Morgan had been in and out of surgery. The doctor assured him she'd come through it fine and she would heal. She'd been lucky, he'd told him. Like Hart, Jack refused to leave her side.
He wanted to be there when she woke up. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her.
"Jack," Morgan said in a dry voice. Instantly he was on his feet, still holding her hand. He brought it to his chest where his heart beat so fast he thought it would burst. "Are you all right?"
He wanted to laugh. The sheer release of letting the pent-up tension go should do him good, but he didn't.
"How do you feel?"
"My shoulder hurts. And my throat is dry."
He poured her a cup of water and helped her up to drink it through the angled straw. "The anesthetic makes your throat dry."
"And the bullet?"
She remembered, he thought. "The doctor says you'll be fine."
"I guess my Olympic days are really over now." She tried to laugh, but ended with her face seized by pain and her hand reaching toward her shoulder.
"Let me call the nurse to give you something." Jack picked up the call button.
"No," Morgan said. "I want to stay awake for a while."
Jack took the hand she held up to stop him.
"What happened to Carla?"
Jack looked over at Hart. He was still asleep on the sofa. "She was arrested. You were right about there being two separate groups tracking us. The Koreans were behind one, but Carla was behind the other attempts on your life. She found out you were Hart's daughter and thought you were a threat to him and the presidency. She needed to get you out of the way." He looked at Hart again. "He really loved her."
Morgan peered at him. "She loved him too. Only a great love could make her do what she tried to do."
"You don't forgive her, do you? She tried to kill you."
"No,'' Morgan said. "I don't forgive her, but I do understand.''
Jack looked at her. Her words seemed to have another meaning. She wasn't talking about Carla and Hart. She meant them.
"Morgan, I love you." He looked down at her, but she'd fallen asleep.
CHAPTER 18
"Did you say you loved me?" It was the first thing Morgan said when she awakened six weeks ago in the Virginia hospital. Jack had been by her bedside as he'd been when she woke the first time.
He'd gotten up from the chair he'd been sitting in and stood near the head of the bed. "I do love you," he nodded.
Morgan went to throw her arms around him, only to be reminded of the pain in her shoulder. She flopped back against the pillows.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"Twelve years."
Morgan's eyes must have opened as wide as saucers. "You mean when we were in—"
He took her hand, interrupting her. "Yes, when we were in Korea. I gave what I felt about you other names. I told myself it was nothing special. That I could live without you. I told myself it wasn't love, yet the moment I found out you were in trouble I couldn't stay away."
The room was semi-dark. Sunrise painted the sky shades of gold and orange. Hart no longer slept on the sofa. Jack's voice was low and reverent, as if the two of them needed to whisper.
"You have to get well," Jack said. "The moment you're out of here we're getting married. Twelve years is a long enough engagement."
Morgan's recovery was nothing short of miraculous after that. She was happy. She didn't think she could ever be happier, but each day brought another surprise. The newspapers broke the story of her attempted murder by Carla Lewiston and Carla' s subsequent arrest. Reporters descended on the hospital like Baptists at a revival. Jack and a battalion of secret service and private nurses kept everyone away from her, but the papers and television news stepped up programs of them, pulling out everything they had in their archives about her and Hart. Hart was constantly on the screen, and strangely his ratings in the polls went up. The increase, however, didn't have the odds makers predicting a win for him.
Allie and Jan showed up the day after the story broke. Some of Morgan's other Olympic teammates sent flowers or fruit baskets. Get well cards poured in by the tens of thousands. Jack got a kick out of teasing her about all the "friends" she had.
Days later her room looked like a florist's shop. The day she was released she took a phone call from the Olympic Committee. They asked her to officially open the games in St. Louis if she was well enough.
Morgan thought she'd die from happiness. She chose to do her physical therapy at Jan's camp, under the direction of her taskmaster friend and former team member. Leaving the hospital, she and Jack returned with Jan and Allie to West Virginia.
Only two weeks before the opening ceremony Morgan stood in the beam gym. The runway looked longer than she remembered it. The place was full of campers at different stages of exercise. Morgan had almost no pain from the gunshot wound. Her daily exercise routine helped her gain strength and muscle definition. She was nearly back to her normal self.
She concentrated on the beam. Freeing her mind of all thoughts, she looked only at her goal. Raising up on her tiptoes, she started the run. Picking up speed as she went, her arms pumping the air around her, she saw the springboard. With the precision of a broad jumper, she leapt into the air and came down on the springboard. Into the air she went, higher than she thought she'd ever done. She tumbled, her body completing a full revolution in the air and her feet coming down on the four-inch beam as if it were as wide as a diving board. She stood up straight, her arms extended. Then she did a one-hand cartwheel, turned and walked the length of the beam to her starting point. Concentrating again, she ran the short distance and reached for the sky. She did a full layout with a twist and landed on the soft padded floor without a hitch. Her arms went up and she smiled.
She smiled often these days and for no apparent reason. She'd think of Jack and a smile would break out on her face no matter where she was or what she was doing.
Jack and Morgan hadn't been separated since she was released from the hospital, but he'd gone to Montana last week. She missed him more than she thought possible. Working out with Jan, getting ready for a short performance in the Olympics, helped keep her mind off his absence. Her nights were the worst. She missed having his arms around her, making love with him, but she did have a few moments to give to Allie, who'd seized the opportunity to play wedding planner. She was planning Morgan and Jack's wedding.
Jan was in the back of the gym when she turned around. "Great!" Jan shouted. "You're ready."
"I think I'll try it again with the torch," Morgan said as she picked it up and came toward Jan. She was to light the torch at the opening, the Olympics' official notice to the world that the modern games were to begin.
"That's enough for today," Jan said. "We'll practice with the torch tomorrow. I'm sure you'll do the routine perfectly. Right now I believe there's someone waiting for you with a torch of his own."
***
Water sliced over Jack's head and down his back. Morgan's arms circled his neck and he kissed her. He knew she often ended her workout sessions with a long relaxing bath. Today she chose a hot shower and he thanked her for it. He'd been gone a week. It felt like a year. He was impatient. He needed her, wanted her, wanted to be inside her as fast as he could.
His body screamed for hers. He'd never known that before, never realized he could be so driven to one woman. She brought out the animal in him, and the lamb. He wanted to ram himself into her folds and he wanted to slide into her with all the tenderness he could muster.
The water sprayed them, creating a mist. Steam clouded the stall. He held her, taking her mouth, running his soapy hands over the curves of her slick-smooth body. She moaned in his mouth and he took the sound, his body aroused and growing harder with each drop of water that ran down his skin.
"I missed you," he said, only releasing her mouth long enough to reposition it. Her lips were soft, wonderful. His mouth was rough. His body was holding back, but his mouth drank everythin
g she gave, and he craved more. Forcing her head back, his tongue swept into her mouth, taking possession, like a man who knew the exact moment of his death was near, like a man who wanted to savor, possess, fulfill, prolong the pleasure for just a second more, keep the blood pumping in his chest for just another moment so he could love just a moment more.
Water rained over them, spattering to the sides. It could have sounded like thunder, but the beat of his heart would drowned it out.
He lifted Morgan, feeling her tingling breasts move up his chest as her legs wrapped around him. He pushed her against the wet, warm tile of the shower and entered her with the slowness of a man walking through knee-deep water. He felt her convulse as the first anticipated wave of pleasure shot through her. It shot through him like a quiet undertow, unsuspecting, sudden. Where there had been strength and sure-footing, he was fighting the shifting sand. Waves of pleasure raced through him and he filled her with slow, easy strokes.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as she gave him complete control over her. He didn't think she'd ever done that in her entire life. She couldn't move. He imprisoned her against the wet wall, their bodies as slick as the tile. He felt powerful and wonderful that she trusted him as she trusted no other.
Their bodies joined and rejoined. Water poured between them. Her breasts were heavy and pouting each time they touched him, teasing him, giving him pleasure and taking it away, making him beg for it as the two held onto each other and the heat coming off their bodies threatened to boil the water at his feet, converting the sprays to steam as it dropped from the showerhead.
Jack kissed her, his body lost to him, seemingly with a mind of its own. He moaned a low, animal sound, losing all control and moving faster and faster, pleasure, aching, longing pleasure, sensual, ragged, hot pleasure rioting through him, urging him on, making him feel as if the two of them would burn in a tsunami of fire that overtook them with a force neither could stop or deny.
Suddenly Morgan screamed, or was that his voice? They collapsed. He held her in place as the real world seemed to refocus. The water struck his body in needlepoints. His breath was audible, mingled with hers. She slid down the wall, her legs, one at a time, brushing down his like the smooth liquid that drained through the shower floor. Jack didn't understand why he and Morgan still had substance, why they didn't dissolve and melt into the water and disappear too.
Neither had the strength to do anything. Their bones had turned to rubber and even simple things like turning off the water was denied them. Jack and Morgan remained there until their hearts returned to earth and marrow returned to their bones.
"You're incredible," Jack said.
"We're incredible," she said and turned the shower off.
***
This is where it had all started, Morgan thought. And it was a fitting place to end. She stood poised to begin her run. The arena just outside of St. Louis, was packed to capacity with spectators. Sixty thousand people watched, cheering, waiting, anticipating the moment when she would light the flame signaling the beginning of the Olympic games they'd waited four years to see.
Excitement as tangible as fine netting electrified the air. Morgan lifted the torch higher. The flame smelled of sulfur. Spotlights swept across her. The crowd roared. She wore a white body suit with splashes of blue and red. The lights turned the white background a rainbow of colors.
Morgan looked ahead at her goal. She was going to do the part of the beam routine that had won her a gold medal at the Korean games, modified somewhat for the lighted torch. She looked up. Jack Temple stood at the end of her run. He was in nearly the same place he'd been twelve years ago when her concentration focused only on him. She smiled and started her run toward a future that was bright and filled with love.
Toward Jack.
Epilogue
". . . that you will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States. . ."
January 20th. The day was cold. The wind blew from the Potomac River up Pennsylvania Avenue to the steps of the Capitol. Morgan turned her coat collar up closer about her neck. Jack's arm pulled her into his side, offering her a bit of his warmth. She looked up and smiled. Tears swam in her eyes. She was happier than anyone deserved to be.
Her grandfather and father stood in front of her. She had Jack and she had them—a family. Allie and Jan stood in the front row facing them.
Morgan and Jack had gone to Montana when everything was finally over. There they'd been besieged by phone calls from other team members concerned about her. With Jack's help, her teammates had joined Hart's campaign. Morgan's heart swelled to discover how many friends she really had.
Hart won the election, not by the huge majority he'd hoped for, but by an eyelash, as one reporter put it. Yet a win was a win. Morgan knew even if it were by a tenth of a point, it counted. Supreme Court Justice Angus Lewiston administered the oath of office to his son while she and Jack joined thousands of people who looked on. Even if he only eked by in the Electoral College, he had four years to prove his worth. Morgan had no doubt he would succeed.
It was a proud day.
Carla Lewiston had been indicted on charges of attempted murder, conspiracy, kidnapping and a long list of other charges Morgan couldn't remember. She'd wanted to be the First Lady. Little did she know that without her attempts to cover everything up, to keep the public from discovering the family skeleton, everything would have worked out as she wanted it. Morgan felt sorry for her. She had so much, but she wanted so much more.
“I, Hart Lewiston, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and I will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."
Jack tightened his arm around her as Hart spoke the oath. Morgan's heart was in her eyes when she met Jack's gaze. It wasn't so far from the alleys of Southeast to the steps of this famous landmark, but Morgan never dreamed she'd make the trip.
Or that the man of her dreams would be standing by her side when she did.
THE END
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed spending time with Morgan Kirkwood and Jack Temple. I enjoy crafting stories and nothing pleases me more than a good romantic suspense. When Morgan Kirkwood and Jack Temple popped into my head, the fighting had already started. More Than Gold showed me Morgan's dream. It seems simple to most of us who have a loving family, but for her the dream meant More Than Gold. Her triumph over the odds had me singing too.
As the next summer Olympics begin, I hope you will enjoy them more knowing that the athletes go through years of painful preparation for their moment to shine.
I receive many letters from the women and men who read my books. Thank you for your generous comments and words of encouragement. I love reading your letters as much as I enjoy writing the books.
If you'd like to hear more about More Than Gold, other books I've written or upcoming releases, please send a business size, self-addressed, stamped envelope to me at the following address:
If you'd like to hear more about More Than Gold, other books I've written, or upcoming releases, you can reach me at [email protected]. I also have a newsletter that you can subscribe to by sending an e-mail to mailto:[email protected]
You can visit my Web page at the following address - http://www.ShirleyHailstock.net
About the Author
Shirley Hailstock, a bestselling, award-winning novelist, has been writing for more than ten years. Holding a Bachelor's degree in Chemistry from Howard University and a MBA in Chemical Marketing from Fairleigh Dickinson University, she left her job in the pharmaceutical industry and is now a full-time writer. Shirley is a past president of Romance Writers of America and a former officer of Women Writers of Color. She lives in New Jersey with her family.
Discover other titles by Shirley Hailstock at Smashwords.com:
Holding Up the World
Mirror Image
A Mira
cle for Christmas
White Diamonds
The Magic Shoppe
Kwanzaa Angel
Joy Road
Under the Sheets
Something To Remember
The Christmas List
More Than Gold
For a full list of books by Shirley Hailstock check out her website at:
http://www.ShirleyHailstock.net
Connect with me Online:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ShirleyHailstockFan
Email: [email protected]
Newsletter: mailto:[email protected]
Excerpt from Mirror Image
By Shirley Hailstock
The cameras panned across the row of guests. Aurora Alexander sat with her back so straight it hurt. Not even the plush purple chair offered her relaxation. Her legs were crossed, her red dress short and showing long legs to both the studio and television audiences. The image was all there and she’d played it to the hilt. Her smile could have been painted on by a 16th Century Italian art master and not the makeup artists in the back room. Aurora had perfected her smile, flashing it often when she got that question. Her hair, styled by a team of studio beauticians, enhanced her natural beauty to match those of the show’s host.
“Humph,” Emma Dawson, the show’s hair and makeup wizard, said when Aurora was introduced to her. “I expected to have you in my chair for at least a couple of hours.” The stout woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her makeup looking as flawless as if she’d awakened with a perfect face, inspected her. She stepped forward taking Aurora’s chin and scrutinized her from every angle. “If it wasn’t for those lights out there, you could go out like you are and no one would know the difference.” Emma moved back, placing her hands on her barber’s chair. “Take a seat.”
More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3) Page 34