Secrets & Seductions (4 page)

He was aware that some of his staff members thought he overdressed for the job, but the responsibility of his position as the director weighed heavily on his shoulders. His goal was to present an image of reassurance and responsibility in order to gain people's trust. He had helped to build Children's Connection into a nationally known and respected agency. Every year they helped hundreds of people to attain their dream of having a family.

He was proud of the work they did. That was why cases like Emma Wright's weighed heavily on his mind.

Meanwhile Morgan's parents were visiting from California for a few days. As usual, they'd refused his offer of the guest room at his condo, preferring to stay at a nearby hotel instead.

“Packing it in, Mr. D?” asked the parking guard as Morgan unlocked the door to his sensible SUV.

“Figured it was time, Andy,” he replied. “How's your wife's foot? Is she feeling better?”

Andy had mentioned that she'd tripped over a grandchild's toy truck a couple of days before.

“Getting better,” he said now. “Thanks for asking, though.” He ran his hand through his tightly curled gray hair. “Enjoy your evening.”

Morgan's mother claimed they didn't want to “upset his routine” by staying with him, but he suspected an ulterior motive. She made no secret of her desire for a passel of grandbabies to spoil. To that
end, she wasn't about to invade his privacy, just in case he had a girlfriend tucked away.

He would like nothing better than to enjoy a serious relationship with a woman he could picture spending his life with, but so far it hadn't happened. Perhaps he was foolish to believe that he would somehow know when he met the one meant for him—that special woman—but he wasn't willing to settle for less. Meanwhile, he was busy with the agency, the summer camp and the occasional date with a potential soul mate.

His town house was part of a fairly new complex located a few miles from the office. It had a great view of the Willamette River. Despite the heavy rush-hour traffic that streamed from downtown Portland to the suburbs, his commute took less than a half hour, giving him plenty of time to shower and change clothes before meeting his folks for dinner.

 

“You seem preoccupied,” Morgan's mother said after the waiter left with their orders. “Did something happen at work today?”

He glanced at his father, a pediatrician he respected more than any man he'd ever known.

“Might as well tell her,” Dr. Davis suggested with a grin. “She's like one of those California condors. She won't rest until she's picked you clean.”

Morgan's mother, a teacher, swatted at him with her napkin. The love between the two of them never
failed to strengthen his own determination to find that one special woman with whom he could form a similar bond.

“I met someone today.” He knew his mother would pounce on his comment like a duck on a bug.

Hazel eyes widening below her silver bangs, she leaned forward eagerly. “Really?”

“Don't tease her, son,” his father said dryly.

A wave of remorse washed over Morgan. He was well aware that what she and his father wanted—all they had ever wanted—was his happiness.

And a few grandbabies to spoil, of course.

“It's not what you think, Mom,” he cautioned as the waiter brought their drinks. “This woman recently found out she was adopted through Children's Connection and she was looking for answers.”

His father frowned thoughtfully. “Were you able to help her?” he asked in the calm voice that had reassured thousands of young patients through the course of his medical career.

Morgan fiddled with the stem of his wine goblet as he pictured Emma's face, her sooty eyes swimming with tears. He should have tried harder to soften her disappointment.

“Well, Emma did slam the door to my office pretty hard when she left,” he admitted wryly, sitting back in his chair when the waiter brought their salads. “I'd take that as a no.”

The waiter's expression didn't alter as he offered each of them fresh-ground pepper. He must overhear some interesting bits of conversation during a shift, Morgan thought.

“Was Emma pretty?” His mother's gaze gleamed with interest.

“What did she want to know?” his father asked at the same time.

“She's extremely pretty.” Morgan pictured her in his mind. “Her hair is brown and wavy. She's got big gray eyes that a man could get lost in.”

Too late he realized he'd said too much, so he focused on his salad.

“Is that all?” his father asked.

“Is she single?” His mother's expression was eager enough to make Morgan nervous.

“Legs that won't quit and curves in all the right places,” he added for his father's benefit. “Divorced,” he admitted to his mother.

As long as he didn't divulge Emma's full name, he wasn't technically breaching confidentiality. Unless, of course, they started dating and she met his folks. Then he would have to tell her what he'd done, but what were the odds he would ever see her again?

“And?” his mother gestured with her fork.

“She's just lost her job as a school counselor,” he blurted out.

“That sounds like a lot for a young woman to deal with.” His father's voice was sympathetic.

“You find a woman with a problem more attractive than one wearing a thong bikini,” his mother commented.

Morgan's mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

She peered at him through her glasses. “You're a sucker for a woman who needs help.”

“Stella, let the boy eat,” his father said with a wink at Morgan. “We're not going to marry him off tonight.”

“I was raised by a doctor and a teacher,” Morgan drawled. “I'd say that helping people runs in the family.”

For a few moments, conversation lagged as the three of them ate their salads. Silently Morgan reviewed in his mind everything Emma had told him. With a sigh of regret, he arrived at the same conclusion as before—that there was nothing else he could have done without compromising the agency's rules and his own principles, as well as adding to the burden of heartbreak she already appeared to carry.

“What do you think of the Trailblazers' prospects?” Dr. Davis asked. Portland boasted an NBA basketball team, but the closest thing to major league baseball was a Triple-A team named the Beavers.

“Too soon to tell,” Morgan replied. Even though he wasn't really a Blazers fan, he was grateful for the change of subject.

His mother didn't mention Emma again. After dinner he kissed his mother's cheek and shook his father's hand.

“Keep us posted on your progress,” she said with a wink.

“Don't start knitting booties yet,” he replied before heading back to his condo.

In the solitude of his home office, he kicked off his shoes and thought again about getting a dog. It would be alone while he worked, of course, but the idea of some living being getting excited over his arrival had a certain appeal.

With the stereo playing softly, he reviewed a research report from a fertility clinic on the East Coast, read the files of two candidates for his summer camp program and frowned over a rate increase submitted by the agency's Web site designer.

After he had loaded the paperwork back into his briefcase, he poured himself a glass of wine. He wasn't an expert, but it was a pleasing vintage by an Oregon grower. He popped Placido Domingo's latest CD into the player. Neither was he a real opera buff, but he'd been a fan of the Italian singer since accompanying a friend to a 3 Tenors concert in San Francisco.

As the notes from a haunting ballad filled the room, Morgan propped his stocking feet on the coffee table and tipped back his head, attempting to empty his mind. Placido might not have been pleased to know that it was Emma Wright's voice that echoed through Morgan's head as the twilight glowing through the windows dimmed, leaving the room in shadows. He
contemplated switching on the brass lamp at his elbow, but the deepening gloom suited his mood.

During his years at Children's Connection, he'd heard more hard luck stories than he could count. He'd seen infertility overcome, families formed and empty hearts—big and small—filled with love.

Of course, not everyone left happy. Some problems couldn't be cured. Some people didn't qualify for adoption, some children grew from cuddly to surly without being placed. Morgan ached for them all.

He swallowed the last of the Merlot in his glass and thought of Emma—not what he couldn't do, but what he might do.

The answer was so simple that he nearly laughed aloud. From what she had told him, names were only one of the things she needed. Morgan could put a little money in her pocket without getting slapped for his trouble, while at the same time he solved a problem of his own.

 

A couple of days after her lunch with Ivy, Emma drove down to the office of a school district in the Willamette Valley near Eugene for an interview. After her talk with the superintendent, she suspected the trip to be a waste of her time and gas, her appointment a formality and the position already earmarked for a candidate within the district. The only thing she'd learned from the trip was that her car was going to need new struts in the very near future.

When Emma got back to her apartment complex, she parked in her assigned slot and retrieved the mail from her box in the central kiosk. As she walked back across the asphalt, she shuffled through the bills, junk mail and sale flyers. The hot afternoon sun seemed to soak right through her navy cotton dress. Without water, the surrounding lawn had dried until it looked like shredded wheat and the few spindly trees provided only a thimble's worth of shade.

Ignoring the peeling paint on the front door of her unit, she let herself inside. The blinds were closed against the sunlight, so the temperature was slightly less than a warming oven. The message light on her answering machine was flashing, but she ignored it as she bent to pet her cat, a recent shelter survivor named Posy.

“Hi, baby,” Emma crooned as the fluffy Siamese-Himalayan mix kitten entwined itself around her ankles.

Posy's response to being roused from her nap was a soulful plea for attention and fresh food, not necessarily in that order.

As Emma scratched beneath the kitty's chin, she couldn't help but wonder just how much longer she'd be able to afford this place, cheap though it was. Since the school district had let her go, she had been working in a nearby video store. The pay was abysmal, the blare of the soundtracks annoying, and the endless task of restocking the rentals mind numbing to the extreme.

The manager appeared young enough to be carded every time he ordered a drink. Just the other day he had told Emma that her hours would be cut at the end of August to make room for the returning college crew.

She would need to look for something else to supplement her dwindling funds until she lined up a fall job, she thought grimly as she filled Posy's water dish. The two of them would end up on the streets before Emma would consider asking her adoptive parents for a loan.

She didn't listen to the message on her machine until she got back from work with an old Mel Gibson movie under her arm. She had spent her evening unpacking and logging in the latest new DVDs—a gory-looking slasher film, an action sequel about a mutant and a romantic comedy with stars who appeared young enough to be shopping for back-to-school supplies. Listening to her co-worker gush about the male lead made Emma feel old.

The phone message was from her adoptive mother, Sally Wright. Her plaintive tone made Emma's heart ache until she reminded herself that
she
was the innocent victim. The Wrights were more concerned with sweeping the entire issue beneath the carpet and pretending that none of it had ever happened than in trying to understand Emma's desperate need to find her roots.

As Emma slid the tape into her aging VCR and sat down on the couch with her cat, she felt as though
there was a yawning hole inside her where the knowledge of family used to be. Until she figured out how to fill it back up, she had no idea what to say if Sally called again. Emma's feelings were still too raw. If the phone rang while Emma was home, there was always Caller ID.

 

“Are you sure you don't have personal reasons for wanting to offer her the job?” asked Aaron Levy, Morgan's neighbor, as the two of them pounded down the pathway along the riverbank.

Aaron was an attorney with a social conscience and a trust fund. He practiced out of a storefront law office in an older part of downtown Portland. He and Morgan made a point to run together before work whenever their schedules permitted.

Aaron was training for an upcoming marathon, and Morgan, who wasn't a serious runner, had foolishly agreed to go the extra distance with him. Morgan was saved from finding the breath to reply as they crossed the common area surrounding their building.

They pulled up, Morgan gasping. “Like I told you,” he said, panting, his heart thudding like the drum in a marching band, “I feel sorry for her.”

Aaron didn't appear to be breathing hard, but his laughter was still uneven.

“Be careful, my friend,” he warned, bending over. “That's what I told myself about my ex.”

Morgan used his damp T-shirt to mop the
perspiration from his face. “I didn't know you'd been married.”

Straightening back up, Aaron shrugged. “It only lasted long enough for me to realize that pity isn't a substitute for love.” He twisted his torso and stretched from the waist. He was a vegetarian and as whipcord lean as a greyhound.

“I don't love Emma,” Morgan protested, alarmed by the attorney's assumption. “I don't even know her.”

He didn't want to go into her whole story as he'd done with his parents, so all he had said was that he'd met her and she needed a boost.

“I like helping people,” he added, wincing at the defensiveness in his tone.