Chapter 4

By November we'd had our first snowfall, and chores became a little more difficult. All of our summer boarders had returned to their home barns and pastures, so we only had my two horses to care for, but walking through cold, swirling winds is not a great way to start a day.

Charlie cut my hours back to my original schedule of three days a week and I got to spend more time at home with my angel.

I hope you don't have the impression that all we did was make love constantly, because we didn't. I helped her with her homework in the evenings, and taught her how to cook a few things when she was in the mood to learn. She helped me with the chores, and I trusted her a few times to do them on her own. She liked to read, and we spent some evenings by the fire with good books and a snack or two.

She spoke of school and a few friends, mostly girls, and her interest in Biology. I often caught her staring out over the snow-covered fields by the barn, the wind whipping her hair. I didn't know what she was thinking at those times, and I was afraid to ask.

She entered the awkward phase of puberty, and some parts of her body grew faster than others. She was embarrassed by the size of her nose and feet, and was sometimes distressed by the lack of growth in other areas, notably her breasts and hips. She desperately wanted to be a full-grown woman, but I assured her there was no way to hasten the process.

She grew into an B cup bra, and her breasts were full and firm, sitting high on her chest. The pretty pink nipples were barely darker than the surrounding skin, except when she was excited. She got taller, and her clothing sizes changed. Her bottom became rounder and fuller, even more delectable than before. Her pubes became a little thicker, but they still matched the hair on her head, a silky whitish blond in color. Rubbing my cheek on them was my favorite activity. The scent and taste of her sex became a little bit stronger, changing from faint and girly to that of a young woman, musky and sweet.

We were invited to Thanksgiving dinner at Charlie's house. His wife, Jill, was a typical farm wife who cooked large meals and enjoyed our company. There were several men around, including Charlie's two young sons, but Morgan rebuffed their efforts at flirting with her. I drove home with her head on my shoulder.

Later that night as we undressed for bed, Morgan seemed nervous and short-tempered. I hugged her and asked her what was wrong; the answer filled my heart with dread.

"I got a letter a few days ago," she said. "From my mother."

It was postmarked Las Vegas, Nevada, and dated about two weeks previously. It was badly spelled and difficult to read, but the gist of the letter was to inform Morgan that her mother was coming to pick her up 'and start a new life' in Vegas.

"When?" I asked thickly. My lips wouldn't work right.

"'As soon as she gets the money together' she says."

"What's that mean?"

"When she can spare it from her drugs and her pimp," Morgan replied calmly.

Aghast, I cried, "What?"

Morgan said, "I wasn't living with Gram out of the kindness of her heart. Mom took my older sister and ran off to Vegas several years ago. She'd send money sometimes, but not very often. I lied about my dad too; I don't know who he is."

I grabbed her and hugged her fiercely, smoothing her hair and holding her tight on my lap.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" I murmured.

We shared the closeness that affection brings and gradually settled into bed. I held her close and kissed her ear.

"Do you want to go?" I whispered, trembling with fear.

She sat up and touched the lamp near the bed. "NO! I love you and I won't leave! My mother is a ... a whore — she made it sound like hoor — and a drug addict. She probably wants to make me just like her and my sister."

"What's your sister's name, Honey?"

"Maisland, but everybody calls her Maisie."

"How old is she?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she mused, "but I think she's four or five years older than me."

I thought quickly of my options. I could hire a lawyer and try to keep custody of Morgan, but my funds were limited. The small check that Morgan had received from her grandmother's estate was safely tucked in her college fund at the bank. I owned 100 acres and the buildings outright, but I was still paying off the 160 acres I'd bought earlier. I needed help, so I called Charlie at home.

He wasn't upset about the lateness of my call, but when he learned of the reason for it, he became angry. After promising to do all he could, he hung up. Morgan and I slept fitfully, anxious to see what the coming days would bring.

Living with what I thought of as impending doom looming over my head was very difficult. Morgan had a short conversation with Charlie in his office, and Charlie reassured me of his confidence and help. I was terrified he would learn the true nature of my relationship with Morgan.

Christmas came, and with it another letter. Morgan's mother, Dora, explained that the trip to get her would be delayed a few months, citing the distance and weather as her reasons.

Morgan said, "Business must be slow."

In an attempt to lessen her contempt for her mother, I said, "Morgan Honey, sometimes a woman is forced to do things she doesn't like in order to stay alive."

Angrily, Morgan cried, "She just likes to fuck!"

I held her and let her cry.

In bed that night, Morgan was lying on top of me, lazily kissing me and teasing me with suggestive movements of her hips. The pressing of her soft mound against mine was making me warm.

"Do you think I'm a slut?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," I said. "By some definitions, a slut is a woman who is free with her favors, or easily seduced. Others may say she's a whore. You, my sweet, are neither."

"I'm just afraid I'll be like my mom and my sister," she said, cuddling close. "I really like sex."

I laughed softly and hugged her lithe body. "I do too, Honey. Especially with you, but that doesn't make us sluts."

Pensive, she asked, "When do you think she'll come?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe we have the cold months left, or she may show up tomorrow."

"I'm not going with her," Morgan declared. "I won't."

There was no need to explain to Morgan the vagaries of the justice system, broken and maimed that it was. We'd just have to wait and see.

The winter was mild, and Morgan only missed three days of school. In mid-March, Dora appeared at my door.

Dora wore a light dress and heels, shivering with the cold air. "I've come to get my daughter," she said. "Where is she?"

I invited her inside and bade her sit. "Morgan is in school right now," I explained. "She'll be home about four."

Dora glanced at her watch, said, "I'll be back then," and left.

I watched her leave in a large, older car, a Buick or Cadillac. There was a very big man driving, and I could see them quarrelling as they left my driveway.

When Morgan got off the bus, I met her outside. "Your mother came today."

Morgan walked toward the barn, dropping her book bag just inside.

With her hands on her hips, she said, "I won't go. I told you that. I'm not leaving here, ever!"

Softly, I tried to explain. "Honey, you're a minor, which means a court will have to decide where you live. If she really wants you to go with her, I don't think I can do anything to stop her from taking you."

"I can," she said. "Let her take you to court. I'll tell them what kind of person she is."

"That might help, but the judge will decide," I said.

Morgan started crying and stepped into my arms. I hugged her close and rubbed her back, murmuring assurances into her ear. When I glanced up, Dora was watching from the doorway.

"Morgan!" Dora said loudly. She smiled wide and held her arms open, then said, "Come to Mama!"

Morgan stepped to my side, away from Dora, and put her arm around my waist.

"No," she said firmly.

Dora frowned, dropped her arms and angrily asked, "Just what the hell is going on here? I've come all this way to get you, and you're coming home with me!"

Morgan shouted, "Why? So I can be a whore like you? No thanks!"

Dora looked stunned, and turned to me. "What have you done to my daughter? She talks like she hates me."

"That was your doing, not mine," I said. "Morgan is happy here."

Red-faced, Dora screamed, "I'll take you to court! She's mine! You hear me? Mine!"

Morgan took a step toward her mother and menacingly said, "You do that, and I'll inform the judge just how you make your money. I'll tell him how you made my sister into a whore too, and how many men you've had in your bed over the years."

Open-mouthed, Dora stared at her daughter.

Morgan continued, "I don't know who my father is. Do you?" When Dora shook her head slightly, Morgan added, "I thought not. Men are just money to you, and I'm not going to be like you. I don't do drugs. I'm a virgin, and I plan to stay that way for the foreseeable future."

Hearing that, Dora smiled evilly. "We'll see about that," she said. Then she turned and walked away.

Through the grapevine, I learned that Dora and her male companion had checked into a local motel a few miles away by the Interstate, and filed a petition in court to reclaim her daughter. Charlie got me a lawyer, David Whittaker, and Morgan and I told him the entire story. He told us that even though right was on our side, the judge might consider Dora's petition and grant her custody. We didn't say anything about our intimate relationship.