He powered down the computer and closed it. Dressed in beige slacks and a raw silk woven shirt, California style, he took the laptop to Jill’s door.
She answered his knock immediately, wearing the blue shorts that made her legs a mile long, sandals, and a white knit top. Not the sophisticated look of last night, but in a way even more appealing. Dangerously so.
He leaned on the jamb. “Want to do your mail before we check out?”
She reached for the laptop. “That’d be great. Do you think we could have breakfast? I’ve been up a while ….”
“Hitting the slots?”
“Just the treadmill.” But she smelled fresh and looked fresher.
“You run every day?”
“Mostly.”
He leaned on the doorjamb. “Which first? Food or e-mail?”
She glanced at the computer. “Let me check one thing. Then I’ve got to eat.”
“You could have already.” He followed her into the room, though he hadn’t been invited. Her drapes were open wide and the room awash with sunlight. He settled into one of the gray pin-dot chairs and waited while she plugged in the phone cord and booted up. What mail was more important than eating when she was hungry?
Her hair seemed lighter and a little flyaway this morning as she leaned over the laptop and brought up her account.
“Anyone I know?”
She startled. “Um … no, not really.”
Not really? Now that was interesting. A wash of pleasure touched her features. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess it was a love letter. Then again, he didn’t know better. She’d sworn Dan was only a friend, but her pictures had been full of him, and he’d been full of her. She moistened her lips and read, then typed a steady reply and sent it.
“Made his day?”
“It’s not a man.” She exited her account, shut down and closed the computer, looking … uncomfortable?
He pulled and released his lower lip, certain now of her discomfort.
She glanced up and away, then met his gaze. “Ready?”
He stood, stretched. “For coffee at least.”
He managed half a blueberry muffin, while Jill ate from the buffet and still looked uneasy.
He sipped his coffee. “You may as well just tell me.”
“What?”
“It’s going to bother you until you do.”
She dropped her chin. “It’ll bother you.”
“I have a heart of steel.”
Her eyes were the soft gray of a pigeon’s breast with hues of lavender and blue. “It’s Kelsey. She’s started writing me—I guess to have a sounding board for things she can’t say anywhere else.”
He swallowed that. Not at all what he’d expected. Kelsey and Jill in direct communication, but he couldn’t have one look. The woman who’d pawned off their daughter got daily missives, when he would have—
“I warned you.”
He stared at the coffee in his cup.
She expelled her breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it in front of you. It’s just that I felt bad for not checking last night, and …”
“What does she say?”
He’d put her on the spot, and she looked worse still. But she answered, “Mostly she tells me when she’s feeling bad—sick or frightened. Sometimes she asks questions.”
Something in Jill’s tone … he looked up and studied her face.
“She’s asked about you.”
A hollow opened in his chest. So much for steel.
“What did you tell her?”
Jill forked her fingers into her hair. “How we were before. Student council and sports … homecoming.”
He nodded silently. Good. Then he wouldn’t have to start from scratch when he saw her himself. He finished his coffee. “Ready?”
She nodded. He caught the server’s eye and she brought him the check to sign. Then he took Jill’s elbow lightly and walked her to the elevator.
“I’m not sure how to pack my dress.”
“I have a garment bag.” It held his own Armani power suits. When he had gathered all his things, he brought his bags to her room, added her dress, and called for the bellman.
Driving through the remainder of the desert, Morgan kept the top up and the air-conditioner on, but as they neared the coast, he opened it up and breathed in his California air. This was just right. Jill looked around her eagerly as he drove them up the coastal highway. Her eyes reflected ocean and sky as she took in the gulls, boats, and breakers.
“Like it?”
She sighed. “It’s beautiful. I haven’t seen this coast since I was eleven. And then it was mostly sand castles and Sea World.”
They tooled down along the coast on smaller roads to better enjoy the landscape, at last entering Santa Barbara. Unlike the big cities, L. A. and San Diego, the central coast had maintained a sense of normalcy, which the residue of his midwestern upbringing appreciated. But it had a culture and climate unequaled. He turned onto his semi-private road half hidden by trees and shrubs, drove down a short distance, and stopped at the gate.
Jill’s eyes widened as he entered the code and the gate swung open. Now she’d understand why he didn’t give out his street address. He drove around the dozen shoreline homes atop the cliff overlooking the ocean, then pulled into his driveway and activated his garage door. Jill looked mildly shell-shocked as he parked between his Corvette and SUV.
He turned off the engine and stretched. “Home sweet home.”
CHAPTER
22
It was not the Bellagio. In a way it was more incredible because it was real. This was Morgan’s home—this gracious Mediterranean with manicured lawn, pool, garden, and what looked like a guesthouse. They had walked out of the garage into the back, where his yard over-looked the ocean. A pure white gull rode a breeze and dipped toward the water below. The air was scented with jasmine and lilies and other flowering trees and bushes she didn’t know. She didn’t smell the sea, but she could hear it.
Morgan, too, breathed the air like a hound scenting home, then said, “Want to go in?”
She turned and faced the house. The back side was mostly windows, gracefully arched and many with flower boxes tumbling color down the off-white walls. “I think so.”
He opened the French door and let her inside a game room, which held a pool table, home theater, bar, and a plethora of comfortable-looking furniture, much of which faced southwest toward the view she had just left.
A woman in a crisp designer suit of lightweight lavender fabric and stiletto heels came through the arched doorway of the adjoining room and stopped. She had been primed for something, by her expression, but had probably not anticipated a stranger.
Morgan motioned toward the woman. “This is my professional assistant, Denise Fisher. Denise, Jill Runyan.”
“How do you do,” Denise responded. Then, “Morgan, I’ve a dozen things for you to look at.” Her finely chiseled face looked stark with the blond hair pulled back into a twist and neatly barretted. Morgan had mentioned his assistant, but Jill had not formed a mental picture.
He sent Denise an easy smile. “Where’s Consuela?”
“Upstairs, I believe.”
“Have Juan unload the bags.” His touch on her elbow was light, but Jill moved with him to the stairs.
“I haven’t seen Juan. And, Morgan, there are several items—”
“I’ll be with you shortly.”
Jill said, “It was nice meeting you, Denise.”
Denise gave her a curt smile. “And you.”
Morgan’s fingers just touched the small of her back as they mounted the stairs. “Hungry?”
“Yes.”
“If I can find Consuela, we’ll have an early dinner. I’m starved.”
They reached the kitchen, and he plucked a bunch of grapes from the bowl on the long white marble counter. He handed them to her and turned at the sound of singing from the long hall at the end of the open area. “Aha. This way.”
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Jill stopped outside the door where a black-haired, full-bodied woman shook out a sheet and tucked it neatly in at the foot of a white washed four-poster bed while she filled the room with song. Morgan went in and reached toward her shoulder, but at that moment she straightened into him, screamed and spun, spitting Spanish at a furious rate.
Morgan stepped back, arms spread in innocence. “¿Qué tal, Consuela?”
“¡Diablo!” She pressed her chest. “You stop my heart.”
“You didn’t hear me come in. And what was that lovely tune?”
She waved her hands at him. “Don’t you see I’m busy?” Then she saw Jill. “This is your guest?”
“Consuela, meet Jill Runyan.”
Consuela reached both hands to her, which was awkward, since Jill still held the grapes. “I will have your room finished in a moment.”
Jill glanced around at last, noticing the room. It was nicely appointed in muted reds, moss green, and gold, a Thomasville ensemble she’d envied from afar.
Morgan said, “Finish this later. We’re starved.”
“I make the tamales you like.”
“Marvelous. Where’s Juan?”
“Juan is not here. He is working.”
Morgan raised his brows. “Then his leg is better.”
“Sí. It is better.”
“Then fetch those tamales.”
Jill had to smile. He must be very hungry after only part of a muffin and coffee. They had driven five and a half hours without a stop. But he seemed energized, playful. Probably glad to be home. Who wouldn’t be?
“Uno minuto.” Consuela waved him from the room.
Jill tore one sprig from the bunch of grapes and handed him the rest as they went back down the hall. He ate the grapes and tossed the stem into the sink, then took her hand. “Come here.” He led her out onto the wide balcony from his great room over the walkout lower level. “This is my personal haven. If I’m alone out here, my help leave me that way.” He gave a short laugh. “You may have noticed I don’t get much respect otherwise.”
Jill stepped up to the wrought-iron rail and looked out past his well-ordered yard, to the Pacific Ocean glittering in the sun. A warm breeze caught her hair and spread the scent of citrus from the orange tree just below the balcony. She breathed in softly. “It’s so beautiful.”
The sun’s reflections danced from the water like golden sprites. She didn’t know what she had expected. Of course Morgan had done well; she’d already guessed that. This wasn’t movie star opulence, but it numbed her nonetheless. A home like this on the shore? Domestic help who obviously adored him, no matter what he said. It might not be deference, but Morgan inspired devotion.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“It’s not for everyone. Dad feels like he’s falling off the country. He’d rather be comfortably centered.”
Jill smiled, then sobered. “I wish you’d call and tell them what you’re doing.”
“If I die, you can fill them in.”
She jerked her head up. “Morgan!”
“It’s not a big deal on my part, Jill. Not like Kelsey’s end of it.”
“It’s a big deal to her that you’re doing it.”
He narrowed his gaze over the water. “She can thank me when we meet.”
Jill ducked her chin. “I know you want that, Morgan. But—”
“It is going to happen.”
Jill struggled for words. “She has a long fight ahead.”
“I’ve read all about it, been briefed by the shrinks, the MDs, and my lawyer.”
Jill startled. “Your lawyer?”
“Bern plays a part in all my major decisions.”
She wasn’t sure where he was going with that. Why would he need a lawyer in order to help Kelsey?
“I always enter negotiations with a full deck.”
Jill shook her head. “Morgan, what are you talking about?”
“The Bensons’ refusal to let me see Kelsey.”
Her heart sank. “It’s their decision. My agreement with them was noninterference until Kelsey was legal age.”
“Your agreement was made without my consent.” His voice was cold steel.
Dismay coursed through her. “What do you mean?”
“I never terminated my parental rights.”
Her heart went into a slow, lumbering beat. “Morgan …” She had no idea what his rights were, but if he wanted to make things difficult, she had no doubt he could.
He turned to face her. “My bone marrow could give her a second chance at life. My money is paying for that chance.”
A clumsy leap of her heart. “You’re paying—”
“That’s right. I’ve transferred enough funds to the foundation to cover the transplant and more.”
“How? When?” They’d been on the road since he heard about Kelsey’s foundation.
He only smiled. She should be thrilled. Hadn’t she seen that as God’s plan, the perfect details falling into place? But what if Morgan meant to use it as a weapon? She couldn’t believe he would, but what did she know? From what she’d seen already, he moved in circles the Bensons had never imagined.
“Then you know what’s involved for Kelsey. You know her battle. Please don’t do anything to make it harder.”
“Do you think I would?” His eyes chilled. “But up to now every decision’s been made without me. I want you to know that’s over.”
Her hand shook on the rail. What would he do? What could he do? Jill’s voice shook. “This isn’t a merger or, or whatever you do. It’s a little girl—”
“My little girl.”
“No, Morgan. She’s not yours. Or mine.”
He turned his back to the rail and stared into the house.
“Roger and Cinda are her parents.” She had to make it real for him. “They’ve raised her from the day she was born.”
“I only want to see her.”
“I wouldn’t have seen her either if—”
“But you did.”
Jill swallowed the tightening in her throat. He was right. Roger and Cinda had given her more than they were willing to offer Morgan. In their minds she had carried the child, given them their daughter, and Morgan had not been part of the decision. She hadn’t given him the chance.
Jill dropped her forehead to her fingertips. “Please leave it alone. At least until she’s recovered.”
He didn’t answer.
“Morgan?”
“I’ll be a little busy the next few days anyway.”
She sighed. “We all appreciate what you’re doing.”
“It’s not about gratitude.” His voice was rough.
She knew that. She reached a hand to his forearm. “Be patient and let God work.”
He slid her a sideways glance. “You have to subscribe to receive benefits.”
“So subscribe.”
He stretched a half smile. “My membership ran out.”
“There’s no expiration date. It just rolls over into eternity.”
He stroked her fingers on his forearm. “I believed that once about other things.”
Her throat tightened. “I know. God’s the only sure thing.”
He cupped his palm over her hand. “Ah. Here’s Consuela with heaven.”
She came out with a large platter of tamales wrapped in cornhusks, what looked like charbroiled chicken fajita strips with wedges of avocado in soft homemade tortillas, chips and hand-chopped salsa. She set it on the galvanized circular table on the left side of the balcony. Morgan held Jill’s chair, then took his own.
Jill closed her eyes and whispered her thanks, then dug in with gusto. It was authentic Mexican food that made Taco Bell a thin pretender. Especially the tamales. “These are wonderful.”
Consuela smiled as she filled Jill’s glass with water and a wedge of lemon. “It is my grandmother’s recipe.” She moved to Morgan’s glass. “And Señor Morgan’s favorite.”
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p; “I have lots of favorites, Consuela. You spoil me.” He filled his mouth with tamale and dabbed a drip of the rich red sauce from his lips.
“Sí, it is true.”
Jill turned to him after Consuela left. “How long has she worked for you?”
“Four years. Juan only came a few months ago. I haven’t arranged his green card yet. Wish I knew where he was working.”
“Are they legal?”
“I made sure Consuela was. Her husband and two sons died five years ago from some wicked intestinal disease. Probably cholera or dysentery. He lost his job and they were living off the dumps south of the border.”
“How did you find her?”
He leaned back in his chair. “One of the neighbors asked if I needed domestic help. They knew her situation.”
“And Juan?”
“He was hit by a car trying to cross the border illegally by way of the interstate. He got word to Consuela, and she asked to bring him here.” Morgan shrugged. “Unlike Consuela, he doesn’t speak English and isn’t awfully motivated to earn his way.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s what puzzles me about his being at work now.”
“Can’t you ask Consuela?”
He finished his bite. “I let them be as autonomous as they choose. With Consuela, it’s not an issue. She’s family. With Juan …” He wiped a dab of avocado from his finger and raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see.”
Jill savored a bite of the chicken fajita. “This is so good. It’s amazing you’re not immense with this kind of food every day.”
“I skip more meals than I eat. And I’m away a lot. My job is mostly travel.”
“It must be hard to leave all this.”
“It’s just a place.” Again the tone that expressed so much emptiness.
He straightened. “And speaking of work, if I don’t catch Denise now, it will get ugly.” He stood up. “Take your time. Make yourself at home.”
“May I use your phone? I’ll reimburse the—”
“Jill. Just use the phone.” He walked away, obviously annoyed by any reference to her paying her part. Maybe that was his soft underbelly, or maybe just his generosity. He could afford her phone calls. Voted most likely to succeed, he’d done just that. So why did she sense a silent desperation underneath it all?
The Still of Night Page 28