“You’re holding the evidence of that in your hand.”
Slowly she lifted her fingers away from him as if it had demanded every ounce of willpower she possessed. Easing her torso away, she brushed the hair from her face with trembling hands. “Your making it much too difficult for me to think straight.”
“Don’t think, feel,” he encouraged. “Feel how much I want you.”
“It’s like you own me,” she whispered, fighting him as hard as she was fighting herself. “I tell myself I won’t let matters develop this far, and the next thing I know we’re in bed together. My head’s clouded enough without complicating everything with lovemaking.”
Kyle was stunned. “You’re serious, then. You honestly don’t want me to touch you?”
“Just for a little while, until my head’s clear.”
His own head was lost in a thick fog of disbelief. The only way he could comply with her request was to move off the bed.
“Where exactly does this leave us?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“I need to know what you’re looking for in our relationship.” he demanded in steely tones. “Because I’m telling you we can’t live like brother and sister, and that seems to be what you want.”
“That’s just it,” Carrie said, reaching for her coffee and holding on to the mug with both hands. “I don’t know what I want.”
“So you expect me to hang around with my tongue hanging out of my mouth while you take your own sweet time deciding.”
This whole business was becoming more and more unacceptable. Who would have ever thought he’d have such a difficult time persuading Carrie to marry him? Especially now.
“You’ve turned my proposal into an insult, you’ve trampled all over my pride,” he told her. “I’m beginning to think the only thing that would satisfy you is if I turned my back on you and walked away.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“For not trying, you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“Look at it from my point of view,” she pleaded. Setting the coffee aside, she knelt on top of the bed, her hands clenched at her sides. “For most of my life, other people have made my decisions for me. My father did his damnedest to steer me into a nursing career because he felt he knew what was best for me. He chose the college I attended, the boys I dated, the clothes I wore. My parents always seemed to know what was best for me. For once in my life I want to make decisions myself.”
“I’m not your father.”
“But you certainly seem to have a strong opinion about what I should do.”
“You’re pregnant with my child. We should be married.”
“There,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You just proved my point far better than any argument you might have offered. Why is it so all-fired important that we marry right now?”
He glared at her, not fully understanding his insistence himself. “Because it is.”
“I’m fully capable of raising a child on my own.”
“Oh, great,” he said sarcastically, tossing his arms into the air. “It’s just my luck to fall head over heels in love with another Murphy Brown. A baby needs a father just as much as a mother. I want to be there for my child, the way my father never was for me.”
“You can be,” she argued. “Nothing says you can’t play a major role in our child’s life.”
“Right. What are you willing to offer me? Weekend visitation rights?”
“Of course not. I was thinking we might consider living together for a while….”
Kyle froze, the very suggestion irking him.
“No, Carrie, I’m not willing to live with you. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a situation in which we both end up losers. If you don’t trust me enough to marry me, we have no business playing at being man and wife.”
“You need to understand where I’m coming from,” she argued.
“You need to understand a few things about me as well,” he said, his voice raised and hard. “I never knew my father. He walked out when my mother was pregnant with me. You’re worried about a man dominating your life. I would have welcomed a father with both arms.
“I want our child to have my name, not yours. I want to give our son or daughter the family I never had, to grow up feeling loved and secure. All you can think about are your rights. What about mine? What about our child’s?”
They stared at each other for several moments, each of them needing to absorb the other’s words.
“I’m not saying no to marriage,” Carrie murmured, “just that I need time.”
“You’ve got it,” Kyle said flatly. “One week.” With that he left the room, grabbed his shoes, and stalked out of the house. He moved quickly, needing to escape, so angry he could feel it on the soles of his feet.
He was at his rental car when Carrie threw open the front door. “I refuse to be put under time restrictions!” she called.
He didn’t dignify her words with a reply.
Carrie had rarely spent a more uncomfortable week. Kyle was polite, cordial, and cool. Not once did he pressure her, about marriage or anything else. It was as if they had no life outside the radio station. He was more polite than friendly, always congenial. Yet she felt as if they were separated by a barbed-wire fence. She was ill one morning, barely making it to the ladies’ room in time. Kyle was conveniently in the hallway outside the transmitter room when she came back out, but after mentally assessing her condition and deciding she was all right, he returned to the newsroom without a word.
In the evenings Kyle insisted upon coming home with her and checking out her house before he left. Although she didn’t see him again until the following morning, she had the distinct impression that he stopped by several times each night. For instance, he knew when she’d gone for a walk and when she returned and what time she’d gone to bed.
As far as she was concerned, this whole business with Sanders had been blown out of proportion. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of the counterfeiter, and she didn’t think Kyle had either. But she didn’t tell Kyle not to come.
Friday morning, Carrie arrived for work and found Kyle already at the news desk. He looked up expectantly when she came into the studio, as if he was waiting for something. It came to her then that his one-week deadline had passed.
“My week’s up?” she asked, playing it cool. She sat on the corner of his desk and dangled one leg.
“Have you decided what you want?” he asked calmly.
He wore the smug, superior look that used to drive her nuts. If he believed she would marry a man who planned to dominate and control her, he was destined for disappointment.
“I’ve done a good deal of thinking,” she murmured. Now wasn’t the time to allow pride to stand in her way. “I’ve taken into account what you’ve told me about your family, and I hope you’ve listened to what I’ve told you about mine.”
“I’ve listened.” His back was ramrod straight, his eyes hard and unyielding, as if he were braced for bad news.
“You want to give our baby your name? What if I told you there were ways we could do that without rushing into marriage?”
“Then I’d say you’ve made your decision.” He stood, ripped a sheet of paper out of his typewriter, and set it aside. She might have been wrong but it seemed to her that his eyes softened, and when he looked at her he didn’t seem nearly as stern or unforgiving.
She hopped down off his desk. “I’ve missed you.”
His eyes held hers and the beginnings of a smile touched his mouth, however briefly. “I’ve missed you too. You’ve become an important part of my life.”
“Your car’s out of the shop.” She’d noticed his BMW in the parking lot that morning.
“Finally.”
“Any problems?” It had been in the back of her mind from the moment she’d seen Sanders that he was waiting for Kyle’s vehicle.
“No,” he told her, walking over to the news wire as though
checking scores for the latest Wimbledon matches.
“You went over the car yourself, didn’t you.” She would have done so too. From the way his gaze shifted she had her answer. “You found something.”
“Yes,” he admitted softly, as though afraid someone might overhear their conversation.
“What?” She sat in the chair opposite his and rolled forward.
“This.” He removed a magnetic key holder from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hands. “Sanders didn’t hide the plates with me, he hid the key.”
“What’s it to?”
“Hell if I know. Probably a safety deposit box, but only God knows where.”
“You’ve told Richards?”
“Not yet.”
Her heart was pumping at record speed with dread and fear. Kyle was holding a lighted stick of dynamite.
“Why not?” she cried, vaulting to her feet. Kyle’s life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel if Sanders or that other bozo—Nelson somebody—got hold of him with that key.
“The significance of it didn’t hit me at first. I have one of these key boxes myself. It wasn’t until this morning after I’d arrived at work that I realized it wasn’t where I’d put it. I checked and, sure enough, there were two.”
“You didn’t realize there were two keys until just now?” she cried.
“I’ll contact Richards this morning. Trust me, I don’t have any desire to end up at the bottom of the Mississippi River wearing cement shoes.”
“Let’s put it someplace safe,” she suggested. “In Clyde’s office. He’d never know, and not knowing isn’t going to hurt him.”
“We can’t do that to Clyde.”
“Sure we can.”
“If you’re so worried about it, I’ll lock it in my desk.”
“Just get rid of it,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“All right, all right. There’s no need to get so upset.”
“No need? You could be killed!”
Every minute of her broadcast Carrie was aware of the key in Kyle’s possession. It was like a time bomb ticking away in the other room. As luck would have it, the day was filled with newsworthy events, and she didn’t think Kyle had an extra minute to himself.
When she’d finished with the morning program, she was sure Kyle hadn’t contacted Richards and was about to volunteer to do it herself when she heard a commotion in the reception area in front of the station.
“What’s that all about?” Kyle asked, sticking his head out of the newsroom.
“I don’t know.” Carrie stood in her office doorway. Then it hit her. The voice she heard was all too familiar. It belonged to her father.
Just then he broke past the receptionist and strode down the hallway toward Carrie.
“Carrie, baby,” he boomed, studying her carefully. “Is it true?”
“What, Daddy?”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Uh…”
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Her father leveled his gaze at the growing crowd of onlookers. “Now all I need to know is which one of these young men will own up to being the father of my little girl’s baby.”
14
“That would be me,” Kyle said, stepping forward without the least hesitation.
Michael Jamison tried to stare him down. “Do you plan on making an honest woman out of my little girl?”
“Daddy!” Carrie cried, mortified to the very marrow of her bones. She could feel color reddening her face and avoided making eye contact with anyone.
“What’s going on here?” Clyde asked, cutting through the milling crowd. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Michael Jamison glaring at Kyle as if he meant to tear him limb from limb.
“Either this young man agrees to marry my Carrie, or by God he’ll face the consequences,” Carrie’s father muttered.
“Daddy, leave the station right this minute!” Carrie demanded, stepping in front of Kyle. Outraged, she was ready to do battle, if it came to that.
“You going to hide behind a woman, son?”
“Not on your life,” Kyle said, firmly placing Carrie behind him.
“It seems the two of us have some talking to do.”
“No problem,” Kyle answered.
“Mr. Jamison—” Clyde started to say, but he wasn’t allowed to finish.
“It’d be best if we stepped outside,” Kyle said matter-of-factly.
“Kyle!” Carrie clawed her way in front of him. “My dad outweighs you by fifty pounds.”
“I admit to being the father of your child,” Kyle said readily. “And as of this morning we aren’t getting married, so if your father cares to discuss the situation with me, he’d best do it now.”
Exasperated, Carrie threw her hands in the air. “This is the most outlandish, stupid thing you’ve ever done.”
“Me?” Kyle asked calmly.
“No,” Carrie cried, “I’m talking to my father! Can’t we please sit down and discuss this calmly?”
“You’re going to have a baby with a ring on your finger. Let me tell you, Carrie, that’s pretty damn emotional. We’ll discuss it here and now, just the way I want. Your young man and I can settle our differences behind my pickup, man to man.”
“Michael Jamison, you’re making a damn fool out of yourself.”
“Mom!” Carrie was never more relieved in her life to see her mother. The two women hugged briefly.
“Us two men have some talking to do.”
“Then for the love of heaven, do so,” Patsy Jamison cried. “I swear, Michael, you’re enough to test the very saints.”
Carrie’s father looked downright sheepish. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of our little Carrie being an unwed mother.”
“Perhaps you and Kyle would like to talk this over with your parents privately,” Clyde suggested, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. “I believe we could all do with a bit less excitement.” And Clyde promptly dispersed the crowd.
“Mom, Dad,” she said, ushering her parents into her office. Kyle followed, rolling in another chair.
Carrie checked her watch and was grateful to note that Kyle wasn’t due back to report the news for another twenty minutes. With luck that would be time enough to resolve this mess.
Carrie wasn’t exactly sure whether or where to start. The first burning question was how her parents had learned of her pregnancy. She couldn’t believe her sister would break her confidence.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jamison,” Kyle said, taking control of the situation. He sat Carrie down and stood behind her, his hands gently cupping her shoulders. “First of all, you should know I care for your daughter.”
“You have a name?”
“Kyle Harris.”
“Kyle Harris.” Her father repeated it as if he needed to test the name on his tongue to gauge Kyle’s character. He repeated it a second and a third time until he was satisfied, then directed his attention toward Carrie.
“Then all I want to know is when’s the wedding?”
Carrie straightened and opened her mouth to defy her father, who had humiliated her beyond reason. But Kyle tightened the grip on her shoulders and spoke before she had the opportunity. “I believe that’s between your daughter and me.”
Her father’s face tightened.
“I can understand your feelings,” Kyle interjected smoothly. “But we’re both over twenty-one and perfectly capable of making our own decisions.”
“He’s right, dear,” Patsy Jamison agreed, with a nod of her head.
“Did Cathie tell you?” This was the most pressing question on Carrie’s mind.
“Not directly,” her mother responded. “I phoned her a couple of days ago and she seemed so pleased about something, and when I pressed her she told me a very good friend of hers was having a baby.”
“You guessed from that little bit of information that it was me?”
“Oh, no,” Patsy said hurriedly. “I got to talking ab
out this new crochet pattern I found for a baby blanket and how I’d buy yarn and make one up for her friend. Cathie changed the subject. That seemed odd to me, but I didn’t let on.
“Then, later in the conversation, I asked her how the visit had gone with the two of you while you were in Dallas, and Cathie told me you’d left abruptly because of problems with a newscaster.”
“Is that you, young fella?” Michael wanted to know.
“Yes, sir.”
“That was when Cathie mentioned that you two were involved, and I immediately started asking about the possibility of a wedding and how we should start making plans right away if the two of you were truly serious.
“The country club is booked all the way into next April, and if there’s going to be a wedding I want the reception there. I have no intention of pressuring either of you. I just feel it’s important for me to know exactly how serious you are.” She paused and drew in a deep breath before continuing. “That was when Cathie said she felt you and your young man were very serious. She even hinted that I shouldn’t be disappointed if you decided to get married real soon.”
Carrie realized her sister had gotten caught in her own trap.
“Something in your sister’s voice clued me in to the fact that when she was talking about her pregnant friend she was really talking about you,” Patsy concluded.
Her father wiped a hand across his weary face. “When your mother got upset, I figured we’d better drive up and ask you face-to-face if you were pregnant or not.”
“I had no idea your father was going to rush in here and behave like an idiot while I was in the ladies’ room,” Patsy said apologetically, tossing a pointed look at her husband.
“I know my daughter,” Michael insisted. “That girl’s as stubborn as a mule. The two of us have been butting heads for more years than I can count.”
“Oh, Michael, stop. I’m going to be a grandmother. Just think of it!” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “We’re about to become grandparents. I can hardly wait.”
“You gonna marry my little girl or not?” her father demanded of Kyle.
“That’s up to Carrie.”
“She’ll marry you,” Michael said with complete confidence. “I’ll make damn sure of that.”
One Night Page 17
