A Self-Made Man (15 page)

“Something tells me,” she suggested politely, “that, in return for this generous donation, you're going to want more than our usual thank-you note.”

“That's right,” he said. “I am.”

“It comes on a lovely linen stock,” she said. “Suitable for framing.”

“Got plenty of those,” he said. He wiped the wet hair from his eyes and met her gaze steadily.

“A permanent VIP pass? Free lunches in the hospital cafeteria for life?”

He shook his head. “More.”

Still she didn't pick up the check. She stood as still and bloodless as a statue. Her fingertips rested lightly
on the surface of the desk, but her arms were held with an unnatural stiffness, and he knew her serenity was accomplished by a force of will alone.

She smiled, as if he were a difficult but valued patron. Which, he supposed wryly, pretty much summed it up.

“I'm afraid you'll have to tell me, then,” she said reasonably. Her voice shook only a little. “What exactly do you want in return for this check?”

“Dinner,” he said. “With you on Friday night.”

A
T SEVEN O'CLOCK
Friday evening, it was still daylight. The sun poured lovingly over the exquisitely planted window boxes along Main Street, and picked out the odd sparkle here and there in the cobblestone road.

Tilly had, at the last minute, declared herself too tired to host a dinner, and had insisted that Lacy and Adam eat out. She'd already made a reservation for them at the Lost Horizon Tavern, which sat at the end of Main, overlooking the yacht basin. Lacy had glared at her silently, but she hadn't said a word.

They were a little early, so they walked slowly, taking their time. They didn't talk much, though occasionally one of them would acknowledge a passing acquaintance. By now, word that Lacy Morgan had actually slapped that handsome new man in town had reached every ear. Avid curiosity lay behind every friendly face that stopped to say hello.

It was all horribly awkward. But neither of them would admit it, so they kept strolling silently, each waiting for the other to break first.

Strange, she thought. Once, window shopping along this charming street had been a favorite pastime. They had walked hand in hand, stopping at each
storefront, picking out glamorous items to “buy” for each other. “How about that necklace?” Standing behind her, Adam had wrapped one arm tightly around her waist and, with his free hand, pointed at a huge purple tanzanite on a sparkling gold chain. He had traced a slow, sexy circle around her neck with his index finger. “You can wear it instead of a nightgown.”

But now, though they passed diamond brooches and velvet gowns, titanium golf clubs and sapphire cuff links, miniature yachts and crystal goblets, neither of them said a word. She wondered if he had discovered, as she had, that it was all really just so much junk.

Finally they reached the restaurant, which was tucked out of sight behind a winding entryway heavily planted with moonflowers, hollyhocks and bright pink peonies.

She had eaten here a hundred times. She knew that the clam chowder was divine, and the bluefish pate was only so-so. She knew that Marvin, the maitre d', was getting arthritis in his left knee. She knew that the ladies' room needed repapering.

But suddenly she almost couldn't bring herself to go in. With an intensity that startled her, she remembered how mysteriously elegant this restaurant had seemed to her ten years ago, hidden away in its shadowy exclusivity. It had stood for everything Adam wanted to be able to give her, but couldn't.

He had always promised he'd take her here someday. She glanced over at his handsome, remote profile. Did he remember that?

“Mr. Kendall! What a pleasure to see you!”

Obviously Adam had been here, too, sometime since his return. Marvin welcomed him warmly, fawning over him with the tone he usually reserved for members of the Pringle family, or visiting dignitaries.

“And Mrs. Morgan! Welcome.”

He took them to a table on the terrace, overlooking the harbor, where dozens of boats bobbed sleepily in the sun. Lacy gave Adam a sidelong glance. This was royal treatment, indeed.

After they had ordered drinks, Adam leaned back and smiled. “So,” he said pleasantly. “Does conversation cost extra?”

She smiled back. Oh, how civilized they were! “Of course not. What would you like to talk about?”

“How about telling me why you said yes?” He tilted his head speculatively. “Quite honestly, I was expecting you to tear the check into pieces and throw it into my face.”

“Really?” She sipped her white wine before continuing. “Why? What would that have accomplished? You had already insulted me. If I had refused to take the check, it merely would have meant that you had insulted me for free.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Why does it have to be interpreted as an insult? Why not a compliment? After all, I wouldn't pay fifty thousand dollars for the pleasure of just anyone's company.”

“But I don't
sell
my company, Adam. And you know that. Pretending you believe that I do qualifies as moderately insulting, wouldn't you say?”

He chuckled, shaking his head admiringly. “You're sharp, Lacy. But then you don't ever let anything as useless as emotions blunt your thinking, do you?”

“No, I don't.” She put her wine down. “As you seem so fond of pointing out. But frankly, I think we've covered this ground quite thoroughly, don't you? Maybe we should choose another topic.”

“Okay.” He extended his hand, palm up, toward her side of the table. “Your turn.”

“How about the neonatal unit? We're very excited about that. Since your donation has put us a good bit over our goal, the hospital board is debating how to use the extra money. They seem to be evenly split between upgrading the faucet fixtures and buying more televisions for the waiting rooms.”

“I'd vote for the faucets myself,” he said in mock seriousness. “You can't go wrong with good plumbing.” He paused. “I take it the medical aspects were already fully financed?”

“Of course. They came first. Your money was purely gravy. Delightful to have, but not strictly necessary.”

“How lowering,” he said. But he was smiling, and she knew his ego hadn't really been pricked at all. In fact, he was clearly enjoying himself. Well, good, she thought. He might as well get his money's worth.

Even so, it was difficult to think where she could safely take the conversation next. His easy good nature was making it difficult to stay annoyed. She was, in fact, in danger of enjoying herself.

She was glad to see Marvin approaching, wine bottle in hand.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Morgan,” Marvin said somberly as he poured a new glass for her. “But Miss Morgan and her friend are just finishing their meals, and she said that you'd be handling the bill.” His mouth was tight and pained. “I thought I'd better check with you.”

Controlling her surprise, Lacy looked toward the main room of the restaurant. Sure enough, Gwen and Teddy Kilgore were at one of the center tables. Gwen, who was dressed in blue leggings under a pink chiffon sheath covered in crystal dewdrops, waved merrily. Teddy looked down at his plate, obviously miserable.

“That'll be fine,” Lacy said, waving back with moderation. She smiled at Marvin. “Just put it on our account, please.”

When they were alone again, Adam seemed to be studying her carefully. “So this motherhood thing must be quite an experience,” he said.

She knew she blanched. The blood quite simply left her face. She had no control over it whatsoever. “What?”

“Motherhood.” He glanced toward where Gwen and Teddy sat. “Or stepmotherhood—whatever you call it. It must have been a pretty wild ride, especially with a stepdaughter who's so…frisky.”

Relaxing, Lacy looked over at Gwen, too, seeing her this time through Adam's eyes. She saw so much beauty, so much energy, so much pure willful stubbornness. And yet, paradoxically, she saw such child
like vulnerability. Adam had been right about Gwen, she realized. The young woman led with her chin, leaving herself completely unprotected. But she lived. She lived big.

“Actually, I've been thinking about that a lot,” she said. “And to tell you the truth, I don't think I've been much of a mother to Gwen at all.”

He remained impassive. “No?”

“No. She didn't want a mother. She was thirteen, and she was entering puberty with a vengeance. The very idea of having a stepmother only five years older than she was mortified her. So she froze me out. Completely.”

The food arrived, and Lacy dropped the subject while the waiter was within earshot. She was a little embarrassed to have said so much, anyhow. What was it about Adam that made her act so out of character?

She hoped that he would just move on to something else—before she really said too much.

But he didn't. He cut off a piece of his filet mignon—the Lost Horizon specialty—and urged her to go on.

“So she resented the heck out of you. That's probably pretty natural for a thirteen-year-old. But it never got any better?” He seemed truly interested. His expression was merely curious—not judgmental.

“No. If anything it got worse. Malcolm hated all the turbulence in the house, so he sent her away to boarding school.” Lacy pushed her fork around in her vegetable couscous, but she didn't feel much like eating. “Gwen never forgave me for that. She felt that I had completely pushed her out of the family.”

She took another sip of wine and looked out at the water. The sinking sun had turned it the color of strawberry ice cream. The masts of the boats were so many bold black crayon marks against the pink sky.

“I didn't understand it at the time, but I can see now that I failed her badly. I should have stood up to Malcolm. I should have insisted that we all stay together and work things out.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You should have stood up to Malcolm Morgan? You were eighteen, Lacy. I've seen grown men quake before Malcolm when he was in a temper.” He chewed a slice of filet thoughtfully. “Of course, he was always pretty crazy about you, wasn't he? Maybe you could have—”

They were getting into dangerous areas here. Malcolm had always been conspicuously paternal toward Lacy, even when she was only a lowly salesclerk at one of his many stores. Adam had resented it with all the normal territorial outrage of a teenage boy. “The old lech has got a thing for you, damn it,” Adam had complained, pulling her up against him possessively. “But he'd better stay away from my girl.”

“Perhaps I could have,” she said. “But I just didn't have the courage. I was—” The conversational waters were getting even more risky now, she knew. She must pick her next words carefully. “I was rather self-absorbed, I'm afraid. I didn't recognize how much she must have been hurting.”

But, to be fair to herself, how could she have seen it? She was blind with her own pain, numb with her own unbearable losses. She had been like a mindless
creature, existing only from one moment to the next. It had taken every ounce of her energy just to survive.

And by the time she emerged from that nightmare of misery, it was too late. She and Gwen were strangers. Or worse. Gwen's resentment had matured into something that felt a lot like hatred. They had become civilized enemies. And Malcolm's will had eliminated a lot of the “civilized” part.

A sudden vibration against her thigh shocked her out of the wretched memories. She slipped her cell phone out of her pocket, checked the number and, seeing that it was the hospital switchboard, flipped it open to answer.

She didn't say much—she mostly listened. After a few moments, she flipped the telephone shut and looked over at Adam.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to get over to the hospital,” she said with a sigh. “They've had a minor emergency.”

His brows pulled together in immediate concern. He gestured for the check. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine. It's actually a big to-do over nothing. A small fire broke out in one of the new rooms—a staff member probably had been using it for a cigarette break.” She arranged her knife and fork on her plate and pushed back her chair. “It was extinguished quickly, but somehow the press got wind of it, and they're looking for an official comment. Unfortunately, that's my job.”

He put a couple of big bills on the table. “I'll drive you over.”

“No, that's okay.” She pointed to his half-eaten
steak, the untouched summer squash casserole. “You should finish your dinner. I can get a cab.”

He shook his head. “I'm afraid I have to insist,” he said politely. “Even allowing for inflation, surely fifty-thousand dollars buys more than two bites of steak and a salad.”

She didn't have time to argue. If she didn't hurry, Kara Karlin might end up talking to the television reporter, and everyone in town would go to bed thinking the hospital had burned to the ground. And besides—she didn't really want their date to be over so soon….

“All right,” she said. “Thanks. I'd appreciate a ride.”

Within minutes his rented Mercedes was speeding past the now-darkened shops of Main Street—and almost immediately they saw a very odd sight. An obviously tipsy Gwen was doing a tightrope walk down the center yellow line in the middle of the street, and Teddy was tugging at her sleeve, apparently begging her to get back up on the sidewalk to safety.

Lacy sighed. Somehow, she knew, Gwen's rebellious behavior was at least partly her fault. If only she'd had the courage to put aside her own unhappiness and focus on Gwen for a while. It might have done them both a world of good.

Adam seemed to read her mind. “Don't beat yourself up too much, Lacy,” he said as he sped past the two foolish young people and steered the car toward the hospital. “I'll say it again—you were only eighteen. You were almost as much a kid as she was.”

That was a generous thing to say. If she weren't
careful, she would end up liking this man. Being with him like this felt dangerous—but strangely nice.

“I don't beat myself up,” she said. “But neither do I let myself off the hook entirely. Either extreme—either wallowing in guilt or dodging it—is a little too weak for my taste.”

He just drove, then, for several very long seconds. The silence was so loaded she had to will herself not to speak recklessly, just to break it. She focused instead on the silver ribbon of road that stretched out before them and tried to clear her mind.

Finally, as he brought the car to a stop at a red light, he spoke.

“Can you really do that, Lacy? Can you put yourself above the reach of all emotional weakness? Are you sure you're really as cold-blooded as you think?” He looked over at her, his extraordinary blue gaze so probing she had to force herself not to squirm. “Or have you just managed to persuade yourself that you are?”

She stared back at him, somehow realizing that the question was a good one. And for some reason, she wanted to answer it honestly.