LESS THAN FORTY-EIGHT hours later Michael was back in New York. The day after Christmas was crazy in Manhattan with people returning gifts and shopping for sales. Not sure if the office would be open, he opted to go to her apartment first, praying that being newly pregnant, she had decided to stay home rather than face a visit with her family.
He arrived in time to find a woman in her late fifties, her head wrapped with a scarf and her heavy winter overcoat bound tightly against the cold, letting herself out of Meghan’s apartment.
“Hello,” he greeted her, pleased that Meghan was home and this woman was leaving, so they could be alone. He stepped up to the door and pressed the bell, grinning.
The woman watched him with a suspicious eye. After he rang the bell a second time, she finally said, “What you think you do? Ms. Shay not here.”
“Then what were you doing in there?” he countered, just as wary.
“I check di little fuzzy ducks,” she stated with dignity, her arms crossed over her bosom, daring him to top her motive for being there.
“Fuzzy ducks?” he asked, feeling as if he had suddenly walked into the Twilight Zone.
“The fuzzy ducks on di wall. I put up yesterday. I make sure they stick,” she explained simply.
Eerie music began to play in the back of his mind. “I … see. And who are you?” he asked the alien.
“Mrs. Belinski, di housekeeper,” she said. “And you?”
“I’m Michael Ramsey. A good friend of Meghan’s,” he added, hoping it might carry some influence. “Can you tell me where she is?”
“No. I talk to Lucy, she talks to Ms. Shay.”
“Lucy?” There was that name again. Meghan had stated, “Lucy says,” “Lucy thinks,” at least fifty times. Why hadn’t he asked about her? Who the hell was this Lucy?
“Yah. She takes di mail and phone calls for Ms. Shay,” Mrs. Belinski explained.
“Oh. Well, thank you. If you do see her soon, would you tell her I stopped by,” he said. So Lucy was her secretary, he thought. Who would know better where to find Meghan?
Now he knew definitely that she was out of town. Assuming Meghan had gone to her father’s for Christmas, he’d need an address. He couldn’t recall that she had ever mentioned the name of her father’s bar in Boston, and he’d already counted a hundred and sixty-eight Shays in the Boston phone book. Calling them all would keep him busy for days, not to mention that it was impractical and highly embarrassing.
Therefore her office would be next on Michael’s list. Thank God for Henry. He’d know where Meghan was.
Acting on a disgruntling hunch, he stopped in the lobby of Meghan’s apartment building and phoned the office. He got a recorded message that confirmed his worst assumption. The office was closed for a long weekend. He could leave his number and name, and they’d return his call Monday.
By Monday morning he was not only angry at the setback, he was restless from the frustration of having wasted time. It was just like before, with Meghan uppermost in his mind and him unable to find her.
“Alderman, Darkwell and Gibbs,” came the answering receptionist.
“This is Michael Ramsey. May I speak to Lucy, Meghan Shay’s secretary, please?” he asked tersely.
“I’m sorry, sir. Her secretary’s name is Greta, and she is out of the office,” her whiny voice informed him.
“Then let me talk to Henry Alderman,” he said, exasperated.
“Mr. Alderman is in court today and isn’t expected back in the office until tomorrow. Can I have him call you then?” she asked politely.
“No. Tell him I’ll be in to see him,” he answered, regretting the cutting edge in his voice. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault he’d be cooling his heels for another day.
The next day Henry arrived at the office to find Michael Ramsey in the reception area, waiting to pounce on him.
“Michael. Good to see you. Meghan said you wouldn’t be back until after the New Year,” Henry greeted him jovially.
“Where is she, Henry?” Michael asked without preamble.
“Come into my office. I presume you’re talking about Meghan?” he inquired.
“Yes, of course it’s Meghan.”
“Well if it’s those contracts you’re worried about, she turned them all over to me. You can sign them now if you’d like,” Henry said, instinctively knowing it wasn’t what Michael wanted to hear. “This visit is about business, isn’t it?”
“Well, no … it’s personal,” he said, reluctant to endanger Meghan’s professional integrity, but desperate to find her.
“I see,” said Henry with a pleased and knowing smile.
“No, I don’t think you do. I was having her do some personal legal work for …” he broke off as he watched Henry’s smile turn to a skeptical grin. “Okay. So you’ve got great eyesight,” he conceded. “Where the hell is she?”
“She’s gone,” he stated simply, holding out for more information.
“Don’t start with me, Henry. I’m at the end of my rope,” he snarled through his teeth, showing a supreme effort to control his temper.
“You do have a time keeping track of women, don’t you?” Henry pushed on fearlessly.
“Henry,” he said in a deadly tone.
“She’s on sabbatical for a year,” he informed the despairing man.
“A year!” Michael roared, stunned. “When did she leave?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Do you know where she went?” he asked hopefully.
“No. But I do know why she needed some time off,” Henry offered. To Michael’s surprised look, he said, “She’s been ill lately. Anemic, run-down, and overworked. She’s planning on six months to get fit again and then possibly doing some volunteer legal work. She just needed a rest, and she deserves one.”
Meghan obviously hadn’t made a public announcement about the baby yet. As she was planning on single parenthood, Michael understood, but once they were married, he planned to hire a skywriter to publicize it.
“How can I reach her?” Michael asked flat out, leaving Henry no room to consider withholding the information from him.
Henry gave him a considering perusal anyway, then finally decided to say, “She left her whereabouts with her secretary. Since it was a short work week, Greta took it off. Would you like me to call her at home?”
“Please,” Michael requested. Now that he was finally getting some cooperation, his tone of voice softened considerably.
While Henry talked to Greta, Michael restlessly paced the room. All this wasted time when he could be with Meghan convincing her that they were in love, that the baby was the best accident that would ever befall them, that the three of them should make a life together, that …
“I should have known,” chuckled Henry, breaking into Michael’s agitated thoughts. “Meghan told Greta if we needed anything to contact Lucy. Lucy knows …”
“Lucy knows … Lucy says …” bellowed a thwarted Michael. “What is she? A guru?”
Henry laughed aloud. “No, she’s a doctor. And Meghan’s closest friend. They’re like sisters. One doesn’t take a breath without the other one knowing.”
“Well how do I reach this Lucy?” Michael challenged.
“Easy. She runs an OB clinic in Hoboken.”
There were several such clinics in Hoboken. When Michael finally tracked down the appropriate one, he was informed that the enlightened Lucy had drawn holiday duty. She would be on call at the clinic from three P.M. New Year’s eve until the same time New Year’s Day. And, no, they weren’t allowed to give out home phone numbers.
Temporarily stymied once again, he went to his apartment. None of the things had arrived from Dallas yet and the place was as empty as he felt. He wandered through the silent rooms, remembering Meghan as she’d peered into closets, checked the view from the windows and run her hands over the mahogany appreciatively.
His mind was riddled with questions. Once he found out from Lucy where Meghan was, maybe the all-knowing Lucy could also tell him how best to proceed.
His usual bull-by-the-horns technique might not be the best approach in a situation like this or with a woman like Meghan. She might very well be feisty enough to dig in and fight him just to save her pride. Michael experienced an unreasonable and uncharacteristic pang of jealousy when he forced himself to admit Lucy probably knew a lot about Meghan that he hadn’t had time to discover yet.
The next day at four, Michael walked into Lucy’s clinic. The waiting room was unusually empty due to the holiday, so the receptionist was very alert when he entered.
“Hello. May I help you,” she asked, sending him a fetching smile.
“I’d like to speak with Dr. Lucy Galbreth,” he said in his deep drawl.
“Through those doors.” She motioned to her left with a grin. “Then down the hall to a door marked ‘Lounge.’ You can just go on in. We’re slow today. I think she’s reading or something.”
There was a woman in the lounge reading, but she couldn’t be the one he wanted to see. She looked about eighteen years old. Extremely petite, her blond hair neatly cut close to her face, she had huge doe brown eyes that screamed her innocence. If she were a friend of Meghan’s, they’d look like Mutt and Jeff walking down the street together.
“Dr. Lucy Galbreth?” he ventured anyway.
“Yes,” she answered, smiling sweetly.
“You’re Dr. Lucy Galbreth?” he asked incredulously. He’d been expecting a larger person, maybe dressed in black.
“Yes,” she repeated, her smile growing. She was used to people being surprised by her looks. She guessed they pictured someone else when they heard her name. Long ago she had decided it was the title of “doctor” that always threw them off.
Watching her closely, he merely said, “I’m Michael Ramsey.”
The reaction he got was extremely satisfying. The friendly smile disappeared and her eyes and mouth formed huge round circles. She had definitely heard of him from Meghan. What’s more, she looked instantly guilty.
“Oh, Lord,” she uttered automatically. Lucy hadn’t talked to Meghan since Christmas Eve and was still laboring under the impression that Michael knew nothing of Meghan’s circumstances. The alarm she felt at seeing him was shocking.
“You’re a little smaller than I expected,” he confessed, watching her as he advanced into the room.
“You’re … much, much bigger,” she muttered apprehensively. “How did you find me?”
“Henry Alderman took pity on me. I’m hoping you’ll do the same. And I think I ought to warn you, I’m in no mood to chase you around this particular bush. I want to know where Meghan is,” he said in a quiet, but determined, voice.
“Oh, Lord,” she repeated, as she stood and began to fidget with the buttons of her white smock. How could you do this to me, Meghan? I’m damned if I do and dead if I don’t. What can I tell him? He looks so miserable, she agonized mentally.
She considered him for several minutes, then made her decision.
“Mr. Ramsey,” she said, coming to her full five-foot height. “I love Meghan. I’ve been through a lot with her. I’ve kept all her secrets. I’ve supported her every effort. There have been times when I stood by Meghan even when every hair on the back of my neck was standing straight on end and every bone in my body screamed for me to run away.
“She’s not … there’s nothing … average or normal about her. Her looks are outstanding, she’s a brilliant attorney, she … does everything differently from the way everyone else does it. But probably what I like best about her is that she lives. She does everything she wants to. Don’t get me wrong,” she cautioned him. “She’s not a spoiled child. She never would intentionally set out to hurt someone, but she gets these ideas and come hell or high water, if she can pull it off without interfering with the rest of the world, she does it. Do you want an example?” she asked, hoping to try to help him understand Meghan better.
He shrugged. “Okay. If you’ll eventually get to what I want to hear.”
“Two years ago Meghan suddenly became possessed with a need to learn how to snow ski. That’s not so unusual in itself, however it was June. No snow. But she had to learn, right then—not six months later. She was going to fly to Austria, but getting a passport took too long. So she took two weeks off and flew to Mt. Hood in Oregon to take skiing lessons in July,” she finished.
Michael just grinned and gave an indulgent shake of his head. “So, she’s impetuous. What’s your point. Dr. Galbreth?”
“Lucy,” she instructed him. “My point is that she’s not only very bright, she can also be extremely stupid sometimes. She’s impulsive, mule-headed, terribly impertinent, and completely lovable if you accept her as she is.”
She gave him a measuring look and reluctantly continued, “I’ve never betrayed Meghan before, and I wouldn’t now, except that she’s gone too far this time. She’s making a terrible mistake. You love her, don’t you?” she asked, point-blank.
“Yes,” he answered in the same manner. Then he asked, “Where is she?”
“She’s in New Bedford—at her aunt’s house. I’ll give you the phone number.” She sighed, hoping for the sake of her friendship with Meghan that she was trusting the right man.
“I’d rather have an address. She can be a little slippery on the telephone,” he said, giving Lucy a friendly grin.
She wrote down the address and handed it to him without speaking. Her anxiety over her decision to trust him was evident in her fidgeting fingers and warm brown eyes.
“Thank you, Lucy. I do know what this may have cost you. I’ll try to avoid any mention of our talk today,” he promised.
Lucy laughed wryly. “If you show up on her doorstep, you won’t have to mention it. But you could do me a favor.”
“What’s that?” he asked. At this point he’d do almost anything to repay her trust.
“When you see her, remember how desperate you were twenty minutes ago to find her. Try to be as kind and loving and understanding as possible. She’s … pretty low on self-esteem these days and you are one of the reasons why. She thought she was doing the right thing. She never meant to hurt you.”
Michael grinned ecstatically. “Don’t worry, Lucy. Everything will work out fine. I guarantee it.”
Dawn promised one of those beautiful winter days when the sun shone and the air was crisp and cold. Meghan had slept well and woke up feeling revived and full of energy. She felt a renewal of her old spirit and lust for life.
Being five-and-a-half months pregnant was great. All the clothes she had slipped into maternity shops to buy fit beautifully. Her little bundle had grown rapidly over the past few weeks, and there was no doubt now that she was very pregnant. The growth of her baby and the feel of it moving about at night thrilled Meghan.
The morning sickness rarely visited her anymore, and the constant fatigue had dissipated to occasional attacks of drowsiness in the early afternoon. The rest of the time she felt full of life—hers and her baby’s.
She hadn’t talked to Lucy since Christmas Eve, but Meghan hoped Michael had accepted her rejection and stopped calling. She hoped with each passing day she would forget the emotions he stirred in her, and that the memory of his face, his voice, and the touch of his hands would become less vivid, less tangible. She missed him terribly.
What she had done was stupid and selfish, and she would have to pay for that deed for the rest of her life. The rest of her life without Michael. But the life inside her wouldn’t let her regret the act. She loved her baby as she loved and cherished Michael’s memory. In times of depression, she took solace in the fact that if she couldn’t be with Michael, at least part of him would be with her and in the end, she’d done the right thing in telling him about it.
Dressed in an oversized jogging suit and lightweight thermal underwear, she set out for a brisk two-mile walk into town. She missed her running, but the walks were nice, and if she got tired, she could take a cab home.
In town she refilled the prescription for prenatal vitamins that Lucy had given her and leisurely did some window shopping before heading home.
She saw the silver Mercedes parked in front of her Aunt Kate’s house from two blocks away. Oh, Lucy, she thought with a chuckle. Lucy might profess to live the simple life, comfortable but not extravagant, but she always traveled first-class. Meghan used to laugh and tease her about her insistence on taking the more expensive accommodations on planes and in hotels when they traveled together. Lucy had just shrugged, saying, “They’re more comfortable.” Renting a Mercedes was just like her.
She increased her pace and acknowledged how lonely she’d been all week. The solitude had been nice at first, but Meghan found that once she was rested and feeling stronger, she needed more diversions to keep her mind off Michael.
She slowed to a near halt when her eyes caught a movement on the front porch, and she became aware of the huge bulk of man sprawled lazily on the steps.
“Aunt Kate says you can get hemorrhoids from sitting on cold cement,” she informed him as her legs automatically carried her up the walk. She felt as if she were running on autopilot. Funny the way her body took over when her mind was in a tailspin, she thought absently.
“Now you tell me,” Michael said, watching her face intently.
“What are you doing here?” she questioned tonelessly, as she ambled past him toward the door.
“I came looking for you … again,” he informed her simply. Michael’s pent-up anger and frustration from the last few days had dissolved rapidly when he had seen her strolling down the street, safe and sound, and as beautiful as ever. She had definitely been surprised to see him, but after all he’d been through, a little enthusiasm would have been welcome, although he’d known better than to expect any. Her expression of doomed resignation, however, had the power to reignite his irritation at the situation.
“Is there any special reason you’ve come looking for me?” she was asking, her head lowered as she inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. She went into the house, leaving the door open behind her.
“Has this pregnancy gone to your head, or are you just pretending to be stupid?” he demanded, as he followed her into the house.
She threw her package on the coffee table and flopped down into an armchair.
“You know,” she said observantly, “you are an incredible man. Not only do you sic a bloodhound on my tail in New York, but you follow me here after I went to a lot of trouble to keep my whereabouts from you. What does it take to give you the brush-off?” she asked curtly. “I’ll kill Lucy for telling you.”
“Lucy didn’t have any choice. I’m twice her height and outweigh her five or six times over. Besides, she loves you. She wants what’s best for you too,” he said. Ignoring her very unladylike snort of distaste, he went on, “As to my inability to get a message, it would depend on the reason the woman had for brushing me off. If I am repulsive to her, which I don’t think is the case here, I’d pick up on it right away and leave. However, if she’s trying to get rid of me so she can wallow in self-pity over some little problem she’s got, that’s something else. I’m a firm believer in the adage that two heads are better than one when it comes to problem solving,” he told her in a firm but gentle tone.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Michael,” she told him tersely. “The only thing you can do for my little problem now, is make it worse.”
He just grinned at her, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
“Go get out of that getup and into something comfortable, and well have a nice, long talk.”
Meghan stared at him for several seconds. Why was she continually besieged by optimistic people? Was she the only one who could recognize hopelessness when it came up and slapped her in the face?
Although the outfit she had on was perfectly comfortable, albeit a little too warm, she could see she was going to have to deal with this situation once and for all. And Michael wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
She sighed loudly and heaved herself out of the chair. “You want some tea?” she asked offhandedly.
“I’d rather have coffee, if it’s no trouble,” he said politely.
“It’s no trouble,” she said with an indifferent wave of her hand. “Because you’ll have to make it yourself. I don’t cook coffee yet.”
“You don’t cook?” he asked, his surprise obvious. “Is that why you have the housekeeper?”
Meghan had disappeared down a hallway. Her muffled voice could barely be heard. “No, I don’t cook. Not yet, anyway. And I have a housekeeper to keep house. Lucy says I remind her of Pigpen, the comic strip character? She says that there’s a little cloud of dirt and debris that follows me everywhere I go.” There was a pause, followed by some muted noises from the bedroom.
Michael had made his way to the kitchen and had found the percolator when he heard her say, “I don’t usually buy anything white because it gets dirty before I get it home. I’ve always been sort of amazed at how messy I am. I don’t feel like a slob.”
Mentally, Michael scratched “domestic” off his list. He finally found the coffee and began making the much needed brew.
“Would you still like some tea?” he called.
“No.”
“Where’s your aunt?” he inquired loudly.
“She’s in Bristol, taking care of a sick friend,” Meghan answered with humor in her voice.
A good sign, Michael thought hopefully. She was warming up.
“How long will she be gone?” He tried keeping the conversation light.
“I’m not sure; a month, maybe two.”
Meghan was sitting on the edge of her bed, procrastinating. Having Michael there in the house was like a wonderful nightmare. She savored the sound of his voice and the thrill of having him so close by. The longer she put off her appearance in the kitchen, the longer he’d be there. … Or so she thought.
“Hey! You need some help back there?” Michael bellowed, his voice full of meaning.
“This is it, Meghan,” she whispered, bolstering herself. “Deep breath. Head high. Stay cool, and for Pete’s sake, don’t cry.” Dressed in maternity jeans and a green, blue, and gold knit shirt, she rounded the corner into the kitchen, saying, “That smells great! I’ll have to learn to make coffee after I master poached eggs.”
“It’s easy. Just add coffee and water … and … plug it … in,” he faltered, as he turned to find Meghan in the doorway, looking gorgeous … and very pregnant. His eyes rounded in shock as he fixed his gaze on her belly.
“Holy cow!” he yelped, his voice several octaves higher than normal. “You’re really pregnant!”
“Yes, I know,” she said in a calm, quiet voice, as she walked past him to pour herself a cup of coffee.
“But … how? … when?” he stammered, stunned. “We just … it hasn’t been …”
“In the usual way, Michael, almost six months ago,” she informed him serenely, adding milk to her coffee.
“The first time,” he uttered dumbfoundedly, as the picture cleared. “Then you were … when … and I …” He was completely overwhelmed. He’d made love to a pregnant woman a little over a month ago and hadn’t had a clue as to her condition.
“Try and relax, Michael. As your attorney, I can tell you it’s not against the law,” she informed him blandly. She commanded her legs to walk past him and into the living room and was deeply gratified when they didn’t buckle.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he roared in anger and confusion. “I could have hurt you.”
Meghan knew a moment of real fear at the tone of his voice, but his eyes held not only fury, but his own real pain at her deception. Yet, somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her physically. He was simply reacting to his emotions, just as she was trying to hide hers.
Maybe an offensive defense would cool him down and turn him off. Maybe then he’d go away and leave her alone. Maybe it would be best for him to go away with a bad memory of her. Maybe …
“Because I didn’t think it was any of your business,” she stated. “At first, anyway. Later on I figured you’d act this way. Dreaming of marriage and picket fences. The only reason I told you at all was because Lucy felt sorry for you, and I decided to tell you myself before she had a chance to. I’ve already said you can see the baby after it’s born. As for the rest of my life, it isn’t any of your business.”
“Not my business?” he exclaimed loudly, his jaw set rigidly in rage and frustration. “You think I hired detectives before, and ran you down here myself for fun? It just so happens I’m in love with you! Does that make it my business?”
“No,” she uttered, as her heart shattered into thousands of pieces, each with its own painfully raw edge.
He came to her and grabbed her arms in a tight grip. His face was a collage of mixed emotions. He examined her soul through her eyes but didn’t seem to be able to get any clear answers. The conflict within him increased until all he could do was give her one head-jerking shake.
“I have to go,” he said, still holding her arms. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. “I need to think, but I’ll be back.”
He leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her forehead before turning to the door. On his way out, he turned back to Meghan.
“You’re wrong, Meghan Shay. You involved yourself in my life six months ago when you walked up to my table,” he said softly, as the steely edge in his voice cut deep into Meghan’s heart with each word. “I’m not going to let you back out of it just because we’ve had a little accident. The plain fact is, darlin’, that you’re as much mine as the baby is, and I’ll prove it to you.”
And then he was gone.
Michael lay awake on his hotel bed, churning it all over and over in his head. Obstinate red-headed witch. How was he going to make her see reason? How many times had he wanted to hit her in the head with a club and drag her off to his cave? He should have done it. If he had, things would be a lot simpler now.
All her talk about not wanting him in her life was a smoke screen to save her pride, at least that’s what he was desperately hoping. Lucy knew Meghan cared for him, otherwise she wouldn’t have helped him. Even Henry suspected something was happening, and he hadn’t gotten all his hints from Michael.
No, she wasn’t as apathetic toward him as she wanted to think. She had cared enough to tell him about the baby. If he could get her to admit she cared about him, they could move on from there.
How had Lucy described her? “Impulsive, mule-headed, and terribly impertinent.” It would take someone even more so to get her to see reason, and Michael knew Mary Meghan Shay had met her match.