Secrets & Seductions (7 page)

His words eased away her sudden tension and her shoulder tingled pleasantly from his touch.

“I'm glad to hear that.” She laced the fingers of both hands together. “What's on your mind?”

“I need a favor,” he said gravely.

Something sparked inside her. She had to swallow the word
anything
before it could pop out of her mouth.

“What's that?” she asked, cheeks flushing.

“You work so hard as it is,” he continued, apparently oblivious to her stumbling response. “If we shuffle your duties around, could you fill in for Mo? It's just for a couple of days until another volunteer can get here.”

“You want me to sleep with the boys in Falcon?” she asked, using the group name they had chosen. Mohammed's group was in their early teens and she had noticed a couple of them ogling her when they thought she wasn't looking.

Morgan looked startled. “No, no. I wouldn't ask that of you. Mo will continue to supervise Falcon, but he's not supposed to get his hand wet, so he can't help Cookie. I know you're doing a lot of the KP already, but Sarah and Franny are working with the girls on the final skit, or I'd ask them.”

Emma's flush deepened. She'd been so busy gawking at Morgan like a girl with a crush that she
had leaped ahead. “I get along great with Cookie. Of course I'll be happy to do whatever I can.”

“Great, thanks. Cookie's got lunch under control, but he'll talk to you about supper, okay?” Morgan backed away. “I've got a lot to do, so I'll see you later.”

 

After two days of helping out with meals as well as fulfilling her counselor duties, not only was Emma bone-deep exhausted, but she'd had no time to further her relationship with Morgan. Who would have had any idea that preparing camp food would take up so much time?

Not her.

Even with everyone else pitching in when they could, Cookie worked darned hard. He insisted on making everything from scratch, serving well-balanced and nutritious meals. For dinner tonight they'd had a green salad, baked chicken, seasoned rice, peas and sourdough biscuits.

While he was in the dining room serving the brownies he'd baked for dessert, Emma had been putting away the last of the clean pots and pans Heidi had washed. As Emma wiped off the counter for the last time, she started thinking about the countless family meals and holiday dinners she had shared with the people she'd thought were her parents.

Her mother was a wonderful cook who loved to entertain. She had teased Emma on more than one occasion about her lack of interest in cooking. Emma
knew the basics, but she had never shared Sally Wright's passion for reading cookbooks and clipping new recipes from magazines.

Memories flooded over Emma as she rinsed out the cloth she had used on the counters. Convulsively she clenched it in her fist as she stood at the sink with her head bowed.

Guess you really knew all along why I didn't share your talent in the kitchen, Mom,
she thought, squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears from leaking out.

The Wrights didn't even know she was here. They still left phone messages for her at the apartment, but she never returned their calls. Of course that didn't mean she didn't miss them. Beneath her hurt and anger, she still loved them both.

Otherwise knowing the truth wouldn't have been so hard.

She understood now why people spent their entire lives searching for their biological parents, or looking for the baby they had once chosen to give up. It might appear selfish or intrusive, but Emma got it, she really did.

Her own situation hadn't been getting any easier to accept as time passed. It grew more difficult, her need to know more desperate.

She was unable to move forward, to go on with her life until she knew what lay behind her. What were the circumstances of her birth and why, why,
why
had she been placed for adoption at all?

Hearing a noise behind her, she pinned a smile on her face, blinked away any telltale tears and turned around, expecting to see Cookie in the doorway. Instead Morgan stood there with a plate in his hand.

“I saved you a brownie.”

 

He knew that seeking her out was probably a mistake. They had gotten in the habit of exchanging a few words after the campfire was over, or when she stopped by his office as he did paperwork. He hadn't realized how much he looked forward to seeing her until tonight when she hadn't shown up. He should have let it go.

“You look beat,” he said bluntly.

She was standing by the counter with a dishrag in one hand, her hair waving wildly. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face, and whatever color she normally slicked over her mouth had long since worn off.

A hard jolt went through Morgan, leaving him shaken. He shouldn't be tempting himself like this.

She looked at the plate in his hand. He was amazed to see that it wasn't shaking.

“I'll split it with you,” Emma said. “Would you like something to drink?”

Struggling for normality, he glanced at the six-burner monstrosity that was fueled with propane.

“Whatever you're having would be fine,” he managed.

“Tea it is.” While she busied herself with the fixings, he nearly fell into one of the chairs at the small table by the wall.

What was his problem? He'd run the camp program year after year, surrounded by women staffers, and never felt more than friendship and passing attraction.

With Emma, his spirits lifted whenever he saw her. Realizing that he needed to corral his interest, what had he done? He'd sought her out instead.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

“Nope.” She set down their mugs of tea and the brownie that she had cut in two. “I hope you don't mind.” She added a pair of candles. “No point in wasting propane.”

She turned off the lanterns, leaving the rest of the kitchen in shadows. Before Morgan could get to his feet, she'd plopped herself in the chair opposite him, apparently oblivious to the sense of intimacy the candlelight created.

“What a day,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea. “How about you?”

He was amazed by the ease he felt, as though ending their day together had become a comfortable routine despite the awareness between them.

This was what a relationship should be, he thought suddenly. It took an effort for Morgan to drag himself away from places he had no business being.

As she sipped her tea, Emma watched him over the brim of her mug.

“Heavy thoughts?” she prodded, breaking the silence between them.

“Just the usual.” He fiddled with his teabag. “Reviewing tomorrow's schedule in my head.”

She nodded without speaking.

“You're a good listener,” he realized aloud. “Without meaning to sound sexist because I'm really not referring only to women, I have to say that's a rare commodity. So many people are only at ease with noise.”

“Thank you, I think.”

Her answering smile drew his attention back to her full lips. Unwelcome awareness shot through him.

He glanced out the window. Except for their small circle of light, the rest of the camp was dark and quiet. After lights-out, flashlights were allowed only for nocturnal trips to the privy.

“I think this is my favorite time of the day,” he admitted as he stared down at his tea.

“Why is that?” Emma broke off a piece of the divided brownie and ate it.

A good listener could draw out secrets that a person never meant to reveal, as could a few well-chosen questions. Morgan had used that strategy himself, both at work and in his personal life. He weighed each word carefully.

“Every day's a challenge. By nightfall, I know how well it's been met.”

“Why do you do all this?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Don't get me wrong. Bringing these kids here every year is a fabulous thing to do, but it's got to be a huge commitment of your time and effort. Do you ever think about quitting and letting someone else take over?”

He leaned forward. “You're good,” he said appreciatively. “I can't imagine why your school district let you go.”

She straightened away from him, looking offended. “I don't know what you mean.”

“It was a compliment, Emma. You have the gift of making someone feel important. You make me want to tell you things I don't normally share.” He stirred his cooling tea. “I've watched you with the kids here at camp. They open up to you. With some of them, it's not easy to gain their trust, but you seem to manage.”

“I'm only doing my job,” she murmured.

“And I'll write you a great recommendation,” he replied. “I'm sure you'll find something soon.”

She sighed and pushed the brownie plate toward him. “Thank you.”

“How are things with your family?” he asked carefully.

Her rueful smile faded, her gaze turning blank. “Nothing's changed. I'm still adopted and they still kept it from me.”

“Have you tried talking to them again?” he persisted.

She shook her head, staring down at her hands.

He ignored the urge to push back his chair and get to his feet, to pull her up with him and wrap her in his arms. The desire to offer comfort was tangled with the craving to feel her body pressed tightly against him.

“I'm sure they love you,” he stammered.

She lifted her chin and looked at him. “I'm not sure of anything. You don't know what it's like.”

Beneath the anger in her voice he could hear the hurt.

“Every person's situation is different,” he said carefully. “I wouldn't presume to know exactly how you feel, but I have some idea.”

“Because you work at Children's Connection?” she sneered.

Giving in to his need to touch her, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Her skin felt cold to the touch. He wasn't surprised when she pulled away.

“No, Emma,” he said quietly. “Not because of my job. Because I'm adopted, too.”

M
organ's announcement caught Emma by surprise, but it certainly explained a lot about his involvement with the camp as well as the agency.

“Were you a baby when you were adopted?” she asked, assuming that he would never have brought up the subject unless he was willing to discuss it.

“No, I was three years old.” He took a sip of the tea and then he set the mug back down.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked abruptly, shoving back his chair without waiting for her answer. “The moon's pretty bright, but I've got a flashlight, just in case.”

Emma couldn't ignore the opportunity to spend
more time with him. Besides, she was too curious to refuse. “Sure. A little fresh air would probably help me sleep.”

He rinsed out the mugs while she wiped off the table and put away the sugar. Everything was kept tightly sealed so as not to attract ants.

She leaned across the table to blow out the candles, and they used the flashlight until they got outside.

“Give your eyes a chance to adjust,” he suggested as they stood on the porch.

After a moment, during which neither of them spoke, they headed together toward the lake. At one point he took her hand in order to lead her around some rocks, his grip warm and reassuring. To her disappointment he dropped it again almost immediately, leaving her struggling with her reaction to his touch.

As she followed him silently along the path, the moonlight illuminated the shape of his head and his broad shoulders. Ignoring her sharp awareness of Morgan as a man wasn't easy. She wanted to ask why he was still single, but that might alert him to her interest. Her curiosity would have to wait.

The raft and a few rowboats were secured to a short wooden dock next to the roped-off swimming area. They bobbed around, the movement making occasional soft noises. Farther along the shoreline, the water was thick with lily pads and fat brown cattails with their swordlike leaves. They weren't
visible now, but she had noticed them the first day she'd come down here.

“The stars are breathtaking,” she said after she and Morgan stopped at the lakeshore. “It's true what people say about being able to see them so much better once you get away from city lights.”

Morgan had stopped by a wooden bench that faced the small lake. “And people who look at the sky while they're walking can end up getting wet,” he teased as they sat on the bench with a foot of space between them. “But you're right about the stars. They always make me feel pretty insignificant.”

There was no breeze, so the moon's reflection across the surface of the lake was like liquid silver on black velvet. The spicy scent of the fir needles seemed stronger out here, too.

Emma was beginning to understand what drew people to the outdoors. There was a lot more to it than RVs, ATVs and noisy beer drinkers sitting around a fire pit swapping stories.

Tucking one leg under her, she turned toward Morgan. “You must have been an adorable baby with your dark hair and blue eyes. Why weren't you adopted until you were three?”

“How do you know I was adorable?” In the moonlight, his expression was teasing, his dimple a dark smudge against his cheek.

She saw the trap his question laid, but walked right in. “Because you're a very attractive adult.”

For the space of a couple of heartbeats, he didn't respond. She wondered if she'd embarrassed him.

“Are you always so outspoken?” he finally asked, his voice sounding unusually strained.

She thought of the role she'd been playing since she had arrived here, pushing him as much as she dared without being too obvious about her intentions.

“Sometimes, I guess,” she hedged, steering the conversation back to him. “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.”

“I'm flattered that a beautiful woman finds me attractive.” He glanced away as an owl hooted from the woods.

“So, where are your parents?” she asked before the silence could become uncomfortable.

He turned his attention back to Emma. “They're enjoying retirement down in California, where I grew up. In fact, they were up here visiting me just recently.”

It took her a moment to catch on. “Oh, you must be talking about the people who raised you.”

“Those
are
my parents,” he said firmly. “I'm lucky to have them.” Then he blew out a breath. “But I know what you're asking. My birth mother came from Mexico. She was looking for a better life, but instead she had a brief affair and ended up with me.”

That explained the golden tan and jet-black hair.

“The only thing I know about my biological father is that he was a blue-eyed Caucasian,” Morgan added. “It was enough.”

Emma would have liked to pat Morgan's arm. She didn't want him to misinterpret the gesture, so she kept her hands clasped together tightly in her lap while she tried to absorb what he'd said.

“So your mother tried to raise you alone?” she guessed, trying to imagine how terribly difficult it would be to find yourself alone in a strange country with a baby.

He nodded. “It must not have been easy for her,” he said as though he were reading Emma's thoughts, “but eventually she ended up cleaning my father's offices. He told me that one day she asked him if he knew a nice couple who would take me. She wanted to go back home, but she wanted me to have a better life. It was a private adoption, but a legal one.”

“They paid her?” Emma asked, trying to make out his expression.

“Only enough for her to go back to her village and start over. She refused to accept any more than that.”

A wave of envy washed over Emma—envy at the knowledge he possessed about his own birth mother and that he withheld from Emma about hers.

She swallowed hard. “And you've been in contact with her since then?”

He surprised her by shaking his head. “No, not at all.”

When he didn't add anything more, she peered up at his face. “How could you not be curious? She's your mother.”

“She gave birth to me,” he corrected her gently. “I wish her well for giving me a chance, but I don't need anything from her. I have a family.”

He reached up to touch Emma's face lightly with his fingertips. “You have your parents, too, and I'm sure they care about you very deeply.” His voice was deep and soft. “Have you thought about calling them?”

As she considered how to answer his question, she forced herself to break the enticing contact before she made a fool of herself.

“I haven't decided yet what to do.” It was the truth, more or less.

She wasn't about to admit how much time she'd spent imagining a fantasy reunion with her birth parents. They would be delighted to see her again, their eyes sparkling with tears and their faces alight with pride. What if they truly did regret their decision to give her up. Unless she was able to find them and ask if they'd had second thoughts, they would never know she cared.

For a few moments neither she nor Morgan said anything. In the lake a fish jumped with a splash. Ever-widening rings spread across the water, marring its smooth surface.

Emma hated to spoil the peace of the moment by suggesting they go back to the lodge, but the hour had to be growing late.

“The stars are even more breathtaking from some of the alpine meadows,” Morgan said quietly. “As
corny as it sounds, from the higher elevations it really does seem as though you could reach up and pick them, like fairy lights.”

“Are there any of those meadows around here?” she asked innocently. Heidi had already mentioned how Morgan always took a day before the session was over for a long solo hike. This time Emma was determined to accompany him.

“There are several meadows in the general area,” he replied warily.

“We should take the kids on a hike to one of them.” She let eagerness fill her voice. “Wouldn't there be wildflowers? The girls would enjoy them, even if the boys didn't.”

His face was once again in profile. “The closest meadow is nearly a three-hour hike. There's a lake and a shelter for hikers who want to spend the night, but no other facilities, if you get my meaning.”

He turned toward her. “Thirty kids asking ‘where's the rest room?' isn't my idea of fun.”

“Maybe you and I could hike up there,” she suggested daringly. “I'd love to see it before I have to go back.”

Morgan seemed to freeze. “You mean just the two of us?”

She chuckled softly. “We could take a chaperone along, if you think we'd need one.”

Damn, but she shouldn't have said that. If she acted flirtatiously, she would spook him for sure.

“I don't think it's a good idea.” His voice had gone flat.

She tried to swallow her disappointment. “Taking a chaperone?”

“It's not that I don't enjoy your company,” he continued, ignoring her comment, “but I wouldn't want to start any gossip about either of us.”

“The session will be over in a few days,” she argued. “What other people might think is no big deal.”

“You might not be coming back next year,” he said firmly, “but I am. As a leader, I have a reputation to maintain and an example to set. Even the appearance of impropriety needs to be avoided, especially around kids.”

His adamant tone left Emma speechless.

With his head bent, Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose. “My God, that sounds so damned pompous,” he muttered, half to himself. “It's just that I was raised to live my life by a certain standard, that's all.”

“I understand what you're saying,” she replied, ecstatic that he hadn't flat-out refused.

She pushed aside the twinge of guilt. If he ended up compromising his principles, it would be his choice. No one was going to hold a gun to his head, after all.

“It's just that I've never been camping before. When I was growing up, the Wrights weren't big on roughing it.” The three of them had taken several fun vacations to theme parks and other tourist meccas.
“Until I came here, I had no idea what I was missing,” she added. “Just being here has opened up a whole new world for me.”

She glanced down at her hands, sighing deeply. “I hate to think about going back to Portland without seeing as much of this beautiful area as I possibly can, that's all. Who knows where I'll end up working next. I may have to relocate and not have the chance to come back.”

“I hadn't realized your feelings about camping had changed so much,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “I'm glad you've developed a deeper appreciation.”

“If you let me go on the hike with you, I won't slow you down,” she promised rashly. “I've got enough stamina for a three-hour hike.”

“It's three hours up and three more back down,” he reminded her.

“I can do it.”

“I was planning to go up to Johnson Lake on Sunday. Actually the terrain isn't that difficult.” He seemed to be measuring each word. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure, that would be great.” Instinct told her to back off for now. “I guess we'd better go in,” she said with genuine regret. “It's getting pretty late, but I want to thank you for taking the time to talk to me. It helps me to hear a different viewpoint about being adopted.”

It had been a shock to find out about Morgan's background, but she couldn't help but feel some re
sentment, too. Just because he had no interest in his birth mother didn't give him the right to make decisions for someone else—someone whose feelings were vastly different from his.

 

Everett walked through the main lobby of Children's Connection, but he didn't see anyone who interested him. With the director gone on vacation for two weeks, Leslie Logan and some of the other major donators hadn't been around. He had overheard someone say that the Logans were visiting friends in the San Juan Islands of Washington State.

As Everett stopped to look out the glass front doors, he wondered what it would be like to have the money to travel, like the Logans did. They could afford whatever they wanted.

He wasn't greedy, but who could blame him for wanting a few extra bucks to spend on nice things? He'd like to impress Nancy with a fancy present or a fabulous cruise. He would hand her his gold card and tell her to buy whatever she wanted. Or he would pick out some jewelry, like celebrities were always doing, and surprise her with it. She would be so happy that she would smile at him as though he was really somebody.

“Everett. Everett!”

He blinked, realizing that someone was speaking to him. When he turned, one of the other accountants was giving him a disgusted look.

“Jeez, were you in some kind of trance?” demanded Bob Roach, hands thrust into the pockets of his fancy slacks.

Unlike Everett, Bob was one of those people who seemed to have been born knowing the rules: how to dress, what to say and how to act. Everett overheard him talking all the time about the parties he threw at his condo. He was always organizing a group to stop at one of the local pubs after work. Sometimes he asked Everett to finish up a project for him so he could leave early, because he had “big plans.”

“Uh, yeah, Bob.” Everett tried to keep the eagerness from his voice as he pushed back his hair. He knew he'd failed when the other man's lip curled into a sneer.

“I'm taking a long lunch, if you know what I mean,” Bob said with a wink. “If anyone asks, I had a doctor appointment, okay?”

“Sure, Bob,” Everett replied, even though he
wasn't
sure what Bob meant. They all got an hour for lunch. Wasn't that long enough? “You can count on me,” he added.

“That's my buddy,” Bob called over his shoulder.

As Bob began to whistle, Everett smiled widely at his retreating back. Wait until Everett got the extra money he was expecting. He'd be able to afford some cool clothes, like Bob wore. Instead of going to the bar where Everett stopped every night to eat dinner alone, he would go out with Bob and his friends.