Diamond Spur (26 page)

"Of course I don't," she agreed readily. "Not from a financial standpoint. But what do you want me to do, Jason, sit at home and have babies and go to social functions?" "That's a woman's place," he explained. "What do you know about a woman's place?" she asked quietly. "Your father ran your mother

off with just that kind of attitude, didn't he, Jason? He made her life miserable and ordered

her around and abused her until she couldn't take it anymore...."

"Shut up!"

His voice was deep and icy, so quiet that it was frightening. His eyes stared at her with that

cold intensity that chilled her to her toes.

She watched him, shocked at her own unexpected bravery for asking a question like that.

Something in Jason's face prompted an even braver one, because he never talked about his

mother. Not ever. "He beat her when he drank, too, that once, didn't he?"

He turned away blindly. He couldn't talk about it. He didn't want to remember. He didn't

want to face the implications of his father's life, of his father's drinking that

had turned a kind, loving father into a brutal stranger. Yes, his father had done all that. And caused his wife to leave him, although Jason had never admitted it until now. The admission hurt. It made him sick with worry about himself. What if he became like that? What if he caused Kate to leave him? Or was he going to lose her anyway, to her damned career? The baby might not be enough to hold her....

"Jason..." "Go to New York," he said, blind with sudden fear. No. He wouldn't let her do this to him. He wouldn't let her see how easily she could cut him. "Go to hell for all I care." He went back behind his desk, sat down, and pulled the ledger under his cold eyes. He didn't look up again. Kate felt empty and cold. Tears ran down her cheeks, but he wasn't looking at her. She called his name, and he didn't even flinch. Finally, with black nausea in the pit of her stomach, she turned and went out the door. It closed behind her with sickening finality. Still, Jason didn't look up. He couldn't.

There was a letter in his middle desk drawer. Quietly, he opened it and looked. The writing was neat as a pin, very steady and confident. There was his name and address. And at the top left-hand corner of the small envelope, there was hers. Nell Caid Donavan, Apartment B22, 125 Costa Drive, Phoenix, Arizona, and the zip code.

He fingered it. Then, with a rough sigh, he picked it up. He usually threw these cards away without opening them. This one he'd kept, although he hadn't opened it. It was too early to be a birthday card, though. That puzzled him. She only sent cards once a year.

Kate's determination to pursue her career had hurt. Apparently her damned job meant more to her than his baby. But hadn't he known that all along? From the beginning, she'd said that she didn't want ties any more than he did. But he'd made her pregnant. He'd done it deliberately, because part of him was obsessed with her. And now she was straining at the bit, even with his baby in her body. She didn't really want the baby, he reasoned, because it interfered with her freedom. What if she found some way to lose it? The thought haunted him. He knew she wouldn't have an abortion. Kate was too tenderhearted for that But she could fall or something, and even do it subconsciously.

He tore open the envelope and found a floral card inside, with no writing on the front. He opened it. There were only two lines inside, in the same neat hand that had addressed the envelope.

"Please come and talk to me," it read. "There may not be much time left."

It was signed Nell Donavan, in a different hand, an oddly unsteady and slanted hand. He frowned at it. Perhaps she had arthritis, or perhaps...his face hardened. Perhaps she drank, like his father had.

He stuffed the card back into the envelope and shot it into the drawer, closing it roughly. Not much time, the devil, he thought as he pulled the ledger close again. That was a trick. Just a trick to get him to come and see her. What did she want? Forgiveness? More than likely, she wanted money.

He leaned back in the chair. Kate hadn't, though. No, he thought bitterly, Kate wanted to earn her own with her designs. She wanted to be rich and famous, not just Mrs. Jason Donavan. He thought about her the way she'd been in Jamaica, that wild afternoon she'd deliberately led him on. He still worried about whether they might have harmed the baby. It didn't seem natural for a woman to bleed when she slept with a man, unless she was a virgin. Jason had wanted to discuss it with her again, but he felt uncomfortable talking about such things with Kate. He felt uncom
fortable a lot lately. He wanted Kate to come home and be his wife. He wanted to sleep with her at night He wanted to take her with him everywhere he
went, and never spend more than an hour away from her.

Most of all, he wanted her silky soft body against his in the darkness, giving him the sweetest

oblivion he'd ever known. He wanted to stroke her hair and kiss her until he went blind. But she

wanted to go to New York and get famous. He glared at the ledger as if it were responsible for

all his problems. After a minute he picked up his pencil and started again. All the brooding in the

world wouldn't change anything. He had work to do.

Cherry heard Kate sobbing and walked into her room hesitantly. "Kate?"

She lifted her tearstained face. "Hi," she sniffed. "Sorry. I think it has something to do with being pregnant. I cry all the time lately." "Maybe it's the water?" Cherry suggested with a warm smile. "Can I help?" "You can help Gene look after Jason while I'm gone. I'm flying up to New York tomorrow

for the showing."

"Wow," Cherry sighed. "Well, have fun. I guess I'll pose for Gene again. He's determined to do portraits now. He's even got a commission to do one for a friend, and they're paying him three hundred dollars. We haven't told Jason yet," she confessed. "We're hoping that it will lead to more commissions. He's really very good, you know."

"I do, indeed," Kate replied. "Keep him at it. He'll make it, if he sticks to his guns. Jason can be very hard to fight."

"I've noticed that," Cherry murmured. She winked. "Sleep tight. How's baby?"

"Doing fine, as near as I know. The nausea has stopped. I hardly even feel pregnant," she smiled.

"Good! 'Night."

"Goodnight."

Kate touched her stomach. Odd how she felt lately. But the cramping and bleeding were infrequent, so everything must be all right. And after the showings, she'd have some time to enjoy being pregnant. Maybe even to enjoy being married to Jason. She'd involve him with the baby, she decided. She'd get him to help pick out names for boys and girls, and shop for baby things. Yes. That might help heal the breach between them. But it was going to be so difficult to forget and forgive his coldness tonight. She hated to leave with a drawn sword between them. Perhaps in the morning, they could patch things up before she left.

She phoned her mother. Despite the fact that they had lunch together almost every day at the plant and talked on the phone a good deal, their relationship was different now. It was more like friend to friend than mother to daughter. Not that Kate loved her mother any less than she ever had. But now she was a woman, and she felt a new kind of maturity, of understanding.

"How are you doing?" Mary asked when she answered the phone.

"Better than the last time we spoke," Kate mused, tongue in cheek, and trying desperately

to hide the hurt Jason had inflicted. "I haven't been to another single party. I'm leaving in the

morning for New York, for the first showing of the collection, and then I go to Atlanta and

Dallas."

"That's a lot of going, honey," Mary said.

"I know. But Dr. Harris didn't tell me I couldn't go," she told her mother truthfully. The

obstetrician might have had something to say about it, but her appointment with him was still in

the future, because there hadn't been an opening. "And I'll be real careful."

"See that you are, honey," her mother said gently. "You could lose that baby more easily than

you realize. I lost two before I had you."

That was a comforting thing to say, Kate wanted to reply. But she forced herself not to say it.

Mary never meant to hurt, she just opened her mouth and words came out.

"I'll be careful, Mama," she said, her tone a little stiffer. "I'd better get some sleep."

"Kate, I'm sorry," Mary moaned. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just don't want anything to

happen...."

"If I'm not meant to have this baby, all the protective instincts in the world won't do any good," Kate said reasonably. "I can't stay in bed for nine months, not with the best will in the world. I feel fine. Well, pretty fine. I'm tired a lot. But the nausea seems to have passed and there's only a little spotting. I'll take it easy and I'll get plenty of rest. After all," she added, "sitting down at a showing is a lot easier than putting a collection together."

"Well, I won't argue with that. Call me when you get back, honey, and have a safe trip."

"I will. Love you."

"I love you, too, baby."

Kate hung up and put on her gown. She was nervous and a little scared, and she'd have given anything to go downstairs and beg Jason to go with her. But that would be admitting defeat She couldn't let him dictate her whole life for her. If she was going to have any independence in the future, it had to start now. And she had to have money. That, she'd have to earn, so she couldn't afford to start treating herself like an invalid.

She touched her abdomen gently. She didn't feel pregnant. She felt strangely empty, and that worried her. She didn't know what to expect if anything was wrong, how she'd feel physically, and she didn't want to call the doctor at home just to ask. Probably she was just overworked and overtired. She'd get some rest on the trip.

If only the collection went well. Tomorrow, the burden would be on her. She'd see her

designs on real models while buyers gave them a critical and unbiased eye. This would be the acid test. She'd make a reputation or not make it on her talent.

If the designs didn't sell, she didn't know what she was going to do. Jason was going to be hard enough to live with either way. He didn't want her to have a career that didn't involve him. It seemed to bother him to not be able to control things and people. Looking back at his child
hood, she even understood his reasoning. He'd had no control at all over his father. His mother had deserted him. He'd had the responsibility for not only the ranch after his father's death, but for bringing up his young brother as well. All his life, he'd been kicked around and made to do things. Even now, he had the entire burden of the ranch to bear, because Gene didn't really want any part of it. Jason had never been allowed to enjoy himself. He didn't know how. Until Kate had entered his life, he'd hardly ever smiled at all.

She sighed, thinking about how fortunate she'd been in comparison. She'd had two parents who loved her dearly, and though she'd been disciplined, she'd never been abused. If only she could show Jason how beautiful it could be, belonging to a loving family circle. But he didn't seem to want that now. He didn't even seem to want her anymore.

With a long sigh, Kate put out the light and climbed into bed. She laid awake for an hour or more before she finally dropped off to sleep. And still Jason hadn't come upstairs.

Chapter Sixteen

Clayborn's New York showing wasn't the extravaganza Kate had somehow expected it to be. She'd thought of women dripping diamonds and furs, a regal atmosphere with crystal chandeliers and plenty of space, and a band and photographers shooting off flashbulbs like crazy.

Actually, it was rather a cozy setting, in a showroom that Clayborn's parent company maintained on Seventh Avenue. There were a number of buyers around, sensibly dressed in business suits or dresses, and only a handful of photographers in attendance. The music was taped, and Kate had trouble understanding both the woman who was introducing the fashions and the models who wore them.

Roberta was on hand, looking just faintly bored with the whole business, and Kate got a glimpse of Clarisse in one of the seats reserved for Clayborn people.

Kate chewed nervously on a fingernail when the first of her embroidered skirts was shown. The model swung gracefully down the runway, and Kate wished that she was back home in Texas sitting in a patch of sunshine surrounded by wildflowers. She was scared to death that someone was going to laugh at her unsophisticated designs.

"Don't worry so," Roberta whispered, touching her bare arm gently. "They're going to love your ensembles."

But Kate wasn't convinced. She shifted, uncomfortable in the gray knit suit she was wearing for the occasion. It was store-bought, and the skirt was too tight in the waist. She'd unbuttoned it, and the zip kept trying to slide down. God forbid that it should fall off in the middle of the showing!

The woman at the microphone was describing another of Kate's creations, a khaki shirt with epaulets worn with a denim skirt with khaki appliques. But there was no wild applause, and nobody stood up and suggested that Kate be crowned queen of the fashion designers. On the other hand, no one booed her. That alone was encouraging.