“It was the best thing for all of us. She’s had a good home, a Christian family.”
His throat cleaved. It had all been a lie. Why? He searched her face as though the answer could be found there. Grief, anxiety, and fear—but nothing he could grasp. And then the realization washed through him. She had lied to be rid of him and their child.
Hands clenched, he strode to the window. It was her so-called right—her body, her choice. So what brought her here now? Why this tearful episode, this encroachment on his life? Even if the other night had shown her he was doing well financially, she could hardly sue for child support. Not when she’d given the baby away—without his consent.
“What do you want?” He spoke to the glass but, shaded as it was by the porch, even that held her reflection.
She pressed clasped hands to her knees. “Morgan, she has leukemia. Acute lymphocytic leukemia.”
He took that in with no sensation, his responses uncharacteristically inactive.
“They treated her four years ago and controlled it. But she came out of remission and chemotherapy isn’t working. She needs a bone marrow transplant from someone genetically connected.”
He expelled his breath and dropped his head as the pieces clicked together. “You don’t match.” His voice was dust.
“No.”
“Why else would you need me?” He turned from the window.
“Morgan, I …”
He walked to the mantel and leaned, but it offered scant support. A child. A daughter out there somewhere, the fruit of his love for Jill. Not dead. But dying. Her words sank in. Leukemia. He knew the gravity of that disease. His daughter had leukemia. He clenched his hands and the muscles of his arms pulled like ropes.
“Morgan …”
“Just tell me what I need to do.” He turned enough to see her blink back her tears. What did she expect?
“There are initial blood tests.” She reached into the purse at her feet and drew out a card. “This is the oncologist at the Yale Cancer Treatment Center. You can contact him for instructions. If there’s a match, he’ll tell you what happens next and they’ll … let Kelsey’s family know.”
“Kelsey.” His voice rasped, and his own hand shook as he rubbed it over his hair. His daughter. “I want to see her.” The words were out before he thought of all that would mean. Then he turned fully. “I want to see her.”
Jill struggled again for words. “It’s not that easy, Morgan.”
Easy? Did she think this was easy?
“She’s very sick, and Cinda … her parents don’t want to add stress.”
Her parents. A mother and, of course, a father. He dropped his chin to his chest. He was nothing but the sperm donor. The girl out there knew nothing about him or anything he’d accomplished or ever would. He couldn’t see her; he could only make another biological donation.
Jill scribbled a number on the back of the card. “In case you need to reach me. I’m sorry, Morgan.”
He didn’t answer. Anything he said now would draw blood.
Jill started to stand, but a motion overhead caught her eye. A woman walked out across the balcony, amber hair hanging just below her shoulders. One hand rested on her swelling abdomen through the sage green robe that hung to midcalf. It must be Rick’s wife, and she was beautiful.
She came down to the bottom of the stairs and gave Morgan a smile just touching her lips but deep in her gray-green eyes. She cared for him, cared a lot. Then she turned. “Hello. I thought I heard voices.” She stifled a cough and cleared her throat.
“You shouldn’t be up.” Morgan’s concern was real, and Jill felt a spear of envy.
“I needed some tea.” Her voice rasped. He moved toward her, but she held up her hands, palms forward. “I don’t want to share my germs.” She looked again to Jill.
Resigned, Morgan said, “This is Rick’s wife, Noelle.”
Jill stood up, her throat tightening when he didn’t present her. “I’m Jill Runyan.”
As Noelle sent a quick, knowing glance to Morgan, cold needles pricked Jill’s flesh. Noelle knew who she was. Had they talked? Had Morgan told her all about their difficult past? She had to go. She’d done what she had come for.
Morgan said, “I’ll get your tea,” and strode to the kitchen.
“Thank you.”
Jill had a hard time picturing her as a mountain rancher’s wife. Her bearing suggested graciousness and culture. In fact, Jill more easily imagined her with Morgan than Rick. Another spear. That was absurd, but seeing his solicitude toward this woman after the raw anger he’d shown moments ago …
Jill reached for her purse, but Noelle took a seat on the piano bench, far enough away to avoid contagion. “I’m sorry if I interrupted.” Her voice was hoarse and weak. Why had she come down? Had she sensed Morgan’s distress?
Jill sighed. “I was just leaving.”
“Can’t you stay awhile? I’m sure it was a long drive up.”
Not long enough. She had been as unprepared for Morgan as she’d been for Kelsey. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure which meeting had hurt more. How could she gracefully decline?
The last thing Morgan wanted would be her staying another minute after the news she’d brought and the wounds she’d opened. But that wasn’t Noelle’s problem. It was no one but hers, and now Morgan’s. If only she hadn’t needed to drag him into it. The look in his face would stay with her too long, and his words. “Why else would youneed me?”
She met Noelle’s soft gaze. Healthy, she must be stunning. But just now her expression probed. “Is Morgan all right?” Again the concern in her tone.
“I gave him some difficult news.” Jill looked down at the floor, hearing the hum of the microwave in the kitchen. In minutes Morgan would be back.
“It’s not his family?” Noelle’s love there was obvious, too.
Jill imagined her with all Morgan’s family, his sisters and Rick and Celia and Hank, people she had once imagined—she stopped that thought. “No. It’s personal.” Tears threatened again. She blinked them away.
Noelle tried to speak but coughed, then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Morgan came in with a steaming teacup and handed it to Noelle. He gently raised her chin. “You should go back to bed.”
That was not a simple brother-in-law relationship. But then, was any relationship with Morgan simple? Jill ached in ways she had not begun to explore but knew she would whether she wanted to or not.
She gripped her purse. “I need to go.”
Noelle stood up. “It was nice to meet you, Jill.” She coughed hard.
An engine sounded outside, the crunch of gravel. Morgan left Noelle’s side and took Jill’s elbow, more to hasten her out, she suspected, than any courtesy. Had they covered it all? Would he do what was needed?
Jill wanted to escape, but the door opened before they reached it. The space filled with Rick, taller than Jill remembered him, and he’d filled out from the lanky youth he’d been to a muscular man. He stopped short, resting one hand on the knob, his eyebrows darting up at the sight of her.
“Jill.”
Wonderful. A family reunion. How many more Spencers must she face before this was over? “Hi, Rick.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. He must hate her as much as the rest of them, though his expression was enigmatic.
She’d done what she had to; now she wanted out. Morgan had taken his pound of flesh, and he was the only one with cause. The questions were there in Rick’s face, but she owed him nothing. Morgan could tell him whatever he wanted.
Morgan pressed his hand to her lower back. “She was just leaving.” He eased her past Rick and onto the porch, kept his hand on her all the way to the car, then turned her abruptly. “What does my mother know?”
The gusting wind robbed her breath. He moved to block her face from the wind, but his expression battered her more.
“I had to tell her why I needed you.” That was poorly phrased, and he didn’t miss it? “To
find you, why I needed to find you.”
A momentary amusement washed his face, at her awkwardness, she was sure. “You certainly know how to go for the gut, Jill.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name, and it didn’t sound endearing. “Dare I hope this is our last encounter?”
“You can handle everything through the center.” The wind slapped her face, and she raised a hand in defense. “But it has to be soon.”
His face hardened. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
A swelling of relief. “I know.”
“Do you?” There was such poverty in that question, it hurt. What sort of father would he have been? Interactive and warm like Hank? Upright like her own—with whom she had not really spoken in too long, not since her pregnancy had put a wall between them. She’d disappointed them so badly. Her family, Morgan’s. And herself.
She reached for the car door, but he opened it first, a shade of his old chivalry. She got in and he closed the door without another word. Before she had the key in the ignition, he turned and went into the house.
CHAPTER
10
Morgan went straight through to the kitchen, took the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet, and started for the back door.
“Morgan.”
He ignored Rick, but the second swing of the screen told him his brother had followed him out. He turned. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“After you’ve killed it with the bottle?”
“Yeah.”
Rick gripped his shoulder. “What is it? What did she want?” His extra inches made Morgan squint up in the brightness to meet his gaze.
Wind gusted, then passed. Morgan raised the bottle in a toast.
“Congratulate me. I’m a father.”
“What?” Rick dropped his hand from Morgan’s shoulder.
“It seems Jill didn’t abort my daughter; she just gave her away.”
Rick stared at him, taking it in as slowly as Morgan had. “She came to tell you that?”
“No. That information was not important enough.”
Rick shook his head. “What, then?”
Morgan’s chest constricted. “My daughter has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant. Jill thought I might fill the bill.” He watched Rick grasp the situation as his face matched the turmoil threatening his own control. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine his daughter. Kelsey. “Rick, I need to be alone.”
“Then leave me the bottle.”
Morgan gripped its neck. “I’ll just buy another.”
“Not on Sunday.”
The screen swung and Noelle came out, squinting in the sunlight, its brightness illuminating her illness. She didn’t need this. Why was Rick making it an issue?
She shaded her eyes. “Come back in, Morgan.” She coughed and kept coughing. Rick wrapped an arm around her shoulders and sent him a look. Don’t make it worse. Don’t make her worry. He should never have come. If he hadn’t gone to Rick’s, he wouldn’t have attended the reunion, wouldn’t have seen Jill … What was he thinking?
He had a daughter who needed him. She must be fourteen, just a little older than Todd. Whatever he was doing for Todd was nothing to what he could do for his own daughter. But just now he needed a drink, needed it badly, though at eleven in the morning that didn’t look good. He expelled his breath. All he wanted was to be alone. His stomach burned, and his mouth watered for the oblivion he’d find two thirds into the bottle.
“Come on, Morgan. Let’s talk it out.”
“Noelle needs to go to bed.” And this was getting blown out of proportion. He knew what he had to do, and he’d do it. If God had any kind of mercy, he’d match better than Jill and be what his daughter needed. There was no reason for Rick and Noelle to get involved.
Noelle leaned on Rick, obviously achy and weak. Whatever germ had her was no cakewalk, and it had to be worse pregnant.
Morgan softened. “Go to bed, Noelle.”
“I will if you come in with Rick. I won’t rest otherwise. I’ll worry.”
Morgan shot her a smile. “Heart of steel, remember? I can handle it.” But he followed when Rick motioned him back inside. So he’d put off the stupor awhile. He surrendered the bottle, and Rick put it away.
“I’ll be right back,” Rick shot over his shoulder as he led Noelle through the kitchen.
Morgan heard them on the stairs. He sat down and rested his head in his palm. Where had the sense of control gone? His laptop sat in the other room, but none of that meant anything. Marlina Aster and her daddy’s company could drop off the face of the globe for all he cared. Every one of the corporations could belly-up and he would not lose one night’s sleep. Jill had wiped out the last fifteen years, and he shook like a scared kid again.
Rick tucked Noelle into their bed, saw the questions in her eyes. He pulled the sheet over her. “That was Jill Runyan, Morgan’s—”
“Former girlfriend, I know. Why did she come?”
Rick smoothed the sheet about her neck. “I guess she never aborted the baby. She gave her up for adoption.”
Noelle searched his face. “And she came to tell Morgan?”
“That, and their daughter has leukemia. She wants him to donate marrow.”
“Oh no.” It came out a pained sigh. “Did he agree?”
Rick sat down on the side of the bed. “I haven’t gotten the whole story, but do you think he wouldn’t?”
She shook her head. “I should go down. He’ll need to talk.”
Rick stroked her hair. “Noelle, I know you care for Morgan …”
She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “You know where my heart is.”
Rick smiled. “That’s not what I meant.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “He’s confused and hurt and God knows what else. He turned to you before, to get past Jill.”
“He knows I love you. He made me see it.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s stopped loving you.” Rick knew only too well how impossible that was. Jill had torn Morgan’s heart out, and Noelle was the only one who came close to repairing it. She might think her solicitation was helpful, but would it keep Morgan from what he really needed?
“Maybe this is the fall, Noelle. The thing that will turn him back to God.”
She wheezed and coughed, then dropped her hand. “Okay.” She looked weary enough to give in to anything. Was the pneumonia coming back? “If you’re not feeling better tomorrow, we’ll see Dr. Bennington.”
She smiled. “My hero.”
“Him or me?”
She laughed and it made her cough. It reminded him of the day he’d found her too ill to know her heat and power had been turned off. He’d taken her home and discovered his heart was hers. Things had not been easy even so. And they wouldn’t be easy for Morgan, but Rick sensed God’s hand. This all had to be part of the burden he’d been taking to prayer these last weeks. He stroked Noelle’s cheek. “Pray, will you?”
She nodded, her eyes closing already. “He loves her, Rick.”
“I know. He’s tried to replace her in all the wrong ways. But she’s the only woman he’s loved. And maybe you.”
“Poor Morgan.”
Morgan looked up from the kitchen table when Rick returned “She’s all tucked in?”
“Yeah.” Rick frowned. “I’m worried. After that last pneumonia …”
“Don’t take any chances.” But loving anyone was a chance. Morgan studied the grain on the table. Were love and pain always linked? He’d hoped at least for Rick that wasn’t so.
Rick went to the refrigerator and took out two small oranges. He set one before Morgan and sat down across the table. “Ready for my brotherly advice?”
Morgan quirked his mouth sideways. “No offense, Rick. But there’s nothing you can say that I don’t already know.”
“So what’s the deal? What do you have to do?”
“Get a blood test.”
Rick dug his thumb into the end of his orange and tore up an edge of peel. “Probably
not a bad idea anyway.”
“I’m healthy, Rick. They’re not going to find anything that keeps me from helping my daughter.” Now his life had a purpose—to save the baby he’d thought he lost.
Rick’s expression revealed his doubt, but Morgan doubted booze was an issue in bone marrow donation. Then again, what did he know? He swallowed the dryness in his throat, stood, and filled a glass with water. He chugged it at the sink, set the glass there, and sat back down.
“If I have to stay sober, I can do it.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
“It’s not an issue for me. I enjoy a drink or two.”
Rick held his gaze. “A drink or two doesn’t leave you in a stupor.”
Morgan didn’t answer that. Instead he said, “She told Mom.” He still quaked at that thought, wanted to wring Jill’s neck, but if he touched her, he would kiss the breath from her instead. Where had this rage come from? And how could it still be connected to so much want?
Rick chewed a section of orange and sat back. “You ought to call her.”
That was not going to happen. Did his sisters know? His dad? Were they worried for him all over again? Why was he thinking about that? Somewhere out there his daughter was fighting for her life, the life she almost lost before she came into the world. Had Jill intended to kill her and changed her mind? Or had she intended all along to lie? Did it matter?
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “It’s better to leave it alone.”
He tore the peel of his orange in a spiral around the top.
“Did she tell you the girl’s name?”
“The girl is Kelsey.” Morgan continued the spiral around the sides and down. He shook his head, pausing his peeling. “She’s been out there all these years.” He looked at his brother, trying not to show the bleakness of that thought.
“At least it wasn’t what we thought. At least Jill gave her life.”
The Still of Night Page 12