Paper Rose (19 page)

She drew in a steadying breath. “I wanted to tell you. I was afraid. It had been too long. I thought you might hate me.”

He shook his head. “I could never hate you. I have a pale idea of what you went through with your husband,” he returned. “Did you ever love him?”

“I couldn't,” she confessed. “He wasn't lovable, either. He knew I was pregnant, although not who the father was, and he said he loved me enough to accept the child and me. He thought his love was strong enough to make up for Tate, but it wasn't. And when he learned that he couldn't father a child of his own, it made him cruel. He hated both of us in the end. Tate had a hard childhood.”

Matt's face had hardened. “I'm sorry for that. But it's made him the man he is,” he said. “We're all products of our hard times. Fire tempers steel.”

“So they say.” She traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, relearning him by touch. “I thought of you while I lay alone in the darkness, with only Tate to console me when I felt lost and afraid.”

“I thought of you,” he said. His eyes were blazing with feeling as they searched hers. “I've been alone, too. While she was alive. Since she died.”

She nodded. “What a curse, to want only one person.”

He drew her into his arms and kissed her again, hungrily. “What a glorious blessing, to want only one person and be wanted back, even after thirty-six long years,” he whispered.

Eventually he left. Leta came back into the apartment with a swollen mouth and bright eyes.

“So that's how you knew,” Cecily said with pursed lips and twinkling eyes, remembering Leta's knowing look after Cecily and Tate had been alone together in the living room that day at her house.

“Huh?” Leta murmured, dazed.

“Never mind. I'll just finish up in the kitchen. We need an early night.”

“Yes,” Leta said, her eyes full of dreams. “Tomorrow is going to be lovely.”

 

It was. Leta and Matt went over every inch of the house together while Cecily was given coffee on a silver tray in the living room. She begged off the tour, knowing that the two older people would enjoy having a little time together.

What she didn't know was that the first room they entered happened to be Matt's, and that they barely had the presence of mind to lock the door before they fell across his big, king-size bed in a tangle of arms and legs and mouths.

“In here…did you…with her?” she gasped as his mouth worked its way down her body.

“Never in here,” he bit off. “Never with her. Never with…anyone!”

While he was speaking, barely able to get words past his tight throat, he was stripping her. Her body was as soft and pretty and welcoming as it had been all those years ago. Her hands were working, too, moving fabric, tugging at fastenings.

They kissed and touched and then laughed as stiff joints couldn't quite cope with remembered positions. But he loved her as sweetly as he had in her teens, taking his time, coaxing her body into need, then hunger, then uninhibited passion.

He kissed her as he possessed her, hearing her soft gasp as her body yielded to a man's for the first time in years. He lifted his head and looked into her loving eyes and smiled.

“Old people don't make love, did you know?” he whispered as he began to move again, more gently. “I read it in a book.”

Her fingers threaded through his thick, cool hair. “Stop reading books.”

He had her hair down around her shoulders. He gathered it in one hand and brought it to his mouth as his body moved warmly, sensuously, on hers.

She kissed his throat, letting her tongue slip against it. She felt his heartbeat stop and then accelerate. “I thought I remembered that you liked that,” she whispered. “And this…”

He groaned.

“Oh, yes.” She arched up to him, feeling his body surge down into hers in a fast, hard rhythm that very quickly lifted her right up off the bed. She gasped at the sensations that she'd forgotten she could feel.

“At…my age…!” she choked, gritting her teeth as the ecstasy swept through her in hot waves. “Matt!”

His name was a long, sweet little sob against his throat, which he barely heard through the mad pounding of his own heart. He'd barely been able to hold back long enough to satisfy her. She had no idea how many years had passed since he'd been with a woman. And being with Leta, whom he loved, whom he'd always loved…

He sobbed against her mouth as convulsion after convulsion racked him. He couldn't breathe. It was like dying, being born, sailing through fire. He choked her name and stiffened, wondering dimly if he was going to live through it.

She laughed. He heard the tinkling chimes of it from a long way away. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, his big body completely nude, open to her soft gaze.

“You're as beautiful as you were the night we made our son,” she whispered, bending to kiss him tenderly.

His fingers traced her dark eyebrows, her cheeks, her mouth. “I wish we could have another baby,” he said heavily.

“So do I. But I'm too old,” she said sadly. She lay her cheek against his broad, damp chest and stroked the silver-tipped hair that covered it. “We'll have to hope for grandchildren, if he ever forgives us.”

He held her tightly, as if by holding her he could keep her safe. What he felt for her was ferociously protective.

She misunderstood the tightening of his arms. She smiled and sighed. “We can't, again. Cecily will think we've deserted her.”

His hand smoothed her long hair. “She probably knows exactly what we're doing,” he said on a chuckle. “She loves you.”

“She likes you. Maybe we could adopt her.”

“Better if our son marries her.”

She grinned. “We can hope.” She sat up and stretched, liking the way he watched her still-firm breasts. “The last time I felt like this was thirty-six years ago,” she confided.

“The same is true for me,” he replied.

She searched his eyes, already facing her departure. She would have to go back to the reservation, home.

He could still read her better than she knew. He drew her hand to his mouth. “It's too late, but I want to marry you. This week. As soon as possible.”

She was surprised. She didn't know what to say.

“I love you,” he said. “I never stopped. Forgive me and say yes.”

She considered the enormity of what she would be agreeing to do. Be his hostess. Meet his friends. Go to fund-raising events. Wear fancy clothes. Act sophisticated.

“Your life is so different from mine,” she began.

“Don't you start,” he murmured. “I've seen what it did to Cecily when Tate used that same argument with her about all the differences. It won't work with me. We love each other too much to worry about trivial things. Say yes. We'll work out all the details later.”

“There will be parties, benefits…”

He pulled her down into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

“I don't know much about etiquette,” she tried again.

He rolled her over, pinning her gently. One long leg inserted itself between both of hers as he kissed her.

“Oh, what the hell,” she murmured, and wrapped her legs around his, groaning as the joints protested.

“Arthritis?” he asked.

“Osteoarthritis.”

“Me, too.” He shifted, groaning a little himself as he eased down. “We'll work on new positions one day. But it's…too late…now. Leta…!” he gasped.

She didn't have enough breath to answer him. He didn't seem to notice that she hadn't. Bad joints notwithstanding, they managed to do quite a few things that weren't recommended for people their ages. And some that weren't in the book at all.

 

Cecily knew before they told her that they were going to be married. It was in the way they looked at each other, with fascinated awe. They couldn't seem to bear being out of each other's sight. She envied them with all her heart.

Leta didn't go home with her, and she hadn't expected her to. She was well and truly Matt Holden's greatest treasure now, and she was going to stay locked away in his arms until he could get a ring on her finger. It was touching.

The doorbell rang just as Cecily came out of the shower the following morning. She had on her slip and a thick bathrobe, and she was expecting Leta. It was Colby instead, looking more battered than ever.

“Come in!” she said enthusiastically, dragging him into the apartment. “I've got so much to tell you!”

“I've got something to tell you, too,” he said heavily and without smiling. “And I'm afraid you're not going to like it.”

She gave him a hard stare as he came in. He looked completely out of sorts.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“Most recently, over at Matt Holden's house,” he said.

“Why?”

“I've been doing some work for him on the QT, trying to help our friend Tom. I managed to get an eyewitness to talk. Tom's going to be okay.” He grimaced as he looked at Cecily. “I let myself get persuaded to stay for coffee, or I wouldn't have ended up in the middle.”

“Middle of what?”

“The senator and one boiling mad Tate Winthrop.”

C
ecily pulled her robe tighter around herself and sat down. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Just a minute.” He took out the same sort of device she'd seen used before, activated it, and put it on the table. “Just in case,” he said. “You may have eavesdroppers, and I can't be too careful.”

“Thanks,” she said. “The senator had a man come over and sweep my office at work. It's the only other place I feel safe.” She hesitated. “How is Tate?”

He dropped into the chair across from her with an irritated sound. “Well, he isn't the man I used to know.”

Her eyes held a soft sadness. “You don't know why, Colby.”

“Like to bet?” he asked with a wry grin. “He called Matt Holden everything except a man, and then he started on his mother. He was livid that she'd kept the truth about his real father from him all those years, and that she hung up on him when he called to get the truth out of her. But he was even madder when he found out that she'd moved into Holden's house and was living with him. He called her a name I won't repeat.”

“What happened?” Cecily prompted impatiently when he paused.

“Senator Holden knocked him over the sofa. Leta got in the way and broke it up, but Tate left in a red rage, swearing that he'd never speak to either of them again.”

It was no less than she'd expected, having known Tate for so many years. But she felt sorry for Leta and Matt. “Do you know where he went?” she asked.

“He didn't say. I wasn't willing to risk asking him, either,” he added ruefully. “Tate and I have had our differences lately.”

“What a mess.”

“It'll blow over,” he said. “People get mad, they get over it.”

“Tate doesn't.”

“Well, he can work on joining the human race, can't he?” He scowled. “What are you doing at home? It's Monday morning.”

She picked at a thread on the robe. “Just a little morning sickness. It'll pass eventually and I'll go to work.”

“Morning…sickness?”

She met his shocked gaze. “That's right.” She cocked her head. “Go ahead. Ask me who the father is.”

He only smiled. “Do I look that stupid to you?”

She pushed back her short hair with a sigh. “He doesn't know, and you're not to tell him. In English, Apache or Lakota,” she emphasized, covering all her bases.

He nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I haven't the slightest idea,” she confessed. “I only used the home-pregnancy test this morning, but I was pretty sure before then. I've got to find a place to live where Leta won't see me for a while. I can't risk having her tell Tate.” She glanced at him. “Where were you all this time?” she wanted to know.

“Sitting calmly in a wing chair sipping coffee and trying to look invisible.” He lifted his eyebrows at her disbelieving expression. “Somebody had to keep his head.”

“There's an old saying that, if you can keep your head when everyone around you is losing theirs, you don't have a clue what's going on,” she misquoted.

“Could be. But I'm not sporting a bruised face, like some I could name.” He leaned forward. “Want to marry me?”

“Thanks, Colby,” she said softly. “I really mean it. But it wouldn't be fair to any of us. Especially you.”

He folded his arms and leaned back. “The offer doesn't have a time limit. I really do love children.”

“So do I,” she said dreamily. “Boys and girls. I'll be happy with whatever I get.”

“And you're not going to tell Tate.”

Her face reflected the turmoil the question caused. “Well, not anytime soon. He isn't speaking to me, actually. He said he'd never forget or forgive that I knew about his father and wouldn't tell him. I'm sure he meant it.”

Her expression said more than that calm tone. Colby's face tautened a little as he considered Tate's inflexibility. “A man who can't forgive isn't human.”

“Go tell him that, if you can find him. I've talked myself hoarse. He doesn't hear what he doesn't like.” She got up. “I'm going to change and make some toast. Want some?”

“I'll make it.” He went into the kitchen while she pulled on a loose dress and her mules.

She went into the kitchen after him, feeling oddly numb. He was using the toaster to make toast, and coffee was steaming fragrantly in the coffeemaker.

“I hope that's strong,” she murmured. “It's the only thing that settles my stomach.”

“I made decaf,” he said. “Caffeine isn't good for you.”

“Thank you, Mama Lane.”

He made a face at her. “Tate and I used to share everything. Let him go off in a snit. I'll share his baby. If he doesn't come back, I'll appropriate it, and you.”

“That's one area where all your commando skills will fail, dear man,” she said affectionately. “I like you very much, and you can be the baby's godfather. But I'm raising this child myself.”

“Godfather.” He was savoring the word when the toast popped up.

“Bad choice of words,” she murmured. “I wouldn't want to give you any bad ideas. I don't want my child outfitted in a fedora and a machine gun.”

“Commando godfathers are a different breed.”

“Black bags and camo gear aren't much better,” she informed him.

“Spoilsport. Where's your sense of adventure?”

“Hanging in the shower trying to dry out.” She poured coffee and they sat down, with the plate of toast he'd buttered between them. “No idea where he might be?” she asked in spite of her resolution not to.

“Sorry.”

“Poor Leta.”

“Matt will take care of her.”

“And vice versa.” She stared over her coffee cup at him. “You can see how they feel about each other a room away from them. Imagine that, after thirty-six years.”

“Yes.” He nibbled toast, still looking worried.

“What is it now?”

“I haven't told you what I really came here to say.”

“Well?” she prompted.

“The story broke this morning. It was on the seven o'clock news. I suppose by now it's in most of the newspapers, too.”

“About Senator Holden?” she asked tautly.

“Yes. And his illegitimate son. That's what set Tate off, unless I miss my guess. You of all people should know how he hates publicity.”

She groaned aloud, dropping the toast. “Damn!”

“They'll find you, too, sooner or later. You can move or go to a hotel, but you have to go to work and they'll find you there. We'd better have a few sessions to prepare you for the questions you're going to get.” His face was grim. “It isn't going to be pleasant.”

“Good thing I didn't go to a doctor yet, I suppose,” she added uneasily.

“Good thing, indeed. A baby, if they found out about it, would certainly add a nice touch to the scandal. How would you guess Tate would take finding out about
that
on the morning news?”

She shivered. “Bite your tongue.” She put down the last little bit of her toast and took a sip of coffee. “How do you think the senator and Leta are taking it?”

“As you'd expect—badly.” His eyes were compassionate as they met hers. “That was the other thing that set Tate off, having to find out on the morning news that his mother had moved in with his real father. He had blood in his eye when he went for Holden.”

“Pity Matt didn't help him through a window instead of over a sofa,” she grumbled. “He needs an attitude adjustment.”

“You can't blame him, Cecily. His whole world is upside down.”

“So is mine,” she said miserably. “So is his parents'. And all because of one little lie, actually one little omission, thirty-six years ago. It's true, isn't it, about our past indiscretions coming back to haunt us? I suppose it's always best to tell the truth in the first place, however painful. Look at how he hurt me by not telling me that he was my benefactor. I guess he forgot about that.”

“Few people can see far enough ahead to anticipate the consequences of what they do,” he reminded her.

That statement reminded her of something. Tate had never thought about precautions when they were together. Neither had she; but, then, she loved him and she would have loved a baby. He was a fanatic about no mixed bloodlines, and their first time together, he hadn't known his blood was mixed. Curious, that a man who kept saying he didn't want to risk fathering a child was so careless about prevention. Perhaps he thought she was taking something. That, she mused, would have required industrial-strength optimism on his part. He wasn't a stupid man. Had he simply lost his head, or could there be a reason he wasn't admitting for that lack of forethought? It was an intriguing possibility. What if he did want a child with her, subconsciously? Then she remembered the coldness of his eyes as he said goodbye to her, with such finality. He'd said that he wouldn't forgive her. She had to believe he'd meant it.

“Are you listening?” Colby asked. “I have to be on a plane out of here at six o'clock this evening and I won't be back for two or three weeks.”

“Oh. Sorry. Away?”

“Yes, and I can't tell you where.” He finished his coffee. “Leta asked me to tell you that she and the senator are having a small wedding service at that pretty little Catholic church near the White House at ten next Friday morning. She'd have called you, but she's afraid your phone might be bugged.”

“It wouldn't surprise me,” she said darkly.

“I'll sweep the room before I leave,” he promised. “For now, that—” he indicated the device on the coffee table in the living room “—will do the job. Now, how about another cup of coffee, and I'll be on my way!”

There was one bug. Colby disposed of it and warned her about letting repair people into the apartment unless she confirmed their identities. He couldn't tell her who'd put the listening device there. The media wouldn't be quite that rash, he was fairly certain. That left the gambling syndicate or whichever agency would be responsible for Matt Holden's safety after the story broke. Either way, it disturbed him to know that people could be watching or listening to everything she said. He didn't make heavy weather of it, but he cautioned her not to go anywhere deserted by herself. And she'd also have to be very careful about mentioning her condition to anyone who came to visit.

 

The story was on the front page of all the morning dailies when she went in to her office later in the morning. It was more sedate in some than in others, but there was no getting around the fact that the senior Republican senator from South Dakota had an illegitimate son.

Pierce Hutton was, apparently, able to take some of the heat off Tate by sending him out of the country on assignment for the first few days after the story broke. Matt Holden, Leta and Cecily weren't so fortunate. Neither was Audrey, but she seemed to be enjoying the publicity, and she exaggerated her relationship with the senator's son with the tabloid press.

And then the media descended on Cecily, and she learned how terrifying it could be to find herself in the public eye. Reporters wanted to know about her connection to Tate and her connection to Matt Holden and Leta. When they learned that Tate had paid her bills, they assumed she'd been his lover. It was the truth, in a sense, but not in the sense they were trying to portray. She found herself on the front page of one of the tabloids, as Tate's former teenage love slave.

Audrey phoned her office in a rage, to condemn her for giving out false information. “You needn't think Tate will appreciate it, either,” the woman said scathingly. “I phoned him in Nassau and told him what you'd done. He's furious with you for making him look like some sort of cradle robber! What a pathetic attempt to get his attention!”

“I told them nothing,” Cecily said through her teeth. “Which is more than I can say for you, Miss Gannon.”

“I hardly need to stretch the truth, since Tate is marrying me,” she said in a smooth-as-silk tone. “Poor little Cecily. Did you really think you had a chance with him? He feels sorry for you, but he loves me. He'll never give me up now. The fact that he isn't a full-blooded Sioux means that he doesn't have to be concerned about marrying a white woman anymore. He's mostly white himself.”

Cecily could have strangled her. “You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? But whatever he may be, his mother is a full-blooded Lakota!”

“His mother is an embarrassment,” Audrey said, “but since he isn't speaking to her anymore, she doesn't count. You stay away from Tate or I'll make you sorry,” she added in a husky-toned fury. “Don't phone him, don't come to see him. And don't expect an invitation to our wedding, either! We're planning a Christmas wedding and that's one story the newspapers got right!”