Paper Rose (24 page)

Tate defended himself with both arms. “How do you know it was me?” he teased.

“Who else could it be?” Leta raged. “Do you think my baby would let another man touch her? Would she jump into bed with any other man in the world except you? Are you crazy?”

Tate actually looked sheepish, and there was a new light in his eyes. Matt, after contemplating the two of them for a minute, sauntered off into the general direction of the kitchen, leaving mother and son alone together for the first time since the tempest had started.

Tate stuck his hands into his pockets and stared down at his pretty little mother. “If you haven't finished hitting me, I think there's a spot or two you missed,” he pointed out, touching his arm and grimacing. He smiled. “At least we're speaking again.”

“That was your decision,” she said gently. “You needed time to adjust to the truth.”

He spoke after a minute. “It wasn't easy at first, but it explains a lot about the past. I could never love Jack Winthrop and he couldn't love me. Now I understand why.”

She sighed. “You were always a good son. I wanted so many times to tell you about Matt, but I knew what you were going to think of me when you learned the truth,” she said, dropping her gaze. “Matt would have loved you.”

Tate was lost for words. That seemed to happen to him a lot lately. He took his mother by the shoulders and bent to kiss her forehead. “Don't tell him I said this, because he's arrogant enough as it is. But I would have loved him, too.”

Leta hugged him hard. “What's that saying about tangled webs?”

He closed his arms around her with a smile of pure relief. “People get caught in them.” He smiled against her hair. “How do you like being a senator's wife?”

“I married Matt Holden. The senator part is taking some getting used to. But now when I talk at rallies or before congressional committees, by golly, they'll listen to me!” she added on a chuckle. “Even if I live here, now, I can do a lot of good for our people back home.”

He burst out laughing. “Does my father know you're going to trade on your married name like that?”

“Your father.” She repeated the words softly. “You don't mind knowing about him, now?”

He shook his head. “I've always admired him, even when I thought I disliked him.” He searched her face quietly. “He barely knew me when all this came up, but he did everything in his power to protect me, just the same. It makes me proud, to have a man like that for my father. So, no, I don't mind. I don't mind at all.”

Matt, standing in the doorway, hearing those words from his son, had to turn around and go away until the wetness left his eyes. His son didn't hate him. It was more than he deserved, probably, but there was a new warm place in his heart that was worth all the anguish of the past few weeks.

“I'm glad you're not still angry with me,” Leta told her tall son. She reached up and touched his short hair with a grimace. “You and Cecily,” she muttered. “Such beautiful hair, all whacked off.”

“I was grieving,” he said simply.

“So was she,” Leta told him. “You haven't treated her in any honorable way. I know I'm one to talk, but I know better than either of you how it is to marry one man and love another and be pregnant with his child.” She searched his troubled eyes. “Colby wants to marry her, you know.”

Tate's eyes began to glitter. “In his dreams,” he said coldly. “The only man she's marrying is me.”

“Really?” She was delighted, but puzzled. “Audrey told her about the ring and the wedding dress…”

“I told Audrey and the press that I don't plan to marry her, regardless of rings and wedding dresses. Audrey has problems and it took me a while to figure out why she behaved the way she did.” He added quietly, “She's going to spend some time in a drug treatment center drying out. Maybe they can do something for her. I'm sorry for her, but she really complicated things for me.”

Leta felt almost weak with relief. “Cecily thought that since you know about your real heritage, marriage to a white woman might not be so distasteful to you,” she added. “And Audrey is cultured and quite beautiful.”

He actually winced. “Cecily said something like that to me, when I told her that I hadn't seen Audrey lately.” He looked, and was very troubled. “She's got it into her head that I wouldn't have wanted her, regardless of my heritage, because she wasn't beautiful enough. That's not true. I've made a real hash of things.”

“Yes,” his mother said flatly. “And now Cecily's pregnant and all alone.”

“It gets worse. She was almost knocked down by a car while you were out of town on your honeymoon,” he said, his voice harsh with emotion.

“
When?
Is she all right?” Leta was frantic.

“She had a mild concussion and a sprained wrist. They kept her overnight for observation. She told them that she had no family living,” he added huskily. He drew in a long breath and smiled coolly. “You can't imagine how that hurt.”

“Yes, I can,” Leta replied. She moved to the sofa and sat down, watching her son drop into the wing chair he'd vacated earlier. “Are the two of you still speaking?”

“She ran away,” he said through his teeth. “She thought I was marrying Audrey, so she gave up everything and moved out of town so that she and the baby wouldn't interfere with my life.” He glanced at his mother. “Doesn't that sound familiar?”

Leta grimaced and put her face in her hands. “Oh, my poor Cecily!”

“The really tragic part of it is that Audrey was never anything more than window dressing, someone I could use to…”

“To?” his mother prompted, wiping her eyes.

He looked at his clasped hands, at the big silver-and-turquoise ring that had once been Matt's. “Cecily was getting to me,” he said. “I had to have a way to keep her at arm's length. She kept her distance when I started going around with Audrey.”

Leta looked worried. “Poor Cecily,” she said again.

“I've been free to do what I pleased,” he said. “Travel, take dangerous jobs, take risks…I've never had to consider anyone except myself since I left home. I've been independent most of my adult life. I took responsibility for Cecily, but I did it from a distance, mostly. I didn't want to share my life with anyone.”

“You do seem to have gotten your wish,” Leta told him with disapproval in every line of her face.

“It isn't what I want now,” he said quietly. “I don't mind giving up the more dangerous jobs, or my independence. I want my child,” he said simply. “I want Cecily. I only wish I could think of a way to make her realize it. I have to have some idea of what I'm going to say to her before I go barreling off to Tennessee after her. There's too much at stake.”

He got up, restless, worried, and went back to the window.

Matt came back into the room, followed by the butler with a huge silver tray that held a silver coffeepot and the accompanying necessities.

“Time out,” he called, motioning Tate back to his seat. “Coffee solves most problems, I've found. I've brought a full new pot.” He sat down on the sofa beside Leta and bent to kiss her with visible affection.

Tate sat down, but reluctantly. He felt lost.

His father looked at him with pleasure, noting their resemblances. He was sorry for Tate's unhappiness, but that was a personal thing that the younger man would have to work through all on his own. He could advise, but he couldn't really help.

“Decided what you're going to do?” he asked Tate softly.

The younger man accepted a cup of black coffee from his mother and slowly shook his head.

“You need a battle plan,” Matt advised. “I never left the base without detailed reconnaissance and a battle plan. It's why I came home alive.”

Tate chuckled in spite of himself. “She's a woman, not an enemy stronghold.”

“That's what you think,” Matt said, pointing a spoon in the other man's direction before he lowered it into his cup. “Most women
are
enemy strongholds,” he added, with a wicked glance at his smiling wife. “You have to storm the gates properly.”

“He knows all about storming gates, apparently,” Leta said with faint sarcasm. “Otherwise, we wouldn't be expecting a grandchild…” She gasped and looked at Matt. “A grandchild. Our grandchild,” she emphasized with pure joy.

Matt glanced at Tate. “That puts a whole new face on things, son,” he said, the word slipping out so naturally that it didn't even seem to surprise Tate, who smiled through his misery.

“You go to Tennessee and tell Cecily she's marrying you,” Leta instructed her son.

“Sure,” Tate said heavily. “After all the trouble I've given her in the past weeks, I'm sure she can't wait to rush down the aisle with me.”

“Honey catches more flies than vinegar,” Matt said helpfully.

“If I go down there with any honey, I'll come home wearing bees.”

Leta chuckled.

“You aren't going to give up?” Matt asked.

Tate shook his head. “I can't. I have to get to her before Gabrini does, although I'm fairly sure he has no more idea where she really is than I did until today. I just have to find a new approach to get her back home. God knows what.” He sipped more coffee and glanced from one of his parents to the other. He felt as if he belonged, for the first time in his life. It made him warm inside to consider how dear these two people suddenly were to him. His father, he thought, was quite a guy. Not that he was going to say so. The man was far too arrogant already.

B
ut if deciding to go to Tennessee and bring Cecily home was easy, doing it was not. Tate asked for a week off from Pierce Hutton, because he expected to have to work at getting her to come back, and he wasn't leaving her in harm's way alone.

Pierce Hutton gave him a highly amused smile as they went over updated security information from the oil rig in the Caspian Sea.

“So you've finally decided to do something about Cecily,” Pierce murmured. “It's about time. I was beginning to get used to that permanent scowl.”

Tate glanced at him wryly. “I thought I was doing a great job of keeping her at arm's length. She's pregnant, now, of course,” he volunteered.

The older man chuckled helplessly. “So much for keeping her at arm's length. When's the wedding?”

Tate's smile faded. “That's premature. She ran. I finally tracked her down, but now I have to convince her that I want to get married without having her think it's only because of the baby.”

“I don't envy you the job,” Pierce replied, his black eyes twinkling. “I had my own rocky road to marriage, if you recall.”

“How's the baby these days?” he asked.

Pierce laughed with wholehearted delight. “We watch him instead of television. I never expected fatherhood to make such changes in me, in my life.” He shook his head, with a faraway look claiming his eyes. “Sometimes I'm afraid it's all a dream and I'll wake up alone.” He shifted, embarrassed. “You can have the time off. But who's going to handle your job while you're gone?”

“I thought I'd get you to put Colby Lane on the payroll.” He held up his hand when Pierce looked thunderous. “He's stopped drinking,” he told him. “Cecily got him into therapy. He's not the man he was.”

“You're sure of that?” Pierce wanted to know.

Tate smiled. “I'm sure.”

“Okay. But if he ever throws a punch at me again, he'll be smiling on the inside of his mouth!”

Tate chuckled. “Fair enough. I'll give him a call before I leave town.”

 

Colby was quietly shocked to find Tate not only at his door the next morning, but smiling. He was expecting an armed assault following their recent telephone conversation. “I'm here with a job offer.”

Colby's dark eyes narrowed. “Does it come with a cyanide capsule?” he asked warily.

Tate clapped the other man on the shoulder. “I'm sorry about the way I've treated you. I haven't been thinking straight. I'm obliged to you for telling me the truth about Cecily.”

“You know the baby's yours, I gather?”

Tate nodded. “I'm on my way to Tennessee to bring her home,” he replied.

Colby's eyes twinkled. “Does she know this?”

“Not yet. I'm saving it for a surprise.”

“I imagine you're the one who's going to get the surprise,” Colby informed him. “She's changed a lot in the past few weeks.”

“I noticed.” Tate leaned against the wall near the door. “I've got a job for you.”

“You want me to go to Tennessee?” Colby murmured dryly.

“In your dreams, Lane,” Tate returned. “No, not that. I want you to head up my security force for Pierce Hutton while I'm away.”

Colby looked around the room. “Maybe I'm hallucinating.”

“You and my father,” Tate muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, I've changed.”

“Into what?”

“Pay attention. It's a good job. You'll have regular hours. You can learn to sleep without a gun under your pillow. You won't lose any more arms.” He added thoughtfully, “I've been a bad friend. I was jealous of you.”

“But why?” Colby wanted to know. “Cecily is special. I look out for her, period. There's never been a day since I met her when she wasn't in love with you, or a time when I didn't know it.”

Tate felt warmth spread through his body at the remark. “I've given her hell. She may not feel that way, now.”

“You can't kill love,” Colby said heavily. “I know. I've tried.”

Tate felt sorry for the man. He didn't know how to put it into words.

Colby shrugged. “Anyway, I've learned to live with my ghosts, thanks to that psychologist Cecily pushed me into seeing.” He scowled. “She keeps snakes, can you imagine? I used to see mine crawling out of whiskey bottles, but hers are real.”

“Maybe she's allergic to fur,” Tate pointed out.

Colby chuckled. “Who knows. When do I start?” he added.

“Today.” He produced a mobile phone and dialed a number. “I'm sending Colby Lane over. He's my relief while I'm away. If you have any problems, report them to him.”

He nodded as the person on the other end of the line replied in the affirmative. He closed up the phone. “Okay, here's what you need to do…”

 

Two hours later, he was on a plane for Nashville. The flight had been delayed due to snow and sleet, and he was impatient. He was irritated beyond belief by the time the flight disembarked at the Nashville airport. He went straight to the rental car desk and got a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Then he set out, in the snow, for Cullenville.

The museum was easy to find—it was right downtown, past one of the town's two stoplights. There he asked for directions to Cecily's house and was told that she had a rental house two doors down. The museum secretary looked at him with pure awe.

“Are you a relative of her late husband?” the woman asked.

His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“It must be so hard for her, pregnant and just widowed,” the middle-aged woman continued. “We've all done what we could to make her happy here. Mr. Johnson, the curator, is a widower himself. He's already sweet on her. But you're probably anxious to see Mrs. Peterson. Shall I ring her and let her know you're coming?”

Tate's eyes were blazing. “No,” he said with forced politeness. “I want to surprise her!”

He stalked out, leaving the rented vehicle where it was as he trudged through the small layer of snow and glared contemptuously at the cars sliding around in the street as they passed. This little bit of snow was nothing compared to the six-foot snowdrifts on the reservation. Southerners, he considered, must not get much winter precipitation if this little bit of white dust paralyzed traffic!

As for Cecily's mythical dead husband, he considered, going up the walkway to the small brick structure where she lived, he was about to make a startling, resurrected appearance!

He knocked on the door and waited.

There was an irritated murmur beyond the closed door and the sound of a lock being unfastened. The door opened and a wan Cecily looked straight into his eyes.

He managed to get inside the screen door and catch her before she passed out.

She came to on the sofa with Tate sitting beside her, smoothing back her disheveled hair. The nausea climbed into her throat and, fortunately, stayed there. She looked at him with helpless delight, wishing she could hide what the sight of him was doing to her after so many empty, lonely weeks.

He didn't speak. He touched her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her mouth, with fingers that seemed bent on memorizing her. Then his hands went to the robe carelessly fastened over her cotton nightdress and pushed it aside. He touched her belly, his face radiant as he registered the very visible and tangible signs of her condition.

“When did we make him?” he asked without preamble.

She felt her world dissolve. He knew about the baby. Of course. That was why he was here.

He met her eyes, found hostility and bitter disillusionment in them. His hand pressed down over her belly. “I would have come even if I hadn't known about the baby,” he said at once.

“The baby is mine.”

“And mine.”

“Audrey is not getting her avaricious little hands on my child…!”

His hand held her down firmly. “I am not marrying Audrey,” he said through his teeth. “As if I would! She's in a treatment center. She was bombed out of her mind on drugs. She confessed that she'd planted all the stories in the tabloids and blamed you.”

“Wh…what?” she stammered, horrified.

Tate let out a long breath. “Cecily, she's unbalanced. She was spewing lies and the media gobbled them down whole. I never had plans to marry her, regardless of what I let you think. I rejected her and she was out for revenge. It was never more than that.”

His hand felt odd against her swollen belly. She started to speak at the same moment that the baby suddenly moved.

Tate's hand jerked back as if it had been stung. He stared at her stomach with pure horror as it fluttered again.

She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

“Is that…normal?” he wanted to know.

“It's a baby,” she said softly. “They move around. He kicks a little. Not much, just yet, but as he grows, he'll get stronger.”

“I never realized…” He drew in a long breath and put his hand back against her body. “Cecily, does it hurt you when he…” He hesitated. His black, stunned eyes met hers. “He?”

She nodded.

“They can tell, so soon?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “They did an ultrasound.”

His fingers became caressing. A son. He was going to have a son. He swallowed. It was a shock. He hadn't thought past her pregnancy, but now he realized that there was going to be a miniature version of himself and Cecily, a child who would embody the traits of all his ancestors. All his ancestors. It made him feel humble.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

He glared into her eyes. “Not with any help from you, let me tell you! It took me forever to track down the driver who brought you to Nashville. He was off on extended sick leave, and it wasn't until this week that anybody remembered he'd worked that route before Christmas.”

She averted her eyes. “I didn't want to be found.”

“So I noticed. But you have been, and you're damned well coming home,” he said furiously. “I'm damned if I'm going to leave you here at the mercy of people who go nuts over an inch of snow!”

She sat up, displacing his hand, noticed that she was too close to him for comfort, swung her legs off the sofa and got up. “I'm not going as far as the mailbox with you!” she told him flatly. “I've made a new life for myself here, and I'm staying!”

“That's what you think.” He got up, too, and went toward the bedroom. He found her suitcase minutes later, threw it open on the bed and started filling it.

“I'm not going with you,” she told him flatly. “You can pack. You can even take the suitcase and all my clothes. But I'm not leaving. This is my life now. You have no place in it!”

He whirled. He was furious. “You're carrying my child!”

The sight of him was killing her. She loved him, wanted him, needed him, but he was here only out of a sense of duty, maybe even out of guilt. She knew he didn't want ties or commitments; he'd said so often enough. He didn't love her, either, and that was the coldest knowledge of all.

“Colby asked me to marry him for the baby's sake,” she said bitterly. “Maybe I should have.”

“Over my dead body,” he assured her.

She winced. “This is why I didn't want you to know,” she said in a wobbly tone. “You're doing exactly what I expected you'd do. I'm a responsibility all over again, a duty, a liability!”

She didn't even cry normally, he was thinking as he watched the tears run silently, in waves, down her pale cheeks.

He stopped packing and moved to stand just in front of her, his face drawn and somber as he searched for the words to tell her why he was really here.

She bit her lower lip in a vain effort to stem the tears. “Please go away,” she whispered. “Leave me in peace.”

He scowled. “Cecily…”

“Please, Tate,” she pleaded gently. “Just go home and forget that you know where I am. I've broken all my ties in Washington, I've put it all behind me. It's just me and the baby now…”

“You and the baby and your mythical dead husband,” he shot back. “What do I have to do to get through to you?”

“There's nothing you can do.” She searched his hard face. “You have no idea what limitations a baby would place on you, how it would change your life. You're used to being a loner. You don't share your feelings, your fears, your dreams with anyone. You live alone and you like it. Babies cry at all hours, they have to constantly be watched and fussed over. You'd resent the noise, and the constraint, and the lack of privacy.” She turned away. “In time, you'd hate us both for being in your way.”

He felt sick to the soles of his shoes as he watched her walk back into the living room. “You don't think I want you and the baby?”