That explained why Morgan would think he wanted someone like Mary Jane, who was clearly not the right person to fit into his personal and professional life in New York, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. But Mary Jane’s feelings for Morgan couldn’t be explained so neatly. She wasn’t looking for anybody to fill a gap in her life. Come to think of it, she hadn’t expected to get married for several more years.
But she wanted Morgan Tate. She wanted him on a gut level she’d learned to trust over the years. And the wanting went beyond sex. She had yearnings that involved white lace and promises. She wondered if it had to do with seeing him as husband material because he had been a husband, and a good one, from all the evidence. With Morgan, she wouldn’t be buying a pig in a poke. Of course, that didn’t matter, because he would never consider her as wife material.
But then there was the matter of the baby. If mating instincts drove her, they would be all about forming a bond with the father of this baby. The kidlet, prizewinning kicks included, did feel like her baby despite the complicated biology involved.
Possession was nine-tenths of the law. Ha.
Or maybe she wanted Morgan because he’d belonged to Arielle and secretly she coveted anything connected to Arielle. Damn, she hoped that wasn’t it. She thought back to the wedding six years ago, when at the age of sixteen she’d been Arielle’s maid of honor. Oh, she’d envied Arielle then, envied the fairy-tale ceremony, the honeymoon to Paris, the china, the silver and the lace tablecloths.
But she hadn’t really envied Arielle for having Morgan. To Mary Jane’s sixteen-year-old self, Morgan at twenty-five had seemed far too old, far too brainy and far too professional for anybody like her. At thirty-one, he still did, when she stopped to think about it. Unfortunately he had a way of short-circuiting her brain. And there was that gut-level feeling of rightness that had nothing to do with logical thinking, either.
She’d have plenty of logical thinking time coming up, though. Today he was going away. Sooner or later she’d have to face the fact that he wouldn’t be there when she got home from work.
But not yet.
She whipped her little Beetle down the alley that ran behind Austin Eats and parked behind the diner. Between having to tell folks at the diner about Arielle and then going home to an empty house, today wasn’t going to be much fun. Might as well get it over with.
LESS THAN AN HOUR later Morgan was in a cab headed for the airport, his few belongings in a small duffel bag he’d found in Mary Jane’s closet. He’d left her a note telling her he’d borrowed the duffel and he’d mail it back to her.
He hadn’t wasted much time once she’d left. After cleaning the kitchen and making the bed, he’d searched out the birdseed because she’d never told him where it was. But once he’d gone out to her little patio he’d found a colorful trash can that looked like the obvious place to store it. To eliminate all doubt, she’d used red nail polish to paint Birdseed on the lid.
The same nail polish she’d used on her toes, most likely.
Morgan sat in the back of the cab thinking about Mary Jane’s toes. In another couple of months she’d have trouble painting her toenails. He wondered if she’d ask a friend to do it, or get a pedicure. She wouldn’t let them go. Not Mary Jane. He pictured himself doing it for her and loved the idea, although he’d never painted a woman’s toenails in his life.
He hadn’t even reached the airport yet and he missed her so much his throat hurt. Instead of making a reservation on such short notice, he’d decided he’d be better off trying to grab a seat on standby. It had worked at JFK on the way here, so it should work again on the way home. No, not home. Not anymore.
But he didn’t have a home with Mary Jane, either. She’d agreed to have a baby for him, and that was more than he should have asked of any human being other than his wife. He couldn’t expect anything more from Mary Jane.
THE EARLY-MORNING crunch at Austin Eats prevented Mary Jane from exchanging anything but minor conversation with Shelby or the cook, Sara. Mary Jane was just as glad. She wanted to work up to breaking the news about Arielle, and falling into the regular routine helped steady her for the ordeal. Telling the news would no doubt put her through an emotional wringer all over again.
Because the diner was right next door to Maitland Maternity, it provided a handy alternative to the clinic’s cafeteria. The medical staff ate there regularly, and people visiting patients often headed to Austin Eats for a quick bite or to celebrate the arrival of a new baby with towering hot fudge sundaes.
Originally founded to provide care for single pregnant women in difficult financial situations, Maitland Maternity had been adopted by the rich and famous as the place to have their children. Mary Jane had served food to her share of celebs. Hollywood types showing up unannounced definitely made her job more exciting, but she found most of her satisfaction in providing good food to the regulars—hardworking doctors and nurses, maintenance workers and clerical help.
Mary Jane put a smile on her face for the sake of her customers, who deserved to have a happy waitress bring their food. People who didn’t know her might think she laughed and joked with her customers to get a better tip. Although it usually worked out that way, Mary Jane knew she’d treat people the same even if tips were abolished.
She was perfect for this job, and she knew it. Her personality fit right in with the snappy diner decor—a black and white checkered floor, sparkling red vinyl seats and a reconditioned jukebox in one corner that played CDs instead of forty-fives. Austin Eats served all the old favorites like burgers, shakes and a meat-loaf dinner special, but it also served a healthy helping of good cheer with each meal. Mary Jane took pride in contributing to that mood.
As a result of pretending to be upbeat for a couple of hours, she actually began to feel better. By mid-morning, when the flow of customers let up, she wished they’d have another rush so she could forget about Arielle for a little longer and imagine that Morgan was still in her town house instead of on a plane bound for New York.
But Shelby and Sara would be hurt if she kept something this important from them. After checking to make sure all the customers were settled for the time being, she asked Shelby to come in the kitchen with her.
“Is something wrong?” Shelby asked immediately, concern in her green eyes. One of the Lord triplets, she had the signature red hair, just like Lana. “Don’t tell me you’ve had some complication with the baby.”
“In a way.”
“Oh, no.” Shelby followed her into the kitchen. “I should never have asked you to work. Go home right this minute. I can handle things.”
Sara turned from the griddle. She’d always reminded Mary Jane of Cinderella—blond, blue-eyed and working in the scullery. “What’s wrong?” She put down her spatula and moved a stool toward Mary Jane. “Do you need to sit down? Are you having pains?”
“No, it’s not me. And the baby’s fine.” Mary Jane took a deep breath. “Arielle—you know, the mother of the baby…”
“Yes, yes,” Shelby said impatiently. “Your nanny. What about her? If she’s changed her mind, I will personally—”
Mary Jane’s hands started to shake, and she clutched them in front of her as she tried to stop the trembling. “She…was killed in a car accident.” As she watched the shock register on the women’s faces, the horror of it all came down on her again, and tears welled in her eyes. She gulped back a sob. “But I’m doing—”
“Oh, honey.” Shelby wrapped both arms around her and began to rock her back and forth.
“I’m so sorry,” Sara murmured brokenly. She came over and began to rub Mary Jane’s back. “I’m so very sorry.”
Mary Jane fought her tears, but they were winning. “I didn’t want…to break down,” she said. And then she buried her face against Shelby’s uniform and sobbed while Shelby rocked her and Sara rubbed her back.
Finally she was able to bring the tears to a halt and drew away from Shelby with a watery smile. “Sorry.”
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“Nothing to be sorry about, toots.”
“Here.” Sara grabbed a paper napkin and handed it to her.
“We need…need to check on the customers,” Mary Jane said. “Maybe I’d better go fix myself up a little first.”
“Hold on there, sweetheart.” Shelby took her arm. “The customers can wait another couple of minutes. When did this happen?”
“Uh—” She tried to think, to figure out the timing. “About four days ago, I guess.”
Sara handed her another napkin. “And you just heard?”
“No.” Mary Jane tossed the first soggy napkin in the trash and blew her nose with the second one. “Her husband, Morgan, came to my house night before last to tell me. We’ve been hanging out, trying to come to grips with it.”
“Of course you have.” Shelby rubbed Mary Jane’s arm. “You should have told me when I called. You have no business being in here. Go on back home. In fact, you’ll probably need time off to go back there for the funeral.”
Mary Jane sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “No, I won’t. There won’t be one. She didn’t believe in funerals.”
“Oh.” Shelby started to say something, but seemed to think better of it. “Well, regardless. You shouldn’t have left her grieving husband to come in to work.” She patted Mary Jane’s hand. “Go on. Take all the time you need.”
“We can ask Joe to come in and do more of the cooking,” Sara said. “Then I can help with the waitressing. Seriously, Mary Jane. We’ll be fine here, won’t we, Shelby?”
“Absolutely.”
“You guys are the best.” Mary Jane took a shaky breath. “But Morgan went back to New York today, and the best thing for me right now is to work. I wanted you to know, though.”
“So you haven’t told Lana?” Shelby asked.
“No. You two are the first.”
Shelby gazed at Mary Jane in sympathy. “Do you want me to tell her?”
“That’s okay.” Mary Jane figured Lana would rather hear it from the source. “I’ll go by the shop on my way home.”
“I think you should ask her to spend the night with you,” Shelby said. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. If she can’t do it, I will, but I’m betting she’ll drop everything if you ask her.”
“That’s an idea.” Mary Jane managed a smile. “It’s been a long time since Lana and I had a sleep-over. We can stay up all night, eat ice cream from the carton and make anonymous phone calls.”
Shelby returned her smile. “Sounds like fun. I might have to stop by, after all.”
“Me, too,” Sara said.
“Shoot, maybe we should see if we can get Beth and Ellie to come and have an old-fashioned slumber party!” Mary Jane gave them both a hug. “Thanks. And now we really need to go see about our customers.”
AFTER SEVERAL straight hours of not getting a flight, Morgan was totally sick of the Austin airport, its waiting lounge and its ticketing agents. Everyone had been unfailingly polite, but the planes were just…full. While waiting he’d ingested way too much coffee and not enough food. Some healthy role model he was. Mary Jane could rightly accuse him of being a hypocrite.
How he’d love to listen to her lecture him. How he’d love to hear her voice, period. She could read from the flight departure monitor and he’d be enthralled. Leaving Mary Jane was turning into a production, both mentally and physically.
Without her he couldn’t seem to care about anything, least of all his diet. He sat down to wait for yet one more flight with a cup of black coffee and a bear claw.
“I can’t get over how busy this airport is,” a guy in a business suit remarked as he sat next to Morgan.
“Tell me about it.” Morgan bit into his pastry.
“You must be from around here.”
He swallowed. “Nope. I’m from New York.”
“Really?” The businessman eyed Morgan’s shirt, jeans, boots and hat. “You sure look like a Texan, although now I notice your accent’s wrong. Thinking of relocating?”
“Nope.” Actually, he hadn’t been able to think of anything but relocating, but he couldn’t justify encroaching on Mary Jane’s territory. He took a drink of coffee and scalded his tongue.
“I tell you, Austin’s booming. The high-tech industry is going gangbusters. I’ve been down here on business, and I seriously thought of snapping up some real estate. I ran out of time to look, but it would be a damned good investment.”
“Is that right?” Morgan forgot about his scalded tongue as he turned to the stranger.
“I sure think so. I may schedule another trip for that very purpose.”
“That good, huh?”
“Hey, you see what happened in Silicon Valley. Housing prices there are through the roof. I was thinking a place down here would make a good weekend getaway for the family during the winter when New York’s buried under a few feet of snow. Eventually I could sell the property and turn a nice profit. Or who knows? I might decide to retire here. It’s a great little city.”
“No doubt about it.” Morgan thought about the For Sale sign he’d noticed on the road where Mary Jane had stopped so he could examine the bluebonnets. He remembered the way the hills had turned purple at sunset, and how peaceful he’d felt standing by the roadside, looking at the field of wildflowers in the fading light.
An investment. That wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, he was about to become a father, and he’d have to start saving for things like college. The baby would eventually become a young woman, and she’d find a nice guy and want to get married. Morgan had to be ready for that with some spare cash.
Besides, his baby shouldn’t spend her entire winter in the snowy Northeast. If they owned a place in Austin, they could fly down for long weekends until the time came to make good on the investment. And it would make it easier for Mary Jane to see the baby.
It would also make it easier for him to see Mary Jane, but he shouldn’t think about it that way. That shouldn’t be his motivation. He didn’t intend to make a pest of himself and interfere with her life. He’d only be doing the prudent thing, the financially responsible thing. He’d only be making an investment.
“They’re calling the flight,” the businessman said. “Where’re you sitting?”
“I’m on standby,”
“Oh. Then good luck getting on. Nice talking to you.”
“Same here.” Morgan watched him walk toward the jetway and made a decision. If they had room for him on this flight, he’d go. But if not, he’d take it as a sign that he needed to stay a little longer and look into the possibility of investing in some real estate.
IT PROMISED to be the slumber party of the century. Limp Bizkit blared from Mary Jane’s stereo as another contestant moved to the center of her crowded living room to compete in the First Annual Slutty Dance Contest.
“Don’t start without me!” Lana yelled from the kitchen. “Hey, who ate all the Rocky Road?”
“There’s another one in the freezer!” Ellie yelled. “Get in here before Shelby chickens out.”
“Shelby, Shelby, Shelby,” chanted Beth, Ellie’s twin.
Mary Jane picked up the chant and started to clap rhythmically. She could hardly believe that a dozen of her friends had dropped whatever they’d planned to do tonight to come over and sleep on her living room floor.
The house was a disaster following the makeover session. Hot rollers, blow driers, curling irons and makeup cases were scattered everywhere. Beth still wore some of a green clay masque across her upper lip like a mustache, and Ellie had allowed Mary Jane to spike her hair so she looked like a punk rocker. Even quiet Sara had joined in the fun and wore an enormous set of false eyelashes.
They’d pigged out on pizza, ice cream and various packages of cookies with no redeeming value other than they tasted terrific. At one point Ellie had made a halfhearted attempt to clean up the food mess, but she’d been hooted into submission. Empty pizza boxes and ice cream cartons sat on every available surface.
Every
one had gathered, in various stages of undress, to stage the dance contest. As Shelby did her version of a bump and grind, Mary Jane laughed so hard her sides began to hurt.
“Your turn!” Shelby cried, gasping with laughter as she pointed at Mary Jane.
Beth started the chant, and everyone joined in. “Mary Jane, Mary Jane, Mary Jane!”
Giggling, she moved to the center of the room. For the occasion she’d worn some baby-doll pajamas she’d had when she was in high school. As the music started, she began a sensuous shimmy that soon had the group applauding wildly. She whirled and wiggled her hips, having more fun than she’d had in ages.
“Doorbell!” someone shouted.
“That’s more pizza!” Lana called above the music. “Keep going! I’ll get it!” She leaped to her feet and headed for the entry hall.
Mary Jane threw herself into the beat, lifting her hands over her head and trying out every naughty little move she’d ever practiced in front of the mirror as a teenager when she’d fantasized herself as an exotic stripper. Her appreciative audience whistled and stomped, which only egged her on.
“Hey, Mary Jane!”
With a flourish, she whirled toward the entry where Lana stood. Then she nearly fell over. Standing next to her, his eyes bugging out of his head, was Morgan.
She gulped. “What are you doing here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Investing in real estate?”
MORGAN’S FIRST THOUGHT, that he’d made a terrible mistake in coming back, was obliterated by the rush of female attention that followed Mary Jane’s hurried introduction. Not a single woman ran screaming from the room because he’d caught them in their pajamas. Although a couple casually slipped on bathrobes, most of them didn’t seem to care what they were wearing. They were too busy taking care of him.
Over his protests they scurried around to serve him food, pour him something to drink and find him a place to sit. But the commotion kept him from getting a bead on how Mary Jane was taking his return. He was sorry he’d interrupted her dance. Yes, it was a sexual turn-on to watch her shaking and shimmying, but more than that he’d sensed she was dancing her way through her grief.
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