A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE

by Beverly Barton

  "Hell!" He forked his fingers through his thick hair. "I tried to explain to you then that I had to get away, that I couldn't stay here in Birmingham and live the life my parents had planned for me.

  "When I first left town, I thought that you belonged to that life. A life I wanted no part of. You'd been bred to be the kind of woman my mother was, and no matter how much I cared for you, how much I wanted you, I couldn't see myself married to a woman who would one day become a replica of Claudia Morgan Kane."

  "Is that what you think I am now? A replica of your mother?"

  "There are similarities," he said. "But no, you are not a replica of my mother."

  "Claudia might not have been the perfect mother, but she did love you, you know. She's been a wonderful grandmother to Anne Marie. The two of them are very close."

  "Yeah, well, sometimes people make better grandparents than they do parents," Morgan said.

  "After you left, your mother and father were as devastated as I was. They'd had so many hopes and dreams for you. For us."

  "How convenient that Amery was able to step into my shoes and fulfill those hopes and dreams."

  Bethany heard the anger behind Morgan's words. She wondered why he seemed hurt and resentful that Amery had wanted what he hadn't. That Amery had gladly taken what Morgan had thrown away.

  "Once we realized that you weren't coming back and that you had no intention of letting any of us know where you were, your parents and my mother encouraged me to marry Amery. And to be honest, at the time, I wasn't thinking rationally. I wasn't feeling anything at all. I was numb and in shock and—"

  "And so you let Eileen and my parents persuade you to marry Amery. They didn't waste any time, did they? How long had I been gone when you walked down the aisle with my cousin? Two months? Three months?"

  "Amery tried to be a good husband. He did everything possible to make our marriage work. He wanted me to love him, even though he didn't really love me. I believe he thought that if he tried hard enough, he could make me forget you. He hated you. Did you know that?" Bethany asked Morgan. "It gave him great pleasure to know that he possessed everything that had once been yours. But after Anne Marie was born and … and he realized that I would never love him, he started drinking. Drinking heavily. And he started seeing other women."

  "Then why did you stay with him, if you didn't love him?" And why did you allow my parents to persuade you to marry him in the first place? Why, dammit, why?

  For the same reason I married him, she wanted to say. I did it all for Anne Marie. For your daughter! "I stayed with him for several years, because your parents convinced me that it was what was best for Anne Marie. But eventually, I couldn't bear it any longer. I told Amery that I was going to leave him, that I wanted a divorce."

  "What happened to change your mind?" Morgan asked. "I know you were still married to Amery when he died."

  "I asked Amery for a divorce the night he was killed." Bethany's eyes filled with tears. "He pleaded with me not to leave him. He said that he didn't want a divorce. He promised to stop drinking, to stop seeing other women. But I refused to listen to his promises. He—he kept pouring himself drink after drink, until he was so drunk he could barely stand up." She swallowed her tears. "I begged him not to leave the house in his condition, but when I tried to stop him, he threw me on the floor and left. Less than two hours later, the police were at my door, telling me that Amery was dead. He'd run his car off Altamont Road

  and hit a tree, head-on."

  "I never knew the details of how he died."

  "I killed him." Covering her face with her hands, Bethany wept. Her shoulders trembled from the force of her sobs. "It was all my fault. I never should have married him. I drove him to drink. My rejection forced him into the arms of other women. And then—" she sucked in air as she tried to stop crying "—I destroyed him when I asked him for a divorce."

  "My God! You've been blaming yourself all these years for what happened to Amery. Even knowing that he didn't love you, that he wanted you only because you'd been mine, and married you to please my parents, you still think it's your fault that he drank too much and smashed his car into a tree?"

  "I shouldn't have asked him for a divorce." Bethany drew in quick, gasping little breaths in an effort to gain control of her emotions. "We'd made a deal, Amery and I. And I didn't keep my part of the bargain. If I had, he would still be alive."

  Morgan hated Amery more at that precise moment than he'd ever hated the man. Somehow, even in death, he had managed to wreak havoc on other people's lives. His selfishness reached out from the grave and kept a stranglehold on Bethany.

  Beth. His sweet, loving Beth had made two major errors in judgment. She'd trusted him. And she'd trusted Amery. They had both used her for their own purposes, and in the end they'd both nearly destroyed her. The hatred he felt for his cousin burned deep into his soul, consuming him almost as completely as the self-hatred he felt. If he hadn't deserted Bethany, left her alone to stand against their families, she never would have married Amery.

  "Amery's death was an accident," Morgan said. "But if anyone was at fault, Amery was. Nobody drives someone else to drink, honey. There was a weakness in Amery that made him an alcoholic."

  "I know," she said. "Rationally, I know that what you're saying is true, but—"

  "No buts!"

  Morgan reached out and tenderly caressed Bethany's cheek. Closing her eyes, she pressed her face against his hand and sighed. Cradling her jaw, he traced the outline of her upper lip. When she kissed his thumb, the sensation of her moist, warm lips against his flesh sent shock waves of sexual awareness through his body.

  "Beth … honey?" He inserted his thumb between her parted teeth and thought he'd die when she closed her lips around him. Leaning over, their bodies not touching, he cupped her chin, lifted her face and kissed her. A kiss edged with passion, but passion held in check by the instinctive knowledge that Bethany needed to be cherished, not ravished.

  Sweetly, gently, he possessed her mouth, and she returned the kiss, seeking, pleading and then accepting the tender passion he offered.

  Lifting his lips from hers and gazing into her moist eyes, Morgan ended the kiss. As he held her chin in the cradle between his thumb and forefinger, she looked at him and smiled.

  "You were my only lover," she whispered. "Amery and I had sex, but we never made love. When I was with you, it was always lovemaking. Even if you didn't love me, you made me feel loved."

  "For us, it was always more than sex. With other girls, that's all it had ever been. Scratching an itch. But the first time we had sex, it was different. You loved me so much, you never held anything back." Releasing her chin, he eased his body away from hers. He shook his head. He'd been such an arrogant young fool, so sure of himself and so sure, when he had come back to Birmingham sixteen years ago, that Bethany would be waiting for him.

  "No, I never held anything back with you. I gave you everything. But it didn't matter. I wasn't enough for you, was I? You went away and left me all alone."

  "You'll never know how sorry I am that I hurt you and that I allowed Amery to hurt you."

  "I'm sorry, too," she said. "But perhaps you understand why, after Amery died, I didn't want another man in my life. I was twenty-three years old and had already had two disastrous relationships. I let you almost destroy me, and then I turned around and destroyed Amery.

  "But I had Anne Marie. She has always been the most important thing in my life. I've devoted myself to her, to loving her, protecting her, preparing her for life. And I've built my business from nothing. I worked long and hard to make the boutiques a success. I wanted my daughter to be proud of me, to know that I'd made it on my own and she could, too."

  "You've done a wonderful job raising Anne Marie all alone. She's a great kid," he said. "At least one good thing came out of your marriage to Amery."

  She wanted to beat Morgan's chest and scream at him. She isn't Amery's child. She's yours. Dear God, can't you look
at her and see that she's yours?

  Bethany nudged the monogram-engraved gold case of her Jaeger-LeCoultre Reverso watch, revealing the face of the Art Deco-style timepiece. "It's late. We need to go on in and see Lisa, then hurry over to Mother's and pick up Anne Marie. I'm sure she's counting the minutes until we get there. She probably can't wait for our cookout tonight."

  Morgan got out of the Mercedes and rounded the hood. Bethany waited for him beside the car. When he paused in front of her, she looked up at him as if she were silently pleading with him for something. What did she want from him? he wondered. But even more important, what did he have to give her? He could and would protect her, and he'd do everything possible to discover Jimmy Farraday's real murderer. But she already knew that, didn't she? No, she was asking for something more personal, something that only he could give her.

  "I still want you, Beth," he said. "But if you're afraid I'll hurt you again, that I'll use you and then leave, I promise that—"

  She laid her index finger across his lips, silencing him. "Don't make me any promises." Not now. Not yet. Wait. Someday soon I may have to ask you for the most important promise of your life. I may have to ask you to take care of our daughter. "And I'm not worried about your hurting me again. I won't let you or anyone else break my heart. No one uses me. Not anymore."

  She turned and walked away, her heels clattering loudly on the concrete floor. Quickly catching up with her, Morgan stayed at her side as they made their way out of the parking deck. When they reached the stairs, they met two loudly grumbling women and a sullen man walking up the steps. Bethany paused, waiting for the strangers to pass. As the threesome drew nearer, the air reeked with the stench of strong body odor and stale cigarette smoke. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, Bethany turned her head.

  The older woman, a flat-chested, barrel-shaped bleached-blonde, pointed her finger at Bethany. "Hey, ain't you the woman who killed Jimmy Farraday?"

  Bethany tensed immediately, her whole body going stiff. With her hand still covering her mouth and nose, she turned her head slightly and stared at the woman. Morgan slipped his arm around Bethany's waist.

  "Yeah, Mama, that's her." The younger woman, who had a tattooed snake crawling up her bare arm, took a draw on her cigarette, then stepped up right in Bethany's face and blew smoke in her eyes. "How could you have killed a man like Jimmy? He was one of us. A real human being. A man who knew what it was like to be poor and have all the rich folks looking down their noses at him."

  Easing Bethany behind him, Morgan glared at the pimple-faced teenager. "I suggest y'all go on to your car and leave Ms. Wyndham alone."

  The bearded man pulled the girl aside and stood up to Morgan. His beer belly hung over his belt, a strip of hairy flesh exposed by his too-short T-shirt. "Last time I heard, this here was a free country. So that means you can't tell us what to do and what to say. If we want to tell Jimmy's murderer what we think of her, then we will."

  Morgan narrowed his gaze, glowering at the sour-breathed bozo, then turned around, grasped Bethany's elbow and led her down the first step.

  "Murderer. Snobby rich bitch," the woman hollered.

  Bethany shivered. She took another step downward, her knees trembling.

  "Look at 'em run, Joe Bob." The teenage girl laughed.

  The man followed Morgan, reached out and grabbed his arm. "Hey, buddy, if I was you, I'd be scared to go to sleep next to that 'un. I'd be afraid she'd kill me if I hadn't pleasured her enough."

  Like a flash of lightning, Morgan shoved the man up the steps and straight into the concrete wall. Gripping Joe Bob's neck, Morgan pressed against his windpipe. Bethany stood frozen to the spot on the second step. The cigarette slipped through the girl's fingers as she stared wide-eyed at her chalk-faced mother.

  "Get the hell out of here." Morgan issued the warning in a calm, deadly voice. "And keep your opinions to yourself. Do you understand?"

  Joe Bob's eyes bulged from their sockets like blue orbs sprouting from his round, red face. He nodded his head affirmatively. Morgan lessened the pressure on his windpipe. Grabbing the man by the back of the neck, Morgan jerked him away from the wall.

  "We ought to call the police," the teenaged girl said. "You can't go around beating up on—"

  "Shut your trap, sister," Joe Bob warned. "You want to get me killed?" He inclined his head toward the man who hadn't released him.

  Morgan shoved Joe Bob toward his sister and mother, then waited while the three scurried away. He glanced toward Bethany, who hadn't moved from her frozen stance on the second step. She stood there, her face pale, her shoulders slumped. When she realized the Jimmy Farraday fan club had disappeared, she let out a long, gasping sigh.

  "It's all right, honey. They're gone." Morgan glanced around in time to see the threesome crawling into a rusty, dented, older model car.

  Bethany tried to take a step up, toward Morgan, but her knees weakened. Grabbing the handrail along the side of the stairs, she swayed slightly, but didn't crumple. She would not allow those vile people to get the best of her. They were poor, ignorant sheep who'd been led by a master shepherd. The city and surrounding counties were filled with loyal Jimmy Farraday worshippers. She was just lucky that more of them hadn't sought her out and personally attacked her. Letters and phone calls could be ignored, but not a face-to-face confrontation.

  Morgan hurried to Bethany and drew her into his arms. Stroking her back, he whispered softly, "Ah, honey, you're shaking like a leaf. They were harmless. All mouth. No action. And now they're gone."

  Bethany clung to him for a moment, savoring the powerful protection of his big body, drawing from his strength, then she pulled away and lifted her face. "I'm all right. They just took me by surprise, that's all. I wasn't expecting what happened."

  "Do you still want to visit Lisa?" he asked. "If you're too upset, I can drive you straight over to Eileen's."

  "No, I'm not leaving without seeing Lisa. I can't let people like that get to me. Even if they'd intended to harm me, you would have protected me. That's why I have a bodyguard, isn't it? To protect me." Squaring her shoulders, she readjusted the narrow straps of her leather bag, straightened the shawl collar on her jacket and took a tentative step downward. Pausing momentarily, she glanced over her shoulder at Morgan. "You're quite good at this, aren't you? You reacted so quickly I hardly knew what was happening before you had good old Joe Bob under control and scared half out of his mind."

  What he'd done today was child's play compared to what he was capable of doing. He knew a hundred and one ways to subdue and eliminate the enemy. "I'll keep you safe. No one's going to get to you, except through me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

  She believed he meant what he said, and instinctively she knew that his declaration meant more than a professional promise. Keeping her safe had become a personal obligation to him. Perhaps too personal. If she allowed him to get too close, he could hurt her. Again. She couldn't let that happen. Morgan might be able to protect her from every external force in her life, but only she could protect herself from the most dangerous element—Morgan himself.

  * * *

  Eileen Farraday held her hand over her pink lips that were the exact shade as the polish on her sculptured nails. Rings adorned every finger, gold and gemstones shined and sparkled. Sighing loudly as she swooned melodramatically and sat down on the antique wood-framed sofa by the window, Eileen gazed forlornly at her daughter.

  "I simply do not know how much more we can bear." Eileen tilted her head to the left, allowing her sleek chin-length black hair to touch her shoulder. "Isn't it enough that my poor husband was murdered and that my only child was accused of the ghastly crime? Why now must my granddaughter be ridiculed by her classmates?"

  "Mother, where is Anne Marie?" Planting one hand on her hip, Bethany glared at Eileen and forced herself not to point her finger in her mother's face and scold her for her theatrical performance.

  "I knew something was wrong the minute she and J
ames came home," Eileen said. "I could tell that she'd been crying and that James was furious. At first I thought they might have had a little disagreement, but … but…" Huge tears welled up in Eileen's eyes. She lifted her hand to Seth Renfrew, who sat down beside her and took her hand.

  "Your mother phoned and asked me to come over immediately," Seth said. "It seems that Anne Marie locked herself in the powder room and wouldn't come out. Eileen was hysterical by the time she called me."

  Bethany didn't doubt for a minute that her mother had been hysterical. Eileen didn't handle crises well. She usually came apart at the seams over the least little thing. And it amazed Bethany that her mother had held up so well since Jimmy's murder. She might be milking the situation for all it was worth in front of the news media and her society acquaintances, crying and bemoaning her great loss, but in private, she'd barely shed a tear.

  "Why didn't you call me?" Bethany asked.

  "I didn't want to upset you, dear." Eileen smiled weakly. "You've been through so much lately and I had hoped Seth and I could handle the situation and you'd never need to know."

  "Is she still in the powder room?" Morgan asked.

  "I'm afraid so." Seth shook his head. One thick, shiny curl of silver-streaked auburn hair fell across his forehead. "I've tried talking to her. Eileen has cried and pleaded. And even James has done what he could. He's still sitting on the floor outside the powder room, talking to her."

  Bethany could not believe how drastically her life had changed in the five days since someone killed Jimmy Farraday. Her world had gone from calm, peaceful, orderly and contented to totally crazy, uncertain, disorderly and miserable. And what hurt her the most was the effect it was having on Anne Marie. She couldn't believe that the teachers at The Redmont Academy would have allowed anyone to harass a fellow student. After all, one of the reasons she was paying the astronomical yearly tuition to the private school was to protect Anne Marie from the seamier side of life and the undisciplined, often dangerous, teenagers who infested many of the public schools.