"Mr. Pierce? I've been sent here to introduce you to Tommy. Your son."
Morgan instinctively crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the petite young woman. She was waiting on the porch of his mansion-like cabin. Her direct hazel gaze, not to mention the baby riding on her hip, indicated that this was no joke set up by his prank-loving ranch workers.
A barrage of questions spun around his brain. "A son? Mine?" he asked.
The child pursed his pink lips, smacking them. Then he reached out to grab a handful of the woman's chestnut chin-length bob. Morning sun beamed out of the Montana sky, bathing them in a pool of light and innocence. Morgan wasn't so used to either of those things.
A baby. His? When…where…who…?
She gently grasped Tommy's hand and untangled his fingers from her hair. "You know…" She laughed. "I was rehearsing my first words on the plane ride, but they came out wrong anyway. His mother wanted me to ease into the bombshell, not blast you with it."
Flushed, she was eagerly searching his face, gauging him. Morgan shifted his position, leather boots creaking, worked-in jeans just about cutting off circulation to his head
Baby Tommy fixed his Gerber peepers on Morgan, also taking his measure. Could he see everything Morgan had left behind? Champagne nights and silk-clad women with names and faces he couldn't recollect at times?
As Tommy flashed a toothless smile, something inside the ex-playboy's chest flexed — a muscle coming to life.
"Let's get you inside," Morgan said, guiding them over his threshold, away from the October chill and the yard workers who'd moved into hearing range.
A wisp of flowery perfume tickled him as she entered and offered her free hand. "Let's start again. I'm Rosemary Robbins."
Her palm settled in his. Warm. Soft. So tiny. His fingers wrapped around hers, cherishing the feel of her out of habit.
A habit he was doing his damnedest to break.
When their eyes locked, she quickly looked away and let go. The contact had stabbed a twist of heat through his gut. Great. He'd tucked himself away in this desolate Remington, Montana, ranch to escape his old, meaningless lifestyle — not to renew it with the first pretty stranger who knocked on his door.
Hell, she seemed too angelic for him, anyway, especially with a baby gurgling in her arms. His baby, she'd claimed.
He'd see about that.
They settled in his rawhide-and-granite family room near the crackling fire. She positioned herself at one end of a leather couch, and he at the other. Tommy had a fistful of Rosemary's no-nonsense jumpsuit, still ever watchful.
"I suppose I should explain," she said. "You could say Tommy was dropped on my doorstep. I've taken full responsibility for him."
"Where's his mother?"
Rosemary stiffened, and Tommy laid a pint-size hand on her cheek. "His mom's not ready to meet with you. I'm here to see if you're willing to be this child's father."
"Not to be contrary, but I'm slightly suspicious of any woman who shows up out of nowhere and claims to have possession of my…" The baby stared at Morgan, and the man couldn't help holding his breath at the family resemblance. "…son."
"I don't blame you. But —"
He held up a finger. "Before we go any further, I'd like to know, Ms. Robbins, are you playing some kind of game with me?"
"Game?" Rosemary's stomach flipped.
Another one of her rehearsed answers stuck in her throat. She'd made a promise not to tell Morgan Pierce about Tommy's mother. Not until she was sure the notorious playboy was suitable to raise the baby.
As they sat on the couch, Tommy razzed his lips, spraying spittle onto her cheek. She smiled and wiped off the moisture, kissing him.
"True, there's no reason for you to trust me right off the bat," she said. "But I've got to know if you want your son to be a part of your life. His mother isn't interested in child support or money. She wants your time."
Morgan's clear green eyes darkened, rivaling the black of his hair. His daredevil body, so tall and intimidating, went on alert, rough muscles clenching, wide shoulders hunching forward protectively. "She doesn't want money? Sure."
"It's true." She settled a restless Tommy onto her lap. "I need to know how you feel about being a father before Tommy's mom comes into it. Please. You have to believe me."
Boy, she was quaking all over; she had been since Morgan had opened his door to allow them inside. A perma-blush had swallowed her right up, beating over her skin with the cadence of an army marching toward a lost cause.
He speared a gaze into her. "I'm not a patsy."
"I can tell."
In a burst of excellent timing, Tommy let out an "aaahhhh!" Morgan's eyes lost their fire, slipped down to the baby on her lap, softened. So did Rosemary's heart.
"How old is he?"
"Just over six months." Rosemary held on tightly as Tommy leaned toward Morgan. "He's sort of crawling now, pushing himself like a frog through water. And the other day he made this funny new face. He looked like W. C. Fields."
"Six months." He was obviously doing some mental arithmetic. "The summer before last."
Rosemary held her breath, poised for him to remember. "That's right."
Morgan shrugged, tore his glance away from Tommy. "I did a lot of traveling back then."
"I understand." She'd known that this man had built a reputation on driving fast European cars and even faster women. He'd partied on Mediterranean yachts and in Swiss chalets. That's what worried her.
"South Beach, Florida," she said. "That's where you met Tommy's mother."
The baby squealed again in a bid for Morgan's attention. He got it.
Morgan's gaze had gone misty, troubled. "How's his mom doing?"
"Very well." Rosemary took strength from images of Charise, her coworker at Darla's Beauty Shop in Kane's Crossing. Her friend had convinced her to come to Remington. Even though Rosemary had been wary at first, Charise had come up with the best plan they could think of.
After taking a fortifying breath, she added, "She'd do better if Tommy grew up with a daddy, though."
The baby held out his arms to Morgan. The rugged man glanced at Rosemary in surprise.
"Do you want to hold him?" she asked.
"Ah, sure. I guess."
Morgan inched toward her, and Rosemary handed Tommy over. She couldn't help crossing her arms to chase away the emptiness.
The child seemed so small in such huge hands, against such a massive chest. Morgan held him like wedding china, obviously afraid Tommy would break.
"So," Morgan smiled at her, as if he was amazed that he hadn't dropped Tommy yet, "not to be ornery, but how can his mother be sure that he's my son?"
Rosemary compared their black, ruffled hair, their green eyes.
There was no question.
But how could she tell Morgan that, genetics aside, if she decided the playboy wasn't fit to be a dad, she would go to extremes to protect Tommy?
For years, Morgan had known he was missing something in his life. It took holding this small child to tell him what it was.
His son. Who could have predicted this? A baby had the power to make him feel useful for the first time in his existence. Amazing.
Tommy joyfully gasped at him, flapping his hands. The little boy was a dead ringer of himself at that age. Thousands of scheduled, posed photographs in the stiff arms of his parents testified to the baby's uncanny resemblance to Morgan.
"How about a paternity test?" he asked.
Even from his seat on the opposite side of the living room, he could detect Rosemary's flinch.
"If you need one, we'll arrange it."
"I'd like all doubts erased." Tommy started to climb Morgan's chest, groping at his nose, his ears.
"He likes you."
"Of course he does. I'm a decent sort." He was getting braver, lifting the baby away from his lap. Tommy let out a joyous, "Eeeeee."
"There's more to raising a child than playing sky jumper with him."
"So what do you need? My criminal record? None — oh, except for the time I had some trouble with the L.A. police for…"
She raised a brow. "Go on."
He grinned, then spoke to Tommy. "Can't offer the details right now. But let's just say it has to do with a moonlit beach and clothes. Or lack thereof."
"And a starlet, more than likely," she muttered.
"I'm not proud of that. Growing up with parents who have too much money can make for a strange life."
"So that's a roundabout way of saying you're financially secure. Got it. But there's something even more important that I want to know. How would you react if you knew Tommy was definitely yours?"
Morgan paused. "I've liked being a bachelor, making the most of my money and freedom." He sat Tommy on his lap, allowing the child to grip one of his thumbs. The claiming contact warmed the edges of his heart. "But, frankly, I'm exhausted by the effort of going through the motions."
Rosemary cocked her head at an angle, her chestnut bob making her seem like the dreamy bookworm next door.
He added, "I guess you could say I retired from superficiality four months ago when I decided to live in Remington. I don't socialize much now, and even though I feel better than I have in years, something's not right."
Tommy rubbed one of his eyes and blinked up at Morgan.
"Or, at least, something wasn't right."
"I wish I could ask you a million questions," she said.
"Fire away."
"In due time." Rosemary held out her arms for Tommy, and the child reached out for her, making himself comfortable in her embrace again. "This one's getting tired."
Morgan didn't know what to do with his hands now that they didn't have a purpose. "Can you just tell me what his mom is like?"
The fire snapped in its grate, lending her a moment's hesitation. "She's responsible, believe it or not. When she was with you, she lost her head…only one time, though. Luckily, her reward for that was Tommy."
His reward, too. "Responsible, huh? I didn't usually gravitate toward the prim-and-proper type. Not back then, anyway."
She bit her lip. He couldn't help flirting, even a little.
"Gosh. Look at the time." As she stood while clutching Tommy, Rosemary's cheeks took on a cute strawberry hue. The baby's head drooped onto one of her shoulders. "Remember, his mom only wants her son to have a good father. It's important to her."
A father. Astoundingly, he was one of those. Maybe. "Where're you staying?"
"With my…" She hesitated, then smiled. "My Grandma. At the Maverick Motel, room 3. But…" The smile faded. "I'll contact you. Okay?"
Without another word, she turned and exited the room. As she left, Morgan waved at the sleepy baby.
He was surprised that he didn't want to see them go.
"I've thought about it a million times already," Rosemary whispered to Charise the next morning. "Does Morgan Pierce deserve Tommy?"
Her blond coworker — otherwise know as "Grandma" — was still half asleep in one of the beds as the baby snoozed away in a portable crib in a corner of the musty motel room. Eisenhower-era floral wallpaper guarded him in the curtain-shrouded darkness.
Yesterday, she and Charise had analyzed much of the meeting with Morgan. Still, she had no idea what sort of father the man would make, even if he had taken well to Tommy and vice versa.
Charise shook her head. "Let's not jump to conclusions. How long did you spend with him? An emotion-laden half-hour? That doesn't tell us anything, even if he does look promising."
Rosemary wandered over to the baby. Tommy's mouth puckered, as if sucking on a giant dream-enhanced pacifier. Every move the child made was enough to convince Rosemary that she wanted ten babies. If she could find the right man to make a family with.
"You're right," she said. "Morgan needs to prove he's changed. If a kid doesn't have a real father, he'll feel incomplete."
"Then we agree." Her friend hesitated. "So what's the verdict on that paternity test?"
"I'll take care of it. Don't worry."
"Maybe we can stall…just until we're sure about the guy." Sighing, Charise cuddled into the mattress, closed her eyes. "I want to know more about the millionaire playboy. Much more."
Rosemary let her friend rest, knowing the stress had only just begun.
She could feel for Tommy, even if he wasn't old enough to realize he didn't have a father living with him. For twenty-five years she'd wondered where her own dad had gone, why he'd left her and Mom.
"What do you want in a daddy?" she whispered to Tommy. "Would you want him to be like Morgan Pierce? You seemed to fancy him."
The baby slept on. Rosemary envied his serenity. Morgan had scrambled her insides, and his every glance unsettled her. Heck, her skin was still burning from his handshake. How bizarre was that?
"Well, sweet pea. Maybe you'll get your dad as an early Christmas present. And maybe someday I'll get…"
What? A gorgeous man who adored children? A guy like Morgan Pierce?
Resting her head on the cushioned crib, Rosemary shut her eyes, her breathing evening out with Tommy's.
A shrill ring from the sixties-style phone jabbed her awake. Tommy and Charise heard it, too, so she scooped the baby up, told Charise she'd take care of everything and answered the call.
"Ms. Robbins?" said Morgan's voice.
Adrenaline pumped her heart until it throbbed in her ears. "It's Rosemary."
Charise watched through one half-opened eyelid.
"Rosemary." His tone had softened. "I know you wanted to contact me first, but I… Well, I want to see Tommy again. My cook whipped up some food, and I was wondering if you two wanted to go for an old-time country picnic."
She bit back a smile. "What's the difference between a new-fangled picnic and an old-time one?"
"You'll see."
"Now I'm intrigued." She was trying to remember that the purpose of her visit was Tommy, not…anything else.
"I'll pick you up at noon?"
He sounded so hopeful, so unlike her perceptions of a playboy who had a smooth line for every situation.
"You know I'm going to grill you," she said.
"You can ask anything you want. I'm an open book."
And you're not, he seemed to imply.
But there was good reason for her to be secretive. She didn't want Tommy to be stuck with a tomcat father who'd grow tired of him after the novelty wore off.
"Come and get us," she said, hugging the baby to her. Then she hung up. "He wants to see Tommy again."
Charise sat up, held her hands over her mouth.
"Don't worry," said Rosemary. "I'll get to the bottom of Morgan Pierce."
Morgan had promised Rosemary an old-time picnic, and she was going to get one.
After picking her up at the Maverick Motel, securing Tommy in his safety seat and driving them back to the ranch, Morgan had ushered them to the back patio. There, the scent of Douglas firs and the warmth of heat lamps accompanied a spread of fried chicken, potato salad, homemade vanilla ice cream and lemonade.
"But this isn't all, " Morgan said. "I've still got something up my coat sleeve."
The unseasonably mild air had nipped Rosemary's cheeks. "Until then, are you up for my questions?"
"Ready when you are."
She tweaked Tommy's nose. The baby wore a stocking cap and bib and was seated in a high chair that Morgan had purchased earlier from a nearby superstore in Billings. Drawn by their obvious affection for each other, Morgan dragged his chair toward the duo.
"Want to feed him?" She stirred some rice cereal and mashed bananas in a bowl. "It'll be the highlight of your day. I promise."
He wasn't sure if he trusted her promises yet— especially because she was so stubborn about revealing anything regarding Tommy's mom — but Morgan decided to chance it. As he took the bowl and rubber-coated spoon from her, his index finger brushed hers. A flash of awareness tore up his arm, prickling his skin.
She jerked her hand away, then tucked a strand of reddish-brown hair behind an ear. "Have fun."
"Hey, I've got it covered." He hunkered next to Tommy. "Remember me?"
The child's cherubic face glowed with his smile. "Ehhhhhhhh."
"So you know how to…?" Rosemary made a feeding motion with her hand.
"Can't be that hard."
"All right." She settled back in her chair, evaluating him once again. Grinning.
He piled the gooey paste on the spoon.
"Maybe a bit too much?" she said.
As he adjusted the amount with a mock-affronted glance in her direction, she said, "I got the feeling from our conversation yesterday that you're open to starting a family."
Morgan shrugged, but even though he'd just met them the day before, he'd missed them after they'd left. Did that mean he was ready to commit?
Hell, yes. Already, the thought of Tommy clasping his father's finger in his little hand made Morgan feel more complete than ever before. Ironic. Without realizing it, Morgan Pierce had done something worthwhile: he'd made Tommy. And even though he hadn't known where to find happiness, it had stumbled upon him.
Morgan made fire engine noises as he aimed the food at Tommy's mouth, but when he got there, the child didn't open up. Finally, Morgan got him to take a little cereal, but most of it plopped onto the bib.
He laughed, then said, "I haven't exactly grown up in a nurturing environment. My dad was on the road a lot of the year, and my mom was always on location."
"I read somewhere that your dad was an NFL quarterback." Rosemary ate a healthy spoon of ice cream. "And everyone knows the famous jet-setting actress Lucretia Pierce. How did you handle them never being home?"
He watched her enjoy the dessert. "I went wild, that's how. No one was around to really care. I thought it'd always be that way, but then I realized that life didn't have to be a string of premieres or soirees. I'm into quality now. Not quantity."
"Ah, soirees." She sighed, thick lashes fluttering over her daydreaming gaze. Then she seemed to toughen up, to lose her smile and bookish peace.
There was a slight dab of ice cream by the tip of her full lower lip. An overwhelming hunger seized him — a combination of loneliness and libido.
He leaned toward her, and those good-girl eyes widened.
As the taste of vanilla ice cream lingered in Rosemary's mouth, Morgan's gaze grew more intense, traveling from her eyes to her lips.
It was the look of a man who wanted to kiss her.
Her pulse jumped, causing her heart to crash against her rib cage. Is this what she wanted? Proof that he was still hitting on women he barely knew?
Or did she want something else altogether?
He rested a forearm on the picnic table, broad shoulders tilting toward her, mouth quirked in a softer version of that cocky grin she'd come to know so well in such a short time. Mind-scrambled, she hitched in a breath, her eyes closing in anticipation.
She could feel him, inches away. All that separated them was a purring electricity. A whisper.
"Careful," he said, his voice as low as the hum of a live wire.
She'd always been careful, especially around men like Morgan Pierce. Peeking through her lashes, she caught the swipe of his index finger before it touched the tip of her lips. Burning her flesh.
Without thinking, Rosemary grasped his wrist, her eyes flying open, her skin flaming with embarrassment.
He wiggled his ice-cream–smeared fingertip in front of her nose. "You're worse than Tommy when it comes to getting food down the chute."
"So my table manners lack couth." Her fingers were still gripping him. She could feel the beat of his veins pounding into her own skin.
Clearly amused by her inability to break contact, Morgan deliberately stared at her hand, like a living charm bracelet around his wrist. She loosened her hold, folded her hands on the table.
"Don't worry," he said. "In spite of my reputation, I'm not going to pounce on you. I've developed some restraint during my self-imposed exile, you know."
Too bad, she thought. Oh, no, no, no. Actually, this was good. Tommy needed a man with self-control and maturity to raise him.
She said, "And what makes you think I was expecting you to…pounce?"
He laughed, rubbed the streak of ice cream between a thumb and forefinger, cocked a brow. Rosemary instinctively parted her lips, then shut them.
This man could read her yearning like a neon sign, couldn't he?
A loud slapping noise reminded her that Tommy was three feet away, banging on his plastic table with glee. She picked up a cloth and managed to still her trembling hand enough to wipe his face.
"Is that what worries you the most?" Morgan asked. "That I'll go back to my wild and woolly ways?"
"It did cross my mind."
"All right." He settled back in his chair, kicking one boot over a jeans-clad leg. "Straight shootin'. I haven't enjoyed a careless affair since…" He paused. "Well, since I saw a lot of my so-called friends burn out and wither away to nothing. It didn't take a genius to realize I wasn't traveling in any productive direction; that I was going to end up an old man who never experienced anything real."
"That was enough to shake you up?"
His gaze turned hard. "I saw a man who was supposed to be my friend overdose at a party. The next day he was at it again, but this time the O.D. was lethal. That was enough."
Rosemary stopped cleaning Tommy's face. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Not as sorry as I was." He straightened in his chair, Mr. Rough-and-Tumble once again. "So all those rumors you hear about princesses and socialites? It's over. I'm a changed soul."
She searched his face for any sign of deception, but all she saw was a man who'd lived through a moment that had beaten him into awareness. A man who'd grown up.
He said, "I can stick to the family life, all right. A child. A wife." Shifting forward, he added, "I'm a regular one-woman guy now."
Her mouth went dry.
"So…do you think Tommy's ready for a surprise?" he asked.
The baby's mouth had formed a big O when Morgan introduced him to Engine 54.
Now Morgan slowly drove his vintage 1945 Ward LaFrance Pumper fire truck on the dirt road near a stream that ran through the ranch. Tommy kicked and "aaaayyy"ed while Rosemary enveloped him in her arms, leaning back her head, taking in the big sky, the cottonwoods, the muted afternoon sunlight.
He couldn't forget the way she'd avoided that near kiss, and her wariness stumped him.
Turning to him, Rosemary tucked her bobbed hair behind an ear. "How many more engines do you own? Do we get to see all of them?"
"Whoa, Miss Enthusiasm. This is it, I'm afraid. Old Engine 54 needed a home, and I couldn't say no to a stray."
"Tommy's eyes really lit up when he saw this thing. I think he likes the red. And the ladder, too."
Morgan ran a tender gaze over his son. Yeah. His. Tommy's appearance had struck lightning and changed his life in an instant, just as his friend's overdose had done.
He said, "Well, if Tommy wants more fire engines, he's got them."
"What else do you collect?" She cocked her head. "I mean, this thing is kind of a quirky choice. Most guys are into Harleys or beer bottles or dust bunnies."
He laughed. "Frankly, I haven't given much thought to collecting. I never even stayed in one place long enough to gather moss."
"Duly noted." Rosemary tickled Tommy, and the baby squirmed. "An old-time picnic. You certainly came through, Mr. Pierce."
"Morgan." It came out a command, not a request.
She nodded, smiled. "I suppose we're beyond formalities at this point."
"Well, Rosemary." Her name tasted as sweet as that vanilla ice cream he'd caressed from her skin. "I guess that means I get to ask you some personal questions now."
"I don't matter in this scenario. I'm here to decide —"
"— what kind of father I'll be. I know, I know. But we're joyriding along at one mile per hour. We've got time to kill. Indulge me."
She seemed doubtful. "I reserve the right to stay silent."
"Duly noted." He couldn't stop the compulsion to reach over and smooth a lock of Tommy's dark, downy hair away from his forehead. "I notice you're real good with this little guy. Do you want children yourself someday?"
For a second he wasn't sure she was going to answer.
But she did. "Yes. I love kids."
"You're close to him." He gave Tommy's fist a squeeze, then paid full attention to driving again. "It's strange, but there are times I can't help wondering if you really want me to accept him."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why would I want you to turn Tommy away?"
"Every time you give him to me to hold, to play with, to feed, it's almost like you're half empty. Like you miss him, even though he's still in plain sight."
"I told you. I want children. My maternal urge has kicked in."
"You're young. You have plenty of time."
An uninvited yet thoroughly tempting image crashed into his mind: Rosemary standing before him in an angelic, lacy nightgown. Her head was tilted back, eyes half closed, just like this afternoon when he'd wanted to kiss her. This dream girl was ready for some baby-making, all right.
Maybe with him.
Morgan shook himself back to reality. The weight of her curious stare rested on his shoulders, but he didn't shrug it off.
Instead, he asked, "Now tell me. Am I daddy material? Have I passed all your tests?"
After the picnic Rosemary was still a-flutter.
Moonlight peeked through a slit in the curtains in her motel room as she paced the floor. Charise was holding Tommy, amusing him with silly faces and unruffling Rosemary's feathers at the same time.
"Take a moment from the drama," said her blond coworker. "It was a good day. We found out a lot about Morgan Pierce. And his papa résumé is looking better by the hour."
"It's only been two days, Charise." Rosemary stopped wearing a hole in the carpet and plucked at her white flannel nightgown. "I'm still not convinced he's a reformed bad boy who's just cooling his motor. What if the party gene sparks up again and he flits off to Monaco tomorrow?"
Charise looked pained. "Do you think he will? Really? Is that what your brain's telling you?"
"No, that's what my emotions are telling me. But you're right. I do need to listen to logic central, not my heart."
Tommy fussed a bit, and her friend stood, swaying back and forth to assuage him.
"So common sense has cast its vote. But what's your gut feeling?" Charise asked.
Watching her friend and the baby together brought an ache to Rosemary's chest. She couldn't let them down by trusting her haywire emotions. Tommy was living proof that listening to the heart instead of the mind led to consequences.
Good consequences, in this case.
"I still can't pin Morgan down," Rosemary said. "Once a player, always a player. That's the overriding commonsense theory. And you of all people know what he did right after Tommy was conceived."
"So that's the end of it? The man is unacceptable? Then I guess it's time to go to Plan B. The 'Gee, come to think of it, Morgan, Tommy's mom was with more than one man that summer, so we've got other possibilities to explore' option."
Rosemary walked over, held Charise's free hand. "It's a lie."
"It's a way out if you think he's irresponsible."
A soft knock on the door interrupted them, and both women stared at each other, two deer in the headlights of discovery.
"That's him," Rosemary said.
Tommy waved his hands, squealed.
"You think so?" Charise placed Tommy in his crib and moved toward the bathroom.
"If it's the motel manager I'll tell you to come out. Just…" She ushered her friend toward the hiding place. "Here. Out of sight."
The blonde shut the door, leaving Rosemary to rush to the front, asking, "Who is it?"
"Morgan. I was taking a late drive and…"
She opened up, peeking through the crack. "That's your best excuse?"
He was wearing a sheepskin coat and those faded jeans. His black hair was windblown. "Can you blame a man for wanting to tuck his boy in for the night?"
"Oh, that's sweet, but…Tommy's already asleep."
"Oh." He jammed his thumbs into his pockets. "So, does that mean you can come out to play?"
Play. Good girls like her didn't climb in the sandbox with the Morgans of the world.
But he'd already eased open the door a sliver more, revealing Rosemary in her pristine gown. He glanced away while she blushed.
After a loaded pause, he slid out of his coat, took her hand and led her outside. There, he draped the sheepskin around her shoulders. Her slippers crunched over gravel.
"Grandma?" he said, aiming a soft voice through the door's crack. "We're stepping out."
Moonlight spilled over them as he wrapped her hand in his, leading her toward the shadows of a pine-wooded field.
"Where exactly are you taking me?" Rosemary asked, a tremble in her voice.
Morgan reassured her with a squeeze of their clasped hands. Their fingers were entwined, and he'd never felt so connected in his life. Sad, but courting hadn't ever been his forte.
They arrived at the moon-bathed field, watched over by an endless sky of stars and possibility. Swept away by the flower-tinged scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin, he shifted her into his arms. All he wanted to do was to feel her next to him, to seek her comfort, to absorb her wide-eyed way of experiencing the world.
"Maybe I can look in on Tommy later?" he asked, grinning, swaying to the rhythm of night creatures and peaceful Montana air.
Her petite body tensed and, for a moment, he thought she'd draw away. But then she relaxed into him, still wary, her hands spread over his chest.
"Let's leave Tommy to sleep tonight, okay?" She glanced up at him, her face touched by silver. "Can I ask a really personal question?"
"You want to know why I actually came here?"
"No…I… You didn't want to see Tommy?"
He chuckled. "Definitely. But I kind of wanted a glimpse of you in the bargain."
"Well, that's certainly honest." She paused, smiled a little. "Actually, I just wanted to know if you've ever been in love. If there's a woman in the picture."
Morgan froze, but he still held her. "That's a big word for a guy like me. I don't think I can even pronounce it."
"Be serious, Morgan."
"All right. Daddy-test question number eighty-seven." He sobered, pained to admit to the truth. "I can't say I've experienced love. But…"
"What?" She looked so vulnerable, so hopeful.
He wished he could say yes. Would it make him a better father in her view? "There was one woman. I never knew her name, but she felt…right. Ah, that sounds like a damned fairy tale."
"No. Keep going."
"It's tawdry."
"Not so far."
He brushed a short chestnut lock from her cheek. "I remember her hair the most. Long, pale… I buried my hands in it when I bent down to kiss her."
"What made her different from the rest?"
"Who can say? Maybe it was the way she touched my jaw or the way she couldn't let go of me afterward. It was…"
Beautiful? Unlike any of the women who'd agreed to have meaningless sex for one night, then left the next morning?
So why hadn't he held on to her?
"Morgan?" Rosemary was clasping both his hands, strengthening him.
He couldn't look her in the eye. He didn't deserve to. "Don't think I was some prince of romance. We were both wearing masks at a party, so I had no idea who she was."
Her grip loosened, but he felt a shiver steal up her arms. Morgan adjusted the coat around her. "It's getting cold. Maybe we should —"
"Do you believe in love?"
More than any question she'd already asked, this one rocked him to the core. He'd never seen evidence of it with his absentee parents, never seen it in his social circles. Still…
"Maybe I could."
She smiled up at him, and he lost control. With deliberate ease, he leaned down, testing the space between them. All he wanted to do was kiss her, to sip from her warmth and find comfort in her touch.
This time she didn't stop him.
It seemed as if she'd wanted this kiss to happen forever.
As Morgan's night-shaded form loomed over her, drawing closer, Rosemary contained a shudder. The warm vibration melted down her spine, like a drip of honey soaking her body.
Why was she letting this happen?
How could she not?
The danger in his leathery scent persuaded her to slide a hand around his neck, to tangle her fingers in the flyaway hair at his nape. To stand on her tiptoes so his mouth could press against hers that much sooner.
Heat spread over her lips, suffusing her skin, covering her neck, her chest, the tips of her hardening breasts. He took his time, tasting her, nipping at the corners of her mouth as if she still had droplets of ice cream decorating her face.
As he slipped his fingers into her hair, Rosemary moaned his name, pressing against him, losing strength. Losing herself.
It'd been so long. Too long.
They came up for air, breathing in rhythm, his forehead to hers.
"I've been wanting to do that all day," he said.
"It was worth the wait, but…"
He sighed. The humid air bathed her neck, prickling goosebumps over her skin.
"But now you're wondering if I kiss every woman within pucker range," he said.
His voice was dragged down by something she couldn't identify. Shame? Disappointment?
She grabbed on to the lapels of his thick flannel shirt. "I want to believe you've changed."
"What can I do to convince you?"
Her heart was knocking, inviting her to answer. But she couldn't. She had no idea what it would take to make her believe he was a different man.
Maybe she was the problem. Her and the distrust that had spread through her soul after her father had left.
"Kiss me again," she said, surging against him, flattening her chest to his, capturing his mouth with a hungry rush of need.
They were bound to each other, tangled, his hands in her hair, her limbs threaded through his. When he used his tongue to lick her lips, she opened for him. The kiss turned slick, a little wild and out of control.
She coasted her palms down his chest, over his ribs, knowing he was aroused because of the straining ridge in his jeans. Her knuckles brushed over his belt buckle.
That's when he ended it, cupping her face in his hands, laughing softly. "Maybe you're not so much of an angel?"
Jerking back from him, she looked at her hands. At him.
What had she been doing?
"I've got to go," she said, starting toward the motel.
"Rosemary?"
She didn't want to glance back, but she did. Morgan stood alone, a towering, dark shadow, palms turned upward as his arms rested at his sides.
"I can still see Tommy again. Right?" His voice broke on the last word.
She nodded, then ran the rest of the way. Don't look back again, she thought. Don't lose your grip.
When she bolted back into the room, Charise and Tommy were seated on his blanket on the carpet, playing with toys.
"You told him I was your Grandma?" the blonde asked, a cynical eyebrow raised. "I'm still in the bloom of my youth."
"He remembered the masquerade, Charise."
Her friend froze, then lowered the stuffed cow she'd been using to tickle Tommy.
Rosemary nodded. "It's time to tell him."
Even by the next afternoon, Rosemary still hadn't chased away the aftershocks of Morgan's kiss. Or Charise's words:
Don't you dare tell him about Tommy's mom yet, she'd said, shocked that Rosemary had been considering it. You're not thinking straight.
Her friend was right, so Rosemary had made an appointment at a testing center in Billings and had resigned herself to waiting. Hopefully she'd have enough faith in Morgan by the time the paternity test rolled around to reveal Tommy's mother. After all, she should have the opportunity to take part in the process.
But Rosemary still couldn't trust him.
She was trying to calm herself by shaking a tin-foiled popcorn pan over a stove burner while Tommy and Morgan amused each other. Funny to see a big man handling a tiny baby with such care. The contrast in sizes somehow made Morgan appear stronger, more virile. Gentle.
"Here it comes," Morgan said, stretching his strong arms, poising Tommy in the air. "The Millennium Falcon, fastest ship in the galaxy. Zooooom."
Tommy gaped, entranced, flying.
When the popcorn was ready, Rosemary dug around Morgan's state-of-the-art kitchen for a bowl, then transferred the snack into it.
"Glad to see you know your way around my home," he said, sitting in a chair with Tommy on his lap.
"I adapt well." Rosemary popped a kernel into her mouth and entertained Tommy with two miniature stuffed Maltese dogs. "I'm an excellent traveler."
She was trying so hard not to glance at him, to see the echo of last night's kiss in his gaze. The avoidance pained her, tempted her to take up right where they'd left off.
"Is that what you enjoy?" Morgan asked. "Traveling?"
"Yes. I wish I could do it more, but there're bills to pay, and that means I need to work. Life's a chain reaction of excuses, I guess."
"What do you do, Rosemary?"
The sound of his low, sexy voice uttering her name forced her to glance up at him, a puppet on a string. "I'm a hair dresser at Darla's Beauty Shop in Kane's Crossing. Nothing too glamorous."
"Glamour isn't everything."
He smiled, and she just about withered into a puff of smoke.
"What do you do," she asked, "besides hide from society?"
Hefting Tommy up to a shoulder, Morgan patted the baby's back, clearly comfortable. "I invest in real estate, some fine art. But I wouldn't call it a collection. I've never really inspected my holdings."
He didn't say anything for a moment, merely ate some popcorn. Then, "Maybe I'll take a good look in the near future."
"I think you might be surprised about how art can make you feel. Not that I've been exposed to a lot of it."
"Well, you've traveled. Have you been to New York — to the Met? The National Gallery in London…?"
"I'm not the family adventurer." A sting of memory caused her to sigh. "Back in Kane's Crossing, I heard every rumor imaginable about my dad's travels. Some people say he ran off with a contortionist when the circus passed through town. Or that he hopped on an empty train car then took a boat to South America. What a legend, right?"
Morgan slid a hand across the table, clasping her own. "He never came back?"
She shook her head. "It's all pretty boring, actually. My mom says he left when she was pregnant because he couldn't deal with the pressure. He's living in Kansas City or something. Who knows?"
Silence filled the room. Tommy had fallen asleep, his head nestled against Morgan's shoulder. Rosemary's throat tightened.
"I won't do the same thing to Tommy, if that's what you're worried about." Morgan squeezed her hand.
She returned the gesture, but didn't respond otherwise.
"Come on." He stood, making her rise with him. "I've got something to cheer you up."
Morgan held Tommy to his chest and led Rosemary up the stairs, down the long hall of his mammoth cabin. The sound of their footsteps bounced off the high walls.
"I came home last night and I couldn't sleep," he said softly, stopping in front of a door, catching the flush of remembrance as it bathed her delicate face. So she couldn't forget that kiss, either.
He added, "I ended up doing what any red-blooded man in his prime would do. I took a cold shower then put myself and an unfortunate house assistant to work by hauling things out of the attic."
He swung the door open, revealing a fantasy nursery with a hand-worked crib and changing table, an antique treasure chest bulging with stuffed animals and toys, plus an heirloom mini-carousel designed for infants.
Rosemary gasped. "This was all stored in your attic?"
"Not all, but I'd remembered seeing the chest and carousel up there. I also took a trip to Billings that first day for baby stuff. Now I'm going to polish up the furniture and get that merry-go-round working." He guided her inside. "The salesladies told me what to buy, so I hope I got everything."
As she broke away from him to wander the nursery, Rosemary seemed so lost. So small and lonely. "You did all this for Tommy?"
He leaned his cheek against the baby's downy head. "Of course."
"Morgan." She slowly shook her head.
"Hey." He walked toward her. "I want to make Tommy comfortable. That's all."
"What about the paternity test?"
Suspicion knifed at him. "Shouldn't I trust your claims?"
"Of course, but we'll still keep our appointment, just so you know for sure." Resolutely, she straightened her spine, her hazel eyes red-rimmed. "As you said, there shouldn't be any doubt."
His tentative hold on a happier life slipped. "I don't want to hear about doubt. I know I asked about the test at first, but can't you see me written all over Tommy? I can show you pictures of me as a baby.…"
It was obvious by the slump of her shoulders that he was tearing her apart without even knowing why.
He asked, "Does this have to do with Tommy's mom?"
Hadn't he earned the truth yet?
"I wish I could come right out and tell you now," she said.
"You can. What's stopping you?"
She drew in a great breath, then exhaled. "Time. Patience. Wisdom."
"I can give him anything his heart desires." Morgan moved toward her, touched her shoulder, briefly wondered about the consequences for daring to get closer. "But what would Tommy's mom think if I could give my boy a stepmother, too?"
Her gaze fixed on him, wide, fearful. "Don't say anymore. Please."
"I've changed in a lot of ways, but I can't change my tendency to be blunt about what I've been missing — and that would be a sweet, good woman in my life."
"Morgan —"
"Have dinner with me tonight. Have Grandma take care of Tommy so we can talk things out as…I don't know…two people who need to resolve something that's pulling us together. You've felt the attraction, too. Don't deny it."
She didn't. "Things are more complicated than you know."
"Why? In order to take in Tommy, do I have to sign a paper saying I'll marry his mother or something?"
She closed her eyes, blocking him out. Had he hit a mark with his facetious comment?
"Is that the only way I can be a father to him, Rosemary?"
This afternoon in the nursery, Rosemary knew she'd be dining with Morgan tonight. There was no way she could say no, especially after what he'd insinuated about wanting to be with her.
Her. The polar opposite of a playboy's woman. A good-girl–type with efficient clothing and a definite lack of flirting experience.
Before she'd dressed in her new gown — a turquoise, off-the-shoulder chiffon number she'd purchased that day — Charise had offered instruction and advice.
Be careful. Stay strong. Be certain of his miraculous redemption before you go and spill the beans.
Now, as they sat at a table in his palatial cabin's solarium, Rosemary was having trouble eating the filet mignon. Guilt played with a girl's digestion, all right.
Candlelight flickered over his face, making his eyes glow like a predator's. "I've failed."
"You have?"
"Yeah. Here I am, trying to make you forget about our impasse for a couple of hours, but it obviously isn't working."
She attempted a perkier face. "Everything's perfect. Thank you for inviting me."
"You know why I wanted to have you here, so don't make this sound like high tea."
Gulp. "I thought you'd stopped your womanizing."
"I have. There's a difference between you and the women I used to…enjoy."
"Really?" She leaned her elbows on the table, wondering just what he saw in her. "Name the differences, why don't you."
"All right. First, you've got a halo circling your head."
She pretended to feel around that area. "It seems to be missing."
"No, it's there. You're just too used to it." He swept her that off-kilter grin again. "Second, you're able to talk about more than the latest runway styles or last week's big bash for Vanity Fair."
"That just makes me provincial."
"It makes you fascinating. Third…" Morgan turned his head slightly, and his tousled dark hair gave him a raffish slant in the candlelight. "You seem…I guess 'fresh' is the word. I wouldn't be surprised if you've never had your heart broken by anyone."
Rosemary laughed in surprise. "That's a giant assumption."
"Am I right?"
She didn't want to dance around the truth. Not anymore. "No. I've been in love with someone for a long time. My heart's been hurting for a while now."
Something in his eyes clicked, like a gear shifting downward. "Two out of three ain't bad, I suppose."
"I thought it was fruitless, this crush, this eternal torch…whatever you want to call it."
"Are you still in love with him?"
She fiddled with her napkin. "Hopelessly."
"Aw, now. Damn." He got out of his chair, stood above her. "You've gotten sad on me."
"I'm sorry."
"Here." He helped Rosemary to her feet and pulled her over to a burbling fountain. A lily pond stood next to it, reflecting moonlight from the glass panels. "Look."
He pointed to the water, and she peered into it. Her reflection stared back at her. A stranger. A waif with sad eyes and foreign hair. An efficient style she'd selected because she wanted to be a proper girl.
"There's the most beautiful woman in the world," he said softly, skimming her hair back.
"Smooth talker," she said, and she wasn't kidding. The words were scary. Was the playboy taking him over again? Taking her over?
"No." Morgan's fingers drifted to the back of her neck, coasting over her skin, shivering it. "I've never been more sure of what I wanted. You're the type of lady I'd like to grow old with."
Blood had pumped to her brain, flooding it, sending tidal waves of heat into places that had been left cold.
"What I really want," he added with a seductive whisper, "is a nice girl."
Rosemary lost control, forgetting about prudence, patience, paternity.
Their lips met again, but this time, fire took over.
During their explosive kiss, Morgan picked up Rosemary. Cradling her in his muscled arms, he carried her out of the solarium and up the stairs to a bedroom. There, he laid her on a mattress, then stretched his long body over hers.
"I don't make many quick decisions anymore," he said, breath rasping, heating her cheek, "but I know what makes me happy. And that's you."
"You're impulsive," she said as he dragged his teeth over her neck. She squirmed beneath him, a sharp hunger gnawing through her belly.
"I've spent a lot of time being wrong, but I'm right this time."
But would he still be right when she gave into him, becoming "naughty" instead of "angelic"?
His mouth pressed against hers again, demanding, and she gave everything in return, moaning with the loss of control.
He slipped off her dress, the material whispering against her responsive skin. His kisses trailed the chiffon, every touch a singe of heat and possession.
Panting, she helped him take off his clothes, too: the formal jacket, the crisp white shirt. Halfway done, she couldn't help pausing, her heart pounding at the sight of his tanned, corded chest, his strong shoulders.
As she gazed at him, she touched her lips, felt the melting numbness, the taste of fine wine and leather. "More," she said, crossing over to a side of herself that she'd tried to keep hidden.
Bad girl.
When he stood and stepped out of his pants, Rosemary couldn't breathe. Instead, she held out her hand, wanting to touch him, to connect to him.
The mattress dipped as he returned to her, skin slick, coasting over every inch of her body. He traced his tongue around her crested nipple, tenderly sketching his fingertips under the swell of her breast. It was so sensitive that Rosemary bucked under him, holding his head to her.
He turned his attention to the other one, stroking one hand downward, over her ribs, her stomach, between her legs. There, he coaxed her to readiness by slipping inside, around, up, down. At the same time, he used his thumb to drive her senseless.
"Rosemary…"
He was hard against the outside of her leg. She ran her fingers over the length of him, and he cursed under his breath.
"Come into me." She'd said those words before, a lifetime ago. Only one man had heard them.
An agony-filled moment passed as he searched for a condom in a nightstand drawer. Then he sheathed himself, more than ready.
He eased into her, treating her body like delicate lace, worshipping it, holding it gently. But she'd built up too much yearning throughout the past months, and she urgently wiggled her hips, inviting him deeper.
Groaning, he filled her, and she drove him on. She rocked against him, all remnants of the good girl burning, joyously destroyed.
This is how she'd pictured the act of making love — with her body bared to him, her face hidden in the crook of his neck, covered by him and nothing else. She was vulnerable, but safe. Wicked, but innocent.
He came, shuddering into her, but she still needed more. As if he'd explored her body a thousand times before, Morgan kissed his way down her skin, nestling between her legs, loving her with his mouth. Rosemary held back a scream while she burst into flame, her heart shooting into the sky and freefalling back down, gathering speed. Her body spasmed, crashing. Exploding into a million pyrotechnic sparks.
The soft strum of his fingertips on her belly welcomed Rosemary back. His breath was warm on her thighs as he watched her, smiling, an affectionate light in his green eyes.
She held her arms out to him, and he slid upward, snuggling.
"You feel so good," he said. "Almost like I was made to be here."
"You were." This time, she wouldn't let go.
He kissed her collarbone. "I've never felt this way. Not since…"
Morgan stiffened.
Her breathing stopped as she realized that he'd recognized her body.
"You're Tommy's mom," he said.
Morgan's mind was a collage of images: Rosemary with the bobbed chestnut hair and heavenly eyes. A mysterious woman at a South Beach masquerade, dressed as an angel with long blond hair.
Tommy.
Rosemary tightened her arms around him. "I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you earlier."
"Why not?" He came to his elbow, needing the advantage because she'd already slapped him down with her dishonesty. "You lied to me."
She grabbed the tousled bedspread and wrapped herself into its protection. "I wanted Tommy to be safe…to…" She sighed. "If you were the playboy I met in Florida, I wasn't sure you'd be a good father. But at the same time, I wanted so badly for him to have one. His real one."
Morgan flinched. "If you don't trust me, why did you just make love with me?"
"Call me a fool, but I've always been in love with you." She turned her face away. "Ever since the masquerade."
A bolt of pure happiness shocked him, and he almost buckled from the force of it.
So then why couldn't he reach out and smooth a hand over her cheek, alleviating her distress?
The anger quivering in his gut answered his question. A tremor worked its way through his voice, dividing his emotions. "Maybe you'd better start at the beginning."
She sniffled, then sat up, still covered by swaths of material. He mirrored her movements, tracking her intentions.
"Some of the girls in town thought it'd be fun to go down to Florida for a bachelorette party. We hadn't traveled much, being from a small place and fairly sheltered from the big mean world, but my friend, Charise, took it upon herself to plan everything. She'd moved to Kane's Crossing from the city, so she knew the ropes.
"We went to the shore, took in the local color and ended up in South Beach. Word was that the rich and famous liked to hang out there, so we were curious. Charise met a local man at a bar and he landed us invitations to this fabulous masquerade. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to mingle with people we'd seen on E! Television and in the movies."
"Your hair," he said. "You weren't wearing a wig that night."
"No. Long and blond — that was me. All the girls said I looked so pure that I should wear wings to the party, so I did.
"When I got back to Kane's Crossing, I cut my hair and dyed it. I changed myself. Tried to get far away from what I'd done in Florida." A brittle laugh escaped her. "Funny, but the Southern heat must've gotten to us. We were all a little wild, did things we'd never do back home."
A vivid flash of memory swiped his heart: He'd seen her across the room and had been instantly charmed by the halo, the white of her dress, the anonymity.
"I thought you were one of the usual crowd," he said. "I didn't know."
"I didn't want you to. I was living a dream. But I knew who you were the second you walked up to me and touched my hair. I'd seen you in magazines, had a crush on you. Just a fantasy crush, though." She traced the bed cover's pattern. "But then we talked all night, and even though our faces weren't revealed, I thought our meeting was magic. You kissed me…"
"So innocent," he murmured.
She shook her head. "We kept our masks on then, too. You wanted it that way."
"We all have our fantasies." She'd been an angel, just for that night. He'd always wanted something good in his life, and seeing her face would've ruined the illusion.
And that illusion had been so powerful that he'd forgotten to use his typical protection.
But Rosemary was unmasked now, open to him. Heaviness tightened his chest. Did he already miss his innocent version of her? Did this lie make her just like the other women he'd known, after all?
"Afterward," she said, "you left and told me you'd be away for just a minute. I wanted us both to show our faces so badly, but you never came back. That's when I looked for you."
Morgan knew what was coming next, and his gut clenched with shame.
As Rosemary huddled beneath the bed covers, her heart cracked in two. What she'd found the morning after she and Morgan had first made love had caused her to bolt, to return home where she could be herself again.
"I found you in the living room," she said, "and there was already another woman wrapped in your arms."
Morgan looked so stern, so disappointed in the both of them, as he hunched over, resting his arms on his thighs. "I remember that night. Would it matter if I said nothing happened with that woman? She was reckless, like me, and this was one occasion when I had to talk her down from a string of tragedies."
"She didn't have any clothes on."
One of his hands fisted, then relaxed. "That wasn't my doing. I've apologized for my lifestyle, Rosemary."
"And I'd give anything to be one hundred percent sure you'd never go back to it."
"That doesn't excuse lying to me about you and Tommy."
The situation was slipping through her fingers. "You'll never know how sorry I am to have gone about introducing Tommy like I did. But, truthfully, Morgan, a small-town girl hunts down a famous playboy and tells him he fathered her child? Besides that, he's never even seen her face? Wouldn't you have been cautious if you were in my shoes?"
A shadow passed over his eyes, and he didn't have to respond.
She wanted to touch him again, to know that he was still within her reach. "When I returned to Kane's Crossing and found out I was pregnant, I still nursed a silly little dream. I used to fantasize that you'd sweep into town one day because you'd been searching for me all over the world. Ridiculous, I know. But, in the mean time, I treasured every moment with Tommy because he's such a blessing — no matter how he was conceived."
"I know."
Even if they'd agreed on something, he was still so far away from her.
She said, "I'll apologize a thousand times if that's what it takes for you to forgive me. But don't let my miscalculation affect the way you feel about our baby. Please."
"I know he's mine. This doesn't change how much I adore that boy." His hand touched her bare shoulder, seeking, and Rosemary quivered.
She added, "I told myself I'd never lose my head again. But here I am, huh? Right back in South Beach, thinking with my crazy hormones."
He dropped his hand to the mattress. Hadn't he said he wanted a nice woman to settle down with? Had she shattered some buried need within him by steering clear of her innocence and giving in to his seduction?
Rosemary kept her hands to herself, afraid to touch him because he might turn her away. "One day I looked at Tommy and I realized he was your spitting image. I thought about my own dad and how his absence scarred me. In that moment, I promised Tommy that I'd try to contact you. And when I read that you'd withdrawn from your old way of life, I knew the time had come."
"So you devised a plan to test me out."
"Yes. Me and my best friend, Charise."
"If I turned out to be unsuitable, you'd be justified in lying about his paternity. You were ready for me to be a jerk."
She met his gaze straight on. "And I'd do it again, too, even though I'm sorry about how that makes you feel. Very sorry."
Morgan paused, his body wooden. Then he said, "I'm just sorry you can't get past the way I used to be."
Wrapping himself in a sheet, he hesitated, a flash of naked disgrace crossing his face. Then his gaze hardened, shutting her out.
He left the room.
She tightened her arms around her knees, drawing into herself. Heart heavy, she wondered what other sort of reaction she'd been expecting from Morgan.
By definition, playboys never stuck around.
Morgan hadn't slept a wink all night.
With doubts weighing him down, he'd asked one of his house assistants to drive Rosemary back to the motel. Her confession — and how he'd reacted to it — had thrown him into confusion, leaving his body a hollow shell.
Now as the morning sun slouched through the nursery window, Morgan lingered over the intricate crib, the blue blankets, the toys he'd purchased for Tommy.
"So you're a basket case, too."
Morgan turned around to find a blond woman leaning against the doorframe, watching him.
"Hi," she said, sticking out a hand in greeting, "I'm Charise. But I suppose you can call me Grandma."
"I've heard about you." He shook her hand but without much spirit.
"I hope it's okay that one of your men let me in." Her light brown eyes searched him. "I'll be in enough hot water with Rosemary when she finds out I'm playing referee."
"How is she?" he asked, stomach flipping just at the thought of her.
"Sad. She told me all about your romantic night. The ill-timed confession of motherhood. The way you sprinted out of the room."
Exactly. That's how the old Morgan reacted to uncomfortable situations: running from hard times and seeking a place that held no responsibility or care.
"I understand why she wouldn't come clean with me," he said. "I'd do the same for Tommy. But I can't help feeling betrayed all the same." Couldn't help feeling like dirt because she'd lied to him in order to protect their son.
From him.
Charise inspected a rainbow-hued mobile that was hanging over the crib. "I'd hate for this shaky start to ruin a bright future."
"It'd be easier if she hadn't pretended to be someone else."
"I'm the one who came up with the idea of omitting the truth at first. She was reluctant, but she knew it was the best thing for Tommy."
"You're right. It was."
She considered him, probably sensing his wounded feelings, his doubts about being man enough to deserve a family.
"There aren't many people who still believe in true love in this day and age," she said. "Rosemary's stayed true to that one night with you, even when half the men in Kane's Crossing were knocking down her door, thinking she wouldn't be so hard to get after all, what with that bun in the oven…"
He believed true love could happen. He also believed it could be taken away, just like a flash of lightning splitting a tree apart.
"I keep wondering if she'll always be thinking the worst of me," he said.
"Maybe you just need to erase the doubts last night brought out."
Morgan's mind started whirring with ideas, with the fear that he might fail to live up to Rosemary's expectations. "Who knew I could lose my heart twice in the space of a few days? Once to a baby I didn't know I had, and once to a woman who's too good for the likes of me."
"Hey." Charise held up a finger. "From what I know, neither you or Rosemary were raised by real fathers. Are you going to let an inferiority complex stand in the way of a family for Tommy?"
"Never." Morgan straightened. "I know I can be a hell of a dad. I can be with Tommy. I'm just not sure about Rosemary."
How could he tell Charise about those deep-seeded Pollyanna fantasies? His longing for a woman who could keep him away from his dark side with her optimism and light?
But Rosemary had turned out to be a mere human, after all. And Morgan couldn't help missing the woman who'd appeared on the front porch with Tommy. The innocent.
Charise blew out a breath, hands on hips. "I still don't get why you're not knocking down her door. Rosemary's heart is pure through and through. If you don't want her, it's your loss."
The comment smarted, leaving a heated imprint on his soul.
When he didn't respond, she shook her head, muttered something about "stupid men" and vacated the room.
Morgan touched a stuffed giraffe, his chest tight. He would be an incredible father to Tommy. He just wasn't sure what kind of a husband he'd make.
"Not to be a pessimist," Charise said, "but what are your plans if Morgan doesn't come around?"
She was packing her suitcase while Rosemary and a crib-bound Tommy watched.
Even though her doubts about his past had returned after last night and Charise's conversation with him this morning, Rosemary still couldn't bring herself to start packing. "He's going to want Tommy in his life, Charise. That's a given. I'm not so sure about me, though. Not judging by the way he distanced himself after I told him who I was. And not after my confession of boundless love."
"That's how you work, honey. When you love, you do it all the way." Charise smiled sadly. "I wish I could, too."
"I don't know. Maybe it's time to forget my unrealistic feelings for him and deal with reality. After all, maybe that's part of the reason last night ended on such a downward note — he doesn't want the actual me."
"Don't say that, Rosemary. Maybe the guy just needs an anchor in his life, someone to keep him on the straight and narrow."
Guilt still lingered about that one steamy Florida night. Was this a punishment? Finding out that Morgan couldn't accept the woman under the angel's mask?
"I can't believe he recognized my body, of all things." Again, she thought of the women who'd come before her. Sometimes the sheer number made her feel insignificant. But the way he'd held her wiped his past from her mind.
Until he'd walked out of the room and proven her wrong.
"Well," Charise said. "I tried my best to talk some sense into him."
Charise shut her suitcase and continued. "Maybe you and Morgan just weren't meant to be. Maybe love at first sight really doesn't exist."
Rosemary didn't want to believe that. Too bad the evidence pointed to the contrary. "I guess I should pack up, then contact Morgan by phone to see how to handle visitation."
Charise and Tommy merely stared, and Rosemary held back the ache.
"You're sure?" asked Charise.
Rosemary thought about how they could make each other laugh. How they could talk for hours. How they both loved Tommy. How their bodies made each other spark and burn.
"No," she said, "I'm not. I don't understand why two people can't just fall in love without troubles, without doubting each other. I don't…" She covered her eyes.
"Oh, Rose."
The women hugged until they were both tearing up. Then they pulled away from each other, Charise rubbing Rosemary's back in sympathy. All that was left to do was to collect Rosemary's belongings now.
They'd almost finished when a loud noise from outside made them both jump.
"That sounds like a siren," Charise said, collecting Tommy from the crib.
Knowing her child was in good hands, Rosemary peeked out the curtains. What she saw jammed her heart in her throat.
"He came back," Rosemary said, swallowing around the twist in her voice.
Charise moved next to her. "I think my faith in the male race has just been restored."
Morgan Pierce stood on the driver's side of Engine 54, waiting for her. The noise and the bright-red vehicle had drawn other motel guests into the waning sunlight.
"I know he's better late than never, but for heaven's sake — go!" Charise lightly pushed Rosemary, sending her toward the door.
Tommy added his two cents by letting out a long, heartfelt squeal of delight.
Rosemary exhaled, trying to calm the bippity-bip of her pulse. She could barely walk straight, much less open the door and greet the cooling air.
When Morgan saw her emerge, his face lit up, even as he still managed to appear a bit sheepish.
"I got here as fast as I could," he said.
"I thought you never wanted to see me again."
"Wrong. I decided that I couldn't live a minute more without Tommy. Without you."
Without realizing it, her hand covered her heart. "We've got a lot to work out, don't we?"
"Love takes a little effort." He offered that devastating grin. "Or so I've heard."
Small children had gathered around the engine, and Morgan greeted them with genuine warmth. His smile chipped away at her doubts, but didn't destroy them.
He alighted from the vehicle, jumping down to the ground and taking Rosemary's hand in his. "You did take me by surprise last night."
Last night: sizzling kisses, slow caresses, a life-altering afterglow.
"I wish the truth had come out more gracefully."
"Presentation won't change the fact that I've fallen in love with you."
"Love?" What about the way he'd left her last night?
"You don't think I want a woman like you?" He stroked a finger over her jaw, his head tilted. "You're everything, Rosemary. A diamond with different facets. Your friend talked some sense into me this morning, helped me sort out those cluttered mental files gathering dust in my brain."
Rosemary glanced at Charise, who was standing by the motel room door with Tommy in her arms.
"Would you ever consider settling for a guy like me?" he asked.
A guy like him. She still wasn't sure what sort of a man he was.
"Are you willing to take the risk with me?" he asked.
Oxygen escaped her, but she gathered enough to answer. "I keep thinking of our parents."
"Don't. They have no bearing on how we feel toward each other. On how we want Tommy to grow up safe and happy."
"This is all happening so fast. How can —"
"— I told you before," he said, "I know what I want now." He dropped to a knee, holding her hand between both of his own. "And I want you to be my wife, Rosemary. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?"
Four months earlier, Morgan wouldn't have waited on bended knee in front of a woman. But that was a lifetime ago.
He peered up at Rosemary as she bit her trembling lower lip.
"Oh, darlin'," he said. "When a man asks you to marry him, you're supposed to be happier."
"I am happy. I'm…" Her voice choked off.
He brought her down to him, sitting her on his thigh, wrapping her in his arms. The people who'd come outside to stare at the fire engine retreated, waiting by their rooms to watch the proposal. But Charise had brought Tommy closer.
The blonde gave him to Rosemary, who cradled the baby.
"Good luck," mouthed Charise, winking at him.
Morgan lightly pushed Tommy's button nose. "Hey, tough guy, can you tell your mom that you want us all to be together, too?"
Rosemary wiped her cheek. "Maybe we're mistaking passion for something more meaningful."
"You know that's not true. Through a strange twist of fate, I've always been in love with a part of you. Remember when I'd told you that there was one true moment in my life? That a masquerade angel held me afterward like no other woman?"
Rosemary hesitated, then a change came over her. Brightness suffused her hazel eyes, and a smile lit over her mouth. "You stopped being a playboy months ago?"
"You set a metamorphosis into motion. I can't go back to being the old Morgan now."
She laughed, kissed Tommy, then him. "Maybe true love can exist, even with us."
With a burst of joy, he buried his face in her hair — so sweet. With his other hand, he held Tommy's chubby leg, forming a circle of promise.
"We've got a lot of time to make up," Rosemary said.
"Just as long as we share all our secrets."
"I don't have any more. Do you?"
"Yeah."
She blinked. "Oh."
"Don't worry." Morgan laughed, feeling the vibration travel through Rosemary's body. "I've planned a secret trip for us. You know, a honeymoon?"
"Kind of cocky, aren't you?"
"I always will be. But it's tough when I haven't heard a yes from you yet."
"Yes." She threw back her head and raised her voice, the words braided with laughter. "Yes, yes, yes!"
As the scattered pieces of Morgan's heart crashed back together, making him whole, he brought his grandmother's ring out from his pocket. He'd found it in the attic, along with Tommy's carousel and toy chest. Thank God Rosemary was allowing him to decorate her finger with his love.
Their small motel audience "awww"ed and applauded, then started moving back into their rooms. Even baby Tommy knew something was going on, because he was trying to clap his hands, too.
"I'm the luckiest man alive," he said, and Rosemary kissed his cheek. Her touch was a benediction, a loose end tying into a knot, closing. Bonding.
Using Tommy's hand to help him, Morgan slid the ring onto Rosemary's finger and said, "Here's to true love."
"And love at first sight," she said. "Love that grows beyond a fantasy."
They smiled at each other, silent vows contained in their gazes.
A flash caused them to blink their eyes.
"Got you," Charise said, holding an instant camera. The picture whirred out of the device. "A historic moment captured in color."
Before going back to the room, she gave the keepsake to them. Both Rosemary and Morgan held the edges, showing Tommy the magic. Before their eyes, a happy family took form.
"Look at that," Morgan said. "There's our future."
Rosemary stroked his neck.
"I love you so much," he said.
"And I love you, too," she sighed, resting her cheek against his. "All sides of you."
Even if she was coming to terms with what he used to be, this moment convinced Morgan that the playboy was long gone. As he glanced at the photo again, he saw a whole new Morgan Pierce.
He saw a father holding his happy family.
As the sun set over Remington, a new day dawned for all of them.
The End