“What about Appel?” Morgan asked, still avoiding the topic of their marriage.
“Paxton sent officers to his house to bring him in for questioning. We can’t be certain Appel was the person in Lashner’s study, but he was the only board member without a blackmail report in Lashner’s file.”
He circled her with his arm. She rested her head on his shoulder, wishing she could stay there forever, and gathered up her courage. The status of their relationship had to be determined. She had to know if their marriage was over. “It’s not Appel I’m worried about.”
“You should be,” a voice boomed behind them.
Ben leaped to his feet, and Morgan jumped up beside him. Terrence Appel, his eyes glittering with a strange light, stood in the doorway, holding a large glass vial of clear liquid in front of him.
“How did you get in?” Ben demanded.
Appel smiled. “I charmed Mrs. Denny before you arrived. Told her I had important information on the murder of Frank Winters. She opened the gate, then the front door, and said I could wait for you.”
“Where is she?” Morgan asked. “You didn’t hurt her?”
“She’s in the kitchen, trussed up like a chicken,” Appel said, “but all right. For now.”
Waving the glass vial, he walked toward them.
Ben, amazingly relaxed, advanced to meet him. “What’s this all about, Terrence?”
“If Rob’s plan had worked, I’d be a powerful and wealthy man,” Appel said.
“You’re already powerful and wealthy,” Ben said in a reasonable voice.
Appel shook his head. “It wasn’t enough.”
Morgan noted the desperation in the man’s eyes. Ben had told her Appel was a multimillionaire. His crazed desire for more money made no sense.
Appel must have seen the puzzlement on her face. “I’m a self-made man,” he explained. “Raised myself from poverty and nothingness by my own bootstraps.”
“You should be proud of your accomplishments,” Ben said. “Don’t throw away all you’ve worked so hard for.”
Appel’s bitter laugh crackled in the stillness. “I already have. Bad investments. Gambling debts. The money from the sale of that formula was my only hope.”
“There’s always hope,” Morgan said softly, trying to calm the man’s agitation.
His thatch of thick white hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. “Not if I’m dead. Without the money to pay back my debts, I’ll be killed by the sharks who covered my gambling obligations. That money was my only chance to stay alive, and now you two have ruined everything.”
“Have a seat,” Ben said. “I’ll fix you a drink and we’ll see what we can work out. I can loan you the money to pay off your tab.”
Morgan wondered why Ben kept talking until she realized he was stalling, waiting for Harper to return from the garage. Together he and Harper could overpower the older but athletic man. Ben had dispatched her bald abductor with ease, but the effort had taxed him, evidenced by the strain on his face and the almost imperceptible flinch when he moved his right arm.
Appel held his ground. “I have my pride. I’d rather die than take charity from you. Everything I’ve worked for all my life will be gone. Now that Rob Lashner’s been arrested, he’ll spill the facts about my involvement, just to ease his own punishment. My reputation will be ruined. Even if I don’t go to prison for the rest of my life, I’ll be back where I started fifty years ago. A penniless nobody.”
Morgan’s anger boiled over. “At least you’re alive. That’s more than I can say for my father.”
“All life is fleeting.” Appel glanced at his watch. “And ours will be over in just a few minutes.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ben said easily.
“Don’t count on Harper.” Appel lifted his eyebrows in a patronizing smirk. “I knocked him out cold before coming back into the house.”
Without Harper’s assistance, Ben was too exhausted to handle Appel on his own. Morgan would have to help, but Appel was too strong for her to attack without a weapon. She eased toward the fireplace with her hands behind her back and grasped the handle of the brass poker.
“You’ve always been a straight shooter,” Ben was saying to Appel. “How did you get embroiled in gambling debts?”
“You couldn’t understand,” Appel said with a sneer, “how humiliating it is to bow and scrape before a chairman of the board who’s a boy half your age. Your immature ideas cost me millions. Too many times you vetoed lucrative projects over my objections. I’d hoped my gambling wins would recoup what my rejected projects would have brought in.”
Ben displayed no reaction to the specious insults. “Sit down and let’s talk this out. More violence isn’t the answer “
Appel threw back his head and issued a high-pitched laugh that raised the hair on Morgan’s neck. “You can’t talk your way out of this, my glibtongued friend. My life is over. I have nothing left but revenge.”
Ben stepped toward him.
“Stay back,” Appel shouted. “When I’m ready, I’ll toss this vial into the fire. An appropriate ending for us all, don’t you think, blown to bits by Frank’s formula that started this whole mess?”
“At least let Morgan go. She’s done nothing to you.” Ben spoke to Appel, but his eyes met hers unflinchingly. The intensity of the love reflected in their brown depths filled her with an incredible peacefulness, in spite of her fear.
Determined that Appel would not steal their chance for happiness, she gripped the poker firmly and, pretending to head for the door, sidled closer to the old man.
“She hasn’t done anything-except help destroy my plans.” Appel glared at her, and she stopped. “She stays here and dies with us.”
Appel stood about eight feet from the fireplace, Morgan within a few feet of him, and Ben remained close to the hearth, where he could see the poker she clasped behind her, hidden from Appel’s view. She glanced at Ben, who bent his head in an almost indiscernible nod.
Appel detected Ben’s gesture. “Scheming won’t help you now.”
He lifted the vial and cocked his arm. Morgan twirled the poker from behind her back and slashed it across Appel’s wrist.
Too late.
He had released the vial.
As if in slow motion, the glass cylinder turned end over end, tumbling in an unerring arc toward the burning embers, enough gasoline substitute to level half the house in the resulting explosion.
From the corner of her eye, Morgan saw Ben flex his knees and, with a tightening of his powerful thighs, lunge in front of the hearth, arms extended.
He landed on his stomach. The vial careered off his open hands and bounced toward the fireplace. Whipping onto his back, he thrust his right hand across the hearth, seized the vial and snatched it away, just inches before it could shatter in the fire.
Weapon at the ready, Morgan guarded the cringing Appel, who cradled his broken wrist against his chest and whimpered. Ben hoisted himself to his feet and placed the vial gently on the coffee table.
“Unlike you, Terrence—” Ben lifted his gaze to hers “—I’m not ready to die. I have too much to live for.”
“Me, too.” Morgan returned Ben’s tender glance with a wholehearted smile, handed him the poker and picked up the phone to call the police.
PREDAWN LIGHT illuminated the gulf. Ben stretched his arms above his head and inhaled the salty tang of the breeze blowing through the open living room windows.
The police had left, taking Appel with them. Ben had showered, but he couldn’t sleep. He had dressed in jeans and a sweater and returned to the living room. The house was strangely quiet. For the first time since the fire that killed Frank, an enormous weight had lifted from Ben’s shoulders and his spirit.
Footsteps sounded on the terra-cotta tiles of the foyer, and he turned as Morgan entered the room. If he lived to be three hundred, he would never tire of looking at her. Even with her bruised cheek and violet shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes, she w
as the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her tousled mass of golden hair framed the perfection of her oval face, her blue eyes sparkled with a zest for living, and her smooth, supple lips curved in a seductive smile. She had exchanged her rumpled, oversized clothes for a sapphire velour robe, belted at the waist, that paradoxically highlighted her feminine curves while covering them from head-to-toe.
“Mrs. Denny is settled,” she said. “She should sleep for hours. I gave her the tranquilizer Dr. Hendrix prescribed with a cup of herb tea.”
“Good,” he said with a nod. “Tom took Harper to the hospital. Even though his concussion is mild, Tom wants to keep him under observation for twenty-four hours.”
“That means we have the house to ourselves,” she said in a breathless voice.
“And about time, too.” His mind overflowed with images of making slow, languorous love to her in every room.
She flushed, as if reading his thoughts. “Before he left this morning, did Paxton say what was in the journal my father gave Esther?”
Ben nodded. “Frank wrote you a long letter. Part of it instructs you to take it to the police. He outlines his conflict with Lashner over the formula and gives dates and times of every threat Lashner made.”
Her eyes blurred with tears. “And the other part?”
“It’s personal, but Paxton had to read it, in case there was more about Lashner. Your father expressed his wish that you’d find a good man to marry and have children who’d make you as happy and proud as you made him.”
A single tear flowed down her cheek. “May I have the journal back?”
“After the trial.” He folded her in his arms.
She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Then everything will be finished.”
He drew back and lifted her chin until their gazes met. “Lashner will be finished, but you and I? We’re only beginning.”
A lump formed in his throat at the love that flared in her face before she closed her eyes and raised her lips toward his. Postponing his longing, he released her and stepped away.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.” He kept his voice matter-of-fact.
“Oh.” Disappointment flickered across her face before she turned toward the door. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
He caught her hand and tugged her back, crushing her against his chest. “Don’t go. I’ll need your help.”
She snuggled against him. “What should I do?”
“Nothing, for now.” He lifted her in his arms. “I want to carry my wife to bed.”
“Your wife? I am, aren’t I?” She clasped her hands behind his neck. “I like the sound of that.”
“We’ve had the wedding. It’s time for a honeymoon.” He carried her across the living room, into the foyer and onto the wide stairs.
“Stop!” she cried, halfway up.
He halted. “You haven’t changed your mind?”
“Not on your life.” She caressed the stubble on his chin before skimming her hand over his injured chest. “But shouldn’t you rest? What about your wound?”
He beamed her a Gable grin. “Frankly, my dear, I have more important things in mind.”
The tugging at the corners of her delectable mouth canceled her solemn expression. “What’s more important than your health?”
Love expanded inside him, almost crushing him with its power. “I want to give you something.”
She raised one eyebrow. “A gift?”
“For both of us, actually.”
“What is it?”
He continued up the stairs. “The children your father wished for you.”
She traced his lips with her finger, shooting fireworks through his blood. “I suppose you’ll be all right if we take things slow.”
“As slow as you like.” He stepped through the bedroom door. “We have the rest of our lives.”
Epilogue
“Daddy!” Frank’s short, pudgy legs pumped as he darted across the lawn toward the terrace.
Ben, who had just come in from work, scooped the two-year-old into his arms. “How’s my favorite boy?”
Frank looped his short arms around his father’s neck. “Need a hug.”
“One hug, coming up.” Ben wrapped his arms around the boy and squeezed. Frank giggled with delight.
Morgan laid aside the bestseller she’d been reading to watch her husband and son. Their enthusiastic embrace filled her with the warm glow of contentment.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked from her lounge chair.
“Don’t get up,” Ben said. “Mrs. Denny is bringing iced tea.”
He slid Frank to the terrace, and the boy ran back to his toys scattered on the back lawn.
“Get up?” Morgan grinned and smoothed the fabric of her maternity top. “I’d need a construction crane to haul me out of here.”
He braced his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned down for a lingering kiss that, even after three years of marriage, shot fireworks through her veins.
“You doing okay?” He sank into the chair beside her and accepted a glass of tea from the tray Mrs. Denny offered.
Morgan took her glass and waited until the housekeeper returned inside. “I can’t decide whether I feel more like a duck or a dumpling-and still two weeks to go.”
Ben smiled. “It’ll be nice having a daughter, especially if she takes after her mother.”
Morgan set her glass on the table beside her chair and reached for Ben’s hand. “You look tired. Bad day?”
“Just busy.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Have you heard the news?”
“Frank and I haven’t turned on a TV or radio all day. He loves being outdoors. He’d sleep out here if we let him.” With a full heart and misty eyes, she gazed at her son. “I wish Dad could see him.”
Ben squeezed her fingers. “He’d be very proud. Frank’s a great kid. I bust my buttons every time I look at him.”
“Was something interesting on the news?”
He cupped his other hand over their joined ones. “Terrence Appel died in his prison cell today. A heart attack.”
Her memories of Appel’s and Lashner’s attempts to kill her and Ben held no terror. Three years of indescribable happiness had not only dulled those fears but blunted the pain of losing her father. “Wasn’t his release scheduled for next month?”
Ben nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? The judge showed mercy with Appel’s light sentence. Too bad he didn’t live long enough to benefit from it.”
“Thank God Lashner’s verdict was a different story and his army of highly paid lawyers weren’t able to overturn his life sentence.”
Morgan watched the sun sink through low clouds along the horizon and turn the blue waters of the gulf golden. Her father had died, and she and Ben had almost been killed. But time had proved the old adage that good could come from even the greatest tragedy. She and Ben had found fulfillment in their marriage. And they’d been blessed with little Frank and his soon-to-be-born sister.
She glanced at Ben to find him gazing at her.
“You look like you just won the lottery,” he said.
She sighed with contentment. “In some ways, I suppose I have.”
“As of today, Chemco, too,” he said.
“What?”
“We hit the jackpot.” His expression when he spoke of his company was only slightly less proud than the one with which he’d regarded his son. “Your father’s formula—”
“No! You haven’t sold it?” She bolted upright with amazing swiftness for a woman in her stage of pregnancy.
He leaned closer to brush a curl off her cheek, and excitement sparkled in his eyes. “Our new chemist took your father’s notes and used them to modify the formula.”
“It works, without the risk?”
“Yes and no. Your father was convinced the formula was too unstable to be used like gasoline. But with a few minor adjustments he’d suggested, it becomes a safe and effective industrial lubrican
t that will triple Chemco’s profits.”
No wonder Ben looked pleased. When Lashner and Appel were convicted, Chemco’s reputation had been seriously damaged. Ben had worked hard to repair the company’s good name and bring up profits. Today his hard work had paid off.
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “And you deserve all the credit.”
Hand in hand they watched the horizon swallow the last sliver of sun while Frank pushed his trucks across the grass in the warm twilight. The clouds turned brilliant tangerine and mango, a salty breeze rustled the fronds of a nearby palm, and the fragrance of honeysuckle sweetened the air.
“What more could we want than what we have this minute?” Ben said, contentedly.
She winced. “Mrs. Denny and Harper.”
“Yes,” he agreed, misunderstanding, “we’re lucky to have them, too.”
“Ben, please.” She struggled to sit upright and grimaced in pain. “Ask Mrs. Denny to watch Frank and tell Harper to bring the car.”
Ben’s handsome face paled beneath his tan. “You mean—”
Her contraction subsided, and she giggled at the panic on his face. “Your daughter has managed to make your perfect day complete. She’s decided to come early.”
Ben scooped her into his arms and carried her into the house, shouting for Mrs. Denny and Harper as he went, little Frank in tow. Morgan snuggled against his chest and nestled her head in the hollow of his neck.
Thank you, Daddy, she thought, your wishes for me have all come true.
eISBN 978-14592-6850-0
BEN’S WIFE
Copynght © 1997 by Charlotte Douglas
All nghts reserved Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work m whole or in part in any form by any electronic. mechanical or other means. now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retneval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterpnses Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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