Found: One Secret Baby

by Nancy Holland

  Joey threw his bowl on the floor to announce he’d finished his breakfast and was still feeling the adverse effects of a late night.

  She picked the bowl up, wiped up the mess, and cleaned the tray on his highchair, then dampened a wash cloth to wipe his face. Normally she’d put him in his playpen next and eat her own breakfast, but today she wanted to throw the cereal bowl on the floor herself.

  She kept seeing the look on Morgan’s face when he’d walked out the door. He’d been in such a dark place and totally alone, even his tie to Lillian severed, at least for now.

  For some reason she didn’t understand, she needed to know he was all right.

  Against her better judgment she picked up her cell. This time she texted with fingers that shook so much she could barely type, “R U OK?”

  She didn’t want to disrupt Joey’s routine, so she resisted the urge to keep him safe near her every minute and put him in his playpen. She forced herself to go back to the kitchen and eat a slice of toast to cushion the black coffee.

  Ten minutes later her cell announced a text. Hands trembling, she opened it.

  “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?” Morgan had written.

  She turned off her cell with a “click!” that seemed to echo around the kitchen.

  Okay, now it was over for good.

  What a hell of a time to realize she was in love with Morgan Danby.

  Morgan paced the hospital corridor just before noon, trying not to remember the night his father died. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long before a nurse appeared to show him to Lillian’s room.

  Reclined in the big white bed without her makeup, designer suits, and diamonds, his stepmother looked like a sick old woman.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

  He almost hadn’t, but she had no one else to watch out for her. He sat on the chair beside the bed and forced himself to take her bony hand in his.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  She nodded, as if talking were too much of an effort.

  “Are you in any pain?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you need anything? Want anything?”

  “I want to go home.” A tear ran down her cheek.

  “We’ll get you home as soon as we can.” He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Did the doctor say how long it will be before you’re released from the hospital?”

  She frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  “That’s probably because of the drugs, er, medicine they gave you.”

  Her hand clutched at his. “Are you very angry with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Danby,” a nurse said from the doorway. “The doctor is here and can talk to you now about your mother’s condition.”

  “My stepmother,” he corrected. He stood and set Lillian’s hand back on the bed. “Goodbye. I’ll come again this evening.”

  Even as she nodded, Lillian’s eyes fell shut and her mouth dropped open to emit an un-Lillian-like snore.

  The doctor told him the heart attack was a mild one, a warning that Lillian needed to eat a healthier diet, get more exercise, and take the medications she’d been resisting because they were “for old people.”

  Lillian wasn’t much over sixty, Morgan reminded himself on the drive back to the condo. She’d be fine, easily live another twenty years. Long enough to see Joey graduate from college. Harvard, of course, if it was up to Lillian.

  “Thompsons and Danbys have always gone to Harvard,” he could almost hear her say.

  Except Joey wouldn’t be a Thompson or a Danby. Unless …

  His mind flooded with sunny pictures of a future, where he was Joey’s father, Rosalie’s husband. Baseball at Fenway Park, summers at the house in the Berkshires, weekends on the Cape. Two more children floated through the images, a dark-haired boy who tagged along after Joey, a sassy, smart little girl with Rosalie’s eyes. An impossible future.

  Rosalie didn’t want to move to Boston.

  More to the point, she’d laughed when he asked her to marry him.

  The memory shot through him, so sharp he wondered why he didn’t bleed.

  He drove into the garage under the condo building, parked, and sat there, frozen in place by the realization that he loved Rosalie Walker. Had been in love with her for weeks.

  The truth was supposed to set you free, but he only felt more tied up by all the emotions he’d fought long and hard to avoid. Love, but so many others too.

  He’d been in a rage last night. No. Another truth—he’d been hurt. And because of it, he’d refused to listen to Rosalie’s apologies for not trusting him. Now he didn’t need them. He saw as clearly as the California sunshine spilling in through the skylight that she’d been right.

  She’d had no reason to trust him. That bit of truth burned like fire in his gut. All he’d done since they’d met was lie and manipulate her.

  Yesterday he’d meant to start over, but he’d hadn’t told her so, hadn’t given her any reason to believe it was anything more than another ploy.

  And instead of honestly discussing what Lillian had done and how he felt with Rosalie, he’d shut her out, the way he had his mother all those years ago.

  Which left one question—what could he do to earn another chance at a lifetime with the woman he loved?

  Chapter Twelve

  After a month with no word from Morgan, Rosalie had learned more about the downside of romantic love than anyone should have to know.

  She’d learned a broken heart kept right on beating. She’d learned having a toddler around made it impossible to mope, no matter how unhappy you were. At least during the day. At night she was free to torture herself with memories and dreams of what might have been.

  She’d learned early on that one face of love was the fierce, primal love she felt for Joey, even though she hadn’t given birth to him. The love she felt for Morgan was primal, too, a full-on bliss that still lingered under all the hurt.

  She’d wondered at first how she could keep going without Morgan when the mere thought of losing Joey made her mind go blank with pain. Eventually she figured out, Joey needed her. Morgan’s continued silence was proof he didn’t need her. He clearly didn’t love her.

  She’d also relearned the helpful lessons her mother’s illness had taught her. Focus on the job and the people in front of you. Have short-term goals so something good happens every day. Have long-term goals so you always move forward.

  The sadder lessons, too. Men leave. Grief fades.

  This new emptiness in her life would fade too. After all, she had everything she wanted—the adoption was on track, her practice was thriving, and once she got her mother’s studio cleaned out, she’d have a real office at home. Then she’d be able to have more work-at-home days with Joey.

  Because she’d also learned somewhere along the way that the love she felt for her mother would always be part of who she was, but it was time to make the house hers. Hers and Joey’s.

  It took a whole weekend to clear out her mother’s studio. The next Saturday she invited Vanessa and Aaron over for a pizza-and-redecorating party.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve moved on,” Vanessa said as she held one end of the pale-green shade Aaron was almost finished installing over the high windows.

  Rosalie looked up from connecting the modem. “Moved on from Morgan, you mean?”

  Her friend rolled her eyes. “Moved on from your mother’s death. You’ve been stuck in neutral for a long while now. I thought maybe getting custody of Joey might knock you back in gear, but I guess enough time hadn’t passed.”

  Rosalie opened her mouth to protest, but maybe Vanessa was right. More to think about during the long, sleepless nights.

  When Aaron finished with the shade, Vanessa stretched and pointed to the paintings lined up along one wall of the office. “What do you plan to do with those?”

  “Sell what I can, keep the rest. Which reminds me, I need to call that gallery.” Ros
alie turned on the computer, gratified when it lit up at once. “Do you guys want a painting?”

  “Your mom gave us one as a wedding gift,” Aaron reminded her.

  “It was an engagement gift,” Vanessa corrected. “Rosalie’s mom knew she probably wouldn’t be there for the wedding.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Before Aaron could add an apology Rosalie didn’t want or need, the doorbell rang. “Pizza’s here!”

  Once they’d finished eating, Rosalie took advantage of having her friends around to keep Joey entertained and called the gallery. She was surprised the woman who answered the phone put her immediately through to the owner.

  “I had it on my calendar to contact you next week,” he told her. “We’ve sold all of your mother’s paintings we have and I’m sure we can sell more.”

  Rosalie smiled at the chance to add to Joey’s college fund. Her mother would be pleased.

  “When can you come by and look at them?”

  She heard the click of computer keys. “Wednesday afternoon? Or evening? Around seven? You work days, don’t you?”

  “Wednesday evening is fine. I’ll see you then.”

  “Er, no, I’ll send an associate.”

  Probably the woman who’d answered the phone. “Oh, okay. Thank you again.”

  She put the time on her calendar and went back to join the others in the dining room.

  By six-thirty Wednesday evening, Rosalie was exhausted. She’d had a bankruptcy hearing in the morning and a tearful, newly separated wife in her office most of the afternoon. The last thing she wanted now she’d gotten Joey home and fed was to deal with the woman from the gallery, but it was way too late to cancel. She shook off the gray mood of the day the best she could and took Joey across to Mrs. Peterson’s.

  The woman from the gallery would undoubtedly be dressed like someone out of a magazine, but Rosalie didn’t have the time or energy to work any miracles. She threw a clean blouse over the jeans she’d changed into after she got home from work and did a minimum with her hair and makeup.

  The doorbell rang right on time, almost as if the woman had waited outside for the precise hour. Rosalie double-checked the array of paintings spread across the dining room, the living room, and her new office before she went to open the door.

  Morgan stood on her front step with the strings to a dozen golden balloons in one hand and a single pink rose in the other. In a dark suit and blue shirt he looked like a picture from a magazine. A picture from her dreams.

  “You!” She started to close the door, but he held the rose out to her.

  Maybe it was the bleakness in his eyes. Maybe it was the burst of mad delight in her heart when she first saw him. Whatever the reason, she was weak enough to take the flower.

  “The lady at the flower shop said a pink rose means ‘please believe me’.” His tone was casual, despite the lines of tension around his mouth and eyes.

  As the first shock faded, a wave of pure rage washed away any softer emotions. How dare he show up now, when she’d begun to believe that someday she might get over him?

  Before she could slam the door in his face, a movement in the corner of her eye warned her that the cats were on the verge of another escape attempt.

  Morgan took advantage of the distraction to quickly step through the door and shut it behind him to block their way. “Sorry, guys.”

  The cats flicked their tails and slunk in tandem into the living room.

  Rosalie ignored Morgan’s teasing smile and glowered at him.

  “What do you want? Did Lillian send you?”

  “No. She’s gone to Maui to adjust to the idea she’s not twenty-five anymore.”

  Maybe because she’d been thinking about Joey’s college fund, Morgan’s casual comment made her realize for the first time that Joey might never need the money she’d put away for him. Someday, he’d be a very rich man. And her job was to make sure he knew how to cope with the sudden wealth.

  Morgan looked at the paintings set out everywhere. “Is there any place we can sit and talk? Or would you rather do this here?”

  “Do what?”

  “Have me grovel.”

  The image of Morgan Danby at her feet made Rosalie laugh in spite of herself. He frowned for a moment, then smiled that sexy smile.

  “Try not to drool on my toes,” it gave her the courage to say. “I just had a pedicure.”

  Morgan closed his eyes and grasped the balloon strings wrapped around his hand so tightly they bit into his flesh. “Tell me your toenails aren’t red.”

  Rosalie laughed again. “Purple.”

  He groaned and opened his eyes, but his witty reply died in his throat.

  She’d remembered she was mad at him. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest while her eyes shot angry bolts at him.

  “What do you want?” she asked again.

  “To talk to you.”

  He watched in muted panic as her scowl deepened.

  “I have good news about the adoption,” he added.

  Her rigid posture softened a bit. He let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “Come in the kitchen,” she said. “I need to get this flower in some water. We can talk in the breakfast room.”

  Not the warm invitation he wanted, or the atmosphere he would have chosen, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He winced at how apt the old saying was.

  She bent over to dig a vase out of a bottom cupboard. The pull of her jeans over her rounded backside sent hot shivers of need through him, but he knew sex had to be way down the road. If there was any sex in their future at all.

  He turned away to tie the balloons to the back of Joey’s highchair, then sat at the round table in the nook. Rosalie put the rose in a tall, narrow vase and set it on the table. She settled in the chair across from him, her face unreadable.

  “So, what’s this good news about the adoption?”

  “Before we go there, I want to thank you for convincing the police that what happened with Lillian was a misunderstanding. She got off without even an arrest on her record.”

  Not something his stepmother appreciated at first, but he’d worked hard to drive home to her what could have happened if Rosalie had let the legal process take its course.

  “I don’t want to ruin her life. I just want her to go away and leave us alone.”

  “Well, she’ll always be Joey’s grandmother, but …” He reached into his pocket, took out the carefully folded papers, and laid them on the table in front of her. “The top one is a notarized letter from Lillian surrendering any claim to custody of Joey.” Rosalie’s gaze lifted from her lap to his face. “The other one relinquishes all Charlie’s parental rights.”

  Rosalie banked the flare of delighted surprise in her eyes.

  “Charlie killed Joey’s mother,” she said. “I could have gone to court to force him to relinquish, if I needed to.”

  “I know, but now you don’t have to.” Morgan leaned closer, gratified when she didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore.”

  She did stiffen at his words, the small movement another twist to the tension in his heart.

  “Thank you.” Her neutral tone told him nothing.

  “Don’t thank me. I should have done this a long time ago, as soon as I knew Joey wasn’t stuck in foster care somewhere but was in a secure, happy home with someone who loved him. But I was so mad that you’d tried to trick me, I let my pride get in the way and told Lillian I’d found him. If I’d done the right thing in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry I acted like such an arrogant jerk.”

  “You are an arrogant jerk. Or you can be. But I’d have had to contact your stepmother before I adopted Joey in any case.”

  “But you would have had me on your side.”

  She frowned. “Now you mention it, you did act like an arrogant jerk—you came to my office, demanded information, tried to manipulate me by pretending to be attracted to me …”

  �
�I am attracted to you,” he interrupted. “But you’re right, I used the physical chemistry between us to try to get you to play along with my plan and marry me.”

  “A plan you could have told me about. I would still have refused to marry you, but maybe together we could have come up with a better plan.”

  “Frankly it never occurred to me to just talk to you,” he admitted. “That’s not how I learned to deal with women, outside of a business context.”

  “Your father and Lillian’s marriage must have been interesting to watch,” she muttered.

  He shrugged. “Their marriage was better than my parents’. That one was a battlefield.” Words he’d never meant to say pushed themselves out. “I was the collateral damage. I hated living in a war zone.” He swallowed. “Hated it so much that when my mother came to say goodbye before she left, I told her I hated her. I haven’t seen her since.”

  The room went very quiet. He stared down at the table, unable to look at Rosalie or anything in the house that declared in a thousand ways how much she’d loved her own mother.

  “It must have been hard for you,” she finally said.

  Before he could do more than blink in disbelief, she pushed her chair back.

  “I need a cup of coffee. Would you like some?”

  He’d like a stiff drink, but he’d take what he could get. “Thanks.”

  He stayed where he was, calmed by the homey sound of her movements in the kitchen and the fact that she hadn’t tossed him out on his ear after his little revelation.

  The bittersweet aroma of dark-roast coffee filled the air.

  “I won’t get any sleep tonight after this,” Rosalie commented as she put the mugs down on the table and sat back down across from him.

  He didn’t want to ask if she meant the coffee or the conversation.

  She took a sip from her mug before she knocked his legs out from under him.

  “You never did tell me why Lillian let her ex have custody of Charlie.”

  A chasm opened up in front of Morgan. He’d already told her things he’d never confessed before. He still didn’t have any idea where all this was headed, but if he stayed where he was, on the safe side of the chasm, it wouldn’t go anywhere he wanted to be.