beacon, and shut it behind her as she ran in.
Morgan sat in the dark car, unsure what had happened. Or rather, unsure of what it meant.
One minute he’d been half intoxicated with touching Rosalie, fascinated with the promise, even eagerness in her eyes. The next minute it was as if he’d stepped into a different reality.
With her so close, he’d forgotten about everything that might stand between them, about Lillian and Charlie, about Aaron. Maybe Aaron was where he’d gone wrong.
Rosalie had been in a state of panic the moment her cell rang. By the time they got to her house, she’d seemed scared to death. Morgan had thought maybe her Aaron was sick or injured, but, no, he’d been waiting for her at the door when they got there, a dark shadow twice her size.
Could there be a more sinister reason for her intense feelings about Charlie and the woman he’d murdered? Was that why the usually cool Ms. Walker had been so nervous the day he was at the house? Why she’d jumped so much when the neighborhood busybody mentioned Joey/Aaron’s name that she’d nearly given herself a concussion?
Morgan drove away, a sick dread in his stomach.
He slept in fits and spurts, and got up the next morning feeling as if something dark and dangerous was closing in on him.
When coffee and breakfast did nothing to ease his mood, he had his assistant in Boston reschedule his flight home before he called Rosalie’s office.
“I’m sorry,” the male receptionist intoned in his out-of-work actor’s baritone, “Ms. Walker isn’t in. She won’t be again until Monday.”
Anger shot through Morgan’s system. Had that big jerk beaten Rosalie up last night?
He thanked the receptionist and headed for the car. He needed to get to her house and make sure she was okay.
Joey’s wail broke through the black haze of exhaustion and pulled Rosalie out of her bed.
When she reach his room, tears flowed down her cheeks at the sight of him standing there rocking side to side while clutching the side of his crib, the way he did every morning.
A quick touch to his cheek told her the fever was still down. The medicine they’d given him at the urgent care center had done the trick. She lifted him from the crib and gave him a ferocious hug.
“Okay, food or diaper first?”
“Best.”
“Breakfast it is. I bet you’re hungry. Vanessa said you didn’t want your bedtime bottle,” she murmured as she put him down and took his tiny hand in hers so he could toddle beside her to the kitchen. “You gave her and Aaron a real scare last night, you know.”
“Vessa,” Joey echoed. “Run.”
She lifted him into his highchair, mixed his cereal and set it in the microwave.
“Yes, Vanessa and Aaron watched you last night.”
The sudden memory of what she’d been doing while they’d dealt with Joey’s fever froze her in place until the microwave’s penetrating ding brought her back to the moment.
She’d almost been kissed by Morgan Danby. Had almost kissed him back.
The man who claimed Charlie Thompson for his brother. The man who could take Joey away from her.
Shame washed over her.
Joey made an impatient sound. She finished fixing his cereal and set it on the highchair. With luck he wouldn’t demand that she feed him. She needed time to pull herself together.
Automatically she fed the cats, who were twining around her legs. When the coffee-maker sputtered to a stop she poured herself a cup and stood by the sink to drink the bitter liquid.
Instead of pulling herself together, she fell apart more. Márya’s will gave her custody of Joey, but that wasn’t the final word. Not in the face of blood relatives, wealthy blood relatives who wanted him. And the fact that she’d deceived those relatives would count against her in court. But what else could she have done?
The questions and the guilt, spun deeper and deeper. But one thing was clear. She must never get within kissing distance of Morgan Danby again.
A clatter and plop on
Morgan sat in the dark car, unsure what had happened. Or rather, unsure of what it meant.
One minute he’d been half intoxicated with touching Rosalie, fascinated with the promise, even eagerness in her eyes. The next minute it was as if he’d stepped into a different reality.
With her so close, he’d forgotten about everything that might stand between them, about Lillian and Charlie, about Aaron. Maybe Aaron was where he’d gone wrong.
Rosalie had been in a state of panic the moment her cell rang. By the time they got to her house, she’d seemed scared to death. Morgan had thought maybe her Aaron was sick or injured, but, no, he’d been waiting for her at the door when they got there, a dark shadow twice her size.
Could there be a more sinister reason for her intense feelings about Charlie and the woman he’d murdered? Was that why the usually cool Ms. Walker had been so nervous the day he was at the house? Why she’d jumped so much when the neighborhood busybody mentioned Joey/Aaron’s name that she’d nearly given herself a concussion?
Morgan drove away, a sick dread in his stomach.
He slept in fits and spurts, and got up the next morning feeling as if something dark and dangerous was closing in on him.
When coffee and breakfast did nothing to ease his mood, he had his assistant in Boston reschedule his flight home before he called Rosalie’s office.
“I’m sorry,” the male receptionist intoned in his out-of-work actor’s baritone, “Ms. Walker isn’t in. She won’t be again until Monday.”
Anger shot through Morgan’s system. Had that big jerk beaten Rosalie up last night?
He thanked the receptionist and headed for the car. He needed to get to her house and make sure she was okay.
Joey’s wail broke through the black haze of exhaustion and pulled Rosalie out of her bed.
When she reach his room, tears flowed down her cheeks at the sight of him standing there rocking side to side while clutching the side of his crib, the way he did every morning.
A quick touch to his cheek told her the fever was still down. The medicine they’d given him at the urgent care center had done the trick. She lifted him from the crib and gave him a ferocious hug.
“Okay, food or diaper first?”
“Best.”
“Breakfast it is. I bet you’re hungry. Vanessa said you didn’t want your bedtime bottle,” she murmured as she put him down and took his tiny hand in hers so he could toddle beside her to the kitchen. “You gave her and Aaron a real scare last night, you know.”
“Vessa,” Joey echoed. “Run.”
She lifted him into his highchair, mixed his cereal and set it in the microwave.
“Yes, Vanessa and Aaron watched you last night.”
The sudden memory of what she’d been doing while they’d dealt with Joey’s fever froze her in place until the microwave’s penetrating ding brought her back to the moment.
She’d almost been kissed by Morgan Danby. Had almost kissed him back.
The man who claimed Charlie Thompson for his brother. The man who could take Joey away from her.
Shame washed over her.
Joey made an impatient sound. She finished fixing his cereal and set it on the highchair. With luck he wouldn’t demand that she feed him. She needed time to pull herself together.
Automatically she fed the cats, who were twining around her legs. When the coffee-maker sputtered to a stop she poured herself a cup and stood by the sink to drink the bitter liquid.
Instead of pulling herself together, she fell apart more. Márya’s will gave her custody of Joey, but that wasn’t the final word. Not in the face of blood relatives, wealthy blood relatives who wanted him. And the fact that she’d deceived those relatives would count against her in court. But what else could she have done?
The questions and the guilt, spun deeper and deeper. But one thing was clear. She must never get within kissing distance of Morgan Danby again.
A clatter and plop on
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