The Still of Night (9 page)

Jill felt her chest tighten as he surveyed the room. Would he see her? The new haircut Crystal had given her was so different, he might look past without knowing. Yet what was she thinking? What would she do if he saw and came over? She turned away, concentrating again on the conversation of the groupies who had reattached to her.

Her friends. The girls who had gone to every dance, who’d won every popularity contest, who had turned down dates from boys who were too dweeb or pimpled. And she’d been at the front of the line, except that she’d also excelled in academics. Now she looked at them, a couple overweight, the others attractive and sure of it, most of them married, two divorced.

She wished she hadn’t come. She glanced back over her shoulder. It felt strange not to have the weight of her hair slide with the motion. The short soft edges brushed the back of her neck instead. Where was he?

There, talking with Randy Beech and Glen Stevens, his old buddies, though they looked as if they could choke with envy. He must be wowing them, as only Morgan could. He turned and caught her eye, quite by accident, she saw in his expression. He held it only a second, then turned back to respond to Glen’s question. A burst of laughter from the three of them.

“But tell me, Jill, where have you been?” Lyssa’s voice had deepened from the cigarettes she’d experimented with and found she liked too well. “I heard you were back in town. The committee wanted to enlist you, but you’re not in the phone book.”

Jill turned back to Lyssa and saw that half the group had drifted away. “It’s less complicated that way.” A simple precaution any single woman might consider, even one living across the yard from patrol officer Brett Barlowe, husband of her best friend, Shelly.

Lyssa rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it pathetic what we have to do to avoid the pervs?”

Jill startled. Had Lyssa read that into her comment? No, probably just shared the concern. She was divorced, lived alone, as well. Jill noted the line of lipstick across the tips of Lyssa’s front teeth. She still had her overbite, though her figure had become voluptuous. Implants? Not exactly the way to avoid notice, if Lyssa was concerned about unsavory advances.

Jill shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter, but I unlist it anyway.” Dan had insisted on that precaution when he came onto the scene.

Lyssa rolled her eyes. “I mean half the entries in the book are initials, like the kooks don’t know that’s a female?”

Jill sipped her 7-Up. Lyssa obviously had issues and probably experience. “Unlisted is safer.”

Janice touched her arm. “So what are you doing these days?”

Jill turned. “I teach. Special ed.”
I’m waiting to learn if I can give
bone marrow to my daughter, who’s dying, but whom none of you know
exists
.

“Really?” Janice scanned the room, already dismissing her work as unimportant.

“Is there a man in your life?” The voice was husky.

Jill turned to Babs. The woman had been waiting to pry, just as she had fifteen years ago, wanting every detail, the first to sniff out a new crush or, at the other end, who was tired of whom. “No, not currently.”

“Well, don’t look now, but Morgan Spencer came in alone.”

“I know. I saw him.” She
must
be made of ice. She managed to say it with such lack of emotion even Babs deflated some. But not enough.

“I can’t believe the two of you aren’t together. I thought nothing in the world could break you up.”

Actually it took very little. Only living with it all these years had been hard. Jill shrugged. “High school romance.”

“Be real, Jill.” This from Janice. “Have you taken a good look at him?”

No. I’m trying to avoid any glimpse, can’t you tell?
Of course they couldn’t. She was too good at hiding it, a skill she’d developed along with the scar tissue on her heart.

“Well, he’s noticed you.”

Jill hazarded a glance. Morgan was seated at a small side table. Melinda Blake and her husband stood over and chatted with him, but he looked her way again, this time intentionally.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Babs was on the scent, trying to make things happen. Did nothing ever change?

Jill forced a smile. “So what are you doing, Lyssa?”

“Legal secretary. Fitch and Norton.”

“Married. Two kids.” Babs was clearly bored. “Really, Jill …”

“Give it a rest, Babs.” Lyssa touched her arm.

Babs rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Janice bumped Lyssa’s elbow. “Hey, there’s Mary, Mary McBride. Isn’t she some senator?”

Lyssa turned. “State rep, I think.”

“Let’s go.” Janice tugged and Lyssa followed.

Jill made a move, but Babs cut her off. “Here’s your chance. He’s all alone.”

She felt desperate to go the other way, any direction but to where Morgan sat. However, that would give Babs all the ammunition she needed to spread the word through the whole assembly. Jill tipped her head. “Well, why not?”

She handed Babs her empty soda glass and turned with more nonchalance than she thought possible. Morgan was sitting alone, though not for long, she was sure. She wished she’d brought Dan as a buffer, then realized how unfair that would have been. Still, they couldn’t go the whole evening avoiding each other. Already more eyes than Babs’s were on them.

It was human nature. How would two old flames react to each other after fifteen years? Especially when the flame had been snuffed so mysteriously. Did any of them suspect? Not even her closest friends had been told, but did they guess? What was it her parents had said? A summer mission trip? Come on.

She drew a long breath and started toward him. It felt as if every eye in the room was on her, but that was her own nerves working overtime. With more determination than she felt, she approached Morgan’s table. He watched her with the slow, suave appraisal she remembered, only now much more suave and … cynical. He looked fantastic in spite of that.

She stopped less than two feet short of the table and managed a weak smile. “Hello, Morgan.”

He raised his glass in salute. “Still the best body in the room.”

She felt the fire in her cheeks, too aware suddenly of the flattering cut of her black sheath, and almost turned away without another word. But, then, he had a right to despise her. Hadn’t he tried to do the honorable thing, at least as he saw it?
Oh, Morgan
.

“How are you?” It sounded stiff and stupid in her own ears.

He nudged the extra chair out with his foot, then stood and seated her. She remembered the feel of his hand across her shoulders as he eased the chair in. He slipped off his suit coat and hung it behind his chair before sitting down with the easy grace that came naturally to him.

His shirt fit as if it was made for him, and she realized his coat had, as well. He was obviously doing well, or had he succumbed to the reunion madness of pretending to be what you weren’t? No, Morgan cared too little what people thought to do that. Why didn’t he say something?

She shifted in the chair and tried again. “It’s been a long time.” Why did she keep saying these inane things?
Morgan, I’ve seen our daughter. She’s so beautiful. She has your eyes
.

“You’ve graduated.”

“What?”

“From Vanilla Fields.” He drew a long breath in through his nose.

“Obsession.”

She flushed. Of course he would be up on women’s fragrances. He was always so sensual. “Yes. But I still wear Vanilla Fields sometimes.”

He smirked, then glanced at her hands folded awkwardly over her maroon leather clutch on the table. “No wedding ring?” Again he sliced her with his tone.

“No.”

“Divorced?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“What are you drinking?”

“I’m not. I have an early commitment in the morning.”

He fingered his own drink. From the look of him, he’d had a few before coming in tonight. He lifted the tumbler and drank. When he put it down, his eyes were like shards of antique glass, deep blue and dangerous. “Well, you’ve satisfied appearances. Don’t let me keep you.”

The words reached out and slapped her. She stood up woodenly, and again he rose in the gallant gesture, but she saw the hatred in his eyes. His position kept it hidden from the rest in the room, but it was clear to her. She walked away trembling, her legs taking her straight to the hall and down to the ladies’ room. She went inside, locked herself into a stall, and collapsed. She pressed her quivering knees together and dropped her head to her hands.

What was she doing? Why had she come? She jerked a swath of toilet paper from the roll and pressed it to her eyes, refusing even the semblance of tears. Did these people mean anything to her? Her friends, the popular clique, the beautiful people—they were all the same, still obsessed with appearances, still self-absorbed. Had no one changed but she?

Morgan. He had changed. The fun-loving rogue had become cruel and cynical. He’d always had a teasing streak but underneath held such a tender heart, kinder than any boy she’d known before or since. She released a slow breath. He was cruel now in a way he’d never been before. But maybe the real cruelty was hers. She had left town without a word, left him believing she’d aborted their child, left him as her parents had insisted. And they’d been right.

It took her a long time to see it. At first she’d wept continuously, clinging to a single hope. Her parents consented to her carrying the child on two conditions: one, that she give it up for adoption, and two, that she not see Morgan again. But she had hoped against hope that he would find her.

It was a foolish juvenile hope. Morgan was eighteen, hardly more mature than she, and certainly no more qualified to raise a child. Maybe he would have tried. Maybe he would have married her, but how could it have lasted? Somewhere along the way she’d stopped waiting, stopped crying. Even though her actions had been dishonest, bordering on illegal, she had done the right thing … for her child. And God willing, she’d have the chance to do it again.

From the entrance of the ballroom, Morgan watched Jill leave the building. Maybe he’d hurt her more than he thought. Maybe she wasn’t as heartless as he believed, at least when it came to herself. Never mind that she’d done away with their child. All legal and neat, of course.

He looked down at the ice in his glass, naked without the booze. He could take care of that easily enough, but he didn’t. Maybe it was nostalgic sentimentality that permeated his system, but he decided to feel it instead of killing it in drink.

Fifteen years ago he’d been one raging hormone. But beyond that, there had been something special about Jill, something he hadn’t found anywhere before or since. Not even Noelle, if he were honest with himself. He’d loved Jill, pure and simple.

He set the glass down on the rectangular pillar that held the gilded pot of artificial florals. He looked out into the night where she had disappeared. Maybe he should have held his tongue. She had felt awfully good under his hand. They could have danced, for old times’ sake. He could have held her. Now
there
was a painful jolt.

Maybe he’d have that drink after all. But he looked into the room, massed with people he’d left behind, and shook his head. He’d given his check, made an appearance. And the only reason for coming had left. He did, too.

He took a red-eye to Denver, redeemed his car from long-term parking, and headed for the mountains. Soon he’d go off again to conquer giants and prove his prowess. He had set the guys on their ears talking about his recent years’ successes. But after all, he
had
been voted most likely to succeed.

And succeed he had. He drove from the airport, his Thunderbird handling like the sweet road machine it was. His blood alcohol was probably more than marginal after several drinks on the flight, but he was in control. Juniper Falls came into sight sooner than he’d made it before. He’d rocked those curves tonight.

The ranch was dark, naturally, with Rick and Noelle snuggled up together in the master suite Rick had remodeled so capably. Rick’s baby was probably sleeping between them inside his mother as content as a little cub could be. Why not?

He pulled to an abrupt halt before the porch, climbed out, and staggered slightly. Whoa. Not so clear as he’d thought. He gathered his senses. Just stiff and tired. He climbed the stairs and let himself in with the key Rick loaned him.

He stood in the darkness of the vast main room and looked up the winding stairs to where his brother and sister-in-law slept in marital bliss. On second thought, maybe he wasn’t quite ready for sleep. He went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet he’d stocked on arrival.

Ah yes. Crown Royal. Just the ticket. He sat down at the kitchen table and unscrewed the lid of the bottle. No glass? And he was drinking alone. Dangerous, Morgan. He lifted the bottle in lonely salute.
Here’s to living dangerously
.

He heard the soft step before he got the bottle to his lips. Noelle, in a green floor-length velour robe. Her hair hung loose and her eyes were sleepy as she came in and sat down across the table. He gripped the bottle protectively.

Gently, she covered his hand with hers. “Don’t, Morgan.”

He formed a wry smile. “Those words are inseparably joined in your mind, Noelle.” But he let go the bottle and took her hand instead, remembering all the times she’d pulled away, all his efforts she’d rebuffed. Of course, he hadn’t known then how she’d been hurt. He’d only seen someone who might have filled the void.

She said, “You saw Jill?”

He raised a single eyebrow. “I guess Rick’s been blabbing.”

“He told me a long time ago. Not her name, though. That I learned tonight.”

He looked down at the diamond on her finger, remembering the first time he’d seen it, the day Rick had put it on there. Morgan had kissed her anyway and rendered his brother an avenging angel.

She slipped her hand away, stood, and reached for the coffee beans and grinder. Ah yes, coffee to sober up the drunk.

“What’s she like?”

He shrugged. “I knew her at seventeen.” He tipped the bottle to his mouth, pouring the booze down his throat. May as well perfect his condition before she waged war against it. “I was not the judge of character then that I am today.”