Case cocked a thick black eyebrow. "You guys ever notice how green my partner's complexion has gotten since Prudy and I got married again?"
Luke Jarrod snorted a laugh. "Hell, Case, Petrov's skin has always had a peculiar cast to it. I figure it comes from living on cigars and coffee instead of real food."
"Don't forget all that beer the man guzzles," Boyd chimed in with a pointed look at the long-necked bottle at the big man's elbow.
"Nectar of the gods, son," Petrov retorted, throwing down two cards. "What about you, Paxton? Is it true you have to go without booze over in those Mideast countries?"
Morgan discarded three cards before glancing up. "Mostly, yeah, though liquor is available in the foreign compounds and the embassies. Especially the French."
"Seems to me they ought to pay you extra. Sort of like depravation rations."
Morgan picked up the cards MacAuley had shot him and grinned. Three pretty ladies to go with a pair of twos.
"I'll mention that to the chairman next time I'm in New York."
Randolph eyed the soft drink in front of Morgan thoughtfully. "Doesn't look to be much of a problem for you."
"Nope."
Petrov drew a cigar from his shirt pocket and peeled off the cellophane. "Not much of a drinker?"
"Not since I was young and dumb." He felt his stomach twist as bad memories threatened the barriers he'd been piling around them for years. "My old man made a living selling 'shine. Had me too much of it one time too many and damn near died. Doc Smiley said I was lucky I hadn't fried my brain permanently." He grinned. "'Course, there are those who claim I did."
"I know the feeling," MacAuley muttered. "My brother and I used to pickle our gray cells on a regular basis before my grandmother found out and darn near skinned us raw."
"Pikers. Letting piddling little old reasons keep you from having fun."
Petrov fired up his cigar and puffed contentedly as he studied his hand. His expression revealed damn little.
"I'm in," Petrov declared, tossing in his two chip ante.
Randolph did the same. "Me, too."
MacAuley frowned at his cards, then shrugged and tossed in a couple of chips. "What the hell?"
"Too rich for me," Jarred muttered, folding his hand. "All this talk about boozin' has me real thirsty. Since I'm not on call and none of my ladies are in labor, I think I'll get me a beer." He got to his feet. "Bring anyone somethin' from the kitchen?"
"More chips," Randolph muttered without bothering to lift his gaze from his cards.
The betting held another round. When it was his call, Morgan glanced at his full house. His first shot at taking a decent pot all night. With an inner sigh of regret, he folded. Priorities, he reminded himself.
While the betting went around again, he got up and stretched, then followed Jarrod to the kitchen. The lanky doctor had just pulled a beer from the fridge and was shutting the door when Morgan entered.
"Thought I'd get the chips," Morgan said offhand.
"On the counter."
Jarrod twisted the top from the bottle and tossed it into the trash basket by the fridge. Instead of returning to the game, he leaned against the counter. "Heard you paid Port Gen a visit a few days back."
Morgan ambled toward the counter. He wasn't hungry, but he tore open the bag of chips and tossed a couple in his mouth.
"Port Gen?" he asked, crunching on chips.
"What those of us on staff call our beloved Portland General Hospital."
Morgan lifted a brow. The world got small in these parts, it seemed. "Raine panicked and called 911. Guess they figured they had to justify the trip, so they kept me overnight."
Jarrod tipped the bottle to his mouth and took a swig. "You feeling recovered?"
"Pretty much." Morgan took a breath. It was now or never, he figured. "You mind clarifying a few things for me while we've got some time?"
Jarrod glanced at the swinging door leading to the living room and the game. "Guess that depends on what 'things' you have in mind."
Morgan couldn't fault the man's caution. He had enough of that himself when it came to questions from strangers.
"Raine said you're going to perform a hysterectomy after the babies are born."
"That's the plan, yes."
"So, no more babies?"
"No more babies."
Jarrod's voice softened, as though he sensed Morgan's inner turmoil. It hurt to realize that Mike would be his only child. He'd always figured they would have another. Eventually.
"But so far she's fine?"
Jarrod nodded. "Indications are she'll have a normal delivery."
"And she's due September second?"
"Give or take a few weeks."
Morgan glanced at the small calendar affixed to the fridge door by a heart-shaped magnet.
"Two weeks after Mike's birthday," he said as though to himself.
Jarrod took another sip of beer. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to return to the game. Morgan waited. Sometimes it was the questions a man didn't ask that elicited the most valuable information.
"There is one thing that concerns me," Jarrod admitted finally. "Guess it wouldn't be a violation of professional ethics to mention it. You still being her legal husband."
Morgan felt a clutching in his stomach and eased in a careful breath. "I'm listening."
"Raine thinks she's stronger than she is. Emotionally, I mean. On the surface she seems fiercely independent and perfectly confident. A nineties woman—or so she keeps reminding me."
Morgan focused intently. It felt strange to be discussing his wife with another man, even if that man was her doctor.
But then, he rarely talked about Raine. He'd made it one of inviolate rules to always keep his personal life separate from his work.
"And beneath the surface?"
Jarrod frowned. "Something tells me she's terrified of losing these babies. And if she does, she knows that she won't have a chance to get pregnant again."
Terrified?
That wasn't a word Morgan ever thought to use in connection with Raine. She'd always seemed so calm and serene. His rock. It shook him to realize how much comfort he'd drawn from simply knowing she would be there, waiting for him if he needed her.
Had he ever told her how important she'd been to him? Somehow he doubted it. And who was her rock? Not him, that much was certain. The list of his sins was growing daily. It wasn't a thought he cared to dwell on all that much. But he knew he would, late at night when he had trouble sleeping.
"Losing Mike was … rough on her."
Morgan shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. As always, when thoughts of his son pressed too close, he redirected his thoughts to a subject that he could pin down, information he could analyze.
"This artificial insemination… I assume the donors go through some kind of a screening process."
"Several. The sperm bank we use is very stringent about quality control."
"About these donors… How does a woman select one?"
Wariness flashed in Jarrod's eyes. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable asking Raine these questions."
Morgan felt heat splotch his cheeks. The bastard wasn't making this easy. But then, why should he?
"I'm asking you."
Jarrod took his own sweet time, downing another long swallow of brew, then studying the label while Morgan considered gutting the man.
"The donors are listed by physical characteristics, ethnic history and educational background," Jarrod said at last. "No one with a history of chronic disease or a family predisposition for genetic defects is accepted."
"Provided the guy tells the truth."
Jarrod considered him steadily. "Very true." He hesitated, then added, "Many of the donors are medical students who need the money. Not that doctors have better genes, you understand, but they're willing."
"Not to mention handy."
Jarrod's mouth twitched. "Right."
Morgan was beginning to regret the impulse that had led
him to follow Raine's doctor into the Randolphs' kitchen, yet he couldn't make himself walk away. "What about paternity rights?"
"Waived." Jarrod shifted.
Morgan considered that. "And the identity of both parties?"
"Totally protected."
Morgan grabbed another handful of chips. He popped them into his mouth and thought back over the stories he'd covered. In every case, he'd found a way past so-called unbreachable safeguards.
"But not impossible to uncover?"
Jarrod narrowed his gaze. He was suddenly all business. "Are you thinking of doing some investigative work?"
"Would you, if it were your wife carrying another guy's kids?"
Morgan met Jarrod's gaze and felt himself being measured. From the look on his face, he hadn't climbed very high on the doctor's list of admirable people.
"Not if I was gonna get on a plane in a few months," Jarrod said finally.
"You think I'm a gold-plated bastard, don't you?"
A glint of something resembling sympathy appeared in the doctor's eyes. "I think you're a man who took too many things for granted. Maybe because Raine allowed it. Maybe even encouraged it. And because you didn't know what a treasure you had, you lost it." Jarrod narrowed his gaze. "But then, I think you're beginning to realize that."
Morgan saluted that with a nod. "You're dead right, Jarrod. With the exception of one thing. I'm still here, and the divorce papers are still unsigned. Which, in my book means I still have a chance."
"A chance for what, Paxton? To hurt her again?"
"No, damn it. To make it up to her. To show her that I—" Morgan broke off and forced a careless grin. "What the hell? Guess we'd better get back to the game."
He grabbed the chips and headed for the door. He had one hand on the panel, ready to push it open, when Jarrod called his name.
"Yeah?" he replied, looking back.
"If you're not prepared to go the distance this time, it would be better for Raine if you left now."
"Now?"
"Yeah. Planes fly twenty-four hours these days. But then, I'm not telling you something you don't already know, am I?"
Morgan felt sick. "Thanks for the information—and the advice. I'll give it some thought."
He returned to the game. He lost every pot.
It was just past nine when Morgan kicked back in his chair and watched Raine standing at the stove, stirring carob powder into a pan of milk. She was concentrating carefully, her brow furrowed and her expression absorbed.
The hot chocolate had been her idea. A comfortable end to the evening.
Another marital ritual about to be born? He felt a moment of uneasiness before he pushed it away.
"So, where'd you ladies disappear to tonight?"
"River View Mall."
She glanced his way. Her nose was shiny and her hair mussed. He thought she looked amazingly sexy. He felt a punch of desire and had to take a breath before he was steady again.
"You took those little hellions shopping?" He tried to imagine the chaos that could be caused by three rambunctious little girls. It was beyond him. "I salute your courage."
Grinning, she blew a stray lock of curling hair away from her mouth. He felt his own mouth soften. He could kiss her for hours and not get enough. He shifted, tried to ignore the sudden heaviness in his body. He wondered how she would react if he suggested they skip the hot drink and go directly to bed.
"Actually, we went to a Disney movie," she said finally, her voice just shy of saucy.
"No shopping?"
Her expression became impish. "Well, while we were there…"
"I knew it. Put six females in a mall and shopping happens. It's an immutable law of nature."
"Now that's a ridiculous statement if I ever heard one."
"Uh-huh."
He crossed his arms over his chest and let his gaze roam freely over the slim line of her back and the taut muscles of her fanny. Even pregnant, she looked tiny and delicate. The tug to haul her off to the bedroom and explore every inch of her glorious body was strong enough to make his heart skip a few beats. Patience, he reminded himself.
"What did you buy me?" he asked when he caught her sneaking an uneasy peek in his direction.
"Now, that's a typical male. Only thinking of himself."
Though her words were teasing, they were far too reminiscent of his recent conversation with Jarrod. He cleared his throat.
"Tell me what kind of man you want me to be, then." He kept his tone light, but he'd never meant anything more.
She gave the hot milk a final stirring, then put down the spoon. "I'm not asking you to change," she said as she turned off the burner. "I've never asked you to change."
"Maybe you should have."
"And have you resent me more than you already did? No thanks." She poured milk into two mugs, then set the pan in the sink.
"I didn't … don't resent you," he said as she set one mug in front of him, the other on the place mat opposite.
"Really? I always had the feeling that you did."
Raine pulled out her chair and lowered herself onto the seat. Pain like the sudden twist of hard fingers ran through her back and she winced.
Alarm shot into Morgan's eyes, and he straightened, sending the front legs of the old oak chair thudding against the tile.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
"Nothing major. Ginny and I took inventory today. I guess I was on my feet more than usual."
He frowned. "If you needed help, why didn't you ask me to pitch in? Hell, all I did today was hang around here and read."
"Morgan, don't fuss. I'm fine."
"Men don't fuss."
"No? What do you call it when a man exhibits undue anxiety about a trifle?"
"I call it what it is—taking care of his wife, whether she likes it or not."
Though he had himself under rigid control, he looked like a man who would much rather be dodging bullets in some international hot spot than sitting in her quiet kitchen drinking hot milk. But then, it had been five days since his arrival, most of it spent flat on his back or unconscious. That was a long stretch of inactivity for a man as restless as Morgan.
No wonder he'd been strangely withdrawn since they'd returned home, she decided as she lifted her mug to her lips and blew on the steaming contents. Probably wondering how to tell her he was leaving sooner than he'd planned. An emergency assignment, perhaps. Or an order from the network brass. He'd used both before.
She told herself she was prepared for him to go.
"I like your hair piled up in that prim little knot," he said, watching her over the rim of his mug. "Makes a man want to pull out all the pins so he can watch it tumble down."
She saw the banked fire in his eyes and felt a stir. He wanted her, blimp belly and all. It was a heady sensation, one she hadn't felt in a very long time. Because she wasn't sure what to say, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a cautious sip. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, and the fire in his eyes grew hot enough to singe. Somehow she stopped herself from sliding her tongue along her lower lip to cool it.
"So, uh, how much did you lose tonight?"
Her voice was calm enough, but she felt jittery inside. It was the same feeling she'd gotten as a kid at the amusement park, right before the roller coaster started its downward plunge.
Amusement drifted over his hard features, and he lifted a brow. "I don't remember telling you I lost."
She inhaled the exotic aroma of carob. It was a mistake. The fast little jolt of pleasure made her think of Morgan's hard, hot body sliding into hers. She felt her cheeks growing hot and took another sip.
"You didn't say you won," she said with a smug little smile. "Ergo, you must have lost."
Surprise glinted for only a split second in his eyes, reminding her of the incredible mastery he had over his emotions. It was a skill she envied and sometimes coveted, especially at a time like this when she was feeling more than a little hot and bothered i
nside.
"You're right, Ms. Smarty-Pants. I came away busted."
"Uh-oh, sounds like we're dealing with a bruised ego here."
"Bruised, hell. Stomped into the ground is more like it."
He offered her a disgruntled look. It occurred to her that she liked him best when he was laughing at himself.
"Drink your carob. It does wonders for stomped-on egos."
"I know something a lot better."
"No way. Nothing's better."
His smile was slow and easy, and her heart raced. "Finish up, darlin', and then I'll commence proving you wrong."
Chapter 13
« ^ »
It was ridiculous to be embarrassed, Raine told herself as she slipped out of her sandals. Morgan knew her body as well as she did. He'd seen her naked countless times before.
"Something wrong, honey?"
He'd already stripped off his shirt. The glow from the lamp on the dresser picked up the gleam of desire in his eyes. His arousal was already straining to be freed from his jeans.
"I think I forgot to turn on the back porch light," she said, glancing toward the bedroom door. "I… It's an unspoken rule that we all keep our lights burning at night."
"No problem. I'll take care of it."
"But—" He smothered her protest with a hard kiss that was over far too soon.
"Keep that on account. I'll be right back."
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she shimmied out of her maternity slacks and swept off her shirt. Her breasts were already tingling as she removed her bra and stepped out of her panties. She heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor in the living room as she jerked open the closet door to remove the thin cotton nightshirt hanging on a hook inside. She'd just smoothed it over her head when he reappeared.
"Hey, no fair," he said when he caught sight of her. "I need to look at you."
She drew an unsteady breath. "You are looking at me."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then frowned. "Are you afraid of me, Raine?"
"Of course not." No, she was afraid of the power he wielded with just one of those lopsided grins.
"I've never pushed a woman farther than she wanted to go. Even if I wanted to, which I don't, a long line of Paxton women would come down from heaven and wale the tar outta me."
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