Always

by Ginna Gray

  Meghan lowered the receiver, but she stood with her hand still on it and closed her eyes. Her face crumpled with pain. "Goodbye, my love."

  * * *

  The weeks that followed were the worst time of Meghan's life. Misery didn't even come close to describing what she felt. The first time she had lost Rhys, over eight years earlier, she had suffered unbearable heartache, but that was nothing compared to her current agony. She hurt all the way to her soul.

  Without Rhys, the future loomed before her, large and dark and empty. In some remote corner of her consciousness Meghan knew that she would eventually take solace in her baby—Rhys's baby—that she would love and cherish this child made from their love, and that through that love she would walk in the sunshine again someday. But not yet. Not yet.

  In addition to the emotional pain and depression, Meghan was tired and sick all the time and riddled with anxiety over her pregnancy. She made her first visit to an obstetrician two days after her return to Dallas, and learned that she was already three months along. Meghan realized, then, that she had probably gotten pregnant that first time with Rhys at the waterfall.

  Except for her neighbor, Joan Anderson, who was the closest friend she had made in Dallas, Meghan kept the news of her pregnancy to herself. She dreaded telling her boss almost as much as she dreaded telling her family.

  For all his gruffness and taciturn manner, Wilson Howly was a decent man of old-fashioned values and opinions, and Meghan hated the thought of possibly losing his respect. He also felt a deep sense of responsibility for his employees, and he was still experiencing terrible remorse over the kidnapping, blaming himself for sending her on the assignment against her wishes. Meghan also feared that when Mr. Howly learned she was expecting a child he would blame Rhys, and she did not want that.

  So she slogged through the lonely days by rote, telling no one of her secret, dragging her listless body and aching heart like a dead weight. The job she had previously found so stimulating was just something to get through. She refused all her friends' invitations, she didn't answer her telephone and responded to only her family's messages on her answering machine, and then only after they had called repeatedly and desperation had begun to make their voices edgy.

  She had no interest in talking to anyone or seeing anyone. She could not concentrate enough to read, and television just made her more jittery. Food did not appeal to her, not even when her uneasy stomach behaved. Sleep came in snatches that left her tired and untested.

  Life became an endurance test.

  It soon became obvious to everyone at her office that something was wrong. There were circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could cover, and she was pale and wan and gaunt looking. Where she had once been a little dynamo, she was now listless and mopy. Even her vivid hair had dulled.

  Worst of all, her emotions were on a perpetual roller-coaster ride. Everyone was patient with her, even Mr. Howly, but one day when she broke down and bawled because the copy machine ran out of paper, he reached his limit. Taking her firmly by the arm, he marched her into his office, planted her in a chair, shoved a box of tissue into her hands and told her to "blow." When the storm of emotion passed he demanded an explanation.

  Once started, the whole story came pouring out. Though shocked, Mr. Howly was sympathetic and surprisingly supportive, although, as she had feared, it was apparent that he held Rhys responsible.

  He demanded to know what Rhys was going to do about the situation, and was appalled when she admitted that she had not yet told him of her condition. Mr. Howly threatened and ranted, and as she watched him pound his desk Meghan wondered what it was about her that made men treat her as though she were a vestal virgin. Fearing he would call Rhys himself, she let him think she planned to tell him of the baby soon.

  Meghan had no intention of ever saying anything to Rhys, but she knew that she had to tell her family before too much longer. Still, she continued to put it off. She did not even go home for Thanksgiving.

  Everyone assumed she would, and she did not correct them. David and Abbey also lived in Dallas, but-fortunately for Meghan, because of the twins, their car was so filled with baby paraphernalia there was no room for her to ride with them. On Thanksgiving morning she deliberately waited until her cousin and his family had left for Crockett, then called her mother, pretending to have the flu.

  The deception made Meghan feel horrible. She knew that her parents and the rest of the family were disappointed, especially since they all felt that her safe return had given them a special reason to be thankful this holiday. But Meghan couldn't help it. She was still too heartsick and too shaky to face them.

  Her unhappiness, far from easing, grew deeper and darker with each passing day. Nor did her energy return. According to the pamphlets her obstetrician had given her, the awful lethargy and generally lousy feeling was supposed to fade in the second trimester, but as December dragged on, so did Meghan.

  When she went in for her monthly checkup a week before Christmas, Dr. Sawyer fixed her patient with a stern look over the top of her glasses and delivered an ultimatum.

  "Quit work?" Meghan stared at the older woman, shocked. "But.. .but why? Most women work into their eighth month."

  "True. But if you go on the way you are, you won't make it to eight months. Look at you. You're four and a half months pregnant, and you weigh less now than when I first saw you."

  "My clothes are getting tighter," Meghan countered sullenly.

  "That's because the baby is growing. While you, on the other hand, are becoming emaciated. You need rest and plenty of it. You need someone to look after you and coddle you, since you obviously won't take care of yourself."

  "But-"

  Dr. Sawyer held up her hand. "If you want this child, you'll do as I say." Her features softened at the sudden alarm in Meghan's face. "Meghan, I know that you've elected not to involve this child's father in the birth, and that you live alone. I'm sorry, my dear, but that simply won't do. Is there anyone to whom you can turn for help? Someone with whom you can stay, who'll see after you until the baby is born?"

  Meghan stared at her, a feeling of inevitability settling over her like a heavy cape. Apparently, whether she was ready or not, the time had come to face her family.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "I said no. No tours."

  Rhys stood on the terrace surrounding his penthouse apartment, his back to Quincy, who huddled in the warmth just inside the open French door. The raw wind cut through Rhys's pullover sweater like a blade of ice, but he didn't care. He barely noticed. Bracing his hands on the railing, he stared at the glittery New York skyline, decked out in Christmas lights.

  "Now, Rhys, have I ever steered you wrong? Believe me, a tour is just what you need. It'll snap you out of this blue funk you've been in for the past couple of months and take your mind off Meghan. Besides, your popularity has shot right through the roof. We need to move fast and take advantage of all the interest the kidnapping generated. Free publicity like that is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It would be a crime to waste it."

  Rhys turned slowly and conducted a frowning study of his manager. "What do you know about Meghan?"

  "What? Who me? Why nothing."

  "You just said a tour would help me take my mind off her. I never said I was thinking of Meghan. I haven't even mentioned her name since I got back, so why did you assume that she was on my mind?''

  "Well, hell, I don't know." Quincy spread his hands wide, clinking the ice cubes in the glass of Scotch he was holding. "I guess I just assumed—"

  "You've been in touch with her, haven't you?" Rhys narrowed his eyes. "What did you say to her, Quincy?"

  "Now, Rhys-"

  "Tell me."

  "I just touched base with her to see how she was. That's all." Rhys's stare did not waver, and Quincy shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. "Well...I, uh...I may have mentioned that you were seeing a lot of Larette—"

  "What!"

  "Well, you were at
the time!''

  "I was running into her everywhere I went because you made sure she was there!"

  "Now, Rhys, there's no reason for you to get upset. You know I only want what's best for you."

  "Did you make Meghan think that—"

  The ringing of the telephone cut him off. Cursing under his breath, Rhys stomped inside and snatched it up. "Hello."

  As he listened to the man oh the other end of the line every muscle in his body tensed and his heart began to pound. "How is she?" he demanded, and paused to listen again. "Right. I'll be there in a few hours. I'm leaving right now."

  "Leaving for where?" Quincy challenged, the instant Rhys slammed down the receiver.

  Ignoring him, Rhys picked it up again and punched out a number. When his pilot answered he told him to get the jet ready and file a flight plan for DFW. They would take off as soon as Rhys could get to the airport.

  "DFW!" Quincy squawked. He dogged Rhys's heels as he strode into his bedroom and began throwing clothing and travel articles into a suitcase. "You can't go to Dallas. You can't go anywhere. You've got a benefit tomorrow night. Remember?"

  "Cancel it."

  "The hell I will! You're going to Dallas to see that Mc-Call woman, aren't you? Well, if you think I'm going to stand by and let you throw your career away over that little nobody, you're mista—"

  Just shy of the front door, Rhys whirled and snatched Quincy up by his shirtfront, lifting him up on his tiptoes. He brought the older man's face to within an inch of his own. "I'm going to Dallas because my grandmother has fallen and broken her hip. That was her doctor calling. But I'm glad you mentioned Meghan because you reminded me of what I wanted to say to you before he called.''

  "W-what's that?" Quincy gulped, bug-eyed.

  "You're fired."

  " What! Rhys, you cant—"

  "I warned you to stay out of my private life and you didn't listen. Now I want you gone. Period." He released Quincy with a shove that sent the smaller man staggering back, and slammed out the door.

  * * *

  Rhys arrived in Dallas around midnight and found his grandmother looking wan but in good spirits, if a bit woozy on pain medication. She was scheduled for surgery at six the next morning, but her primary concern seemed to be finding out if he was alone.

  "You didn't bring that awful Farraday woman, did you?"

  "No, Gran."

  "Good. Can't abide that creature, I don't care if she is your girlfriend." Ella Morgan gave her grandson a bleary-eyed look of censure and shook an arthritic finger at his nose. "I swear to goodness, I don't know what's gotten into you, Rhys Morgan, running all over creation with a cheap floozy like that," she mumbled in a slurred voice as her crepey eyelids began to droop. "Don't think I haven't seen those pictures of the two of you together. Why, they're plastered all over all the papers. I certainly hope you're not thinking of marrying that woman."

  Rhys's mouth twitched. It occurred to him fleetingly that she would adore Meghan.

  He bent and kissed her papery cheek and smoothed a wisp of silver hair off her face. "No, Gran, I promise you I'm not. And for the record, Larette is not and never has been my girlfriend. Those photos were set up by Quincy, who, I might add, I fired this evening."

  Her heavy eyelids lifted partway, and through the fog of medication her gray eyes gleamed into his with approval. "Did you, now? Well, good riddance to both of them, I say." Her eyes drifted down again and she folded her gnarled hands on top of the cover and pursed her mouth, looking so smug Rhys almost laughed. "Never did cotton to that Quincy fella. Reminded me of a snake-oil salesman used to come by my pa's place when I was a young 'un.''

  Ella Morgan underwent hip-joint-replacemsnt surgery the next morning, eight days before Christmas. She pulled through with no complications and her recovery went even better than the doctors expected. Nevertheless, except to bathe and catch a few hours sleep now and then at the hotel across the street, Rhys barely budged from her side for the next week... not until Ella all but tossed him out.

  "Go on, now, get outta here. It's not right that a young man like you should be spending Christmas Eve with a crippled-up old woman. You should be at a party, having fun."

  "Gran, I'm not going to leave you alone on Christmas. I'd rather be here with you, anyway. Besides, I don't have a party to go to. I hardly know anyone in Dallas anymore.''

  You know Meghan, his heart stubbornly reminded him, but he forced the thought aside and gave her a determined smile.

  "What nonsense. You're a celebrity. Why, I bet you could find a dozen parties to go to if you tried. And it's useless for you to stay with me now. They'll be transferring me to the physical-therapy unit upstairs in just a bit anyway, and visiting hours up there are restricted. So just go on with you."

  Five minutes later, Rhys found himself sitting in his rental car in the hospital parking garage, staring out into space.

  He tapped the steering wheel. There was no one he particularly wanted to see, except Meghan, and he wasn't sure that was wise.

  When he had left New York, beneath the worry over his grandmother had run a current of excitement. All during the plane ride Rhys had pictured himself going to Meghan and clearing up whatever damage Quincy had done, then sweeping her up in his arms, all their problems solved. However, this past week he'd had time to do some thinking, and he'd realized that he might be assuming too much. If he followed through on that fantasy, he might only succeed in making a fool of himself. Just because Quincy had lied to Meghan about his relationship with Larette, didn't necessarily mean that was the reason she had broken off with him. It was entirely possible that she had been telling the truth when she said she didn't love him.

  But then, again... what if she hadn't?

  Rhys drummed his fingers on the steering wheel again and glanced at his watch. He supposed he could drop by Jacobson and Howly for a cordial visit. He hadn't been in touch with the public-relations firm since he and Meghan returned. Since he was in town anyway, it seemed rude not to extend the professional courtesy of paying a call and telling Wilson Howly how satisfied he was with the job his company had done. And if he happened to run into Meghan white he was there... well...

  Without giving himself time to change his mind, Rhys started the car and headed down the garage ramp.

  When he arrived at the public-relations agency the staff was having a Christmas party, and merriment seemed to be the order of the day. A few heads turned as Rhys made his way through the crowd, but most people were either too caught up in their revelry or had consumed too much holiday cheer to pay much attention to him.

  An attempt had been made to make the offices look festive, Rhys noticed as his eyes darted around in search of a mane of familiar bright hair. Twisted strips of red and green crepe paper hung around the room in swags, and candles and plastic reindeer and Santas and those little crystal domes that "snowed" when you shook them sat on many of the desks, and almost every doorway sported a sprig of mistletoe. The lopsided Christmas tree in the lobby had already been stripped of presents, and gay wrapping paper and ribbons were scattered on the desktops, along with plates of half-eaten food and paper cups with holiday wreaths printed on them.

  Rhys located Wilson Howly without much trouble. He expected a warm greeting like the one he had received in June, but when he shook hands with the firm's senior partner he sensed a coolness in the other man.

  Wilson immediately ushered Rhys into his private office and closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the party.

  "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Morgan?" the elder man asked when they were seated.

  "Not really. I was in town, and I thought while I was here I'd pay a visit and tell you how pleased I was with your firm's services."

  Wilson stiffened and his jowly face suffused with angry color. It was clear the man was affronted by the compliment, but for the life of him Rhys could not figure out why.

  "I imagine you are. Why Wouldn't you be? But let me assure you, sir, that we h
ere at Jacobson and Howly are not in the business of providing that kind of service."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I just want you to know that Meghan is a sweet and decent person, with a trusting nature. In my opinion, only a true scoundrel would take advantage of that.''

  "I agree. Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting the feeling that you're angry with me about something. Something to do with Meghan. Look, if my manager has been giving you trouble about paying your company's entire fee I'll be glad to straighten it out. Meghan did a great job for us. It was hardly her fault that the tour was cut short."

  "We were paid in full, thank you."

  "Oh. I see. Well, fine. Did Meghan complain about the way she was treated? The working conditions?"

  "No, not at all."

  "Well, good, good. I'm glad." Where the hell did he go from there? He hadn't a clue what was bugging the man. "Uh, speaking of Meghan... Where is she?" he said as casually as he could manage, and topped his head toward the outer office."I didn't see her out there."