Morgan's Child

by Pamela Browning

  She led the way into the sitting room, wondering what to say. There was no reason for this visit, no reason at all. It seemed strange to see him in this familiar room, filling it up, taking up more room than he should, walking in as if he owned the place. Why was he here? What did he want?

  If he had any plans, Morgan was not giving them away. His sweeping glance assessed the framed photos on the wall of the sitting room, and he surprised her by stopping in front of the largest one and studying it with interest.

  "This is you?" he asked.

  Kate moved closer, too, somehow pleased that he was interested in her treasured family pictures.

  "I was a senior in high school at the time," she told him. She remembered how her father had exclaimed over the proofs of this photo when she brought them home. He'd said she was the prettiest girl in the school and insisted on ordering the largest portrait offered. She'd worn her hair the way she did now, but her face had been rounder.

  "It's a terrific picture," Morgan said, but Kate was glad when he moved on. It was embarrassing for Morgan to see her slim teenage self when she was so big and ungainly now.

  "That's Yaupon Island after a hurricane passed through some years ago," she told him when they stood in front of the next photo.

  That picture showed a tangle of debris in front of the keeper's quarters. Kate's father stood with one foot on a palmetto log, hands on his hips, smiling into the camera lens. Kate had taken the picture herself when she was about ten years old.

  "I suppose storms are frequent here," Morgan observed.

  "We have a couple of big ones every year, though they don't usually reach hurricane strength," Kate said.

  "What do you do when a hurricane comes—go to the mainland?"

  "Dad liked to, but I always preferred to batten down the hatches and ride it out on the island."

  "Daredevil," he accused, his eyes sparkling. He looked around the room. "There are no pictures of your mother here," he said.

  "Dad took it hard when Mom ran away with Johnny."

  "You did, too, I suppose," Morgan said.

  "What nine-year-old girl wouldn't? Oh, Mom used to send me a birthday card once in a while saying how much she'd love to see me, but every time I tried to set a time and place for us to meet, she wiggled out of it. The last card came from Africa, and I haven't heard from her in years."

  Kate tried to sound philosophical, but she'd always felt that there was an empty place in her life that no one had ever been able to fill. She'd had a hard time forming attachments to anyone—man or woman—because deep in her heart she'd always been afraid of being abandoned again. And in fact, the one time she'd let down her guard, that was exactly what had happened.

  This was not something she wanted to explain to Morgan, however. She had to do something about him, though, because he was standing in the middle of the sitting room and looking as if leaving was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment.

  She gestured toward the couch. "Please sit down," she said, halfway glad for his company. As much as she enjoyed her solitude, it did get lonely on Yaupon Island sometimes.

  "Maybe you can help with the letter I'm writing." Earlier she'd printed it, and now she handed it to him.

  His eyes scanned quickly. "Very succinct and to the point," he said.

  "I tried to write a letter with punch, one that will make someone sit up and take notice. I need to go to work as soon as I can after the baby is born, and it won't be easy. It's not a good job market for one thing, and for another—well, let's just say that I'm anticipating a lot of difficulty," Kate told him.

  "If you need a reference, perhaps I could help," Morgan said. He looked so self-confident, and Kate knew that he had no idea of the uphill struggle she faced.

  "The only kind of references I need are those in my field, and that won't be easy," she said quietly, staring down at her hands.

  "Kate, what's wrong? Something's bothering you." Morgan leaned forward, his eyes warm with understanding.

  She interlocked her fingers and stretched them so that the knuckles cracked. Morgan winced at the sound.

  "I'm not sure I want to tell you," Kate said.

  "Come on, you don't have to be so secretive."

  "It has to do with things that happened a long time ago," she hedged.

  She must be referring to what Tony had told him about, but Morgan didn't want to let on that he knew. "In that case, the best thing to do is forget them and move on," he told her, waiting to see what she'd say.

  "It's not that easy," she said ruefully. "My whole professional career is nothing more than garbage because of what happened." She gazed down at the floor for a long moment. Then, "Would you like a beer?" she asked suddenly.

  "Sure," he said, but she had surprised him with the offer. She got up and walked into the kitchen where he heard her opening and closing the refrigerator door. She returned with a can of beer and a glass, both of which she set down beside him.

  "Aren't you having one?" he asked.

  "I don't drink," she said. "I keep the beer around for guests who do."

  He poured and took a sip. "We were talking about your professional career," he reminded her.

  She ran a careless hand through her hair, and he suddenly remembered how silky it had felt beneath his fingertips. He longed to touch it again, and it was all he could do to keep his hand curved around his glass.

  "It happened at the Northeast Marine Institute," she told him, and he forced himself to pay attention. "That's where I worked before I came here. I discovered that a co-worker was faking data—in fact, his whole study was fabricated. A friend of mine who worked there, Penelope, called my attention to some irregularities, and I investigated and uncovered all kinds of proof. I blew the whistle, and I got fired," she said.

  "But you were in the right?" he asked quickly.

  "Of course I was," she said with indignation.

  "So why were you fired?"

  "The co-worker and the head of the department were collaborating on a research paper incorporating the false data. I lost my research job and, when I couldn't pay the bills, I had to sell my house and my car—almost everything I owned. Then my father got sick and—well, here I am." She shrugged and tried to smile.

  "Kate, I can't imagine that you sat back and let these people run right over you," Morgan said.

  "I didn't. I testified before Congress, only to be publicly dismissed by my department head as a crackpot who resented my co-worker's superior ability. Oh, and I left out one important thing. My co-worker was my fiancé. Mitch and I were supposed to be married at the end of that year."

  "You've never recovered, have you?" he asked, watching her carefully.

  "Recovered? I lost my house, my car, my job and the man in my life. In short, everything," she said, eyes flashing.

  "But not your self-respect," he shot back, and she blinked at him, surprised.

  "You don't give yourself enough credit. You stood up to them, Kate, and you were in the right. Not many people would have had the courage to do that." Morgan was touched by her story, and he wished she'd told him before. It helped him understand a lot of things about her.

  "Not many people would have been stupid enough to expose two award-winning scientists who can command millions in research grants," she said in a wry tone. "I decide on the spur of the moment to do things, then I have to live with the decision. It's a bad habit."

  He knew she was thinking of her pregnancy and of bearing a child for Courtney. A good time to switch topics, so he did.

  "Why did you do it, Kate?"

  "I've just explained all that," she said. "What Mitch was doing wasn't right."

  "I wasn't referring to that. I meant, why did you become a surrogate mother for someone you barely knew?"

  She looked wistful. "Because I thought it was the only chance I would have to bear a baby. I decided a long time ago that single motherhood wasn't for me," she said.

  A long silence followed. "A woman like you could
marry someday. If you choose, that is," he said.

  "No, I've ruled that out after what happened between Mitch and me. I'm happiest when I'm working. My priorities are first to redeem myself and then to immerse myself in my work with oysters. Someday I want to achieve something that would have made my father proud of me."

  "What would he have said about your pregnancy?"

  Kate gazed into space for a moment, looking reflective. "I've asked myself that many times, Morgan. When I first became pregnant, I thought he would have cheered me on. After all, this was something new and had a scientific component. Plus I was doing something useful for Courtney," she said.

  "And now?" he asked, his gaze locked with hers.

  "I realize that we haven't begun to scratch the surface of the social implications of the latest developments in scientific and medical technology," she said. "For the first time in my life, science scares me." Somewhere a clock ticked, and in that moment Morgan felt sympathy for her and, yes, pity.

  "Kate," he said. "There's not much I can do to help you get work. But as for what Courtney did, well, I can make up for it if you'll let me. If I've caused you any grief, I—"

  "I could have done without the detective," she said, and her tone was sharp.

  "A mistake on my part," he said, thinking guiltily about Tony Saldone, who was at this minute hard on the case somewhere in Maine.

  "I know you're a hardheaded businessman, and I'm sure you think that you had to do what you did. But sending a detective to ask my friends about other men! It was so... so—"

  "Humiliating," he said in a low tone. "I know. I'm sorry, and I'll make up for it. Let me take care of you, Kate. If you need anything, tell me. I'll get it for you. Not just for the baby's sake, but because you deserve it."

  She sighed, and when she spoke it was slowly and without her usual verve. "Since my father died, there hasn't been anyone who would take care of me. I've had to be independent, which I admit came naturally. It's not easy for me to let someone else take over my life."

  "I don't want to take over your life. I only want to smooth the way for you."

  "Are you going to start following me around every minute again?" she asked.

  "I'm the eldest of four children, and I looked after all of them when we were kids. It comes naturally to me to watch out for you, even though I know you don't like it."

  "Having somebody tagging around after me makes me grumpy," she said.

  "Pregnant women—"

  "Don't tell me about pregnant women! The fact is, I'm always kind of a grouch. I'm impatient with people who are trite, inept, corrupt or immoral. And men often bring out the worst in my disposition. Don't ask me why."

  To her utter surprise, he laughed. "At least you're honest," he said. When he stopped laughing, he grew more serious. "Do you accept my apology, Kate? I have to know."

  "If you can accept my need to grouch once in a while," she said.

  "Done," he said.

  Suddenly and unexpectedly she stretched her hands out to him, and he took them. Energy flowed between them, and more.

  "Friends?" she asked.

  "Friends."

  At that moment he couldn't pull his eyes away from hers; they looked so deep, so understanding. Somehow he had expected Kate to hold on to her resentment and to make this even more difficult than it already was. He hadn't expected openness and candor.

  "You'd better go, or I'll never get my letter finished," she said. She stood, and he watched how she had to position her legs far apart to bear her weight.

  He followed her to the door, mesmerized by the way she walked. She moved with stately grace, like a great ocean liner upon the sea. Her limbs were long and lissome, distracting him from the bulk of her belly, but his eyes kept returning to it because, heaven help him, he found that part of her beautiful.

  Because it's part of her, he told himself mentally, but, of course, that wasn't true. The baby was not of Kate at all. It was his baby. His baby filling her up, weighting her down, changing her life, and the knowing of it gave him a feeling so intimate that he could only imagine how it must feel to have impregnated a woman through the act of intercourse. It must be the ultimate power trip to know that you had not only created a new human being but had changed another person's, the mother's, life forever.

  "I'll see you—tomorrow," Kate said.

  He wondered if she ever felt lonely when she slept in the double bed he'd glimpsed through the door of her bedroom. He wondered if she ever woke in the night and wished to snuggle against a warm body.

  "I meant it when I offered to bring you something from town tomorrow," he said when they were standing in front of the door. "Isn't there anything you need?"

  "Pickles," she said suddenly. "I know it's trite, but—oh, if I only had something sour to eat. I seem to have a hard time tasting things these days—everything tastes like cardboard or worse."

  "Pickles?" he said, smiling at her. "Pickles." He laughed.

  He looked at her helplessly, and then, before he knew what was happening, her face tilted toward him, his head drifted downward, and he felt the warmth of her breath upon his lips. One of her breasts brushed his arm, and before he could take another breath, before he lost his nerve, his lips met hers.

  It was a slow, sweet kiss, their lips softly pliant, and he was afraid to take her in his arms for fear of breaking the spell. Only their lips touched, and when it was over, her eyes were luminous in the light from the lamp. He was overwhelmed with tender feelings for her.

  "I think maybe I just made the second biggest mistake of my life," she said, sounding shaken.

  He was taken aback. Was that a wisecrack or a heartfelt observation? Morgan didn't know. But whatever she'd meant, it certainly took the wind out of his sails.

  He gripped her shoulders. "Whatever that was, it was no mistake," he said, his voice rough. For good measure he yanked her close and swept his tongue over her lips. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and he pulled her closer, backing her up against the door, exploring the exquisite textures of tongue and lips. She might have broken away first, but he pursued the kiss aggressively until he heard her moan deep in her throat, and then he released her, triumph surging through him.

  She stared at him, eyes wide, the irises looking very black. He felt her heart pulsing beneath his fingertips and realized that he was gripping her shoulders too tightly.

  "Good night, Kate," he said, making himself step back. Her lips were parted and moist from his kisses, and she had never looked so desirable. Nor had his thoughts ever been so carnal.

  He left her then, slamming out of the house and rushing along the path toward the dunes in the light of a moon that seemed too white, too full, and too bright. In his head were images of Kate, her hair flying in the wind at the top of the lighthouse, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her eyes filled with uncertainty.

  As Morgan approached the lodge, he realized with surprise that someone was waiting for him on the terrace.

  He stopped in alarm and narrowed his eyes, aiming the beam from his flashlight to separate the figure on the terrace from the shadows.

  The person who was waiting stepped forward.

  "I thought you'd never get here, Morgan. What took you so long?" said Courtney.

  Chapter 7

  "What are you doing here?" Morgan demanded.

  Courtney regarded him with a half smile.

  "Invite me in and you'll find out," she said. "The bugs, by the way, are ferocious. How can you stand living here?"

  Morgan opened the back door of the lodge and flicked on the overhead light in the big hall. The mounted animal heads cast bizarre shadows around the cypress-paneled walls.

  "I like Yaupon Island," Morgan said.

  "And you like what's on this island, too, right?" Courtney, with her unerring flair for the dramatic, unwound a scarf from her neck and trailed it as she walked to one of the big leather couches and sat down.

  Morgan was sure she must be referring to Kate, b
ut he decided to ignore the gibe. "How did you get here? The ferry doesn't run this late."

  "Willadeen Pribble's son has a boat and was only too happy to do me the favor."

  "Your husband isn't with you?"

  "Damien? He's in Charleston. I had to come to Preacher's Inlet this evening for a meeting of the historical society."

  To stall for time, Morgan mixed drinks for both of them, and after handing Courtney hers, he sat on the edge of a chair and eyed her warily.

  "State your business, Courtney," he said. "I'm in no mood for small talk."

  "I could ask you the same thing. State your business, Morgan. What are you doing on Yaupon Island?"

  "I suppose I have your friend Willadeen Pribble to thank for passing news of my whereabouts along to you," he said, taking a sip of his drink and glowering at his ex-wife.

  "How clever of you to figure out the obvious. But this isn't the season for hunting—hunting animals, that is. And you don't like to fish. So I said to myself, 'What could bring Morgan to Yaupon Island?' And I thought about the beauteous Kate Sinclair, and voila!"

  "It's none of your business what I'm doing here," Morgan said heatedly.

  "I think it is, especially when Kate Sinclair is carrying our baby," she said.

  Morgan slammed his glass down on the coffee table. "You didn't want the baby. You told Kate to put it up for adoption."

  "I didn't tell her to give it to you!" Courtney said, her voice escalating in pitch. "We fought a court battle over those embryos, Morgan. I won custody. They were mine to do with whatever I wished."

  "The contract you and Kate signed states that the baby is to be put up for adoption if you renege on the agreement. I'm adopting it, Courtney. Adopting my own child!" There was no mistaking the irony in his tone.

  Courtney leaned forward, her infuriating smile exposing a row of shiny white teeth. Perhaps it was only the mounted wolf's head in the background, but never had she looked more predatory.

  "Read the contract again," she said. "The baby is to be adopted by a married couple. Married, Morgan. Unless you can find a woman to marry you, it's no go."

  He stared at her, nonplussed at this new development.