stand up, his cell chirped out a signal that there was a text message. He glanced down and read it. Shit. Never mind.

She’s still mad? Emma guessed.

Oh, yeah. He leaned back on the couch. She cancelled our date.

So, what happened?

You mean, what did I do?

Emma shrugged.

I’m really not sure. His forehead furrowed as he struggled to remember the conversation that had ended less than amicably. I told her I wanted to take her somewhere special for her birthday. Somewhere really romantic.

And?

And— She seemed really excited at first. But then when I told her where, she got kind of upset.

Where did you want to take her?

Most romantic place I know. That beautiful cove down the coast. You know the one? We used to go hang out there and body surf and kick around the soccer ball?

Oh God, not that one. It was their place. The place she dreamed about going with him alone to do more than swim or play soccer. He was right about one thing. It was the most romantic place she knew. And the most beautiful.

I thought we could camp on the beach and—And I was even going to—

Emma swallowed hard and prayed that he wouldn’t finish his sentence. Mairi had tried to warn her. He was serious about this one. But serious enough to propose? Oh God. Was she too late?

Anyway, she got really quiet and aloof, you know? And then she left. She didn’t explain why she was upset. She just walked out of my apartment like I’d done something horrible. Do you think it was the camping?

Emma cleared her throat and struggled to find her voice. Does she like camping?

I don’t know. I never asked her. But doesn’t everyone? You do, don’t you?

Sure I do, but not everyone does.

Apparently Sam doesn’t. Shit, that was it, wasn’t it? She thought I was being cheap probably by even suggesting it.

Or maybe she just hated camping. Has she said you were cheap before?

Not exactly. She doesn’t love the places I take her though—like my favorite hole-in-the-wall burger joint.

Emma smiled. Okay, now you have me salivating. They make the best cheeseburgers in the world.

Yeah, they do, but Sam takes two bites and then is full. Weird.

Emma felt slightly better now. Morgan with a woman who scarcely ate? No way. Not the way he gobbled down food and loved every bite. Not the way he was always passing food around the table to make sure everyone got their fill and was shocked when someone was satisfied with only one helping. Not the way he cooked a meal for his family and then watched to see their reactions to the food he professed to be gourmet. Which most times it was.

Have you ever cooked for her? she blurted out without thinking. Did she really want to know?

Yeah, several times.

She took more than two bites, I hope.

Three. Maybe four.

Emma laughed, and Morgan felt himself start to relax. After stealing a sip of her lemonade, he leaned back onto the couch.

Maybe she’s just not into food.

Or not eating in front of me. She’s not skinny or anything. Slender, but she does eat. Just not around him.

Not quite what Mairi had told her. The woman was a model—of mostly lingerie and swimsuits. She was slender, but she also happened to be filled out in all the right places. Well, maybe that’s it. She’s self-conscious eating in front of you.

That’s absurd. Why would she be?

How do I know? Emma flung her hands in the air in a questioning gesture. I’ve never even met her.

Sorry. It just bugs me, you know?

What? That she doesn’t appreciate your cooking?

That too.

Maybe you just haven’t cooked anything she really likes. What have you made for her?

My salmon, three different ways, including wood-smoked and cedar-planked.

Oh God, now I’m really salivating. If I start drooling, please tell me.

Morgan laughed. At least someone appreciated his cooking. And chicken multiple ways. Steak—barbecued with my special secret sauce. Hell, I’ve even made her exotic salads with stuff like mango and artichoke hearts and dried cranberry. She still didn’t take more than a few bites.

You’re exaggerating.

I wish.

Well, maybe you’re not the cook you like to think you are.

Hey! He reached over and tickled her, an unconscious gesture, then pulled his hand away as soon as he realized what he was doing.

Or maybe you were so nervous cooking for her that you screwed up and didn’t realize it. Like the time you tried that Steak Diane that was burned to a crisp. Remember?

He remembered. He had almost burned down the house in the process.

Or the time you served raw chicken on your mother’s birthday? And we had to order pizza? Emma continued. Or the time your clam chowder was—

Sour! Don’t remind me. That put me off dairy for a month!

No kidding. She winced as she remembered her first and last bite of the soup he’d been so proud to serve. Thank God for pizza.

How many pizzas, I wonder, did we order due to my failed cooking attempts?

Oh, I’d say well over a hundred. She was overjoyed to have been there for each and every one. This family was the most amazing family in the world. They had taken her in like their own. After her mother died, Lana McCullough had been there for every moment that her own mother had missed. Her best friend’s mother had never let her down, not once. She had baked her birthday cakes and had a family celebration for every one of her birthdays as if she too were family. She had treated her as if she were her own daughter.

Morgan caught himself before he reached out and tickled her again. He was glad he had resisted. He enjoyed touching her a little too much. And she had suddenly become quiet. For a reason, he suspected.

Fortunately no one in the family has a gluten intolerance, he said, attempting to ease the moment.

And that they like pizza? Even your homemade version? she teased.

Hey, my pizza is good! That is one thing I’ve perfected.

You mean you’ve learned to put vegetables and meat on top of it instead of gummy bears and chocolate chip cookies?

I was fourteen then!

And very creative.

I was!

Yes, you were, but I remember thinking more than once—after tasting your failed cooking attempts—that you should really stick to soccer.

He laughed and relaxed even further into the comfort of his parents’ living room couch. I have to admit I remember thinking the same thing more than once. He was smiling, he realized, and had all but forgotten about his cancelled date. Nothing had changed there. Emma could always put him in a better mood.

Not only had she grown up, but Emma Hartley was pretty much the best of both worlds—the young girl who could tease him out of a bad mood and help him forget his worries. And now a gorgeous woman who could make his blood boil like it never had before. Damn. What the hell was he going to do about that?

Chapter 2

Samantha is just plain weird.

Weird how? Mairi asked her niece who was sprawled across Mairi’s double bed while she and Emma were each delegated a tiny edge.

Belle scrunched up her face and shook her head, her thick black hair flowing from side to side. The girl was more beautiful every time she saw her, Emma thought. She hadn’t inherited the McCullough trademark dark brown hair and blue eyes, but had instead inherited her mother and her Aunt Cassie’s striking beauty with their black hair and green eyes.

I don’t know how to explain it, Belle said. I mean, she’s real pretty. Beautiful even, I guess.

You guess? Mairi delved further. But she had to agree with that assessment. The woman was beautiful with her exotic green eyes and thick blond hair and high cheekbones and spectacular figure—slim yet round in all the right places. Model beautiful. Playboy model beautiful.

Yeah, but it’s all on the outside. Like there’s nothing on the inside. She thought for a moment. It’s kind of like she’s a Charlotte, not an Arielle.

Mairi laughed. From what she knew about her brother’s girlfriend, that was a pretty good assessment. Charlotte was Belle’s mother, her brother Matt’s first wife—the one who had left her family for the bright lights of Broadway. The one Belle was yet to forgive. Arielle, on the other hand, was Belle’s stepmother, Matt’s second wife, the one whose beauty was far more than skin deep.

Let’s just hope Morgan gets a clue before he jumps in and marries Sam. I’d hate for him to follow in Matt’s misguided footsteps—except that he got you and Brandon out of the deal, of course.

Marries? Emma was still stuck on that one word. You think he’s—?

Oh, Em, I’m so sorry. That’s what I was trying to tell you.

They’re engaged? Already? She’d had heartbreaks before—all centered around her feelings for Morgan McCullough—but this time she thought her heart might never heal.

Uh, not yet, Mairi answered.

According to my dad, Uncle Morgan is planning to ask her in like two and a half weeks, on her birthday. Ugh. I don’t get it. She’s so phony it’s disgusting.

Men don’t always see what’s obvious to us, Mairi said.

Yeah, I have kind of noticed they can be dumb. Even Dad sometimes.

She wasn’t wrong about that, Mairi mused. You mean they can be idiots as our Cousin Skye would say? Especially when it comes to McCullough men?

Yeah. Hopefully they get smart at some point. Dad finally did, but I think that’s only ‘cause he’s married to Arielle and she’s so smart. It rubbed off on him.

Mairi smiled at her niece. The girl was wise beyond her years.

Emma swiped at the tear that was threatening to make its way down her cheek. She always seemed to get emotional when she was around more than one McCullough. Probably because she envied them their close-knit and very large family. But it wasn’t only about that today. This was more about Morgan. And his plans to propose . . . to someone else.

You like Uncle Morgan, don’t you? Belle asked her.

Emma shrugged. I guess you could say that.

Like a lot, huh?

Guess you could say that.

Like you’re . . . you’re in love with him?

Emma considered downplaying her feelings for the girl’s uncle but why bother? She was too smart to believe it anyway. Guess you could say that.

Why don’t you tell him how you feel? Belle asked.

That was the plan, but now it looks like I’m too late.

No, you’re not! Belle protested.

How am I supposed to tell him when he’s in a serious relationship?

Belle turned her hands upward in a questioning gesture. I don’t know. Just grab him and kiss him maybe?

She looked over at Mairi to see if she should shut up now. Mairi winked at her, and Belle took that to mean they should do their best to make sure her uncle didn’t make a dumb mistake, not when he had someone as sweet as Emma who loved him. But they didn’t have a lot of time, not when Morgan was planning to propose to Samantha in just a couple weeks.

Just don’t give up, Em, Mairi comforted her friend. Morgan can be rash sometimes. He jumps into things before he’s ready to.

We’re talking about marriage here. For a lifetime.

Yeah, but that’s how he is. He emulates Matt, you know, and Matt is so happily married now. I’m sure that’s what this is about. We just have to help him see the error of his ways.

How long are you home for? Belle asked her aunt.

A couple weeks, maybe as long as a month. Depends if I can get the band to come here and practice with me before we head out on tour again. Otherwise I’ll have to head back to San Francisco.

Oh, try to get them to come here, please! Belle was never shy about her affection for her aunt. We want you for longer, don’t we, Emma?

We definitely do, Emma agreed.

We need you here, Belle said under her breath.

Mairi nodded. I’ll do my best. She agreed. She was definitely needed here if she wanted to stop her brother from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Emma stood with her hands resting on her thighs, bent over, struggling to catch her breath. What was she doing? Trying to run the sorrow out of her body? Undoubtedly. Had she lost him for good? To this Samantha person? The woman Belle described as weird . . . and beautiful . . . who had obviously managed to capture his heart?

Oh God, I have lost him, she murmured under her diminished breath. Tears welled up in her eyes as she sank to the ground under the old oak tree that seemed to keep watch over the park.

She tugged on the sleeve of her shirt and pulled it upward to wipe her eyes. She had waited too long to let him know how she felt. Just a little too long. She had planned to tell him soon. She was all grown up now. He couldn’t look at her as if she were a kid anymore. She was a college graduate, a woman, not just his little sister’s best friend. And she was too late.

She saw the shadow first. Damn. She was sitting alone in a remote corner of the park. Did she jump up and run or should she yell for help?

But before she could decide, a soft voice said, Em? Are you okay?

Oh God! He was here, seeing her curled in a ball under a tree, crying. Could her humiliation get any worse?

Uh, I’m fine, she answered.

Morgan crouched down beside her. Did you pull a muscle?

Uh, no. I just got a cramp, she lied. Ran too hard, I think. Didn’t warm up enough.

You? he teased. The queen of warm-ups? He sat down beside her and took a hold of her left leg, rubbing the calf muscle. Which leg hurts?

Not a leg, she thought. Just her heart, but she wasn’t about to confess that. This one, she said, pulling away her leg. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her, not when she knew this was the only way he would. But it’s fine now.

He grabbed it back and held it firmly while he continued to massage her calf.

What are you doing?

Making sure you’re okay to play a little one on one with me. He motioned toward the soccer ball he’d dropped when he’d joined her on the grass.

She laughed, relieved to be feeling something other than sorrow. I should have known you weren’t doing this out of the kindness of your heart.

Hey! Be nice or I won’t massage your other leg.

She exhaled a deep breath as he dug his fingers into her calf muscle, doing a lot more than soothing a sore muscle. God, just the feel of his hands on her turned her to mush. But then, hearing his voice or watching him across a room or soccer field did that too.

Just as she started to give into the heavenly sensations he was evoking, he stopped. But then he reached for her other leg and massaged that as well.

Not a good idea, Morgan thought. Things were different now. She wasn’t little Emma anymore, the girl who he never stopped coaching . . . or teasing . . . or protecting, the girl he could depend on to make him laugh. She was different, and touching her this way sure as hell felt different. He forced his focus away from her eyes, those kind brown eyes that always seemed to have a sadness behind them no matter how happy she was. The sadness was deeper today and it bothered him.

He looked up from the leg he was massaging and saw it again. Are you sure you’re okay, Em?

I won’t be if you keep digging your nails into me like that.

Oh, sorry! He loosened his grip.

She smiled up at him, and he felt his heart doing something odd. He smiled back,