Morgan's Child

by Pamela Browning

  "I see," he said evenly. "What about the baby? I want the baby, Kate."

  "Isn't—isn't there someone else you could marry?"

  "Of course not," Morgan said, dismissing her suggestion outright.

  "I just thought that you must have a life. I mean, you told me about all those other women," Kate said.

  Morgan made a disparaging gesture with one hand. "Women, yes. One I'd marry, no. In fact," he said in carefully measured tones, "I feel closer to you than to anyone at the moment."

  "At the moment," she repeated, unsure what to make of this.

  "Because of what we're going through together," he said. "Because I think we have the potential to share something special."

  "Because of the way I kissed you?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  "We both felt something, Kate."

  Kate fidgeted with a loose thread on her dress. "You might have gathered by my behavior that I want intimacy. I don't," she said. She sounded very prim and proper, but all he could think about at the moment was the swaying of her body under that thin nightgown as she walked into the lighthouse this morning.

  "I don't believe you," he said.

  Her head shot up and she looked him in the eye. "The first day you met me you said that if you were going to seduce anyone, it wouldn't be me."

  "I was trying to reassure you," he said defensively. He wished now that he hadn't said it.

  "Whatever. I got the idea. And I can't imagine that you feel differently about it now. I mean, I'm quite pregnant—Sports Illustrated isn't going to ask me to pose for their swimsuit issue anytime soon."

  He put out a hand and touched her lips. She flinched, but even as she moved away from him, she felt the warmth rise up from her thighs, spread across her abdomen, and linger in her breasts, and it was a heat that had nothing to do with the slant of sun through the palmetto thatch overhead.

  "You're as beautiful, as sexy and as desirable as any woman I've ever known," he said. His voice was deep and sonorous and had the effect of a verbal caress.

  She stood up abruptly. "That's enough, Morgan," she said.

  Morgan said nothing, and Kate, her back stiff, her face turned away, despaired. She didn't believe that she was that attractive to him. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a Kate Sinclair who was grossly out of shape, who could possibly get a job as a Goodyear blimp, and who could give the Pillsbury doughboy a run for his money. The only difference was that she wasn't as mobile as the blimp, and as for Poppin' Fresh, under these circumstances, she couldn't force herself to be half as cheerful.

  * * *

  Morgan insisted on accompanying her to take water samples later. After she'd labeled the vials, he rowed the johnboat around a curve in the creek where they relaxed as the boat rocked gently between creek banks overhung with weeping willows. Kate trailed her hand in the water and felt lazy. To tell the truth, she felt more defeated than lazy, but there was no point in mentioning this to Morgan. She figured he had enough worries of his own.

  "You're not angry?" she blurted finally when the silence had dragged on too long.

  Morgan shook his head slowly. "No. Confused, maybe, and unsure of my next move, but it's not you that I'm angry with. It's Courtney, for getting you into this."

  "I played a part in it. I thought it would be so simple. Just get pregnant, experience it, and walk away afterward. And now—" Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug of helplessness. "What will you do now?" she asked.

  "Sue my ex-wife," he said. "Her contract with you should be declared null and void. Courtney had no right to demand that the baby must be adopted by a married couple. I want my rights as the father reinstated."

  "I thought you said you couldn't stand another court battle."

  "Maybe we can reach an agreement out of court," he said. "Maybe we can amend the contract, or tear up the contract or—well, something. Maybe we can make a deal."

  "All that sounds pretty lame, Morgan," Kate said.

  "If you'll go with me to Charleston to discuss it with the lawyers, I'll set up the appointment," he told her.

  "I'll go. I don't know what else to do," she said.

  Kate knew that they were both convinced that no one else in the world understood what they were going through and that neither of them had anyone else in whom to confide. They were allies. And yet they stared at each other uneasily, unsure how much to trust each other or if they even should.

  Chapter 9

  Trust, Kate thought, was a fragile commodity.

  Without trust, love couldn't exist. In the past she'd been betrayed by both her mother and her lover, and Kate was sure she could never wholly trust anyone again. Therefore, she'd never love again. It was all very logical.

  Not so logical was the difficulty that she and Morgan were in at present, though she kept telling herself it had nothing to do with love. Certainly there was no love lost between the two sets of lawyers, and when she and Morgan conferred with them, Kate felt as if she'd somehow landed in the middle of a free-for-all.

  At the meeting the lawyers wrangled, Morgan punctuated his remarks with angry gestures, and Kate sat staring at the shiny finish of the conference table until her head ached, wishing that she were back on the research vessel trying to figure out how to breed disease-resistant oysters. And at the end, after all the bickering, Ted Wickes's advice to Morgan was the same: either get married or pursue a lawsuit.

  "Look at it this way," Ted said to Kate and Morgan over lunch, "you don't want her to get away with this. The woman's a shark, and that husband of hers is—well, there's no name I can call him in polite company."

  They weren't pressuring her, but Kate felt under duress anyway. If she would only marry Morgan, he wouldn't have to initiate a court action.

  But she couldn't marry Morgan. She didn't love him.

  After they left Ted Wickes, she and Morgan walked slowly through the waterfront park on the nearby Cooper River. Children splashed in fountains, people basked on park benches, and babies in their prams sucked their thumbs as their mothers visited. Kate and Morgan seemed to be the only couple present without a child, but then the baby stirred and she remembered. They had a child. It just wasn't born yet.

  "I could move away," Kate said suddenly. "No one would know where I was. We could arrange for you to adopt the baby in another state before Courtney and Damien found me."

  "You're grasping at straws," Morgan said.

  "I could go to Maine and hide there. I have a friend—remember I told you about Penelope?—who would help."

  Morgan knew that this was the moment when he should mention casually that Tony Saldone was presently in Maine trying to find out about the plans of the Federal Health Foundation and how the FHF's investigation would affect Kate.

  But Kate had enough to think about. It wasn't the time to sock her with Tony Saldone.

  "Look, Kate," he said, "you're not going to Maine or anywhere else. You said you wanted to stay on Yaupon Island, didn't you?"

  "Of course," Kate said.

  "Then that's what you'll do. In fact, I've had enough of the city. Let's get back to the island. Right now."

  She looked surprised. He took her hand and smiled at her. "When the going gets tough, the tough go back to the island," he said.

  * * *

  When they arrived on Yaupon Island, members of the bulldozer crew were standing around a gushing hole in the ground and shaking their heads.

  "Looks like we broke the water line," one of them called to Kate as she and Morgan approached the lighthouse. "Disrupted your water service." He lifted one foot and stared with disgust at the mud on it.

  "Well, you'll have to fix it," Kate said.

  "Might take a few days to do that. You can get somebody to haul in fresh water from the mainland to drink, I guess."

  Kate stood with her mouth open, looking at the spectacle of her beloved lighthouse standing in the middle of a huge mud puddle, her flowers smashed and scattered. The sharp pungent odor of crushed marigold
s filled the air.

  Kate lifted her eyes to the heavens. "I wonder what else could possibly happen around here. First the septic tank, now the water. Maine is beginning to sound better all the time." She looked more closely at the excavation, from which water was running down the slope toward the creek.

  "Pack a few things, and you can move into the lodge with me," Morgan said.

  "All right, all right, I give up. I'll be right back," she said in exasperation, stalking through the mud into the house.

  When Morgan followed her inside, he saw that she had kicked off her mud-spattered shoes and was standing barefoot on the scuffed wooden floor as she threw things into a suitcase.

  He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and reassure her that everything—the baby, her job, the final move away from the island—would be all right. Not that he quite believed it himself, but he wanted it to be true for Kate's sake.

  Kate saw him staring at her and dropped a hanger. He picked it up for her and handed it over, and when she read the sympathy in his eyes, it was almost her undoing. She curbed the impulse to rest her head on his broad chest and let him soothe away her worries with caresses.

  She drew a deep breath before she spoke. "Morgan, I'm only moving into the lodge because of the water problem," she said. "Not because I want a physical relationship."

  Morgan shrugged, but there was a definite flicker of hope behind his eyes. "Sure, Kate. Whatever you say," he said, and she could have sworn he was hiding a grin.

  * * *

  Kate hadn't been to the lodge in a long time, and it had been permanently off-limits when she was a child. Her father hadn't approved of hunting, and neither did Kate. The lodge itself was huge, and it was surrounded by outbuildings—servants' quarters, a shambles of a stable, a hut where skins had been scraped and tanned. Slowly kudzu vine had encroached and enveloped all but the main building, which was still in reasonably good repair.

  "Pick a room, any room," Morgan said as he led the way to the bedrooms.

  Kate chose at random. "This one," she said, and Morgan dumped her suitcase on the bed.

  "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink," he said. "Meet you on the terrace in ten minutes?"

  "Ten minutes," she agreed, and added, "Something nonalcoholic for me."

  "One of my nieces tells me I make the best Shirley Temples in the world," he said, smiling at her as he went out.

  Kate explored the rest of the hallway before joining Morgan. His room was two doors from hers. Still too close for comfort, she said to herself, but no matter where she went in this house, she would always be aware that Morgan was there too. She only hoped that while she stayed here with him, she would be spared the sexy, erotic dreams that had been troubling her ever since the beginning of her pregnancy.

  Morgan handed her a glass when she came out onto the terrace, and he offered her a chair at the table. They could hear the sea from where they sat, the soft rise and fall of the waves, the shrill crying of the sea birds.

  She sipped her drink appreciatively. "Your niece was right," she said, and Morgan smiled, the smile starting in his eyes and working its way down. She'd always, ever since the day she met him, thought he had the nicest smile.

  "She usually is," he said.

  "You have nieces and nephews besides Joanna's children?" she asked.

  "My brother Clayborne, who lives in Atlanta, has two children, and my sister Daphne in New Orleans has four. They're all older than Joanna's brood."

  "Do you see them often?"

  "As often as I can. They're some of my favorite people." He paused. "I've been thinking about this fatherhood thing," he said.

  "I don't know when you've had time," she answered ruefully.

  "Oh, there have been some long nights," he said vaguely. His eyes sought hers. "I'm used to the idea now. I'm even looking forward to it. When I look at your body, big with my child, and think that you're the one to bear the next little Rhett, it overwhelms me."

  She watched him, surprised that he had chosen to speak of this. She hadn't suspected that he had any deep feelings about the baby. He'd made it clear that he didn't love it. She waited, sensing that he had something more to say.

  He turned his glass in his hands, staring down into the amber liquid. "Many of my friends have become fathers lately. They took a lot of interest in their wives' pregnancies. They saw their own babies being born. I'm beginning to think that I'd like that, too." He raised his head and looked squarely into her eyes.

  This news was a complete surprise to Kate. "You're putting me on," she said at last.

  "No, I mean it. Really," he said.

  She fought the urge to snicker and forced herself to give the idea serious consideration. She tried to picture Morgan Rhett wearing delivery-room pajamas and a hospital mask. It was impossible, and she felt her mouth stretching into a grin.

  "I mean it," he insisted, indignant that she didn't believe him.

  "Do you know what it's like in a delivery room?" she asked incredulously.

  "Oh—well, I imagine it's bright. Lights, you know, so the doctor can see what he's doing. And antiseptic."

  She laughed, and he liked the way she laughed, throwing her head back as though she was really enjoying it.

  "You don't know what it's like in a delivery room, either," he pointed out. "How many times have you ever been in one?"

  "None," she said, sobering immediately. "I have an idea it's not the easiest place in the world to be, though. Unless you're the main event."

  "Oh. Maybe. Anyway, I think I should see my baby born. It would help me—" he searched for the right word; he'd heard Charlie and Joanna use it a time or two. "It would help me bond with the child," he said, hoping that the term would make the right impression. When Kate's face relaxed, he knew it had.

  "Bonding can set the tone between parent and child for the child's whole life," she said in a soft voice. She studied his face. "You really think you'd like that? To be in the delivery room, I mean?" she asked.

  "Definitely," he said.

  "I'll ask Dr. Thomas about it next time I go," she said.

  "I'm going with you to your next checkup, remember?" he said. "When is your appointment?"

  "Tomorrow at two o'clock, and if you still want to go, it's okay with me," she said. She finished her drink and set the glass on the table before standing and walking to the edge of the terrace, her hands pressed to either side of her abdomen in a gesture that Morgan found inexpressibly poignant.

  He wanted to go to her and tell her that he'd always be there for her, but he didn't think she wanted to hear it. And so he finished his drink and made an excuse to go inside, wishing he knew some way to communicate to her all that he felt, and feeling inadequate because the only way he could think of was sexual.

  Dinner was a casserole which Morgan produced from the freezer, compliments of his housekeeper in Charleston, and afterward Kate looked askance at the mounted boar and deer heads and suggested that they go out looking for loggerhead turtles coming ashore to lay their eggs.

  "Anything is better than sitting around this lodge with those animals staring at me," she said, and Morgan laughed.

  On the path through the dunes he caught her hand to help her through the shadowy parts, and she clung to his fingers tightly and didn't shake them away when they were standing on the wide, flat beach.

  She slipped off her sandals, and he kicked off his shoes. Here under the wide sky, with the stars winking and blinking overhead, she ventured a smile at him, and he stared back at her, not returning the smile but acknowledging it with his eyes. Behind them waves rose and fell in majestic splendor, and the sand beneath their feet shone alabaster in the moonlight.

  Kate inhaled deeply of the sea-tinged air. "Wow," she said. "What a day."

  "Yeah."

  "I'm not sure we settled much of anything," she said broodingly.

  "Do me a favor. Let's not talk about Courtney or the lawyers—"

  "Or Mrs. Pribble
or the bulldozer or getting married—"

  He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

  "How do we go about finding a turtle?" he asked her.

  "We tramp along the beach until we find the telltale trails. You've seen them, I'm sure—a turtle flattens the sand into a furrow leading toward the dunes, where she digs a hole and lays her eggs."

  "I don't believe I've ever seen the moon so full," he said as they began to walk.

  "Of course, you have," she told him. "You're exaggerating."

  "Well, it's been a long time since I've looked at it," he amended. A half smile lit her features, and he still held her hand.

  "How long since you've gone moon gazing?" she asked.

  "Years," he told her. "Usually I'm inside on nights like this. Working," he hastened to add, because he thought he'd given her the wrong impression of himself. Suddenly it seemed important to reiterate that he was no longer the man-about-town that he'd been shortly after his divorce from Courtney.

  But she was intent on a pattern in the sand. "Wait," she said. "This looks like a fresh turtle crawl." She bent over and studied the sand, then straightened and pointed toward the dunes. "The mother turtle is up there, all right. There's no return trail leading back to the ocean."

  Kate guided their way into the dunes, little ghost crabs scuttling out of their path, and there, beneath the swaying stems of sea oats, Morgan switched on his flashlight and they found the mother turtle settled into a body pit and laying eggs two and three at a time.

  Kate knelt beside the turtle, which blinked its eyes at them. She must have weighed three hundred pounds, and her shell was crusted with barnacles and moss.

  "She's crying," Morgan said when he saw the tears running down the leathery face. He was touched by the turtle's efforts.

  "Tears of exertion," Kate said, watching with a practiced eye as the mother turtle deposited eggs into the nest. They looked like ping-pong balls.

  "If the nest remains undisturbed by raccoons or other predators, and if she's built it high enough on the beach so that it won't be disrupted by high tide, we can expect little turtles, perhaps a hundred or so, to crack out of the eggs, dig their way out of the sand, and crawl down to the water in about sixty days," Kate said.