by Diana Palmer
One of the doctors came to talk to her, and found her in tears.
“None of that, now,” he said gently, smiling. “You’re young and healthy, and there will be other babies. Some women are never able to get pregnant in the first place.”
She dabbed at her eyes with the sheet and looked up at him. He was blond and wore glasses and he didn’t seem to be much older than Kate herself. She tried to smile back.
“My husband will blame me for losing it,” she blurted out. “He told me to stay home….”
“Staying home wouldn’t have helped, in this case,” he said quietly. He pulled up a chair and sat down. “I don’t like to discuss miscarriages in detail, but if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
She searched his face. “Please.”
He took her hand and held it gently. “The fetus had terminated some time ago.”
“You mean…it was dead?”
He nodded.
She felt the hot sting of tears rolling down her cheeks. “What was wrong?”
He told her, gently but in detail. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”
She burst into tears and he patted her hand. It sounded so horrible. Poor little thing. Poor, poor little thing.
He called the nurse after a minute and ordered a sedative. “Here,” he said when the nurse returned, injecting it into the tube that led down to the needle in Kate’s blue-veined wrist. “This will relax you, and make it easier for you to get through the night. You can go home tomorrow.”
“My husband,” Kate began.
“He was notified when they brought you in,” the doctor said. “I assume he’s already on his way. I go off duty at seven, but I’ll try to wait around and talk to him.”
Kate managed a watery smile. “Thank you. That would help.”
He patted her hand again. “Take care of yourself. And don’t dwell on this too much. I’ve seen a lot of women miscarry their first child and then have twins on the next try.”
“You’re very encouraging.”
“We do our best. Good afternoon.”
She watched him leave and then she was asleep again. When she woke, it was dark, and Jason still hadn’t shown up. She felt a cold shiver of fear. He might not come. He might leave her to make her way home alone. She was frightened and sick and miserable, but he must be, too. She remembered Melody and the abortion that sent Jason half out of his mind. He’d be remembering that, too. He’d be remembering a woman who wanted a career too much to let an unwanted baby stand in her way. He’d remember what she said that afternoon before he’d found out she was pregnant, about careers and babies not mixing. He’d remember that she’d insisted on going to New York and Atlanta against his wishes. And he’d add all that up in his mind and come up with a deliberate act.
She closed her eyes. Well, if he insisted on a divorce, she’d manage. She’d go on with her career. But she thought about Jason grieving over the child he’d wanted so much, and the tears came back. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him. Jason would be hurt and sick, just as she was, and nobody else could get close to him.
The drugs they’d given her brought a slow, sweet oblivion, free from tormenting thoughts and the grief of loss. Her last thought was of Jason, and how she wanted him here.
Back at the Diamond Spur, the man sitting in the high-backed leather chair at his desk was as quiet as death. He’d locked the study door and he had a bottle of whiskey that he was trying not to open. This had been his father’s answer to pain. One drink had led to another, and another. But when the pain was this bad, how did a man face it?
Kate had gone to New York against his wishes. She’d deliberately put the baby at risk, to further her career. If she’d stayed home where she belonged, it would never have happened. Or…would it?
He remembered with horror that afternoon in Jamaica, in their hotel room. He remembered the violence of his lovemaking, and the fear that he’d hurt her, that he’d jeopardized the child. And that was what made him open the bottle and pour some of its amber contents into a glass. No, Kate wasn’t wholly to blame. He was. He’d lost control and killed the baby. He knew it, because that doctor who’d phoned him had said that the fetus had been dead for some time before Kate’s body expelled it. His violent hunger for her, that he hadn’t been able to control, had done that. He was responsible.
But something in him couldn’t bear the thought. He pushed it to the back of his mind. Kate’s career was at fault. Her determination to get ahead at any cost. Yes, that was the problem. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t!
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, slow swallow. One helped. Two made it better. He didn’t usually turn to alcohol to help him through things. Oddly, Kate had been at the bottom of his last two real bouts, the day he learned she was pregnant and today, the day she wasn’t anymore.
He wondered what she was feeling. Relief, probably, he thought bitterly. Then he remembered her tender heart, and was ashamed of himself for the thought. No, she’d grieve, a little anyway. But now she could have her precious designing. She could travel without any hindrances. She could leave him, too, and she probably would. He didn’t have any illusions about that. She’d told him, hadn’t she, that her career came before any man.
The alcohol slid smoothly down his throat. He remembered his father mumbling something about women being at the root of all a man’s deepest wounds. He hadn’t understood at the time, but he did now.
His teeth ground together as he thought of all the plans he’d made for her and the baby. He hurt to the soles of his feet, but this time there was no one to take his hand and smooth back his damp hair and make him feel whole again.
He lifted the glass back to his lips, with a new and tormented understanding of his father’s drinking habit. Just this once, he promised himself. Just this one last time, he’d never resort to the bottle again. Just to kill the pain…
A half hour later, he was mercifully asleep in his chair and oblivious to the world.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate pushed the eggs and grits around on her breakfast platter. She hadn’t heard from Jason yet. She didn’t know if he’d gotten the message, or if Sheila or someone at the house had taken it and they hadn’t been able to reach him. He could be out of town. But with the ranch so busy right now, that was unlikely.
No, she thought miserably. More probably Jason had just been too angry to come running, and he wouldn’t be reasoning logically. Not now.
Angela had come back to see her the night before, telling her how the buyers had raved about Kate’s collection. That would mean sales in this area of the country, and that was reassuring. But Kate was sick over the loss of her baby right now, and too worried about Jason’s reaction to care overly much about her designs. After all, Jason’s initial rejection of her was what had prodded Kate into trying to make a career of design. She’d wanted to show him that she could make a good life for herself. But this had gotten way out of hand.
She didn’t know whether to try and go to a hotel after she was discharged, or to try to get back to San Frio. She was still worrying over the problem two hours later when Jason came in the door of her room.
The other bed was still empty, but Kate wished there was someone else around. He was wearing dark glasses so that she couldn’t see his eyes. There were new lines in his face, and he looked as tired as she felt. He didn’t come far into the room. He stopped at the foot of the bed, just looking at her. After a minute, she thanked God that she couldn’t see his eyes.
“Your doctor said that you could be discharged about eleven,” he said curtly, glancing at his watch. “I’ll see to the paperwork while you change and get your things together. I assume you’re finished with marketing and promotion for the time being?” he added in a tone that could have taken rust off a car.
Kate shuddered at the way he sounded. That was cold fury, not concern, and all her worst fears were being realized. “I know what you’re thinking,” she began. “But I’m not tot
ally to blame….”
“I’ll be back when I’ve checked you out,” he said, ignoring her defensive remarks. “I have a car to take us to the airport, and I’ve chartered a flight home.”
She held on to her pride by a thread. “All right,” she said in a voice devoid of life.
“The doctor here advised me to keep you away from work for a few days, to give you time to heal,” he continued. “After that, you can do as you damned well please.”
Kate couldn’t fight that tone. She knew it all too well, and it broke her heart. She leaned back against the pillows with a weary sigh. She’d have to get up in a minute and dress. Then she and Jason would go home and be polite strangers for…how long?
“Do you want a divorce, Jason?” she asked in a voice as cold as she felt inside, and because of the dark glasses, she couldn’t see the effect that question had on him.
“There’s never been a divorce in my family,” he returned after a minute, his voice strange and deep. “It won’t start with me.”
“All right.” She didn’t look at him.
He stared at her with his heart like lead in his chest. God, she looked tired. Raw with weariness. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms and hold her, to share the grief that was eating him alive. But he couldn’t bend that far without breaking.
“Are you all right?” he asked after a tense minute.
“Yes. I just feel…empty.” She had to fight not to let her pain show, but it flashed across her face despite all her efforts to control it. She bit back tears. “It was nice of you to come after me.”
“You’re my wife,” he said curtly.
She looked up then, suddenly. “Why didn’t you come yesterday?” she asked.
He laughed bitterly. “Because I was too damned drunk,” he replied.
“Oh.” She stared at the starched white sheet. “Oh. I see.”
Did she, he wondered. He turned. “I’ll take care of the bill and sign you out. Can you get dressed alone?”
“Yes.”
He waited, but she didn’t look up or say anything else. He went out, closing the door quietly behind him.
An hour later, they were flying back to Texas. After he got Kate comfortably settled, Jason sat in the cockpit with the pilot. She imagined that he couldn’t bear being in the same seat with her, after what had happened. She couldn’t even blame him for feeling that way. She had acted like an ostrich, hiding her head in the sand, trying to go on normally and pretend that she wasn’t having problems. Trying to pretend that it was a normal pregnancy, when she’d known all along that it wasn’t, that something was badly wrong. She’d only been hiding from the truth because she’d wanted Jason’s baby so badly. But he wouldn’t see it that way. He could hardly bear to look at Kate, and that told her all she needed to know. He blamed her. He hated her. And now she wondered if there would be anything of their marriage that they could salvage.
She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the baby. She’d had such sweet dreams for it. Tears burned her eyes. It would never know the warmth of the sun on its laughing face, or touch a leaf and feel the silky softness of a rose. It would never feel grass under its little hands or run after butterflies by the riverbanks. Kate would never hold it and see generations of Donavans and Whittmans in its sleeping face. She felt the tears, and let them pour out her grief.
She cried and cried. Long before they reached San Antonio, she was drained of emotion. The tears had a calming effect. The woman who got off the plane and into Jason’s waiting Mercedes was quiet and very pale. And she didn’t say one word all the long way to San Frio.
Mary was waiting at the house. She ran to Kate, wrapping her up in loving, grieving arms, but Kate only acknowledged her presence. There were no more tears. She fielded Sheila’s equally concerned welcome and managed a smile for Cherry and Gene. Then she went to her room and changed her clothes, and not for anything elegant. She put on her worn oversized jeans with an old smock top and her sneakers. She was never going to try to be anything except herself ever again. If Jason wanted a society butterfly for a wife, he was in for a shocking disappointment. Mrs. Jason Donavan was going to be just plain Kate Whittman Donavan, as long as she lived at the Diamond Spur.
The atmosphere at the house was strained. Jason didn’t come into the room he’d reluctantly shared with Kate during her pregnancy. He left her there and moved himself into a guest room down the hall. His clothes and toiletries had already been removed before she came back, obviously before he came to fetch her from Atlanta.
She saw him at meals, but he was as distant as she was, and Cherry and Gene tried to carry the conversation alone. They didn’t have much choice, since Jason and Kate barely spoke.
Kate went back to the plant after a week’s rest. The design staff seemed to know about the miscarriage because they were careful not to mention anything about the baby and they kept her mind occupied.
The first news she got of her collection was when Mr. Rogers came into the office with a sheaf of paper, grinning from ear to ear.
“Orders,” he said, showing them to Kate and Sandy and Dessie and the girls. “Orders! Kate, only about fifteen of your designs weren’t accepted. We’ve got orders, overwhelming orders, for all the rest—especially for that denim and khaki ensemble. We’ll make a killing on these designs! Kate, you’re set for life. The higher-ups have already given me the green light to commission you for a second collection, for fall this time. Want to try it?”
“I might as well,” Kate said with a quiet smile.
Mr. Rogers was thinking she meant that she had to fill her time with something, and he wasn’t completely wrong. He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Good girl. When you’re a little better, we’ll talk about the next collection. Right now, just play around with your ideas until you have a direction for the fall line. We could even send you overseas to look at what the couture houses are coming up with, if you want to try a different style. And we’d like you to go back to New York when we show your fall styles, of course.”
She didn’t want to go overseas, but she wasn’t going to tell him just yet. She was already thinking of something else in a regional theme. Khaki and denim, but this time in a collection built around the Alamo. Big stars and Mexican prints on fabric, and buckskin. But it wasn’t quite organized, so she didn’t mention it.
“That will give me some time to recuperate,” she agreed. “And to organize things at home.”
Home as a word sounded strange these days. But she and Jason were going to have to come to some kind of arrangement.
“Okay. And thanks for getting our leisure line off to a tremendous start.”
Kate smiled at him. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“You made your own chance.” He named a figure they’d arrived at for the second collection—a dramatic improvement on the first. “You can look over the contracts with your attorney, and let us know. Eventually, you might want to go into licensing….”
“I don’t have that much ambition right now,” she replied. “The glitter isn’t worth the pain, did you know?”
Mr. Rogers pursed his lips. “Glitter is something you read about in sexy novels, Kate,” he said with a smile. “The garment industry is just hard work with a little success thrown on top. It’s something you have to love to be good at, and you get back only what you put in. The rich lifestyles and jet setting exist for some of the couture designers, that’s true. But everybody who gets that high pays his or her dues on the way up. Many people think the dues are exorbitant.”
“Yes,” Kate agreed. “I’m one of them. I have little desire to have a couture house.” She shrugged and forced a smile. “I want to design leisure clothes. But I wanted my baby….” She turned away, fighting tears. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s still fresh in my mind. I’ll get over it, I just need time.”
“If you want more rest, Kate, say so,” Mr. Rogers said gently. “We know what you’ve been through in the past few months.”
<
br /> “I need to work,” she said unsteadily. “I’ll be all right, you know.”
He smiled at her. “Of course you will.”
Kate dragged herself home that night. She was still in working clothes, a pair of embroidered jeans and a tank top. Her casual attire was an outward expression of her feelings about everything else. She’d been too concerned about fitting in—with Jason’s world, with her false ideas of what a designer should be. But as Jason had told her once, she’d always be plain Kate Whittman from San Frio, Texas, no matter what happened. She was trying to remember that now. She might as well try to be herself starting now.
Jason was already at the supper table, studying a contract he held in his hand. Nobody else was around, not even Sheila, but there were cold cuts and bread and spreads on the table, and a half-empty pot of coffee.
He looked up, his glance quick and not very flattering. “Been to a rodeo?” he asked.
“I dress for comfort at work,” she replied easily. “If you want me to wear ball gowns and diamonds at your dinner table, then buy them for me and I will. Otherwise, I’ll do it my way.”
He put the contract down and his dark eyes glittered over her. She was thinner than she’d ever been. She was living on her nerves, and she looked it. Her green eyes were dark-circled, and her dark hair was down below her collar now, a little unruly. It needed cutting, but he hesitated to say anything to her. She didn’t seem to care very much about how she looked anymore.
“You don’t look well,” he remarked quietly.
“I’ve just lost a baby,” she said shortly. “How should I look?” She lifted her eyes and glared at him after she’d filled her china cup. She put cream in her coffee with a slender, graceful hand that trembled a little. “They’ve asked me to do a second collection, one for next fall, and I’ve agreed. It will mean more travel, to New York at least, and perhaps to some of the regional markets.”
He leaned back in his chair, dark and quiet and arrogant. He was wearing a blue checked Western shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the buttons at his throat undone. He looked cool and calm and totally unruffled, but his eyes didn’t blink as he spoke to her.