"Me?" His eyes were steely.
"Yes."
"Why should I want to do this?" he asked. His tone was abrupt.
"You have the means to care for the child and bring it up properly. I don't like the idea of putting the baby up for adoption, the way the contract requires in case of Courtney's default, and I can't take care of it," Kate said.
"What do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I study oysters," she said.
"Oysters?" he repeated, sounding surprised.
"As in the world is your," she said, and then she was afraid that she had been too sarcastic. Her father had always said that you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and she sensed that it would be well to observe that maxim now.
"I see," Morgan said. "And so your idea is that you'll give birth to this baby, I'll pay your expenses—"
"Courtney is doing that," Kate said stiffly. "It was part of the original agreement, and her lawyer tells me that she intends to live up to it. She just doesn't want the baby."
"What makes you think I do?"
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Nothing, except that you're the father," she said miserably.
"I don't feel one bit paternal about that—that lump under your dress," he retorted. "However, if it is my biological child, I don't want anyone else rearing it. Rhetts live up to their responsibilities."
"It's not—not just a lump," she said. "It's a baby, a real, live person, a child who will need attention and regular visits to a pediatrician and new shoes periodically and—and a lot of love."
"I can't give it love," he said. "I told you, I feel nothing."
Remarks such as that one made her emotions surface, much to her embarrassment. She looked down at the tablecloth and fought back the tears that came much too easily these days. Kate had never been a weeper. Not until now, that is.
"Kate, I need to make inquiries, surely you understand that. It will take time."
"But if you could prove that the baby is yours, then would you take it?" Kate said on a note of desperation.
"I am no longer married, Ms. Sinclair. A baby doesn't fit into my life-style. But I don't want my kid to grow up with somebody else's last name. How Courtney could have abandoned this child after arranging for you to bear it is beyond my comprehension. If it's mine, I'll provide for it." His blue eyes were as cold as ice.
Kate blinked away her tears. This was a concession of sorts.
"Now, here's our food. You look famished, and the steamed oysters here are the best in the world," he said.
Kate focused her blurry eyes on the waiter, who was wheeling a huge container of oysters to their table. With a flourish of his gloved hands he began to crack the shells, exposing the exquisite little oyster bodies, dead and smelling of the sea.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Kate murmured, and, clapping a hand to her mouth, she bolted for the ladies' room.
Chapter 3
They'd left the restaurant hastily, and now they were sitting at a picnic table in a park where Morgan had driven after making a quick stop at a fast-food place. Kate was still mortified beyond words.
"Why didn't you tell me that you don't eat oysters?" Morgan Rhett demanded as he spread the food out on the table.
Kate took her time in answering. Amazingly, she was hungry. How that could be possible so soon after upchucking, Kate didn't know. Pregnancy tended to be perplexing, no doubt about it.
"I didn't think of it," she said before sinking her teeth into a chicken leg. She chewed, swallowed and blotted her lips on a paper napkin. "It's just that I hate to see dead oysters when my life has been dedicated to keeping them alive. Maybe that's silly, since the reason we're trying to save them is that we're trying to increase the world's food supply."
"What is it that you do with oysters?" Morgan asked. He figured if he showed more interest, maybe she'd get over her embarrassment sooner.
"At the moment, I have a part-time job collecting water samples from the creeks around Yaupon Island. I send them to the mainland to be tested for bacteria, which is how officials know when to close the oyster beds due to pollution. Before, I worked full-time for a marine lab, breeding disease-resistant oysters that aren't susceptible to a protozoan parasite called MSX. I have a Ph.D. in marine biology."
"MSX—it sounds like a motorcycle, not a parasite," he said.
"It's the Black Death as far as oysters are concerned," she said. She drew a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway," she went on, "I can't continue my work on Yaupon Island because I need a research facility and money and—well, I was participating in a program and had to leave. By the way, thanks for not giving up on me after my run to the ladies' room. The chicken is delicious."
"Here, have some potato salad," Morgan said, shoving the small container across the picnic table.
The wind ruffling his hair created a small imperfection in his looks, and it made him seem more real to her and less like the fierce stranger whom she'd confronted in his office earlier. He'd shucked his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves as soon as they arrived at the park, and Kate didn't feel nearly as intimidated by him in this setting. Still, even as he dismembered a chicken wing and drank sweet iced tea from a paper cup, Morgan exuded confidence and energy.
A crisp bit of batter had fallen on his paisley tie, and Kate wondered whether to tell him about it. He saw her looking, glanced down, and brushed the crumb away. It left a greasy mark, but he didn't seem to care. If Kate's judgment was correct, the tie was silk, but then Morgan Rhett probably owned a lot of silk ties.
"Have you been sick a lot?" he ventured.
"I usually feel terrific, but the first three months or so were awful. Morning sickness," she said with a grimace.
"You're seeing a doctor regularly?" he asked. "Had ultrasounds and all that?"
"Of course. The baby's healthy. After the second ultrasound, we could have learned the baby's sex. Courtney didn't want to know, so I don't either." Whether she carried a boy or a girl didn't matter to Kate. It wasn't like she was the one who had to decide whether to paint the nursery pink or blue.
Morgan had relaxed as he sorted out her story, and she hoped she had managed to make herself real to him. Certainly he seemed to have stepped off the pedestal where she'd inadvertently placed him due to his power, influence and reputation. Not that he seemed any less powerful, but she hadn't realized before that he was—well, so sexy. Virile was the word that came to mind, perhaps suggested by the rock-hard muscles outlined by the taut fit of his trousers. At some other time, some other place, Kate would have tried to impress him.
But there was no point in that now. All she wanted was for him to like her. If he liked her as a person, maybe he'd help her out of this jam, and he couldn't like her unless he knew her better.
"I tried to buy the Yaupon Light property for development a few years back," Morgan said. "The man who lived there sent me packing."
"That was Dad. According to the terms of my grandfather's will, you couldn't have bought the property—it was already destined for the hysterical society's museum."
"Hysterical society?"
Kate colored. "I always slip and say that. I mean the historical society."
He laughed. She hadn't heard him laugh before, and she liked the way it lit up his whole face. Perhaps he wasn't as straitlaced as he seemed.
She pushed the picnic fare away from her. "I really must be getting back to Preacher's Inlet. I parked the rental car in the parking garage near your office, and the parking fee will be enormous. If I wait any longer, I'll miss the last ferry," she said.
He was staring at her. She rubbed at the skin around her mouth because she thought she must have dribbled mayonnaise there, but the napkin came away clean. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought he was giving her the twice-over, the way men usually did when they were attracted to a woman.
She felt a flicker of excitement and quickly extinguished it. Morgan Rhett, lusted after by attractive young women in restauran
ts and other places, would have no interest in her. Nor did she want him to. No, all she wanted was for him to accept this baby as his own.
Morgan glanced at his watch. "What time is the last boat?" he asked. He had a deep, resonant voice, and it was a pleasure to listen to it.
"Seven o'clock," Kate said. "That is, if Gump hasn't enjoyed himself too much at the Merry Lulu Tavern."
"It's already six-thirty. You won't make it," he said.
She looked at her watch in dismay. "My watch has stopped," she said. She should have checked the time, but it had crept up on her. Like my panty hose, she thought. She'd be glad to get back to the island and her stretched-out sweats.
Except that getting back to the island tonight was impossible.
"I have no place to stay in Charleston, and I can't afford to pay two days' rental fee on the car," she said, sounding more woeful than she'd intended.
Morgan tossed the paper containers and plastic forks into a nearby garbage can. "What will you do?"
"I don't know," Kate said, disconcerted by his watchful blue eyes. She felt extremely anxious, and anxiety wasn't a normal emotion for her. To her dismay she felt her lower lip begin to tremble, so she bit down on it, hard.
"Well, don't fall apart," Morgan said with an unexpected degree of kindness. "You can drive back to Preacher's Inlet tomorrow."
"But—but—" Kate said. She could not cry again. She believed in holding back the big guns for the important battles, and with this man she was fighting to see that he took care of the baby. She should save her tears for when they would do her the most good, but her tears refused to cooperate. They stung high behind her nose and threatened to spill out the corners of her eyes.
"Kate, look at me," Morgan commanded. She opened her eyes, expecting the Great Flood to gush forth. We could build an ark, she thought glumly. Two by two we could climb aboard. But getting stuck with a woman who is ready to go forth and multiply certainly wouldn't be much of a bargain for Morgan Rhett. The fact that she was still able to think in a comical vein only proved that her emotional state was haywire.
Morgan helped her to her feet.
"I know a place where you can spend the night," he said quietly. "We'll turn in the rental car, and I'll see that you get back to Preacher's Inlet tomorrow morning."
"I'll be a bother—I didn't intend—" His very sincerity put her on guard, and a thought occurred to her. "What do you have in mind?" she asked in a more suspicious tone of voice.
He opened the door of the Mercedes and waited for her to traverse the short space between picnic bench and car. He took his time answering.
"I can assure you that if I had dishonorable intentions, I wouldn't choose a—how pregnant did you say you are?" She thought she detected the shadow of a grin.
"Six months," Kate replied, telescoping herself awkwardly into the front seat. She was beginning to get the hang of fitting her large self into this vehicle. It certainly beat the compact rental car for comfort and size, although she still considered the Mercedes ostentatious. She wiped her damp cheeks with the back of one hand.
Morgan walked around and opened the door on the driver's side, slinging his jacket onto the back seat. He got in and slanted an enigmatic look at her. "If I wanted to seduce someone, it wouldn't be you," he said.
She eyed him warily, sure that he meant to comfort her but not feeling the least bit consoled. No woman liked to feel that she was totally undesirable.
"What do you mean, you know a place where I can stay?" she asked.
"I have a sister," Morgan said. "Well, actually, I have two sisters and a brother, but Joanna is my only sibling who still lives in Charleston. She lives in a big house on Tradd Street only a stone's throw from my place. She has a guest room and will ask no questions. Oh, she also has three small children. Would that be a problem?"
Kate felt overwhelmed. "Everything is a problem right now," she said. "I don't know what to say. I can't cope, and I can't cope with not being able to cope!"
She fought panic. Things had seemed so easy and natural in the beginning of this pregnancy, and now her life had become one big snarl.
"You'll be fine with Joanna," Morgan said soothingly, which was what Kate wanted to hear, but she didn't know these people. She'd only just met Morgan Rhett, and now he was going to deposit her on his sister's doorstep like some kind of stray, which she supposed she was but didn't like admitting, and his sister Joanna was probably exactly like Courtney, and spending more than one hour with Courtney would have driven Kate out of her mind.
Kate lay back and watched the ships gliding past below as the Mercedes headed back across the bridge. The hot gleam of sun on the tight-knit traffic on busy Meeting Street made her close her eyes against the beginnings of a headache.
She didn't open them again until Morgan stopped the car in front of a white-painted, pierced-brick wall covered with wisteria vine. They were in the historic district. Indeed, Tradd Street was considered one of the most desirable Charleston addresses in which to live.
"I'll go in first and explain to Joanna," Morgan said.
"Explain?" she said in alarm. The air seemed heavy, turgid, and she couldn't draw enough of it into her lungs.
"Well, I can't just show up with a pregnant lady. Don't worry, I won't tell her about you and Courtney and me and the baby," he assured her, and before Kate could reply he was out of the car.
Kate heard children's voices raised in joyful greeting. In a minute or so, a blond cherub of a boy who looked about six or seven appeared and climbed on the iron gate in the middle of the wall, staring solemnly at Kate.
Morgan's baby could look like that, Kate thought, enchanted by the wide blue eyes and the soft tendrils of hair fluttering over his forehead as he swung to and fro amid the drooping wisteria blossoms. Who wouldn't love such a child? Who wouldn't want it?
Morgan reappeared in less than five minutes. She detected a spring in his step; he looked like he enjoyed solving this problem.
"Come on in, Joanna says she's happy to have you," he said enthusiastically, and this time he automatically reached down to pull her up beside him, his hand warm against hers. She stood uncertainly for a moment, tugging at her dress and yanking the scarf from her hair before stuffing it deep into her purse.
"Well, come on," Morgan said, urging her along with a firm but gentle hand at the small of her back, and she thought that she'd already put this man through enough today. She'd better follow along and do exactly what he said.
Halfway to the door she stumbled, and Morgan caught her elbow just in time to keep her from sprawling. She leaned against him, heart beating fast and embarrassed by her loss of balance.
"You're okay?" he asked anxiously. His upbringing had probably been that of a proper Southern gentleman: he stood when ladies approached his table, and she was sure he carried a clean handkerchief at all times. His kindness to her was no more than good breeding.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, although she wasn't sure that was true.
"Come along then," he said, and Kate wondered irrelevantly what Morgan had told his sister and how she viewed his bringing a strange woman—a strange and pregnant woman—to her house on the spur of the moment.
Beside a tall magnolia tree in the garden, a striking brunette disengaged herself from the clutching hands of yet another blond child, this one female, and hurried up the stairs of the piazza where Kate and Morgan stood waiting.
"Joanna, this is Kate. Kate, Joanna," Morgan said hurriedly. "Now, Kate, if you'll give me the keys to your rental car, I'll take care of returning it."
"But—"
"No arguments. The car's in the parking garage near my office? What level?"
Kate fished the keys and the parking stub out of her purse. "Second level," she mumbled.
"Done," Morgan said, pocketing the keys. "What time shall I pick you up in the morning?"
"The first ferry for the island leaves the inlet at seven."
"Too early. We'll catch the nine o'clock. There i
s a nine o'clock?"
"Nine-fifteen," Kate said weakly.
"I'll pick you up at eight so we won't have to rush. Thanks, Jo. Kate, be ready when I get here. I don't like to wait."
With that he was out the door, his sheer energy propelling him along, his muscles rippling beneath the expensively tailored shirt. From her position on the piazza, Kate saw him tousle the small gate-swinger's hair on the way.
Joanna smiled. There was something genuine and good-natured about her, and Kate liked her immediately. "Don't worry," Joanna said, "Morgan's always like that. In a hurry, I mean."
She picked up the small girl who clung to her hem. "This is Melissa, age three. That's Christopher hanging on the gate. And that," she said dramatically as a wail filled the air, "is Stoney. He's the baby. Don't look so alarmed, he's named Stonewall Jackson Dumont."
"Stonewall Jackson?" Kate repeated, trying to center her attention on matters at hand.
"Actually, he's Stonewall Jackson Dumont the Sixth. There's always been a Stonewall Jackson in my husband's family. They're named after the Civil War general who died after the Battle of Chancellorsville. Awful name, isn't it? Fortunately, the nicknames are passably cute. Come along, I expect you'll want to use the bathroom. I never dared to get more than a few feet away from one when I was pregnant." Like Morgan, Joanna spoke with a proper Charlestonian accent full of broad As, as in The cahf went down the pahth in an hour and a hahf.
Kate followed her into the house, a cool oasis after the heat and humidity outside. Joanna scooped the baby up from his cradle near the door and continued up the stairs past framed countenances of what Kate assumed were Rhett and Dumont ancestors.
"Charlie, my husband, is out of town on business," Joanna said over one shoulder. The baby hung over the other shoulder. He spotted Kate treading heavily behind his mother and smiled a wobbly smile. He had so few teeth that he looked like a jack o'lantern.
"This is your room," Joanna said, throwing open the door on a pink-and-green floral fantasy at the head of the stairs. "There's an adjoining bath through there," she said, indicating a door. "Morgan said that you've recently eaten?" She turned questioning eyes on Kate.
Morgan's Child Page 4
