Breath of Dawn, The (13 page)

Hands on hips, he dipped his head. “Why do you think I can do that?”

“You have money. Resources. You make things happen.”

“Legal things.” He spread his hand. “I might grease palms, but I don’t have underworld connections.”

She slumped. It had been a stupid thought.

“Why do you need to change your name?”

She stared at the floor. “Someone wants to find me.”

“The law?”

She shook her head. She didn’t think so anyway.

“The guy last night?”

She nodded without meeting his eyes.

“Your husband?”

Now she did look up. “No. Yuck.”

He pulled a side grin. “Okay, that’s out of the way.”

“I’m not married or battered or abused.”

“But you’re in trouble.”

“I will be if he finds me.” Why had she thought Morgan could change that?

“Is Quinn your real name?”

“Yes. I don’t have a way to fake it either.” She wished she hadn’t brought it up. Now he knew, and there was no help coming.

He rested a hand on the back of the couch. “You want to tell me about it?”

“There’s no reason to, if you can’t help me hide.” All he was offering was a job, and she didn’t know if she could commit to that when she might have to take off. What if she was alone with Livie when Markham found her? She turned to go.

He caught her elbow and turned her back. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help. I said I couldn’t get you a fake ID.”

She searched his face. “Other than changing my identity, I’m not sure what would help.”

“There’s more than one way to change your name.” He still had hold of her elbow, a warm, encompassing grasp.

“Aren’t official changes public record?”

“Sure.” He let go and crossed his arms. “How good is he at searching things out?”

“Better than I am at hiding them. He got my cell phone number.” The slimy rat.

“How serious are you about eluding him?”

She took the phone out of her pocket and turned it on. As Morgan watched, she retrieved the text and held it out.

He blinked at the words, then looked at her. “Not an idle threat?”

“He just got out of prison.” She hated the hint of fear that found her voice and felt a responding anger that Markham had put her in this position.

“You sent him there?”

“He sent himself.” The anger pinched her brow. “I just . . . made his business known.”

“So he’s angry. Doesn’t mean he’ll risk his freedom to kill you.”

Except the part that Morgan didn’t know. “You’re probably right.”

“But you don’t think so.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to think. But I’m ready to run.”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

He pressed his palms together in front of his chin. “Let me work on it.”

Her heart skipped. “Really?” In Morgan’s mouth those words were magic.

“I’m not making you a fugitive.”

“Would I be?”

“Yeah, honey. Obtaining a false identity is illegal.”

She knew that, but still . . .

Morgan studied her. For someone so gutsy, she seemed honestly spooked. And naïve. Death threats explained the first. Youth the second? “How old are you, Quinn?”

She frowned. “Twenty-seven.”

A couple years more than he’d have guessed by appearance, a couple shy by demeanor. “How do you feel about matrimony?”

“I’m not against it.”

“Ever been?”

“No.”

“Well, I think that’s our answer.”

Her jaw fell slack.

Yeah, rusty in the charm department. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We leave the country so there’s no immediate US record, have a
civil ceremony that’s legal but not consummated. You’ll have your new identity, and you can help Livie and me as long as we need it.”

Shock gave way to dismay, the lines of her face falling as she searched his. “This is you working on it?”

While he hadn’t rehearsed his pitch, he hadn’t expected that adverse a reaction. “It’s a good solution.”

“As a problem-solving exercise?”

“You rated your problem pretty high.”

She slumped. “I can’t believe this.”

This time when he touched her elbow she slid it away. “There’s no risk and a full resolution of your identity crisis.”

“No risk? There are vows involved.”

“Civil vows can be as simple as ‘Do you wish to enter into this union? Yes. Do you? Yes. I pronounce you husband and wife.’” Saying the words caused a slight hitch. Was he problem solving, or seeing something worth pursuing and pursuing it? Wasn’t that his gift, recognizing and maximizing potential?

Her eyes darted between his as though she might catch something different in one or the other. It was pretty straightforward, though obviously not what she’d envisioned. At least it was legal.

She swallowed. “And then what?”

“Then whatever you want.”

“Divorce?”

When she put it that way, it did sound harsh. “If you find someone else to be with, we’ll take care of it.”

Her face flamed. “This has to be the worst proposal of all time.”

Not what he’d intended. He was offering her a chance, not an insult. “Think of it as a merger. A mutual achievement of goals.”

She formed the most withering expression he’d seen in years. “Is it some antisocial genius disorder? You can only seem human so long?”

Ouch.

“I thought . . . This morning it seemed . . .”

The morning had been brilliant. And maybe it was as much about that as their situations. At this point, however, it didn’t seem wise to say so. He spread his hands. “I’ve made my pitch. Swing or let it go by.”

S
tunned and . . . wounded, she watched him take his daughter and walk out. Part of her realized he’d slipped into professional problem solving. Part of her regretted her attack. But the biggest thing she felt was dismay. Did she seem like someone who’d accept a merger for a marriage?

She pressed her hands to her face, feeling stomped. It wasn’t his fault she’d imagined a spark. Too many times she’d made more out of something than he obviously felt. He’d shown her again and again in his curtness, his exits. Not. Interested.

“Rick?” Noelle’s hoarse cry came from the top of the stairs.

Quinn dragged her face out of her hands to see Noelle coming down with Liam in her arms. “Rick’s not here. They all went outside.”

“Could you please find him?”

“Of course.” She grabbed her coat and pulled on her boots. Outside, she followed the shoveled path that led to the barn and stable. Drawing herself up, she entered the long hay-scented space and halted just inside.

Holding Livie on his shoulders, Morgan was chatting with the
professor while Rick broke a section of hay from a bale and forked it into the first of a dozen stalls. That one held a stunning buckskin with intelligent eyes. In the next stall, a fiery roan snorted and tossed its head, demanding the recognition it deserved. Overshadowed, a gray horse, possibly a mare by the smaller stature, waited her turn. That was all of them she saw before telling Rick that Noelle needed him. “I think it’s Liam.”

Immediately Rick’s focus shifted.

Morgan said, “I’ll finish here.” And as Rick hurried out, Morgan lifted Livie off his shoulders and carried her over. “Do you mind?” as though minutes before he hadn’t inserted a blade between her ribs.

She took the child, amazed when he picked up the pitchfork and worked capably around the horses. Rick was the cowboy, Morgan the mogul—or not.

Leaving him with the professor, she carried Livie back to the house, noticing in the barn a tractor with a plow blade. Maybe escape was possible—though the desire felt less pressing when Livie’s little arms closed around her neck.

In the great room, Noelle had bundled Liam in coat, hat, and gloves. Setting Livie back down by the cartoon, Quinn said, “How is he?”

“He needs a doctor.”

“Can Rick plow the road?”

“There isn’t time. He’s taking Liam on horseback.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s less drifting under the trees.”

“But where’s the doctor?”

“In town. Dr. Bennington still practices even though he’s technically retired.” Noelle coughed wetly.

“What about you?”

“He’ll send an antibiotic back with Rick. He keeps a big boomer on hand for me.”

Now, that was small-town medicine. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Would you mind watching Livie? I’m trying to avoid direct contact.”

“Of course. I’m happy to.” And Livie didn’t seem to mind. She
had opened up to her, though not, as Morgan claimed, like a baby duck. No question which adult she was attached to.

Rick came downstairs and went out, apparently to prepare the horse.

“I’m sorry you’ve been exposed to this.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

Noelle gave in to a cough. In chain reaction, Liam coughed too. They sounded as bad as they must feel. Happy to help but unsure entirely how, Quinn moved over by Livie. She could almost imagine nothing happened with Morgan, almost pretend she was making friends with Noelle, except she didn’t pretend. She couldn’t afford to.

Rick came inside, wrapped Liam in a blanket, and carried him out. Through the window, Quinn watched him hoist the boy onto the sturdy buckskin and mount behind him in a single motion. They set out through the falling snow. She hadn’t thought about horses as transportation since reading Western stories as a girl.

“Do you mind very much if I go to bed?” Noelle rasped.

“Please do.” Quinn saw her shaking, now that her child required no show of strength. “Can you make it up the stairs?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

As Noelle left, Livie looked up, her face tender with uncertainty and dismay. Quinn took the little waif in her arms with a rush of emotion that softened her belly. “He’ll be all right, sweetie.”

Livie gulped back tears, far more aware than Quinn had expected.

“Hey, we were going to play animals, weren’t we?”

Livie nodded. Quinn led her over and sat. Instead of going for the ark, Livie settled into her lap, the soft curve of her back fitting snugly. Quinn reached into the wooden boat and brought out a cleverly carved aardvark. Seriously? Whoever made this set had talent and ingenuity.

“Aar-vark.” Livie took the little animal.

Quinn made her knee a steady perch. “What does the aardvark say?” Whatever sound Livie gave it would be more than she knew herself.

Livie looked from the carving to her. “The aar-vark says, ‘Hi, elephant.’”

Quinn burst out laughing. “Of course.”

Morgan and the professor came inside, Morgan’s gaze homing in.

Livie squirmed up and ran to him. “Playammals, Daddy.”

She must have learned that phrase early and retained its babyish pronunciation while the rest of her diction improved. In no mood for a three-way playgroup, Quinn stood up and turned to the professor. “Should we dive back in?”

He looked over where she’d laid the envelope. “If you’re up to it.”

In a choice between Morgan and the grim stories of the asylum, the decision was easy.

Rick had promised to call as soon as he reached the doctor’s. With her head swirling, Noelle waited and dozed and waited. At last the call came. “You were right,” Rick said. “The little guy’s dehydrated.”

“His throat hurts too much to swallow.” Her own made a sympathetic response.

“You need liquids too. Doc said it’s crucial to regulate your fever.”

“I know.” As an adult she could force herself to do what Liam resisted.

“Okay,” Rick sighed. “I have to go hold him for an IV.”

“Kiss him for me.” She knew Rick would soothe their little guy as well as anyone could. And he was right that this new baby needed her body to cool down, needed oxygen and nutrients in her blood.
Please, God.

She reached for the water bottle beside her bed and took a sip. She envisioned it going straight to the baby and took another. She fought a cough and took a third, then waited. Let it absorb. Let her stomach receive it.

At the tap on the door, she turned her head, expecting Morgan, but it was Quinn.

“I brought you some tea, if you can tolerate it.”

“You’re a godsend.” Noelle rose to an elbow in the bed and took the mug. This woman she barely knew had graciously slipped into
the situation and not only tolerated but took initiative, receiving the hospitality they’d offered her and looking for ways to bless them back.

Not beating a hasty retreat, Quinn stood for a moment, hesitant.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You won’t.” Noelle motioned to the chair.

Instead of sitting, Quinn folded her arms. “Morgan asked me to marry him.”

“He what?” Noelle stared at her over the steam rising, certain she’d heard wrong.

“I asked for help with something, and he needs a maid and cook. So he proposed. If you can call it that.” Quinn jammed her fingers into her hair, trying to look stern but only managing distressed. “You might have mentioned he’s crazy.”

“He’s not crazy.” She moistened her throat with the hot tea, then setting down the mug, rose a little higher in the bed. She didn’t want to say more than Morgan might be comfortable with, but this was more than odd, and Quinn looked troubled. “He’s waking up. But it’s like a foot that’s gone to sleep. There’s pain and awkwardness and uncertainty whether it will hold weight and function.”

And as Rick said,
“If he’s been numb and it starts to hurt . . .”
She reached up and touched Quinn’s hand. “I don’t know what you asked. But with Morgan, if you ask, he’ll try to do it.”

“By any means?”

“Within his personal parameters. He’s not exactly conventional.”

Quinn took that in without comment, then nodded. “I’ll let you rest.”

Pausing midsentence in his conversation with Dr. Jenkins, Morgan watched Quinn come down from Noelle’s room. He hadn’t realized she might have developed feelings for him until he saw her reaction to his pitch. The concept had formed easily and immediately, though maybe he should have thought it through before presentation.

He wouldn’t have entered a boardroom without considering
every aspect. Even so, CEOs didn’t usually care for the fix until, little by little, they realized the benefit and accepted the conditions. Professionally, he shared the risk and reward of each solution. This was no different.

She’d asked him for something illegal; he’d offered an alternative. And she told him what she thought of him—an antisocial genius who could only seem human so long. It had been a knee-jerk reaction he didn’t take personally. In fact, he rather admired her spunk. Looking at her now, it was clear any comment would make the situation worse, so he said nothing.

She addressed the professor. “Noelle said there’s less drifting under the trees. Think we could make it to Vera’s on foot?”

The academic’s face was pure indulgence. “Let’s try,” he said.

Morgan stretched out his legs. “We can’t dawdle. It’s almost time for Livie’s nap.”

Quinn half turned. “The professor and I could just go, if you need to take care of things here.” She waved a hand toward Livie.

Such a nice dismissal, but he rose. “Want to go for a walk, Liv?” He dug her out of the couch-cushion choo-choo and got her coat from the closet.

Sighing, Quinn donned her own coat as he lifted Livie into the pack, slid his arms through the straps, and buckled the cinch strap. Quinn and the professor went out the door and he followed.

The snow wasn’t as deep beneath the trees, but it also wasn’t melting as in the sunny stretches. It was thick, fluffy powder that breezes wafted from the tree branches in sugary cascades. Kicking through it, he replayed their conversation.

He offered her a job. She asked for a new name. He suggested his, no strings attached beyond the aforementioned occupation. While unconventional, it wasn’t as insulting as she made out.

She had searched him online and had some understanding of his station. There’d be a prenup if she took his offer, but she hadn’t even asked for money. She’d offered to work for nothing in return for his crime.

That didn’t mean the opportunity wouldn’t sink in. She was shrewd enough to realize the upside. And his upside? Besides the facts that Livie had taken to her and Quinn could cook, she had
a good work ethic. She was easy on the eyes. She had a sense of humor—not at the moment, but in general. He enjoyed her and wanted to help. And he didn’t want her to run.

Watching her and the professor, laughing as they high-stepped through the snow, he felt the rich timbre of her voice carrying in the woods. While her situation might be serious, if she were terrified, she’d have taken the offer. Since she seemed less frightened for her life at the moment, they might have time to work into it, or come up with something else—an oddly disappointing thought.

“Let me down, Daddy. Want to walk.”

He removed Livie from the pack and let her tramp through the trail the other two cut, helping her over areas still drifted. He’d been feeling Quinn out as much as anything, gauging the threat level. He’d learn what else he could about Markham Wilder from Anselm, and about Quinn herself. Hopefully she’d get past her irritation long enough to at least consider his offer.