From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe Mother’s Day is right around the corner. Obviously we cherish the holiday at Maitland Maternity, but Mother’s Day holds special meaning for me this year. My firstborn son is alive! As a mother, I’m overjoyed that Connor is here in Austin, but I tremble to think of the ramifications for my family and Maitland Maternity when the truth comes out.

Still, I’m a lucky woman to be able to enjoy all my children. Some aren’t as lucky. My heart still aches for Mary-Jane Potter. She was so excited to be the surrogate mother for her best friend’s baby, and now that woman will never see her child. What a tragedy!

News like that reminds me to count my blessings. Even my darling Jake is back in town, although in typical Jake fashion, he’s come bearing trouble. I suppose he wouldn’t be Jake otherwise. The fact is, I wouldn’t change a thing about any of my children. They weren’t put on this earth to make my life easy, but every day they fill my heart with love.

Dear Reader,

There’s never a dull moment at Maitland Maternity! This unique and now world-renowned clinic was founded twenty-five years ago by Megan Maitland, widow of William Maitland, of the prominent Austin, Texas, Maitlands. Megan is also matriarch of an impressive family of seven children, many of whom are active participants in the everyday miracles that bring children into the world.

When our series began, the family was stunned by the unexpected arrival of an unidentified baby at the clinic—unidentified, except for the claim that the child is a Maitland. Who are the parents of this child? Is the claim legitimate? Will the media’s tenacious grip on this news damage the clinic’s reputation? Suddenly, rumors and counterclaims abound. Women claiming to be the child’s mother materialize out of the woodwork! How will Megan get at the truth? And how will the media circus affect the lives and loves of the Maitland children—Abby, the head of gynecology, Ellie, the hospital administrator, her twin sister, Beth, who runs the day care center, Mitchell, the fertility specialist, R.J., the vice president of operations—even Anna, who has nothing to do with the clinic, and Jake, the black sheep of the family?

Please join us each month as the mystery of the Maitland baby unravels, bit by enticing bit, and book by captivating book!

Marsha Zinberg,

Senior Editor and Editorial Co-ordinator, Special Projects

Her Best Friend’s Baby
Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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A Note From The Author

I remember my first pregnancy as a time of great anticipation. My husband and I painted the nursery, bought baby furniture, debated names. My changing body was a source of wonder to us both.

Mary-Jane Potter has none of that, because she’s carrying a baby for her best friend. No nursery plans, no name discussions and worst of all, no sweet man to rub her aching back. I found myself becoming very emotionally involved with Mary-Jane’s plight. I was immensely relieved when it looked as if she might have the support of a wonderful man, after all.

Morgan Tate’s that special kind of guy—a man who loves children. Plus, he’s a pediatrician, so Mary-Jane’s in good hands. Very good hands. Add to that deep brown eyes and great buns, and you have the perfect antidote to pregnancy doldrums. Yes, Mary-Jane will be just fine….

To every waiter or waitress who has ever warmed up my coffee, made sure the food was cooked right, cautioned me about a hot plate and smiled no matter what.

Please know that along with my tip, I leave my gratitude for a job well done in a world that doesn’t always notice.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

TWO WHOLE DAYS OFF.

“Freedom!” Mary Jane Potter closed the door of her rented town house and danced a little jig in the foyer. “You and me, babe.” She gave her tummy a pat. “We’re gonna pamper ourselves, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Pulling off the scrunchy that held her hair, she toed off her sneakers as she walked toward the answering machine on her writing desk. “Sleeping in, reading trashy magazines, and then, if the urge moves us, we’ll row around Town Lake, or maybe drive out in the country to see what’s left of the bluebonnets.”

She punched the message button to rewind the tape on the answering machine. “One thing we’re definitely not doing is anything that involves standing, or catering to people who think they’re God’s gift. Not that a lot of folks do that at the diner,” she added, not wanting the baby to absorb a poor impression of Austin Eats. No telling how much information got through to the kidlet, but lately she’d started playing classical music when she was home. Couldn’t hurt.

Right at the moment, though, she was in the mood for the Smashing Pumpkins. The doctor had warned her that she’d have some mood swings, and lately she’d been a wee bit depressed. She didn’t do depressed, which was why she intended to have some fun in the next couple of days. Careful fun, of course. Nothing to jeopardize this baby girl she was carrying next to her heart.

The answering machine finally stopped rewinding and clicked to play.

Hey, girlfriend.

Mary Jane smiled. The sound of her good buddy Lana’s voice could always lift her spirits.

We just got a new shipment of baby duds at the shop. I know you’re scheduled for some days off. Come on by and take a look. You’ll positively drool. If it’s not too crazy around here, maybe we can do lunch.

Lunch sounded great to Mary Jane. She’d turned into a regular chowhound now that the morning sickness was gone. But looking at baby clothes…that might add to her depression.

As the machine beeped through several hang-up calls, she thought about whether she should have accepted Arielle and Morgan’s offer to pay for a couple of counseling sessions. Mary Jane had laughed and said she didn’t need no stinkin’ shrink. And she hadn’t needed one. Then.

When she’d agreed to be a surrogate mom, she’d been so sure nothing would make her happier than to carry this baby for Arielle, the woman who had been a big sister, mother substitute and best friend in the entire world. Mary Jane owed Arielle, big time. Doing something this major was the only way she’d ever settle that debt. She’d felt honored to have the chance.

But now, five months into the program, some other inconvenient emotions were getting her in trouble. Sometime after that first ultrasound, when she’d learned the baby was a girl, she’d begun having conversations with her. That had probably been a big mistake. Talking to the baby had started her thinking about how this little sweetheart would live in New York once she was born, and Mary Jane had no intention of ever leaving Austin.

That depressed her. Of course she had only herself to blame. She’d known from the beginning that once she turned the baby over to Arielle and Morgan, that was the end except for visits. Even if she flew to New York three or four times a year, which would be a lot, really, she’d still have only a tiny slice of this baby’s life to enjoy. She’d be pretty much a stranger to the kid for the first couple of years, considering how fast young babies could forget people between visits.

She wanted more than that. And wanting more made her feel darned ungrateful.

As if Arielle and Morgan could read her traitorous thoughts long-distance from New York, Morgan’s voice came on her answering machine.

Mary Jane.

He sounded hoarse. Probably a head cold, Mary Jane thought. The weather wasn’t so good there, and as a pediatrician Morgan had his share of germy kids breathing on him. Plus he worked long hours. Both he and Arielle seemed consumed with work.

Mary Jane liked Morgan Tate, but he sure was anal. In spite of his hectic schedule he’d found time to make constant phone calls in the past five months to remind her to exercise, take her vitamins, watch her diet, get her rest, yada, yada, yada.

Once after a particularly lengthy session, Arielle had come on the line. With a chuckle in her voice, she’d begged Mary Jane to be tolerant of her dear husband. Being a prospective daddy and a pediatrician had kicked Morgan into overdrive.

So here he was again, ready to give her another tip even if he was sick as a dog. There was a long pause on the tape, during which Mary Jane pictured Morgan covering the mouthpiece of the phone and sneezing his head off. Good thing germs couldn’t get through the phone lines.

Mary Jane, he finally said again, and he was in no better shape than the first time. I have something—

Well, he certainly did have something. The flu bug from hell, apparently. She listened for him to finish his message. Instead she heard a funny noise. It could have been Morgan clearing his throat, but it almost sounded like…a sob?

Then came a click, as if he’d hung up. There were no more messages.

A chill went down Mary Jane’s spine. She refused to acknowledge it as being more than her funky state of mind. There was a perfectly logical explanation for that weird message. Probably Morgan had called in the middle of a busy day to tell her he was sending a truckload of the latest mega-super-colossal prenatal vitamins he’d just discovered.

She could picture the whole scene, having paid one quick visit to Morgan’s bustling office when she was in New York. Right in the middle of trying to call her he’d had a bad coughing fit and had decided to hang up and try later. Then Mrs. Very Pregnant had suddenly decided to deliver triplets, and he’d been called to the hospital to attend to the babies.

Glancing at the clock, she figured the time difference. Morgan and Arielle wouldn’t be home yet. She’d put a message on their machine, anyway, so one of them could call her tonight and tell her what Morgan had wanted. Although Mary Jane complained to Lana about his fussing, she kind of liked it. Arielle and Morgan were the only people who had ever fussed over her.

It wasn’t only because of the pregnancy, either. Arielle had always treated her as a precious and unique human being, and Morgan had picked up on that same behavior in no time. Mary Jane wished they could see their way clear to live in Austin, but Morgan had his practice in New York, and Arielle had made it clear that she loved the excitement of living in the heart of Manhattan.

Mary Jane punched in their number and sure enough got Arielle’s voice on the welcome message.

Hi. You’ve reached Arielle and Morgan Tate. Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. If this is an emergency, you can reach us at our pager numbers.

Mary Jane listened to the pager numbers, which she also knew by heart, and wondered if she should try Arielle’s. Morgan obviously wasn’t free or he would have called again. But she hesitated. Arielle had said something about getting ready for a huge show for a big-name artist. Mary Jane didn’t want to interrupt her in the middle of that.

Besides, a call on the pager might make Arielle think something was wrong with the baby. So instead she left a cheery message on the machine, asked them to call her when they got a chance and hung up.

Then she turned on her CD player and headed for the kitchen to grab some eats. She’d call Lana later, after she’d decided whether or not looking at baby clothes would make her want to cry.

For the next two hours she tried to forget about Morgan’s phone call, but she couldn’t settle down to anything. The tabloids she’d bought to amuse herself didn’t seem as exciting as they had on the rack, and she couldn’t find the right music to suit her mood, either.

She prowled around upstairs looking for projects, but didn’t feel moved to give herself a manicure or sew on a button. Even her favorite hobby, crocheting, didn’t intrigue her tonight. She went downstairs again, watered all her plants and picked off any yellow leaves, but that didn’t take long. Finally she plopped down on the living room sofa with the remote. She then proceeded to channel surf and make way too many trips into the kitchen for more snacks.

Good thing Morgan couldn’t see what she was eating, she thought as she popped a cherry Jolly Rancher into her mouth. Once that was gone, she chewed on a carrot stick to ease her conscience.

The phone remained silent, and her restlessness grew. She walked to the small table that held the phone and answering machine to replay Morgan’s message. Then she ran it again and turned up the volume, trying to decide what that last noise had been. The more she played it, the more it did sound like a sob.

Damn, now she was getting paranoid. If only she knew someone connected to Morgan and Arielle, someone she could call on a very casual basis to make sure everything was okay. She could think of no one. Arielle’s parents had died when she was a teenager, which was one of the reasons she’d taken the job as nanny to Mary Jane all those years ago. As for Morgan’s parents, Mary Jane had never met them and doubted she ever would. Arielle had admitted her in-laws weren’t in favor of the surrogate mother project.

Against her better judgment, Mary Jane called the New York apartment again and left another message, this one even cheerier than the first, so they wouldn’t think something was wrong.

An hour later she finally gave in and put a message on each of their pagers, but she began by assuring them nothing was wrong with either her or the baby. She made a joke that her hormones were to blame for all these calls. But she emphasized that she wanted a return call, no matter how late the hour.

Until she found out that all was well in New York, she wasn’t going to have a very good night. She’d postponed calling Lana, postponed going to the store to stock up on food, postponed a long soak in the tub. No doubt she was making herself crazy for nothing, but the sick feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away no matter how she tried to distract herself.

And still the phone didn’t ring.

Finally she decided to get ready for bed. Damn Morgan for calling her like that, anyway. If she didn’t hear from one of them, she was going to have a tough time sleeping, which wasn’t good for the baby. She’d probably mention that to Morgan next time she talked to him. Hey, Morgan, you know all those lectures about getting enough sleep? Then stop leaving me weird messages with no follow-up call. I didn’t sleep a wink that night!

That should get him. He hated any hint that she wasn’t in peak pregnancy mode. Stripping off all her clothes, she posed sideways in front of the mirror. Yep. Definitely preggers now.

She spread her hands over her stomach. “How’re you doing in there, sweetie? Which did you prefer, the Jolly Ranchers or the carrot sticks? Like I don’t know, you bad girl. Just like your moth—” She caught herself. Not a good thing to say. Arielle would be her mother, and Arielle didn’t eat candy.

Mary Jane cupped her smallish breasts and decided they were bigger these days, too. Of course, how her breasts reacted was of no consequence, since she’d never breast-feed this kid. That was another thing that had started bothering her. Well, she’d have to get over it.

With a sigh she pulled on the oversize pink T-shirt that had the arrow pointing down to the words Baby Girl. Until a couple of weeks ago, the arrow hadn’t had much to point out. But she was finally bulging, and because she was small-framed and on the skinny side to begin with, she’d soon look like a watermelon smuggler.

As she brushed her teeth, she decided to ask Lana to take a few more Polaroids of what they’d begun calling The Belly to send to Arielle. Come to think of it, maybe she should organize a girls’ night out instead of meeting Lana for lunch. They could all catch a movie, like old times.

That was assuming she and Lana could pry Beth and Ellie away from their love nests with their new hubbies. Mary Jane had always known that she and her three friends wouldn’t be bachelor girls hanging out together forever, but she hadn’t expected to lose two out of four to the holy bonds of matrimony so quickly—Ellie over the New Year and Beth just last month. But then, Beth and Ellie were twins, so having them get married so close together made a kind of crazy sense.

Mary Jane wasn’t sure if she counted as a bachelor girl anymore, either, now that she was PG. For one thing, she’d taken herself out of the dating scene for the duration. No point in trying to explain the situation to some guy. As luck would have it, she’d never felt more interested in sex than she did now, right when she’d decided to forgo the pleasure. From her reading she’d discovered that was common for pregnant ladies, and apparently she was a textbook case.

So. Ready for bed and still no phone call. She padded downstairs barefoot and toured the house, making sure that she’d turned off lights and appliances. In her distracted state, she might have forgotten something.

She stared at the answering machine and picked the phone up to check the dial tone. “I tell you, baby, we’re giving those people a piece of our minds when they finally—”

The doorbell rang.

Her heartbeat quickened as she glanced at the digital clock on the TV. Nearly midnight. Hardly anyone she knew would show up unannounced at midnight. Maybe Lana. Lana might be silly enough to ring her doorbell at midnight, but that was the only person she could imagine standing on her small front porch. Damn, were her friends out to scare her to death today?

She snapped on a light before walking to the door. Then she stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.

Morgan.

The breath went out of her as she twisted the dead bolt latch. She was nearly crying by the time she pulled the door open. Gasping, she stared at him.

Unshaven. Eyes red. Clothes wrinkled. Trench coat hanging open as if he didn’t have the energy to button it.

She wanted to slam the door. Whatever he’d come to her door to tell her, she didn’t want to hear it. She never wanted to hear it. Mary Jane. I have something— She began to shake.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Don’t say it, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t speak. No. No. This was a nightmare. She’d gone to bed, and now she was having a bad, bad dream. The worst kind of dream. Wake up, Mary Jane.

His mouth opened. His words slurred. “She’s de—”

“No!” Mary Jane hurled herself at him, beating her fists against his chest. “Don’t you say that!” she screamed. “Don’t you ever say that!”

Tears pouring down his face, Morgan took the blows as if he couldn’t feel them. Then he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him as she screamed, and screamed, and screamed some more.

She struggled, trying to get away from him, away from what he was trying to tell her. He wrestled her inside the house and still he wouldn’t let her go.

“Listen to me,” he shouted, his voice raw as he kicked the door shut. “Arielle—”

“No!” She fought him. If she could get away and go upstairs to her bedroom, this nightmare would be over. She would wake up, and tomorrow Lana would take Polaroids of The Belly, and they’d send them to—

“…a wreck,” he said, gasping as he crushed her against him. “Oh, God, Mary Jane. Don’t do this.” He began to sob. “Don’t do this, Mary Jane. Please.” He sank to his knees, pulling her down with him. “Help me.”

She stopped struggling. With a wild, keening cry she wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest as if his tears could somehow stop the pain that burned there. She rocked back and forth, clutching his head with one hand and his heaving shoulders with the other.

“It’s a mistake,” she whispered. “Somebody made a mistake.”

He shook his head and continued to sob.

“A mistake,” she insisted again. “A m-mistake. A—” Then her throat closed and she bowed her head over his, pressing her open mouth against his hair to stifle her cries.

“The baby…is all…I have.” He gulped for breath and held her tighter. “All I have left.”

This couldn’t be happening. She tried to escape to some faraway place, but his words kept coming, dragging her back to the pain.

His voice was toneless, muffled against her breast. “She was on her way…to the airport. To get…that artist. Raining…slick…she…skidded. It was instant.”

The blood roaring in her ears was loud but not loud enough. She heard what he said. She ached all over. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t believe me, either. But it’s true.” He clutched her tighter. “It’s true.”

“No.”

“It happened yesterday. No. The day before. I…don’t know anymore.”

Arielle. She started to get up. “We need to go.”

“Why?” He held her in place. “She’s gone.” He broke down again. “Oh, God. G-gone.”

“No!” She tried to pry herself out of his grip. “We have to do something. She needs…” She searched for the words, couldn’t make herself say them. “A…tribute.”

He lifted his head, his face twisted with anguish. “She didn’t want that,” he whispered hoarsely. “She told me…after we got married. If she died, she wanted no funeral. Nothing.”

And then Mary Jane knew this horrible moment was real. A steel band of grief tightened around her chest. Arielle had always said that she didn’t believe in any of that. A person should be allowed to slip quietly out of this life, she’d said, without making such an embarrassingly big deal out of it. Mary Jane had thought that very sophisticated, very evolved. Now it made her furious.

“How could she?” she cried. “How could she leave and not let us…not give us a chance to…”

“She didn’t think how it would be.” Morgan reached up and brushed his knuckles over her wet cheeks. His voice rasped in the stillness. “How it would be for us.”

Mary Jane stared at him for a long time. Her mind didn’t seem to want to work. “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

She’d never felt so empty in her life, or so chilled and weary, as if she’d been forcing her way through a violent storm. He looked as if he felt the same way, as if he hadn’t slept since… She still couldn’t say it to herself. Maybe tomorrow she could say it. Or the next day. When she wasn’t so battered.

“You need to rest,” she said finally.

“I’ve tried. Can’t sleep.”

But he would collapse soon. She could see that. “Come upstairs and lie down. I’ll stay with you. Maybe then you’ll sleep.”

“You need your sleep, too. For the baby.”

She couldn’t imagine going to sleep now, but she wouldn’t tell him that and upset him even more. “I’ll try to sleep, too.”

“Good.”

“Tomorrow we’ll think about what to do next.”

He nodded. Slowly he stood and helped her to her feet. Supporting each other like war casualties, they made their way up the stairs.

In her bedroom, Morgan stripped down to his T-shirt and shorts with mechanical detachment and climbed into bed. She left the light on as she crawled in beside him. For the first time since she’d been four years old she was afraid of the dark.

He pulled the covers to his chin. “I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

“Me, either.”

As if by mutual agreement they turned and scooted into each other’s arms, holding each other close.

Fine tremors ran through him, as if he had a fever, and his bristly chin scraped her cheek. “I tried to call,” he said.

“I know.” Not minding his scratchy beard, she snuggled closer, needing the body contact while she tried to keep her own shakes under control, tried to get warm.

“That was stupid. Trying to tell you on the machine. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.” She wanted to rewind the day and go back to that golden moment before she’d played her messages. That moment when she’d been excited about two days off. She would work every day of her life if she could make this not be true.

“It’s not okay. What if…what if the shock of hearing it on the phone…what if something had happened to the baby?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth against the wail of despair that strained at her throat. Arielle’s baby. And the little girl was Arielle’s, in every sense except that she would develop in Mary Jane’s womb. And now Arielle would never see her daughter.

A heavy steel door seemed to have slammed, separating Mary Jane from the woman she loved, the woman she would do anything for. Now she could do nothing. Nothing. “Oh, Morgan.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I wanted so much to give her this baby.”

“I know,” he said roughly. “The baby is all that’s kept me going.”

“Oh, Morgan.” She began to cry again, and so did he. They held each other desperately, shuddering with anguish.

He choked out the word baby and put his hand over her stomach.

“The baby… Arielle’s still here,” she said, crying.

“Thank God.” He kissed her hair, her wet cheek. “Thank God, we still have the baby.”

She hugged him close as tears streamed down. “Yes.”

“The baby.” He kissed her throat between choked sobs.

“It’s okay.” She needed to comfort him, needed it more than anything in the world. She pressed his head to her breast. “It’s okay, Morgan. Everything will be okay.”

“Oh, God.” He rubbed his damp, bearded face against her breasts, almost as a baby might. “I need to feel….” He slipped his hand under the hem of her T-shirt and flattened it against her belly. His howl of misery echoed in the small room. “Arielle!”

Her heart broke into a million pieces. And she understood what she’d never wanted to know, that death and birth are spokes of the same wheel. Instincts older than time moved within her. Laying her hand over his, she guided it down between her thighs.

“She’s here,” she murmured.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

“Here.” A wisdom handed down through the ages urged her to open her thighs. A wound this deep could only be healed with the ultimate bonding of man and woman. “Come to me.”

Moving like a sleepwalker, he held her gaze as he discarded his shorts and moved over her.

They came together smoothly, as if they’d been making love to each other for years. He said nothing as he thrust again and again into her, his teeth clenched against the sobs racking his body.

Concentrating on his face, she clutched his shoulders and rode the crest of the wave carrying her toward the only salvation they could find tonight. He seemed to understand it, too. As they neared the crest, the despair in his eyes gave way to a new light. At the moment before they climaxed, she drew strength from that light. Then she tumbled with him into chaos, bearing with her the faint yet steady glow of hope.

CHAPTER TWO

MORGAN AWOKE with a sense of well-being. He loved waking up with Arielle tucked in close beside him like this, especially after a night of—

Nausea washed over him, and he scrambled out of bed as if it were full of a million snakes. Snatching up his pants, he held them over his nakedness as he fought the gorge rising in his throat. What had he done?

Mary Jane turned toward him, a smile on her lips, her eyes still dazed with sleep. Then she focused on him.

He watched in horrified fascination as reality replaced fantasy in her blue eyes. He knew exactly what she was going through.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rusty and coarse. What an asinine thing to say. Sorry didn’t begin to cover it. He couldn’t imagine how he could ever make up for what he’d done last night.

She swallowed and kept staring at him, her gaze bleak.

“Say something,” he pleaded. “Call me names. Tell me I’m the worst sort of slime ball you’ve ever come across. I deserve whatever rotten things you want to say about me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Why? I’m the one who threw myself at you like some—”

“No! It is not your fault. You were upset! I hit you with the news, and then I…” He couldn’t bear to think of what he’d done. Unforgivable.

She opened her eyes and sat up, still wearing the pink sleep shirt he hadn’t bothered to remove before he took advantage of her. Arielle had sent her that to wear once they’d seen the pictures from the first ultrasound. And now he had profaned that cute, silly T-shirt.

God, she was so young. He’d never seen her like this, flushed with sleep, her hair a tousled riot of curls falling to her shoulders. Arielle once said Mary Jane’s hair was the color of maple syrup, which was appropriate, because Mary Jane was so incredibly sweet. Morgan closed his eyes, awash with pain and shame. And damn his soul to hell, he wanted her. Still. Stirring like a dark secret, desire taunted him with his worthlessness.

“I knew what I was doing,” she said in a not-quite-steady voice.

His eyes flew open. “You most certainly did not! You were carried away by the news and your fluctuating hormones, which is perfectly understandable, especially at your age. But there’s no excuse for me, a thirty-one-year-old man who’s supposed to be in control of himself.”

Her back stiffened. “What do you mean by that crack about my age? You sound as if I’m a mere child!”

“I consider twenty-two pretty damn young!” He wasn’t going to tell her that this morning she looked younger than that, which made the heat within him even more reprehensible. “That was one thing that bothered me about this whole pregnancy. Physically you’re a perfect age for bearing a child, but mentally—”

“What a crock! You don’t know a damn thing about my mental age. I have to say, Morgan Tate, you are a real pr—uh, prude.”

“Go ahead and use the first word you thought of,” he said. “It fits.” He’d much rather have her anger than the bleakness he’d seen in her eyes when she first woke up. He’d probably shattered her illusions forever, but she was trying to pretend she was worldly enough to handle it. He’d never loathed himself more than he did at this moment.

She whipped out of bed. “Go ahead and beat yourself up about last night if you want. I don’t intend to do that, because I knew exactly what I was doing, and it seemed like the best thing for both of us at the time. Maybe it was wrong.” She sent him a challenging look. “But it’s done. Now I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Mary Jane, it will never, ever happen again.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to.” She drew herself up a little taller, which still wasn’t very big. She couldn’t be more than five-three, max. “Especially since you consider me such an infant. There’s a half bath downstairs if you want to use it.” Then she marched into her bathroom like royalty and shut the door.

He wanted her so much he nearly groaned aloud. He was a pig, not worth someone putting a bullet through his head. His wife had been dead two days. Until Mary Jane had taken him into her warm body, he’d been as good as dead, too. She had saved him, pulled him from the black pit of hell, and he yearned for her with an unholy fierceness.

But she would never know.

MARY JANE STOOD under the shower and let the hot water pour over her head. She wondered if a person could drown in the shower if they breathed in the water. It was a tempting thought, but it probably wouldn’t work. You had to be pretty determined to drown yourself, like the guy who walked into the ocean in that old movie A Star is Born.

Besides, even if she started to drown, there was a doctor in the house. He’d revive her. Yes, there was a doctor in the house. An embarrassed doctor who thought he’d forced himself on an innocent young woman. He’d turned a thing of beauty into something ugly.

It was right, what she’d done last night. She clenched her fists and raised her face to the hard spray. The right thing. If he couldn’t understand that, then to hell with him.

Except that she wanted him to understand it. She wanted him to see that last night had been her last gift to Arielle, her attempt to take care of the man Arielle had loved so much. Arielle would have understood. Mary Jane would never have allowed last night to happen that way if she hadn’t believed, deep inside, that Arielle would have been okay with it.

Well, if she didn’t intend to drown herself in the shower, which she would never do anyway because she had the baby to consider, then she might as well stop stalling and wash up.

As she moved the washcloth over her body, her nerve endings hummed in response. Her heart might feel like a hunk of lead, but her body was saying thank-you for the favor of a little loving. She’d only had two serious boyfriends in her life. One had been a good lover but a terrible conversationalist, and she’d discovered how important it was to her to be able to talk to a man when they’d stopped kissing for a little while. So the second relationship had started with lots of conversation. Great conversation. And he’d turned out to be a dud in bed.

According to Lana, finding the combo of a good talker and a good lover was definitely the old story of looking for a needle in a haystack. And Lana, being twenty-six, had four more years of experience than Mary Jane, so she knew all about needles and haystacks. Lana said some women finally settled on which was more important, the body connection or the brain connection, and went with that.

Mary Jane had never had the guts to ask Arielle if she got both when she married Morgan. Arielle had been so enthusiastic about what a great person Morgan was, not mentioning his body, that Mary Jane had concluded the brain connection was the main thing. And yet…powerful, smooth strokes…feeling complete…rising, reaching together.

Shaking her head, Mary Jane put the image out of her mind. It could have been a lucky accident that she and Morgan had been so in tune last night. One time didn’t count. Morgan and Arielle had likely connected primarily on the mental level. After all, Arielle was extremely smart, and she’d once said sex wasn’t the most important consideration in a husband. Mary Jane remembered how she’d laughed and argued with Arielle about that. But Arielle had stuck to her guns. She…

She was gone.

Stuffing a washcloth over her mouth to hide the noise, Mary Jane cried under the shower until the water turned cold.

WHILE GETTING DRESSED, she could hear noise downstairs in the kitchen—the faucet going on and off, the refrigerator door closing and cabinet doors banging shut. She could guess what Morgan was up to. He was checking to see what she’d been eating. Wonderful. She’d planned to stock up on fresh veggies today. Her supply was pretty much gone.

She wondered if he’d found the brownie mix in the cupboard or noticed the box of doughnuts sitting on top of the refrigerator with one stale raised glazed left in it. She’d left the bag of Jolly Ranchers right out on the counter.

Well, too bad. She would not be treated like a wayward child in her own house. Glancing at herself in denim overalls and a T-shirt as she passed the dresser mirror, she realized that’s exactly what she looked like. Damn.

Quickly she rummaged through her drawers and pawed through the clothes in her closet, looking for something more sophisticated. Finally she gave up. Unless she planned to parade downstairs in the silky silver number she’d worn on New Year’s, she was SOL. The silver dress wouldn’t fit anymore, anyway.

She should probably do something with her hair. Freshly washed, it curled and cavorted everywhere. But she had to tame her hair for work, and after six days of that she was sick of tying it back. Screw it.

She should put on shoes. Otherwise she’d appear in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant. Smiling grimly, she slipped her feet into a pair of leather mules, took a deep breath and went downstairs.

Morgan sat in her sunny little kitchen nook making a list on the back of a paper sack. With the dark stubble on his chin and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled back, he looked like a gangster, or maybe a pirate. He sure didn’t look like a respectable New York City pediatrician.

He glanced up when she walked into the kitchen. “We need to go to the store, but first I’ll take you to breakfast. There’s nothing decent to eat here.”

She wasn’t hungry, but she’d deal with that question later. “I was going to—” She caught herself as the words came out sounding more belligerent and defensive than she wanted them to. Clearing her throat, she started again. “I was planning to shop today,” she said quietly. “I just got off six straight days at work.”

“Six days straight?” He looked scandalized. “You’re still at the diner, right?”

“Yes.”

“We have to do something about that. Six days straight is criminal. Who’s your boss? I want to talk to—”

“Hold it!” So she sounded belligerent. She couldn’t help it. He wasn’t going to waltz in here and take over her life. “You are so not going to talk to Shelby Lord! She asked me to work an extra day as a special favor, and she’s very concerned about my health, if you must know. I told her I would be fine with it, and I am fine with it.” She’d never admit that the last day had been more tiring than she’d expected.

He tossed the pen he’d been using on the table and pushed back his chair. Standing, he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at her. “You may be fine with it, but hours and hours on your feet are not the best thing for the baby. Why do you insist on continuing to work there, when we’ve offered to subsidize you so that you could quit?”

Pain shot through her and she stared at him, wondering if he realized he’d just used the word we. There was no we anymore. She saw the exact moment his mistake registered. His brown eyes clouded and he looked away, swallowing several times.

Watching him struggle with his grief, she quickly lost her anger. “I keep my job because I like it,” she said softly. “I know waitressing doesn’t seem like a career to you, but I have a good time helping customers, at least most of the time. All of us weren’t meant to be white-collar workers.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t look at her. Instead he pretended great interest in birds gathered at the feeder in her tiny back patio. “I didn’t mean that,” he murmured. “You may think I’m some sort of elitist snob, but I’m not.”

“The truth is I don’t know you very well, Morgan.” She thought of the way they’d come together last night, the knowing that had taken place on an elemental level, and wondered if she knew him better than anyone else on earth.

He cleared his throat and glanced at her, his eyes moist. “I guess you don’t know me. There were those few days before the wedding, and then the last visit, for the procedure.”

She nodded. “Arielle kept saying the two of you would visit Austin, but you never came.”

“No. She really liked New York.”

“I know.” She looked into his eyes and knew they had to get out of this house or they would both break down again. “You said something about shopping.”

He nodded. “Your food supply leaves much to be desired.”

She decided to ignore the insult. At least he hadn’t specifically started in on her about the sweets. “Do you want to go out looking like that?”

“Like—” He looked startled, and then he rubbed a hand over his chin. “Maybe I should shave.”

“Unless you want to frighten old ladies and small children.”

The ghost of a smile flitted across his mouth. “I’d rather not.”

She’d forgotten that he had a wonderful smile. This wasn’t a real version of it, but it reminded her why she’d taken a liking to Morgan when she’d first met him. When he smiled, really smiled, he put his whole heart into it. His whole heart wasn’t in it now, but she could hardly blame him for that.

“Come on upstairs and I’ll find you a new razor,” she said. “You’ll have to lather up with soap instead of shaving cream, though. And the razor will be pink. I hope that doesn’t offend you.” She started out of the kitchen.

“Nothing could offend me more than I’ve offended myself.”

Whirling, she threw out both hands in exasperation. “Good Lord, will you stop?” She’d never been a patient person under the best of circumstances, and he was sorely trying what little patience she could find this morning. “We were both under a hideous strain, and we comforted each other! I thank God you were here to tell me in person! Don’t you thank God that you had someone to run to, someone who loved Arielle as much as you did?”

His throat worked. His dark eyes filled. “Yes. I thank God for you, Mary Jane. I will thank God for you for the rest of my life.”

She looked into his eyes and something happened to her heart, making it go all squishy and warm and tender. Wow. The guy packed a wallop. She needed to get him moving or she was liable to do something really embarrassing, like move closer and kiss him. Like suggest they go upstairs for something besides that razor…

“Shaving,” she said. “We can get through this, Morgan, if we just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Maybe you should get the razor and bring it down. I can shave in the half bath.”

“You can, but the light’s no good in there. And the mirror distorts a little. Believe me, I know these things, having stared into both mirrors more times than I should probably admit. Come on.” She started up the stairs.

“That’s okay. I’ll use the half bath.”

One hand on the railing, she turned and gazed at him. She wondered if he was one of those stubborn men who turned everything into a power struggle. If so, the sooner he left Austin, the better. “I hate to say this, Morgan, but you are being a pain in the ass. I’ll bring the razor down if you insist, but what damned difference does it make where you shave?”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “I just think…it would be better if I stayed down here. And out of the…bedroom.”

Oh. As she gripped the railing and considered the implications of what he’d said, she couldn’t hold back a small feeling of triumph. He’d liked his experience with her last night. He’d liked it so much that he wanted more. Maybe Morgan wasn’t all brain, after all.

“I’ll get the razor,” she said, her step much lighter as she went upstairs.

AT MARY JANE’S suggestion, they’d driven across town to an area she seldom visited to have breakfast and shop for groceries. Morgan thought it was a smart move. Mary Jane didn’t want to run into anyone she knew until she had herself more emotionally together, and he didn’t want to run into anyone who had known Arielle. After all, his wife had spent the first twenty-two years of her life in this town.

Taking another sip of his coffee, he sat across the table from Mary Jane in the booth of a small neighborhood restaurant and watched her not eat. She made a show of it, cutting her omelette into bite-size pieces, sipping her juice, putting a little pepper on her food. His plate looked as untouched as hers, but he wasn’t pregnant. She needed to eat.

“Look, I know you’re not hungry,” he said at last. “But you need to try.”

She glanced at him. “Couldn’t I swallow twice as many of those prenatal magic bullets you’ve prescribed for me?”

He shook his head and felt a smile trying to work its way through his pain. “They don’t work very well if you don’t have food in there, too.”

She sighed and took a bite of omelette into her mouth. Chewing and swallowing, she made a face. “It’s cold and the cheese has congealed.”

“Then I’ll order you another one.” He lifted his hand to signal the waitress.

“You most certainly will not!” She shoveled in another bite. “I’m eating. See? Eating.”

“That’s silly. They can throw that away and get—”

“Put your hand down.” She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, smacking his hand on the table. “We are not going to put the waitress and the cook to more trouble because I dawdled over my food and let it get cold. They’ll think something was wrong with it. It’s not good karma to send your food back uneaten.”

“But you weren’t eating it.” The back of his hand stung where she’d whacked it against the table, but it was the warm grip of her fingers around his wrist that really bothered him. Her fingers against his skin reminded him of how she’d clutched his shoulders last night while he buried himself in her. He forced himself to stay focused. “The food would have gone back to the kitchen eventually, anyway.”

“Nope.” Her blue gaze held his earnestly. “I would have asked for a doggy bag. Nobody’s insulted if you ask for a doggy bag.” She looked at his hand on the table. “Can I trust you not to try to get the waitress over here?”

“Guess so.”

“All right, then.” She released her hold and went back to eating her cold omelette. “It’s a matter of professional courtesy.”

“I can see that.”

She paused and glanced pointedly at his plate. “Eat up.”

“But I’m not—”

“Hungry? I don’t think that’s the issue. You need your strength.”

He pushed his plate aside. “I’ll ask for a doggy bag.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. If you’re going to force me to eat this cold food, you can do the exact same thing. Start chewing.”

“We’re not in the same boat.”

She shoved his plate in front of him. “We’re in exactly the same boat. I may be physically carrying this baby, but you are the father.”

And the only parent. He went still, bracing himself for the blow if she decided to point that out. She didn’t. She was incredibly sensitive. He hadn’t known that about her. There were lots of things he hadn’t known about her, like the silken welcome she provided for a man in bed. That was one thing he’d be better off not knowing, and the one thing he’d never forget.

“Let’s say you let yourself get run down,” she said. “You weaken your immune system, and there you are, a sitting duck for every bug that cruises by. So you have one illness after another, getting even more run down, and then, when this little girl is born, you’re too full of germs to be in the delivery room, let alone ready to function as her father.” She pointed her fork at him. “What do you say to that, Mr. Pediatrician? Is that fair to anybody?”

“No. No, it’s not.” He picked up his fork. Eating food when you’d rather not had never seemed like an act of courage to him before. But he realized that in Mary Jane’s case, that’s exactly what it was. He could do no less.

“Attaboy.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned. Yesterday he’d been absolutely sure that smiles and laughter were a thing of the past. But here was irrepressible Mary Jane Potter, valiantly shoving down food she didn’t want and cheering him on to do the same. A person would have to be made of stone not to respond to that.

She grinned back. “But I gotta warn you, it tastes like crap.”

His grin turned to a chuckle.

“You look great when you do that.”

“I never thought I would again.”

Her blue eyes grew warm with compassion. “She wouldn’t want you to stop smiling, Morgan.”

His fork clattered to the plate and his throat closed. He fumbled for his napkin as his grief came flooding back.

“Damn,” she said softly, bolting out of her seat.

He tried to choke out an apology and couldn’t. Through his tears he saw her throw a bill on the table.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him, stumbling, out of the restaurant.

Bright sunlight gave way to cool shade as she pushed him into an alley. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he clung to her and cried. He felt her shaking in his arms and was ashamed that he’d caused her to lose control, too. But he couldn’t do anything except curl his body over hers, bury his face in her glorious hair and hold on for dear life.

Eventually he managed to stop crying, but he couldn’t let go of her. He lifted his damp face, straightened a little and laid his cheek on the top of her head. “I was going to leave today,” he said. “Go back to New York.”

Her arms tightened around him.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

Her grip slackened. Then she sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse from weeping. “Good.”

CHAPTER THREE

MARY JANE got behind the wheel of her neon-green Super Beetle while Morgan leaned down and moved the passenger seat back to accommodate his long legs. She’d sold her old junker and found a smokin’ deal on this slightly used buggy. It had been love at first sight the minute she’d seen the bud vase set into the dash. Sure, she had monthly payments, but she also had a silk daisy smiling at her every time she climbed into the car.

Before starting the engine, she turned to Morgan. “How long do you think you can stay?”

“A few days, maybe. But I’ll need to call the office and tell them where I am. My partner can probably take care of—”

“You didn’t tell your office you were coming here?”

He looked surprised by the question. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Morgan!”

“I haven’t been in the most organized state of mind recently.”

“Well, I know, but people must be frantic! Your office is one thing, but what about your friends, your parents? All sorts of people.”

He regarded her steadily. “I called my parents right after the accident. As I talked to them and felt no empathy at all, I was brutally reminded that they try to avoid anything messy and cruel. When I told them there would be no funeral, so they weren’t required to do anything, they sounded relieved. They told me to call if there was anything they could do. But I knew they didn’t really want me to call.”

Her heart ached for him, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. Her father had been like that after her mother died. He’d promptly hired Arielle as Mary Jane’s nanny and then had proceeded to distance himself from his daughter, who was a constant reminder of harsh realities like death. Arielle had been her family from that moment on, Arielle and the good friends she’d made here in Austin.

“As for friends,” Morgan went on, “I have to confess we weren’t all that close to anyone. We were both busy with our careers, and we didn’t take much time to socialize other than business dinners, meet-and-greet kinds of things. I can’t think of anyone who would be all that concerned as to my whereabouts.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong about that, but you should at least call your office.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

“Do you have a calling card?”

“Of course.”

She pointed to a pay phone a few feet from the restaurant. “I’ll wait.”

His eyebrows rose. “Are you giving me an order?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I don’t know how they do things in New York, but out here in Texas we give people a shout when it’s necessary. I would say running off to Austin and leaving your medical practice high and dry qualifies.”

“My God, you’re lecturing me!” He seemed ready to give her an argument.

She met his gaze. “I may be a mere child in your eyes, and an uneducated waitress on top of that, but it’s possible I know more about some things than you do, in spite of the fact you’ve gone to college for about a million years and probably graduated magna cum incredible.”

He blinked. “I don’t think of you as an uneducated waitress.”

“That’s what I am,” she said quietly. She noticed he hadn’t contradicted her statement that she was a mere child. He still thought she was too young—too young for him. “I finished high school,” she said, “but I was sick to death of sitting in stuffy classrooms by that time. Waitressing is the only thing I know how to do.” She paused. “Well, that’s not quite true. I know how to—”

“Never mind!” he shouted.

Her eyes widened. “I was going to say crochet. What did you think I was going to say?”

“I’ll make that call.” He was out of the car in an amazingly short time, considering that he had to unwind his body to get through the low-slung door.

But he didn’t get out quickly enough to keep Mary Jane from seeing that he’d blushed red as a stop sign.

While he made his call, she studied him without fear she’d be caught gawking. She needed to look at him more closely and decide what she thought about all this. For one thing, she wanted to make sure that she wasn’t rising to the bait. If she wasn’t careful, she’d take his assumption that she was only a kid as a challenge to prove she was every inch a woman. That would be bad.

Once he’d made his connection to New York, he leaned a shoulder against the curved cubicle surrounding the telephone. Now that she’d begun to see him as a man instead of a pediatrician and her best friend’s husband, she allowed herself to notice the wide set of his shoulders, his narrow waist circled with a black leather dress belt, the pleated trousers that didn’t totally hide his nice butt. He shifted his weight. Definitely a nice butt.

He wore his wavy brown hair short, and she found herself gazing at the nape of his neck with the urge to kiss him there. They’d never really kissed at all, come to think of it. What had happened between them last night hadn’t been a romantic interlude, more like a bid for survival. She wondered how it would feel to be truly kissed on the mouth by Morgan. For some reason she figured he’d know how to use his tongue.

She imagined him without those rumpled clothes and felt the stirrings of lust. He had strong-looking legs. She remembered that much from this morning, before he’d started getting all guilt-ridden and she’d stopped noticing his body.

No doubt it wasn’t kosher to be sitting here checking him out, considering their circumstances, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Maybe she was using curiosity as a distraction from the scary grief that hovered over her like King Kong. If so, it worked pretty well.

Yeah, she was damn curious about what kind of lover Morgan was. Arielle wasn’t the type to drop coy little hints, like some wives did, about her husband being a stud. Mary Jane had assumed Morgan was a nice guy but not particularly exciting in the bedroom.

Last night notwithstanding, and she couldn’t really count that, he might still be a ho-hum Romeo. But if Morgan was no fun in bed, then her radar was way off. She was picking up signals like crazy from this man. He was starting to make her drool, to tell the truth. She didn’t feel particularly noble admitting that to herself, but it was true.

She might be able to blame the pregnancy for her sexual interest in Morgan. In a way, that made the lust all his fault, his and Arielle’s. She liked the idea of pointing the guilty finger at her hormones. Those rambunctious little dudes were the villains, getting her all worked up.

But if she followed that line of reasoning, she should be drooling over anything in pants. Plenty of male customers came through the door at the diner, and she hadn’t felt inclined to jump their bones. She’d felt generally deprived sexually, but it hadn’t affected her discrimination.

Morgan hung up the phone and turned. As he walked to her, her heart did a little dance of welcome. He was only staying a few days, she reminded herself. They obviously needed each other to make it through the first shock and come to grips with their tremendous loss. When they’d recovered their balance, he would go back to New York and continue with his life there while she would stay in Austin and continue hers. She’d probably better cool it.

He climbed into the car and shut the door. “Calling was the right thing to do.” He looked at her. “Thanks.”

“So they can manage without you for a little while?”

He nodded. “Chuck told me to take whatever time I needed. I said I’d check in with him in a couple of days.”

Mary Jane had another sudden thought. “You didn’t get any pets since I was there last, did you?”

“Nope, no pets. And only fake plants. A weekly cleaning service.” He stared out the window. “The apartment could go on forever just fine without anybody being there. We planned it that way so we could have more freedom.” He shook his head, bemused. “We planned everything carefully. We had a smooth, neat life. No wrinkles.”

“Then why in the world did you want a baby?” The question came out before she even knew she was going to ask it.

He turned and looked at her for a long time. “The truth?”

“No better time than now.”

“I wanted the baby. Arielle wasn’t sure a baby was a good idea. I often wondered if there was some sort of mind-body thing going on that kept her from getting pregnant. I was the one who suggested finding a surrogate mother. I may even have been the one who thought of you.”

Mary Jane realized she’d known all along that Arielle wasn’t absolutely gung-ho about having a kid, although her friend had never said anything to give herself away. She’d tried to be a good sport. But looking back on it, Mary Jane recognized that most of the enthusiasm had come from Morgan and herself. She’d been so excited about doing this huge favor, a favor that would prove her undying love for Arielle, that she’d told herself Arielle wanted the baby more than anything in the world.

But she hadn’t. She’d gone along with the idea for Morgan’s sake.

“I think on some level I knew she wasn’t wild about the idea,” Mary Jane said. And then a disloyal thought came to her. If Arielle hadn’t wanted this baby more than anything in the world, what kind of mother would she have been?

“She would have loved that little kid, though, once she got used to motherhood,” Morgan said. “Once the baby was here.”

Mary Jane glanced at him and wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing she had. “She would have been a wonderful mother,” she agreed quickly, not wanting to admit a chink in her loyalty, even to herself. “And I should know. She practically raised me.”

“I know. She told me all about that. She was very proud of her job.”

“She should have been.” But disloyal thoughts seemed to be the order of the day, because Mary Jane was thinking another one. She wondered why she felt so obligated to Arielle for taking her on. Arielle had needed a job as much as Mary Jane had needed a nanny. And yet the way the story always came out, Arielle had rescued Mary Jane. Which was kind of true, but it hadn’t been exactly a one-way street.

“I guess this is a pointless discussion,” Morgan said.

“Not really.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “I’m looking for any way I can to deal with what’s happened, and I have to admit it helps to know that she wasn’t as excited about the baby as I…thought she was.”

“She would have been, once the baby was born,” he insisted.

“Of course she would have.” Mary Jane didn’t think either of them totally believed that. She took a deep breath and glanced at him. “I figure besides a phone card you also have a gold card.”

“Yeah.”

She switched on the engine. “That’s good, because unless you were planning to fit into some of my outfits, you need to do some clothes shopping.”

“Oh.” He looked at his wrinkled shirt. “Good plan. Any major department store will be fine. I’ll just get a few shirts and a couple of pairs of slacks, some underwear.”

She backed the car out of the parking space. “You mean more stuff like what you already have hanging in the closet at home?”

“Pretty much. Why?”

“Because you’re in Texas, my friend. Why not go native?”

“You mean buy Western clothes?”

She gave him a quick once-over. “Why not? You have the build for it. Come on, now, haven’t you ever wanted to be a cowboy?”

“No.”

“Never? Not even when you were five? You never galloped through the back yard shooting bad guys?”

He shrugged. “Sure, maybe, but that doesn’t mean that I want to parade around in those kind of clothes now.”

“Betcha do.”

He sighed and settled back against the seat. “You’re going to take me to a Western store, aren’t you?”

“When was the last time you tried on a cowboy hat?”

“A cowboy hat? You think I’m going to put out my hard-earned money for a damned hat? I might need some shirts and pants, but I do not need a hat.”

MORGAN nearly knocked the Stetson off his head when he climbed in the Beetle two hours later. “See? It gets in the way,” he complained to Mary Jane, who looked incredibly smug about the entire shopping expedition. “I’ll probably lose this very expensive hat in no time.”

“No, you won’t. Not if you took a good look at yourself in that full-length mirror. The hat is essential.” She closed her door and gave him a triumphant glance. “Did you or did you not have more fun buying those duds than you have ever had shopping for boring suits and ties?”

Well, he had, but he felt guilty about it. The fact was, he’d never had so much fun shopping for clothes in his life. And fun wasn’t what he was supposed to be having right now. “At least I have something to cover my body with that doesn’t look as if it went through the trash compactor.”

“There you go.” She seemed satisfied with his response, as if she could tell from his tone that he’d enjoyed himself. “Now let’s hit the grocery store and then we’ll go home.”

Home. They needed to talk about their living arrangements. “Look, if I’ll be staying a little while, then I think sleeping on the couch downstairs is the best—”

“I’d absolutely planned on that.” She gunned the engine and made it through a yellow light.

He wondered if she’d planned on that. During the shopping spree she’d had many excuses to touch him while she’d checked the fit of a shirt or the length of his jeans. She’d taken those opportunities. And to his shame, he’d liked that part of the expedition most of all.

But a few casual touches were one thing. They weren’t going to share a bed again. Sharing her town house might be risky, but moving into a hotel would defeat the whole purpose of his staying. He needed to stay clear on his purpose. He and Mary Jane were the two people most affected by Arielle’s death, and it was only logical that they’d ride out the storm together, at least during these first few days. They were a safe haven for each other. They could trust each other with their tears.

On top of that, he needed to consider the health of his baby. If Mary Jane went into a depression because she’d lost Arielle, then she wouldn’t eat right or exercise. She might forget to take her vitamins. The pregnancy could be compromised. He wanted to make sure that she was in good mental health before he went back to New York.

Come to think of it, he’d probably have to make a few trips to Texas in the next four months to check on her. She’d had a sweet tooth before this tragedy, judging from the evidence he’d found in her kitchen. That was a problem that could quickly get out of hand. Yes, he definitely needed to monitor her progress closely.

“You’re smiling.” She whipped the little car into the parking lot of a large grocery store. “I knew those clothes would cheer you up.”

Startled, he glanced at her. He hadn’t been aware of smiling and he hadn’t been thinking about his new clothes. He’d been thinking of spending time with her.

“I’ll bet wearing those jeans and boots reminds you of the fun you used to have playing when you were a little kid,” she said.

“Maybe.” He wasn’t about to admit the real reason he’d been smiling. She was liable to read something into it.

“Something else I’ve always wondered.” She slipped the car neatly into a parking spot and cut the engine.

“What’s that?”

“How come you decided to be a pediatrician? I mean, once you made a decision to be a doctor, why didn’t you go, Hey, I think I’ll be a brain surgeon, or maybe a heart surgeon.”

He recognized familiar territory. Not particularly attractive territory, but familiar. “You mean because it might pay better?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Funny, but Arielle tried to convince me to switch over to one of those specialties while I was still in med school. Did you guys talk about that or something?”

“No, no, we didn’t. She seemed pretty happy about your job.”

“Well, yeah, she was.” But she hadn’t always been. He’d shoved that terrible fight under a stack of happier memories. She’d nearly broken their engagement when he wouldn’t consider restructuring his classes so he’d be qualified for a more glamorous specialty.

“I feel comfortable with kids,” he said. “Always have. In high school I did one of those shadowing things where you spend time with people in professions you’d like to enter. I shadowed an older woman who’d been in pediatrics for thirty years. I knew I’d found what I wanted to do.”

Her blue eyes shone. “That’s so wonderful. Not very many people find their calling in life so early. You’re very lucky.”

“Lucky? That’s kind of a strange thing to say right now, Mary Jane.”

Her expressive eyes clouded and she laid a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said gently. There was her touch again, making him yearn for things he couldn’t have. “And you’re right. In some ways, I’ve been very lucky. I wonder if it’s true, that life has a way of evening out. Strike it rich in one area and you’re liable to strike out somewhere else.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “I refuse to believe that just because something good comes along, something bad is right on its heels.”

He watched her mouth and realized he’d never even kissed her. He knew what it was like to sink deep inside her and feel her powerful contractions, but he had no idea how her lips tasted. And he would never know. “Or just because something bad comes along, something good is right on its heels?”

“That’s more reasonable,” she said. “Now, let’s shop.” She opened her door and got out of the car.

He chuckled. It was hard not to with Mary Jane around. It was hard not to feel alive and hopeful, although the positive emotions she inspired carried a certain amount of guilt. “I like your way of looking at things,” he said as they walked together toward the store’s entrance.

“And my taste in men’s clothing?” she prompted, giving him the once-over.

“It’s different. I would never have picked a shirt with blue lightning streaks across the shoulders.”

“It looks good. You should probably stay close to me and pretend we’re a couple or somebody’s liable to hit on you.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Then wander by yourself down the aisles and see what happens, if you don’t believe me. Thanks to my suggestions, you’re now a genuine piece of eye candy.”

He laughed out loud and was sure his face was red. No woman, not even Arielle, had ever paid him such an outrageous compliment. He’d made points with women by being an all-around good guy, but he’d never considered himself sexy-looking. Having a twenty-two-year-old tossing out comments like that was likely to go to his head.

And become addicting.

GOOD THING she’d dressed Morgan in snug jeans and a hat that made him look like John Michael Montgomery. If he hadn’t looked so damned good, she would have killed him in the bakery aisle, Mary Jane decided.

The man was determined to stuff her full of everything green and deprive her of the finer things of life, like the Black Forest cake that had been on sale for half price. She might even have paid full price for a beauty like that, with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and bright red cherries sitting on top like beacons of delight. About the only thing she could say about this load of veggies was that they weren’t all that expensive, so if they went bad she wouldn’t have wasted much money on them. Maybe the birds would like some of this stuff.

“I could have frozen half of that cake,” she grumbled as he positioned the cart next to the checkout counter and began unloading enough produce to make Peter Rabbit jump for joy. “Then it would have been spread out longer. It’s not like I planned to eat it all at once, you know.”

“That thing was made from white flour and white sugar, and I’ll bet it was loaded with preservatives. We picked up lots of fruit. That’s about a thousand times better for your system.”

“So you’re one of those misguided people who thinks fruit constitutes dessert?”

“Sure. Fruit and cheese.” He kept putting things on the conveyor belt.

Mary Jane eyed them, thinking that most of that kind of food had never been in her house, let alone in her stomach. “Fruit and cheese is a snack,” she said. “It’s fine in its place, but don’t try to tell me that it could ever, in a zillion years, take the place of cherry pie à la mode. Ask any of my customers which they consider dessert. And to make my point, we don’t have fruit and cheese as one of the selections for dessert at Austin Eats Diner. So there.”

He gave her a tolerant smile. “Some people go without dessert altogether.”

“And those people have no idea how to enjoy life.” She started digging in her purse for her wallet. “There’s not much in this world that can’t be fixed with a decent hot fudge sundae. I’ve seen it a million times in my line of work.” She opened her wallet and noticed that she needed to go to the bank, but she should be able to cover the groceries.

“Mary Jane, I don’t—”

“You might not believe me, but it’s true.” She searched through the receipts and coupons she’d stuffed in her bill section and managed to locate two twenties. “Somebody comes in down in the dumps, and I make them a sundae, swirl the whipped cream up real perky, load on lots of nuts and pop that happy little cherry on top. You can’t be down in the dumps when something like that is set in front of you.” She glanced at him. “Right?”

His gaze was gentle. “Right. Now put your money away.”

“What?”

“I’m buying these groceries. And paying you back for breakfast.”

“Oh, no, you’re not buying these groceries. We can talk about breakfast if you want, but not the groceries.” She tried to work her way past him. “Miss, I’m paying for these. Don’t let him give you his money. These are mine, all mine.”

“No, Mary Jane, now stop it.” He blocked her way. “I’m buying these. There’s my toothbrush and razor in there, for one thing.”

“Oh, like I can’t afford to buy you a toothbrush and razor.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t be paying for anything. I never could understand why you haven’t taken more financial help for this.”

“Because.” She gritted her teeth. “Let me past so I can pay for the groceries.”

“Because why?”

“That’ll be thirty-six forty-nine,” the clerk said.

She took a deep breath. “Because if you started paying for things besides my medical bills, then I wouldn’t be doing you a favor. I’d be sort of like your employee, that’s why.”

His jaw dropped. “Employee? Since when did you get a ridiculous idea like that?”

“Thirty-six forty-nine,” the clerk repeated.

“Some people hire women to have their baby,” Mary Jane said. “It’s a business arrangement. It’s like a job for them. But it’s my pleasure to have your baby.” She didn’t realize that what she’d said might be embarrassing until he began to blush. But she could use that embarrassment to her advantage. “Now let me by so I can pay.”

He did.

“Personally I think you should let him pay,” the clerk said as she took the money Mary Jane held out. “I mean, the guy didn’t even have enough foresight to bring a toothbrush and razor, for God’s sake.”

Mary Jane winked at her. “What he gives me is lots better than money,” she said. Then she took her change and waltzed out of the store, leaving a red-faced Morgan to come sputtering along behind, pushing the cart full of veggies.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he said as he drew alongside her.

She glanced at him and smiled. “Maybe next time you’ll let me have my cake and eat it, too.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MARY JANE DID the best she could by the steamed vegetables Morgan so endearingly insisted on fixing for their lunch. She wasn’t very hungry, but she didn’t think he was, either, and yet he ate the veggies with such determination that she had to follow suit.

She used the time to find out a little more about his background and discovered that he had a younger brother named Scott who was traveling through Europe with his girlfriend and wouldn’t be home for several months, although he called home every couple of weeks. Morgan’s parents had said they wouldn’t tell Scott about the accident until he returned home so his trip wouldn’t be spoiled.

“But wouldn’t he want to know?” Mary Jane thought his parents’ attitude was a little callous and hated to think they were cutting off another source of emotional support for their eldest son.

“Maybe not.” Morgan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Scott tends to avoid unpleasant things, too. It was the way we were raised. Besides, I wouldn’t want him to race home just to hold my hand. That would be pretty selfish. He’s spent a long time saving for this trip.”

And his only brother has suffered a devastating loss, she thought. She couldn’t say that, though, because it wasn’t her place to butt into their family dynamics. So she changed the subject, and they talked about what it had been like for him growing up in snowy New York compared with her childhood in sunny Texas.

But as they cleaned up the lunch dishes, her thoughts returned to Morgan’s family members and how their remote behavior had left him so alone at this critical time in his life. She was beginning to feel very protective of him.

No wonder he’d come to Austin. No wonder he didn’t want to leave. Not that she wanted him to, at least not right away. Once he was gone she could turn to Lana, Beth and Ellie, of course, and they’d help her get through the grieving.

But—and this was tough to admit—they’d never been crazy about Arielle. In fact, when Mary Jane had first told them she was planning to carry Arielle’s baby, they’d wondered how Arielle could ask such a thing of her. She’d tried to explain that she wanted to do this for Arielle, but they’d made it clear they thought Arielle was not thinking of Mary Jane’s best interests, considering she was only twenty-two and had never had a baby before.

Once the pregnancy had become a reality, though, her friends had come through like champs. She was positive they’d come through this time, too, and help her deal with her grief. But the fact that they hadn’t been totally pro Arielle would make their sympathy less comforting than Morgan’s.

Lana. Mary Jane remembered that Lana had expected her to call back. She needed to make that call, although she probably wouldn’t tell Lana about Arielle over the phone. Lana would be over here in a shot, and Mary Jane wanted to protect Morgan’s privacy a little longer. Or keep him to myself? Maybe that, too.

She finished wiping the kitchen counter and draped the dishrag over the faucet. “Thanks for fixing lunch.”

“I take it you don’t eat like that very often.”

She smiled at him. “Would you believe never?”

He winced. “I’m afraid to ask what you usually eat.”

“Diner food, if you’re talking about lunch. I’d probably do burgers and fries most of the time, but you’ll be happy to know that Shelby usually pushes a helping of green beans or a salad at me. Come to think of it, our cook Sara’s been on me about my diet, too. So if you want to give me a lecture, you’ll have to get in line.”

“At least it’s not fast food.”

“Oh, I’ve been known to take a swing by those places on occasion. But the diner’s kind of spoiled me for fast food.” She reached for the vitamins she kept on the counter and got a glass of water. “And I’m very good about taking these. Don’t I get points for that?”

“Sure. You get a million points just for agreeing to carry this baby.” He sighed heavily. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a slight tendency to try and control things.”

“No, really?” She gazed at him with some fondness. It was perfectly natural for him to want to control things after a freak accident had taken away the person he loved most. If it made him feel better to force veggies on her for a few days, it was no big deal. He’d be going home soon.

She closed the vitamins and put them on the counter. “I need to make a quick phone call,” she said. “A friend left a message on my machine yesterday.” It seemed impossible it had only been yesterday. She felt as if five years had gone by since then.

His warm brown eyes clouded with uncertainty. “A guy?”

“No, a woman. Lana Lord. She’s an old friend.”

“Oh.” He looked relieved.

She wondered at his reaction. He’d acted as if he’d been afraid she was about to tell him she had a boyfriend. Could he possibly imagine she would have allowed last night to happen if she did have a man in her life? “I decided not to date for the duration,” she said. “To simplify things.”

He studied her for a long time. “I don’t think I had a clue how this pregnancy would turn your life upside down. This is the time when you should be dating, going to parties. You’re only twenty-two, for God’s sake.”

She grimaced. “I do know that, and if I had any doubt, you’ve reminded me about a hundred times in the past twelve hours.”

“Maybe I have to remind myself, because obviously I wasn’t thinking much about it when we came up with this plan. I was so focused on what I wanted that I’ve been guilty of…well, using you. That’s inexcusable.”

“You make it sound as if I had no say in the matter. As I keep telling you, I wanted to do this as a special gift for Arielle, who’s done so much for me. I’ve never once felt used or taken advantage of.”

“Well, maybe you should have.”

“But I didn’t.” She rested her hand against the gentle swell of her belly. “And it’s a little late to worry about that now, isn’t it?”

His gaze fell to where her hand rested. Warmth gradually replaced the concern in his brown eyes. “I confess that I love looking at you and knowing you’re carrying this baby,” he murmured, glancing into her eyes. “I may be having a real attack of conscience about the sacrifices you’re making, but I don’t wish that baby away. Not for a minute.”

She had the feeling that if he’d trusted himself to do it, he’d have come closer and put his hand on her stomach. The yearning was there in his eyes. She wanted him to touch her there, too, but she didn’t think the touching would end with that, so she’d be better off not encouraging him.

“I guess you should make your call,” he said.

“Okay. I’ll call her from upstairs.” She started to leave the kitchen.

“Are you going to tell her?”

She turned to him. “Not yet.”

“I don’t mean to cut you off from your friends at a time like this. If you want to tell her, if you want to go over and see her, it’s fine with me.”

She was touched that he’d say that when she doubted he’d really want her to desert him today. “There’s time for that after you leave,” she said.

He looked into her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She wanted to go over and hug him, because he sure looked as if he could use a hug. If last night hadn’t happened, she’d probably be able to get away with doing that. But last night had happened, and a hug was too risky now. Eventually maybe they could be casually affectionate, but it wouldn’t happen today. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and hurried upstairs.

The phone conversation was tricky, and no doubt Lana suspected something was going on, but Mary Jane was able to stall her friend for a few days. From Lana’s teasing reaction, she probably thought Mary Jane had met a guy and had reconsidered her self-imposed ban on dating. Lana had warned her she might be sorry if the right guy came along and she refused to give him the time of day.

Apparently Morgan felt she was making a terrible sacrifice to have given up dating. She thought about that as she combed her hair and put on fresh lipstick. The fact was, she’d been discouraged with the prospects recently. Compared with someone like Morgan, they were…uh-oh. Her lipstick only half applied, she paused and stared at herself in the mirror.

Comparing past boyfriends with Morgan was a bad sign. She could not allow herself to fantasize, even for a second, that there could ever be anything but a strong friendship between her and Morgan. They would always be linked by the baby, but this unusual intimacy they were experiencing was brought on by shared tragedy and wouldn’t last. Besides, he’d been Arielle’s husband. Getting involved with him beyond what had happened the night before would be just too weird. End of story.

Finishing with her lipstick, she headed downstairs, but she hesitated when she saw Morgan sitting on her flowered couch with his back to her. He held a framed picture in both hands, and although he blocked most of it, she could see a corner of the frame and knew exactly which one he had. She’d also have known by glancing at the top of her television cabinet where this particular photo was missing from the collection she had displayed there.

It was a professional portrait that Arielle had had taken when she was twenty-two, the same age as Mary Jane was now and a year before Arielle had met Morgan. The head shot showed Arielle gazing dreamily into the distance instead of looking at the camera. Not a blond hair was out of place. Mary Jane thought of it as Arielle’s Mona Lisa picture because of the mysterious little smile on her face.

Morgan sat quietly, his shoulders still, so at least he wasn’t weeping uncontrollably, but Mary Jane hated to intrude. Yet if she went upstairs, he might hear her retreating and be even more embarrassed. A lump in her throat, she sat quietly on the carpeted stairs and waited for him to put the picture back.

Instead he continued to stare at it. Tears filled Mary Jane’s eyes and dripped silently down her cheeks and into her lap. She felt a raw, jagged hole in the place where Arielle had always been, but she hadn’t lived with Arielle in years. What must it be like for Morgan, who had built his entire existence around this beautiful blond woman? Mary Jane couldn’t comprehend what he must be going through.

Finally he stood, walked slowly to the television cabinet and replaced the picture, tilting it exactly the way it had been before.

Mary Jane had intended to stand immediately and pretend she’d just been coming downstairs, but she was crying too much to pull that off, so she continued to sit on the steps. A small whimper must have escaped her lips, because Morgan turned quickly.

She’d expected to see tears on his face, too. He looked devastated, but he was dry-eyed.

Catching sight of her sitting there, he hurried over and came up the stairs to crouch in front of her. “Poor Mary Jane,” he crooned, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry for you,” she cried, choking back a sob. “How can you bear it?”

“I can bear it,” he said softly, brushing her damp cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s you I’m worried about. You were closer to her than anyone.”

“That’s silly.” She hiccuped and swallowed fresh sobs. “She was your w-wife.”

“I know.” His eyes searched hers. “And after six years, I still didn’t feel that I really knew her. We shared a house, a marriage, a bed, but she never really let me get close to her.”

She understood the gift he was giving her, to reveal something so stark and hurtful. Placing her hands over his, she mirrored his tenderness, cradling his hands against her face. Effortlessly she sank into the depths of his gaze, connecting with him on that same elemental level they’d reached the night before.

“I have to believe you knew her far better than I ever did,” he said, his tone raw and vulnerable. “So you must be in worse shape than I am.”

“Nobody really knew Arielle,” she whispered. It was something she’d never admitted to herself, let alone said out loud.

Confusion shadowed his eyes. “But surely, in the years when she was like a mother to you, she—”

Mary Jane swallowed. “She was like the perfect china teacups she collected,” she said in a hoarse voice. “No one ever saw a crack or a chip anywhere. I loved her, idolized her, wanted to be like her, but I knew I couldn’t ever make it. I was too…too…”

“Human?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “Way too human.”

“I guess that makes two of us.” The warmth in his eyes shifted subtly, taking on a different gleam. His grip tightened, and his attention drifted to her mouth.

She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d wanted a kiss more. But if she let Morgan kiss her in her present state of mind, or in his, they’d make love right on these stairs. Then they’d continue making love until finally she had to go back to work day after tomorrow. Yes, it would take away the sharp pain they both struggled with, but afterward they might never be able to forgive themselves.

She reached up and pressed two fingers against his mouth. A wonderful velvet mouth that would feel like heaven against hers. “No,” she said quietly.

He released her so fast she nearly tumbled forward into his arms. “Damn!” He steadied her quickly before letting go of her shoulders. Then he moved down a couple of steps and collapsed with his back against the railing. “I can’t imagine the opinion you have of me now.”

She took a shaky breath. “The same opinion I’ve always had. You’re a good guy stuck with no one to comfort you except me. And I’m—well, I’m sort of a babe. Your urges are perfectly natural.” She glanced at him. “And that’s babe, not baby.”

His mouth turned up. “You’re a whole bunch of things, Mary Jane, including a babe.”

“I wouldn’t even care if you kissed me,” she said. “Except I know where that would lead, and you’d hate yourself afterward.”

“You’ve got that right.” He closed his eyes. “Maybe you should take me to the airport this afternoon.”

The thought of him leaving abruptly made her stomach tighten. “I’d rather take you rowing on Town Lake.”

“And throw me overboard?”

“Not in those new clothes.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’ll go repair my makeup and then we’ll see the sights.”

He sighed. “Mary Jane, I don’t think I should stay. I—”

“Please stay. We have to work out how we’re going to be with each other, considering that I’ll want to keep in touch with this baby in the years ahead. If you go running off before we figure it out, we might feel awkward about our relationship for a long time. That wouldn’t be good for us or for the baby.”

He glanced up at her. “You sure are smart.”

“For a twenty-two-year-old?” She couldn’t resist.

“For any age. Okay, I’ll stay another day or two. And I promise to keep my hands off you. But you don’t have to play tour guide.”

“Look, you don’t know the area,” she said. “You didn’t come here with any props. No books to read, no projects to do. I’m not crazy about having the TV on during the day.”

“Good. Me, neither.”

“Then unless you want me to teach you how to crochet, I think sight-seeing is the best option.”

He smiled. “I’m no good at needlework. But how do you usually spend your days off? What would you be doing if I hadn’t shown up?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Sure, I do.”

“I’d probably be lolling around upstairs in my jammies, reading tabloids and painting my toenails.”

The poor guy’s tongue was nearly hanging out before he got himself under control. He cleared his throat. “Well, if that’s your usual routine, don’t mind me. I can—”

“Morgan, I’m not going to follow my usual routine. We’re dealing with unusual circumstances. Besides, I like my city. I enjoy showing it off.”

“Okay. But I’m beginning to feel like a leech, especially after you bought breakfast and groceries. Can I take you someplace really nice for dinner? Don’t forget I’m the proud owner of a gold card. What’s the most exclusive restaurant in Austin?”

He really was a sweetie. Arielle had talked about being treated like a queen, and Mary Jane could see how that was a real possibility with a guy like Morgan. Arielle had obviously loved all this wining and dining, but she hadn’t worked in a restaurant five or six days out of every week, either.

“That’s a nice thought,” she said, “and I appreciate it. But to tell you the truth, I’d rather rent a movie and order a pizza tonight. I suppose that doesn’t sound very exciting to someone from New York City, though.”

His gaze, usually so open, became unreadable. “You might be surprised.”

THE EMOTIONAL SHOCK of Arielle’s death must have shaken something loose in his brain, Morgan decided a couple of hours later as he pulled on the oars of the boat he and Mary Jane had rented. He was supposed to be admiring the Austin skyline visible at the far end of the lake, but instead he was admiring Mary Jane in the bow of the boat, and wondering how he’d get through another night in her town house without hitting on her. He didn’t remember being this obsessed with sex even as a sixteen-year-old.

She seemed unaware of his preoccupation, and he was sure she was making no effort to be provocative. Probably just the opposite. For the boat ride she’d changed into some lightweight drawstring pants, a faded, roomy T-shirt with the Texas Longhorns mascot on the front, and red sandals.

Maybe it was the sandals. Her exotically painted toenails peeked out from under the strap across her instep. Each chili-pepper-red toenail had a silver star in the middle that winked at him. She’d been barefoot when she’d come to the door last night, and although he didn’t remember paying any attention to her feet, part of his brain must have recorded those toenails and associated them with what went on later in her bed.

Or maybe it was the way she was leaning back against the end of the boat, her elbows on the rail, her knees slightly apart. Or his new black cowboy hat on her head. When he’d nearly lost it in the lake they’d decided that whoever wasn’t rowing should wear the hat, so they could keep one hand on it if the wind picked up.

So they’d traded, and he now wore her wire-rimmed sunglasses to shade his eyes and she wore the hat, pulling it low over her brow the way a desperado might. She looked so damn cute in that hat. The breeze was tangling her hair, which she’d left loose around her shoulders, and the sun was reflecting off the curls that escaped from the shade of the hat.

She clapped a hand over the crown and tilted her head to let a little sun fall directly on her face. “I spend too much time under artificial light,” she said. “It’s the only thing I regret about my job.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve often wished I could set up a booth in Central Park and see my patients there.”

She glanced at him with a smile. “Wouldn’t that be cool? I’ll bet kids wouldn’t mind coming to the doctor’s office so much if they didn’t have to sit in those scary little waiting rooms. You could call yourself the Doc in the Park. I think you should try it.”

“I’m pretty sure my insurance agent would have a heart attack.”

She waved a hand. “Minor detail. I’ll bet you could revolutionize pediatrics with a gig like that.” She sat up straighter. “Okay, my turn to row again.”

He didn’t want to give up the oars. For one thing, it kept his hands busy. “It can’t be. I just got started.”

“You’ve been rowing for at least fifteen minutes, and I admit you’re better at it than I thought you’d be, considering you’re such a city boy.”

“I keep telling you I was on the rowing team in college.”

“Yeah, yeah, but that doesn’t give you special privileges. Come on. Trade places with me. The rowing’s the fun part.”

“Another five minutes. Then we’ll switch.” He’d quickly discovered that physical exercise was exactly what he needed. Besides, rowing the boat across a section of water gave him a sense of accomplishment and control. Apparently he’d needed that, too.

Of course, Mary Jane needed and wanted those rewards as much as he did. He’d figured out right away that she wasn’t the type to sit in the boat and let the guy take the oars, no matter how many rowing medals he had stashed in his closet at home. She’d gone so far as to push back the sleeve of her T-shirt and flex her muscles for him to prove that she was capable of rowing them across the lake.

He’d never had a woman insist on doing her share of the manual labor, and he’d tried to talk her out of it, even using her pregnancy as a reason. She’d laughed and mentioned the heavy trays she carried at work every day. Finally he’d run out of arguments and had let her take the first turn at the oars, much to her delight.

Watching her row had proved to be its own special torture. Each time she’d pulled on the oars her breasts had thrust against the fabric of her T-shirt. By now he was pretty sure that Longhorns logo was burned permanently into his retina.

“Wasn’t this the greatest idea?” she asked.

“Yes.” He couldn’t believe how something so simple was so cleansing. He wasn’t really in shape for rowing, but the slight ache in his shoulders felt great. While he worked up a mild sweat and listened to the rhythm of the oars clunking against the oarlocks, he enjoyed the lush green of the trees surrounding the lake, the familiar dank scent of the water, the white clouds scudding across the sky and the sun warming his back. “It makes you feel glad to be a—” He brought the sentence to a screeching halt and stared at Mary Jane in horror at what he’d been about to say.

She leaned forward and put a hand on each of his knees. “We are alive,” she said, looking hard at him as she gripped his knees. “And, Morgan, that’s not our fault. We shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

“I guess not.” But he had plenty of other things to feel guilty about, and topping the list was the selfish, wild pleasure he felt whenever she touched him. They’d rowed into a fairly secluded inlet, and nobody seemed to be around on this week day. If he had no conscience… But he did have a conscience, and fortunately it still worked. “You can have the oars now,” he said.

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