Diamond Spur (27 page)

Kate was sweating when the last of the models wearing her collection left the runway and went backstage. "Well?" Kate groaned as the announcer told the audience that the program was concluded and thanked them for attending. "We won't know yet," Roberta said gently. "These things take time. We can tell how successful your collection is going to be by the orders we...well, hello, Carla. Nice of you to stop by." A tall, elegant woman nodded and fixed Kate with her jet black eyes. "You are Kathryn of

Texas, yes?" she asked in a voice that was just faintly accented.

Kate smiled. "I have to confess. I am."

"I like very much the comfort of your basic silhouette, and the functional direction of the fabrics you use. It is very different, this collection, but that will give it distinction. I will include at least ten of the pieces in my spring lines. I thought it might encourage you to say that before I place the order," she added with a smile. "You have flair, mademoiselle. I think you will succeed, 'voir, Roberta."

"Thank you," Kate said, smiling broadly. "You flatter me."

"It is not flattery," the woman named Carla replied smoothly. "Flattery does not sell garments, and that must be our collective concern,
n'est-ce pas?"
She nodded to Roberta and moved away.

"It is definitely not flattery, coming from Carla Roche," Roberta said with a breathless laugh. "My God, such praise. Didn't you recognize her?"

Kate shook her head and smiled apologetically. "I guess I should, but I don't."

"She's the head buyer for Savant."

"Savant?" Kate asked. "The Savant? The very expensive Savant stores that are mentioned in the same breath with Saks and Neiman-Marcus?" Roberta grinned wickedly. "Now what other Savant is there in this country?" "I think I'm going to faint," Kate informed her. "Not yet, you don't," Roberta laughed. "You've got to meet the press, lady, and here's where

I come in. You just follow my lead."

Being interviewed was as new an experience as being a designer had been, and Kate found herself enjoying it. It wasn't anything like the ordeal she'd expected, although there were some questions that she had a hard time answering with a simple yes or no. But eventually it was over and Roberta rescued her.

"Kate, let's go and talk to Clarisse," she said, and once she had her out of earshot of the fashion reporters, she grinned from ear to ear. "I eavesdropped. You did great!" Kate relaxed only then, and smiled as Clarisse approached them. She hugged the taller woman. "It's good to see you again. I heard about your good fortune." "I was lucky," Clarisse laughed. "And Roberta's brother is a very nice man. Are you both coming to Curt's showing tomorrow at the Waldorf?"

"I'm flying to Atlanta," Kate said, shocking Roberta. She smiled apologetically. "I'm really sorry, but I'm pregnant and I'm not doing too well. I'm afraid to push it too hard, so I'm going to go to Atlanta tomorrow and then home to see my doctor."

"Pregnant?" Roberta asked. "You know, as in 'with child,' or 'in a family way'— that thing that happens when you sleep with a man...?" Clarisse prompted. Roberta glared at her. "I know what happens when you sleep with a man. You take precautions." "Guess who didn't?" Clarisse said easily, folding her arms over the bodice of her simple, very chic black dress.

"So that's why you got married so suddenly," Roberta mused.

"Jason wants the baby, too," Kate sighed. "I'm hopeful that things will work out for all of us."

"They will," Clarisse said optimistically.

"Well, if you ever turn that gorgeous hunk of yours out to pasture," Roberta said with a sly grin, "I'm going to be first in line with a lasso."

"Shame on you, talking like that to a pregnant lady," Clarisse scolded only half jokingly.

Roberta blushed. "Yes, shame on me. Well, let's mingle, Kate. If you're only here for the day

and the evening, let's milk it for all we're worth."

Kate did that, but finally, the fatigue began to tell on her. She began to feel nauseated and went

off into a corner, where she stayed until Roberta rescued her.

"Are you okay?" Roberta asked. Kate was almost white in the face.

"I will be, after a good night's sleep." She sagged a little as she spoke, and she was

uncomfortable. There was some cramping now, probably from all the standing. "I'm so tired,

Roberta."

Roberta patted her arm. "Well, honey, from your standpoint, I guess it has been a long day. I'll

go back to your hotel with you, and we can have an early dinner. Then you can get some rest. I'll

put you on the plane in the morning. You'd probably get lost halfway to La Guardia."

Kate grinned. "With my track record, I'd probably find the airport but get on a plane to some foreign country. Roberta, thanks for all you've done," she added sincerely.

"You had the talent, kid," Roberta joked. "I just helped point you in the right direction. I have high hopes for your collection. It was a pity your Mr. Rogers had a sick wife and couldn't come. He'd have been proud of you. Come on. I'll get you out of here."

Kate slept from the time her head hit the pillow, and she slept most of the way to Atlanta the next day on the plane. She was spotting heavily now, and the cramps were more frequent than they had been before. She had a bad feeling, and she wanted to go home, where Jason would be there if she needed him. But once she got to Atlanta, she was going to find a doctor and have herself checked over. She should have done it before, and she cursed her own inaction. She'd put it off out of fear that she was going to miscarry. Now, it might be too late.

She wondered if Jason had missed her. He was busy with cattle, and their argument was still fresh. She wondered miserably if he'd meant what he said about not caring where she went or what she did. She'd wanted to call him the night before, but she was too hurt.

An elegant woman with blue eyes and jet black hair met her at Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta, and Kate groaned as they walked for miles after leaving the jerky confines of the people mover, a subway train-type conveyance that was fast and efficient. But there was still a long way to walk, past rushing travelers and security guards, children playing in the long walkways, and only a handful of small shops, which seemed odd in such a staggeringly big airport.

By the time they got out the door and were headed toward the parking lot, Kate was sick. "Is it much farther?" she asked the woman, Angela Marshal, as they started under the parking deck toward the widespread economy parking area. "Quite a bit, I'm afraid," the older woman said in her gentle drawl. "Honey, you look bad. If you'll wait, I'll go get the car and pick you up here. Let me have that bag, too." Kate was on the long covered walkway that led to several different sections of the parking lot. She smiled gratefully. "I'm so tired... I'm pregnant, you see." "Don't say another word, I know just how you feel." Angela grinned. "I got two girls, three and five years old and I spent a total of eighteen months throwing up. You just hang on right

there, I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Kate held on to one of the round supports, feeling gruesome. She didn't know how much farther she could go. The pain was getting worse and she felt a wetness that was sudden and frightening, and nausea that almost brought her to her knees.

As Angela pulled up, tears were rolling down Kate's cheeks
.
"Honey, what is it?" Angela asked quickly
.
"Oh, God... I think I'm losing the baby," Kate whispered, her face white and pinched and ful
l

of horror.

"Grady Memorial is just down the road a few miles," Angela said as she jumped out of the compact Chrysler she drove and helped Kate into the passenger seat. "Sit tight. I'll get you there as soon as I can."

She got back in under the wheel and pulled the car into the lane to pay the parking ticket, then onto the crowded expressway with its maze of new construction. The ride was a nightmare of congested noontime traffic. Kate was barely conscious when Angela pulled up at the emergency room entrance of Grady hospital and ran in to get help. Kate was lifted gently onto a stretcher and taken inside, groaning in pain that had become unbearable. She was examined presently by a young physician, who confirmed her fear of miscarriage, and told her that an emergency dilation and curettage would have to be done. The nurse came and took her away to be prepped, had her sign a form, then took blood to type and cross match and shaved her for the operation. By the time she was given the necessary injection, she was in such misery that she didn't care what they did if they could just make it stop hurting. She came to in the recovery room, trying to grab at the skirt of a passing nurse. It was so odd, the feeling that she needed to touch another human being, perhaps to reassure herself that she was still alive. "So you're back with us," the nurse said with a gentle smile. "Good girl." Kate tried to answer her, but she was too groggy. They took her to a bed in a semiprivate room, but the other bed was unoccupied. She was still hooked up to an IV and she felt sore. Even worse, she felt empty. Horribly empty. And her first thought was that her baby, was dead, and that Jason would blame her for losing it. She'd gone to New York against his wishes, and despite Dr. Harris's long talk about it, she felt guilty, too, because she'd been too afraid to tell him the truth about her cramping. She'd been terrified to hear him confirm what she'd known somehow— that she wasn't going to be able to carry the baby to term. All day long, she worried about what to do, about whether or not to have them call Jason. Angela came in to see her briefly and promised to return that evening and tell her all about the showing, but Kate was unenthusiastic. One of the doctors came to talk to her, and found her in tears. "None of that, now," he said gently, smiling. "You're young and healthy, and there will be other babies. Some women are never able to get pregnant in the first place." She dabbed at her eyes with the sheet and looked up at him. He was blond and wore glasses and he didn't seem to be much older than Kate herself. She tried to smile back. "My husband will blame me for losing it," she blurted out. "He told me to stay home...." "Staying home wouldn't have helped, in this case," he said quietly. He pulled up a chair and sat down. "I don't like to discuss miscarriages in detail, but if you want to know, I'll tell you." She searched his face. "Please." He took her hand and held it gently. "The fetus had terminated some time ago." "You mean...it was dead?" He nodded. She felt the hot sting of tears rolling down her cheeks. "What was wrong?" He told her, gently but in detail. "There was nothing anyone could have done." She burst into tears and he patted her hand. It sounded so horrible. Poor little thing. Poor, poor little thing. He called the nurse after a minute and ordered a sedative. "Here," he said when the nurse returned, injecting it into the tube that led down to the needle in Kate's blue-veined wrist. "This will relax

you, and make it easier for you to get through the night. You can go home tomorrow." "My

husband," Kate began.

"He was notified when they brought you in," the doctor said. "I assume he's already on his

way. I go off duty at seven, but I'll try to wait around and talk to him."

Kate managed a watery smile. "Thank you. That would help."

He patted her hand again. "Take care of yourself. And don't dwell on this too much. I've

seen a lot of women miscarry their first child and then have twins on the next try."

"You're very encouraging."

"We do our best. Good afternoon."

She watched him leave and then she was asleep again. When she woke, it was dark, and Jason still hadn't shown up. She felt a cold shiver of fear. He might not come. He might leave her to make her way home alone. She was frightened and sick and miserable, but he must be, too. She remembered Melody and the abortion that sent Jason half out of his mind. He'd be remembering that, too. He'd be remembering a woman who wanted a career too much to let an unwanted baby stand in her way. He'd remember what she said that afternoon before he'd found out she was pregnant, about careers and babies not mixing. He'd remember that she'd insisted on going to New York and Atlanta against his wishes. And he'd add all that up in his mind and come up with a deliberate act.

She closed her eyes. Well, if he insisted on a divorce, she'd manage. She'd go on with her career. But she thought about Jason grieving over the child he'd wanted so much, and the tears came back. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him. Jason would be hurt and sick, just as she was, and nobody else could get close to him.

The drugs they'd given her brought a slow, sweet oblivion, free from tormenting thoughts and the grief of loss. Her last thought was of Jason, and how she wanted him here.

Back at the Diamond Spur, the man sitting in the high-backed leather chair at his desk was as quiet as death. He'd locked the study door and he had a bottle of whiskey that he was trying not to open. This had been his father's answer to pain. One drink had led to another, and another. But when the pain was this bad, how did a man face it?

Kate had gone to New York against his wishes. She'd deliberately put the baby at risk, to further her career. If she'd stayed home where she belonged, it would never have happened. Or...would it?

He remembered with horror that afternoon in Jamaica, in their hotel room. He remembered the violence of his lovemaking, and the fear that he'd hurt her, that he'd jeopardized the child. And that was what made him open the bottle and pour some of its amber contents into a glass. No, Kate wasn't wholly to blame. He was. He'd lost control and killed the baby. He knew it, because that doctor who'd phoned him had said that the fetus had been dead for some time before Kate's body expelled it. His violent hunger for her, that he hadn't been able to control, had done that. He was responsible.