She should put on shoes. Otherwise she’d appear in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant. Smiling grimly, she slipped her feet into a pair of leather mules, took a deep breath and went downstairs.
Morgan sat in her sunny little kitchen nook making a list on the back of a paper sack. With the dark stubble on his chin and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled back, he looked like a gangster, or maybe a pirate. He sure didn’t look like a respectable New York City pediatrician.
He glanced up when she walked into the kitchen. “We need to go to the store, but first I’ll take you to breakfast. There’s nothing decent to eat here.”
She wasn’t hungry, but she’d deal with that question later. “I was going to—” She caught herself as the words came out sounding more belligerent and defensive than she wanted them to. Clearing her throat, she started again. “I was planning to shop today,” she said quietly. “I just got off six straight days at work.”
“Six days straight?” He looked scandalized. “You’re still at the diner, right?”
“Yes.”
“We have to do something about that. Six days straight is criminal. Who’s your boss? I want to talk to—”
“Hold it!” So she sounded belligerent. She couldn’t help it. He wasn’t going to waltz in here and take over her life. “You are so not going to talk to Shelby Lord! She asked me to work an extra day as a special favor, and she’s very concerned about my health, if you must know. I told her I would be fine with it, and I am fine with it.” She’d never admit that the last day had been more tiring than she’d expected.
He tossed the pen he’d been using on the table and pushed back his chair. Standing, he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at her. “You may be fine with it, but hours and hours on your feet are not the best thing for the baby. Why do you insist on continuing to work there, when we’ve offered to subsidize you so that you could quit?”
Pain shot through her and she stared at him, wondering if he realized he’d just used the word we. There was no we anymore. She saw the exact moment his mistake registered. His brown eyes clouded and he looked away, swallowing several times.
Watching him struggle with his grief, she quickly lost her anger. “I keep my job because I like it,” she said softly. “I know waitressing doesn’t seem like a career to you, but I have a good time helping customers, at least most of the time. All of us weren’t meant to be white-collar workers.”
He shook his head, but he didn’t look at her. Instead he pretended great interest in birds gathered at the feeder in her tiny back patio. “I didn’t mean that,” he murmured. “You may think I’m some sort of elitist snob, but I’m not.”
“The truth is I don’t know you very well, Morgan.” She thought of the way they’d come together last night, the knowing that had taken place on an elemental level, and wondered if she knew him better than anyone else on earth.
He cleared his throat and glanced at her, his eyes moist. “I guess you don’t know me. There were those few days before the wedding, and then the last visit, for the procedure.”
She nodded. “Arielle kept saying the two of you would visit Austin, but you never came.”
“No. She really liked New York.”
“I know.” She looked into his eyes and knew they had to get out of this house or they would both break down again. “You said something about shopping.”
He nodded. “Your food supply leaves much to be desired.”
She decided to ignore the insult. At least he hadn’t specifically started in on her about the sweets. “Do you want to go out looking like that?”
“Like—” He looked startled, and then he rubbed a hand over his chin. “Maybe I should shave.”
“Unless you want to frighten old ladies and small children.”
The ghost of a smile flitted across his mouth. “I’d rather not.”
She’d forgotten that he had a wonderful smile. This wasn’t a real version of it, but it reminded her why she’d taken a liking to Morgan when she’d first met him. When he smiled, really smiled, he put his whole heart into it. His whole heart wasn’t in it now, but she could hardly blame him for that.
“Come on upstairs and I’ll find you a new razor,” she said. “You’ll have to lather up with soap instead of shaving cream, though. And the razor will be pink. I hope that doesn’t offend you.” She started out of the kitchen.
“Nothing could offend me more than I’ve offended myself.”
Whirling, she threw out both hands in exasperation. “Good Lord, will you stop?” She’d never been a patient person under the best of circumstances, and he was sorely trying what little patience she could find this morning. “We were both under a hideous strain, and we comforted each other! I thank God you were here to tell me in person! Don’t you thank God that you had someone to run to, someone who loved Arielle as much as you did?”
His throat worked. His dark eyes filled. “Yes. I thank God for you, Mary Jane. I will thank God for you for the rest of my life.”
She looked into his eyes and something happened to her heart, making it go all squishy and warm and tender. Wow. The guy packed a wallop. She needed to get him moving or she was liable to do something really embarrassing, like move closer and kiss him. Like suggest they go upstairs for something besides that razor…
“Shaving,” she said. “We can get through this, Morgan, if we just put one foot in front of the other.”
“Maybe you should get the razor and bring it down. I can shave in the half bath.”
“You can, but the light’s no good in there. And the mirror distorts a little. Believe me, I know these things, having stared into both mirrors more times than I should probably admit. Come on.” She started up the stairs.
“That’s okay. I’ll use the half bath.”
One hand on the railing, she turned and gazed at him. She wondered if he was one of those stubborn men who turned everything into a power struggle. If so, the sooner he left Austin, the better. “I hate to say this, Morgan, but you are being a pain in the ass. I’ll bring the razor down if you insist, but what damned difference does it make where you shave?”
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I just think…it would be better if I stayed down here. And out of the…bedroom.”
Oh. As she gripped the railing and considered the implications of what he’d said, she couldn’t hold back a small feeling of triumph. He’d liked his experience with her last night. He’d liked it so much that he wanted more. Maybe Morgan wasn’t all brain, after all.
“I’ll get the razor,” she said, her step much lighter as she went upstairs.
AT MARY JANE’S suggestion, they’d driven across town to an area she seldom visited to have breakfast and shop for groceries. Morgan thought it was a smart move. Mary Jane didn’t want to run into anyone she knew until she had herself more emotionally together, and he didn’t want to run into anyone who had known Arielle. After all, his wife had spent the first twenty-two years of her life in this town.
Taking another sip of his coffee, he sat across the table from Mary Jane in the booth of a small neighborhood restaurant and watched her not eat. She made a show of it, cutting her omelette into bite-size pieces, sipping her juice, putting a little pepper on her food. His plate looked as untouched as hers, but he wasn’t pregnant. She needed to eat.
“Look, I know you’re not hungry,” he said at last. “But you need to try.”
She glanced at him. “Couldn’t I swallow twice as many of those prenatal magic bullets you’ve prescribed for me?”
He shook his head and felt a smile trying to work its way through his pain. “They don’t work very well if you don’t have food in there, too.”
She sighed and took a bite of omelette into her mouth. Chewing and swallowing, she made a face. “It’s cold and the cheese has congealed.”
“Then I’ll order you another one.” He lifted his hand to signal the waitress.
“You most certainly will not!” She shove
led in another bite. “I’m eating. See? Eating.”
“That’s silly. They can throw that away and get—”
“Put your hand down.” She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, smacking his hand on the table. “We are not going to put the waitress and the cook to more trouble because I dawdled over my food and let it get cold. They’ll think something was wrong with it. It’s not good karma to send your food back uneaten.”
“But you weren’t eating it.” The back of his hand stung where she’d whacked it against the table, but it was the warm grip of her fingers around his wrist that really bothered him. Her fingers against his skin reminded him of how she’d clutched his shoulders last night while he buried himself in her. He forced himself to stay focused. “The food would have gone back to the kitchen eventually, anyway.”
“Nope.” Her blue gaze held his earnestly. “I would have asked for a doggy bag. Nobody’s insulted if you ask for a doggy bag.” She looked at his hand on the table. “Can I trust you not to try to get the waitress over here?”
“Guess so.”
“All right, then.” She released her hold and went back to eating her cold omelette. “It’s a matter of professional courtesy.”
“I can see that.”
She paused and glanced pointedly at his plate. “Eat up.”
“But I’m not—”
“Hungry? I don’t think that’s the issue. You need your strength.”
He pushed his plate aside. “I’ll ask for a doggy bag.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. If you’re going to force me to eat this cold food, you can do the exact same thing. Start chewing.”
“We’re not in the same boat.”
She shoved his plate in front of him. “We’re in exactly the same boat. I may be physically carrying this baby, but you are the father.”
And the only parent. He went still, bracing himself for the blow if she decided to point that out. She didn’t. She was incredibly sensitive. He hadn’t known that about her. There were lots of things he hadn’t known about her, like the silken welcome she provided for a man in bed. That was one thing he’d be better off not knowing, and the one thing he’d never forget.
“Let’s say you let yourself get run down,” she said. “You weaken your immune system, and there you are, a sitting duck for every bug that cruises by. So you have one illness after another, getting even more run down, and then, when this little girl is born, you’re too full of germs to be in the delivery room, let alone ready to function as her father.” She pointed her fork at him. “What do you say to that, Mr. Pediatrician? Is that fair to anybody?”
“No. No, it’s not.” He picked up his fork. Eating food when you’d rather not had never seemed like an act of courage to him before. But he realized that in Mary Jane’s case, that’s exactly what it was. He could do no less.
“Attaboy.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned. Yesterday he’d been absolutely sure that smiles and laughter were a thing of the past. But here was irrepressible Mary Jane Potter, valiantly shoving down food she didn’t want and cheering him on to do the same. A person would have to be made of stone not to respond to that.
She grinned back. “But I gotta warn you, it tastes like crap.”
His grin turned to a chuckle.
“You look great when you do that.”
“I never thought I would again.”
Her blue eyes grew warm with compassion. “She wouldn’t want you to stop smiling, Morgan.”
His fork clattered to the plate and his throat closed. He fumbled for his napkin as his grief came flooding back.
“Damn,” she said softly, bolting out of her seat.
He tried to choke out an apology and couldn’t. Through his tears he saw her throw a bill on the table.
“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him, stumbling, out of the restaurant.
Bright sunlight gave way to cool shade as she pushed him into an alley. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he clung to her and cried. He felt her shaking in his arms and was ashamed that he’d caused her to lose control, too. But he couldn’t do anything except curl his body over hers, bury his face in her glorious hair and hold on for dear life.
Eventually he managed to stop crying, but he couldn’t let go of her. He lifted his damp face, straightened a little and laid his cheek on the top of her head. “I was going to leave today,” he said. “Go back to New York.”
Her arms tightened around him.
“I won’t,” he said. “Not yet.”
Her grip slackened. Then she sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse from weeping. “Good.”
CHAPTER THREE
MARY JANE got behind the wheel of her neon-green Super Beetle while Morgan leaned down and moved the passenger seat back to accommodate his long legs. She’d sold her old junker and found a smokin’ deal on this slightly used buggy. It had been love at first sight the minute she’d seen the bud vase set into the dash. Sure, she had monthly payments, but she also had a silk daisy smiling at her every time she climbed into the car.
Before starting the engine, she turned to Morgan. “How long do you think you can stay?”
“A few days, maybe. But I’ll need to call the office and tell them where I am. My partner can probably take care of—”
“You didn’t tell your office you were coming here?”
He looked surprised by the question. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Morgan!”
“I haven’t been in the most organized state of mind recently.”
“Well, I know, but people must be frantic! Your office is one thing, but what about your friends, your parents? All sorts of people.”
He regarded her steadily. “I called my parents right after the accident. As I talked to them and felt no empathy at all, I was brutally reminded that they try to avoid anything messy and cruel. When I told them there would be no funeral, so they weren’t required to do anything, they sounded relieved. They told me to call if there was anything they could do. But I knew they didn’t really want me to call.”
Her heart ached for him, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. Her father had been like that after her mother died. He’d promptly hired Arielle as Mary Jane’s nanny and then had proceeded to distance himself from his daughter, who was a constant reminder of harsh realities like death. Arielle had been her family from that moment on, Arielle and the good friends she’d made here in Austin.
“As for friends,” Morgan went on, “I have to confess we weren’t all that close to anyone. We were both busy with our careers, and we didn’t take much time to socialize other than business dinners, meet-and-greet kinds of things. I can’t think of anyone who would be all that concerned as to my whereabouts.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong about that, but you should at least call your office.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I will.”
“Do you have a calling card?”
“Of course.”
She pointed to a pay phone a few feet from the restaurant. “I’ll wait.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you giving me an order?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I don’t know how they do things in New York, but out here in Texas we give people a shout when it’s necessary. I would say running off to Austin and leaving your medical practice high and dry qualifies.”
“My God, you’re lecturing me!” He seemed ready to give her an argument.
She met his gaze. “I may be a mere child in your eyes, and an uneducated waitress on top of that, but it’s possible I know more about some things than you do, in spite of the fact you’ve gone to college for about a million years and probably graduated magna cum incredible.”
He blinked. “I don’t think of you as an uneducated waitress.”
“That’s what I am,” she said quietly. She noticed he hadn’t contradicted her statement that she was a mere child. He still thought she was too young—too young for him. “I finished high school,�
� she said, “but I was sick to death of sitting in stuffy classrooms by that time. Waitressing is the only thing I know how to do.” She paused. “Well, that’s not quite true. I know how to—”
“Never mind!” he shouted.
Her eyes widened. “I was going to say crochet. What did you think I was going to say?”
“I’ll make that call.” He was out of the car in an amazingly short time, considering that he had to unwind his body to get through the low-slung door.
But he didn’t get out quickly enough to keep Mary Jane from seeing that he’d blushed red as a stop sign.
While he made his call, she studied him without fear she’d be caught gawking. She needed to look at him more closely and decide what she thought about all this. For one thing, she wanted to make sure that she wasn’t rising to the bait. If she wasn’t careful, she’d take his assumption that she was only a kid as a challenge to prove she was every inch a woman. That would be bad.
Once he’d made his connection to New York, he leaned a shoulder against the curved cubicle surrounding the telephone. Now that she’d begun to see him as a man instead of a pediatrician and her best friend’s husband, she allowed herself to notice the wide set of his shoulders, his narrow waist circled with a black leather dress belt, the pleated trousers that didn’t totally hide his nice butt. He shifted his weight. Definitely a nice butt.
He wore his wavy brown hair short, and she found herself gazing at the nape of his neck with the urge to kiss him there. They’d never really kissed at all, come to think of it. What had happened between them last night hadn’t been a romantic interlude, more like a bid for survival. She wondered how it would feel to be truly kissed on the mouth by Morgan. For some reason she figured he’d know how to use his tongue.
She imagined him without those rumpled clothes and felt the stirrings of lust. He had strong-looking legs. She remembered that much from this morning, before he’d started getting all guilt-ridden and she’d stopped noticing his body.
Her Best Friend's Baby Page 3
