Teddy Bear Heir (19 page)

He'd been right.

He'd only been up to the hideaway once before, and that had been by helicopter. They'd dropped him into the jungle not far from the house. He'd hiked the last quarter mile.

And found Julian completely emotionally destroyed.

His grandfather, who had never left the house without looking immaculate, his grandfather, who had never, ever revealed by word or deed a single violent emotion, his grandfather, who possessed one of the most optimistic spirits on the planet, had been sitting on the balcony with a bottle of Scotch, contemplating ending his life.

Cameron had never forgotten the time he'd spent, talking, cajoling, bullying. And in a way, his fate had been fitting, for his grandfather had slowly brought him back to life after his parents had died. He was returning the emotional favor.

It had taken him almost a week. A week of constant watching, a week of continual talking, a week of drawing on faith he hadn't even been sure he possessed at the start. But finally he’d managed to convince Julian to go on. The two of them had been picked up, flown to the house by the beach and on to the San Francisco office.

The next time he'd seen his grandfather, his hair and beard had been neatly trimmed and he was dressed impeccably in one of his many business suits. He'd been chairing a crucial board meeting as if he'd never been away.

And that year he'd given close to a million dollars to Mary's favorite charity, which helped orphanages all over the world.

He'd thrown himself back into his work. Only Cameron had been able to see that a part of the old man was missing. His heart.

To love like that and lose it all? Not for him.

He'd never been aware of making a conscious decision. But after that episode with his grandfather he'd put a lot more energy into quantity when it came to his relationships with the opposite sex. Not for him, the horrible agony he'd seen on Julian's face. Not for him, even the contemplation of ending it all over another person.

Later he'd talked with Julian about their week in the jungle.

"It was a selfish thing to do," Julian said, looking him directly in the eye. "Imagine my leaving you that way. It doesn't bear thinking about."

"But you were going to do it. You wanted to," he argued.

"I wasn't thinking straight right about then," Julian said, and sighed. "I wasn't thinking at all."

Now, in the master bedroom of the same house in which he'd seen his grandfather reach the lowest point of his life, he looked at Michaela and realized he was lost.

It didn't matter what he did. It didn't matter where he went, what happened, or how much he tried to deny it.

He loved her in a way he'd never loved anyone else.

Now he understood what had driven Julian during those dark days. He understood the look of utter despair his grandfather had first shot at him when he'd stepped onto the balcony and found a filthy old man clutching a bottle of Scotch as if it were his only friend in the world.

He understood the rage that had propelled him to take apart an entire room in one of the Teddy's Toys' factories because the little llama didn't look the way Mary had sketched it.

He understood why Julian had placed so much importance on love. Because no matter how much it scared him—the potential of being torn apart that way—in the end, it was the only thing that made life bearable.

He thought of telling Mike all this as she pored over Julian's journal, occasionally stopping to make notes on a yellow legal pad.

Hell, he even loved the way she bit her tongue while she worked so that just the tiniest tip of it showed between her lips. She'd argue with him, deny it. He found himself looking forward to it.

That's how he knew he was crazy, a goner, pure and simple.

But he didn't want to tell her right now. He wanted a time and a place better for a declaration of love. He wanted a quiet time in their lives so that both of them might cherish this particular memory.

A wife and child, two things he'd thought he'd never have. Two things he'd argued with Julian about, thinking the old man a fool.

Julian was quite possibly the wisest man he'd ever known.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of Michaela snapping the journal shut. He glanced over at her.

"I've got it. It's all here. We're going to win."

He rose and walked over to the table, taking her by the hand, pulling her up and out of her chair and into his arms. He enfolded her in his embrace and felt the surprised stiffening of her body as she first realized what he was doing.

And then she melted against him, her cheek resting on his chest. He found he liked the way she fit in his arms. Cameron couldn't think of anyone else he wanted to hold like this.

Close to his heart for the rest of his life.

* * *

They phoned Mrs. Monahan with the good news and afterwards Cameron arranged for a pilot to pick them up. They agreed on a time and general location.

"Thank God," Michaela said as she placed another plate of toast on the kitchen table. Perry, Barnaby and Baretta had joined them for breakfast. It was only a matter of a few hours before the helicopter would arrive.

"The only thing," she said as she joined the men at the table and picked up her glass of juice, "is that I don't see where the pilot’s going to be able to land. There's hardly a clearing big enough for a helicopter that size."

All four men glanced at each other, then looked away.

"What?"

No answer.

She looked at Cameron. His expression was resigned.

"Now look, Mike, you can't possibly hike all the way back down—"

''You're right. I'll live up here for the rest of my life, do the trial via Skype and even give birth in the jungle and bite the umbilical cord with my own teeth before I'll cross that bridge again."

"I understand your point. But the thing is, Ernie—"

"Ernie?"

"One of the triplets," Baretta cut in. "Rob, Chip and Ernie. Don't worry,
senora,
he's an excellent pilot."

"Where’s he landing this helicopter?"

The men looked at each other again. Cameron sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Well, Mike, it's like this. He's not exactly landing it."

* * *

The helicopter hovered in the sky almost a hundred feet in the air above the thick jungle foliage. Ernie, the pilot, had apparently seen the flare Cameron had set off near the house.

"This," Michaela said, eyeing Cameron with fury in her eyes, "is almost enough to induce early labor."

"Mike, I'll be right behind you, every step of the way."

"With that gun."

He couldn't seem to help his smile. "I learned my lesson the last time. You'll go ahead of any firearms from now on."

"Couldn't we do this later? I mean, why do we have to rush things? Could he come back in an hour or so?"

"Nope. Not a chance. Perry was listening to the radio last night. There’s a chance of a storm moving in by late afternoon. I want to be off the island in plenty of time to avoid it."

He felt his smile fade as he saw the look on her face and realized what he'd said, remembering their little chat about her various phobias after they'd crossed the bridge.

I'm not crazy about thunderstorms. Lightning and that sort of thing.

"Now, Mike-"

"Cameron, you really know how to ruin a girl's day." She eyed the helicopter, hovering in the clear blue sky, with trepidation. The pilot's assistant was starting to lower a decidedly fragile-looking ladder that swayed in the strong wind much like the bridge from hell.

"Just stick the muzzle of that gun in my back and let's get going."

* * *

Thunder rumbled.

Lightning flashed.

Tropical rain drummed an angry tattoo against the helicopter.

Michaela clutched at Cameron's hands, squeezing so hard she feared she'd draw blood. Obviously Perry had been wrong. They hadn't beaten the storm – they’d flown right into it.

As she fretted Cameron tried to soothe her. Ernie seemed oblivious to the danger. Though his hands were on the controls, his attention was in the back of the plane with his brothers. He was filling them in on their littlest sister's latest escapade.

''So why did Lucy agree to go out on his boat in the middle of the night in the first place?" Perry demanded. He was a typical older brother, overprotective and a know it all.

"Hey," said Ernie, an easygoing middle child. "She thought if she could get herself ruined—" he glanced over at Michaela "—you know, compromised, then she could spend the rest of her life with Marco."

Michaela stiffened. Her eyes flicked over to Cameron but he sat stoically, expressionless.

"What did Papa say?" asked Baretta. He was obviously close to his sister Lucy and clearly concerned.

"He said," said Ernie, obviously enjoying telling this particular tale, "that being ruined for one night and ruining the rest of your life were two different stories. He's asked Elly Mae to talk some sense into her."

Great. Not only am I stuck in a thunderstorm at a couple of thousand feet with refugees from "My Three Sons," now I've got to listen to a lecture on ruining my life.

Unwillingly, images of Cameron's lovemaking came back to her. It may have been pitch black in that hotel suite but suddenly his face, intense with passion, was clearly visible to her. She saw his eyes, his glistening chest, heard his deep, masculine moan at his release, remembered her own.

At the mere memory, her pale cheeks suffused with color. She wrenched her hands from Cameron's and covered her face before he could see. Before any of the brothers could tell she and Lucy had something in common.

Am I ruining the rest of my life, trying to make things work with Cameron?

But surely their night together at the Four Seasons Clift was not ruined. No. As she looked over at Cameron, she knew she'd never give up that night of passion. Not for anything in the world.

The brothers gossiped on, oblivious to the rain that lashed down in torrents, the lightning that crackled across the sky.

There was nothing like a tropical storm.

"Sorry about the weather report," Perry called back to Cameron and Michaela. "They said late afternoon but the guy must have gotten it wrong."

"No problem," said Cameron.

Sure, no problem for you.

He sat there calmly, his head clear, paying no attention to the conversation going on around him. She sat there trying to forget their past, trying to remember how to breathe. Once again, her fingernails were digging into his upper arm, her hands locked around solid muscle.

She took consolation in one small fact.

If this tin can with rotary blades went down in a blazing ball of fire in the middle of this monsoon, Mr. Control was going with her.

* * *

They barely beat the worst of the storm back to the main house.

Rain was falling in sheets when they arrived but Ernie did a masterful job of landing the powerful machine on the helipad near the house.

Once inside, Cameron attempted to comfort her.

"It’ll be over soon. We can wait it out and fly back tomorrow morning—"

Thunder crashed again, drowning out the rest of his words. In seconds, lightning lit up the room. Outside, palm trees were bent almost sideways in the tropical gale.

"Look at it this way," he whispered in her ear, his arms around her. "You've faced almost every single one of your fears on this trip. Not many people can make a claim like that."

"Oh, you think this whole thing has been so funny—"

Her perception shocked him.

"No I don't. I don't think it's been funny at all."

She looked up at him. He could tell that being close to him was having a calming effect on her.

"I tell you what," he whispered. "How about if I attempt to distract you and get you through the storm?"

"And what form might this distraction take?"

"It would be something I'd have to work very hard at."

"Hmm. I like the sound of that."

He led her into the master bedroom, closed the door, and for the remainder of the storm tried to show her, without words, how much he loved her.

* * *

Early the next morning following the storm, the island looked bright and clean – rain washed, with the scent of flowers and the ocean in the air.

They drove to the small airport and Michaela found herself eager to get back to San Francisco.

Ernie was there, readying a plane to fly a group of tourists to a deserted island for a picnic.

"Hey, my Papa told me to give you this to take to Julian, with his best regards."

He handed Cameron a bottle of the island's finest golden rum, and Cameron thanked him.

"And Baretta asked me to give this to your wife."

Your wife.

She still started when she heard those words.

Ernie handed her a small box. Coming from Baretta, the box intimidated her.

"It’s not alive, is it?" she asked Ernie, eyeing the package with trepidation.

"No. It’s just my brother's way of saying you were an awfully good sport."

She opened the box and found a tiny gold pin—of a frog.

"Poisonous, no doubt," she muttered.

Ernie laughed, then waved goodbye and went on his way.

Cameron grinned down at her as she pinned the tiny frog on the lapel of her jacket.

"Be glad it wasn't a frog on a bridge."

The look she gave him spoke volumes.

* * *

Julian was in better spirits—and health—when they reached his side back at the hospital.

"When are you getting me out of here?" he demanded.

"Well, chief, at least now we know he's getting better," Mrs. Monahan remarked, writing something down on her steno pad.

"You're staying right here where the doctors can keep an eye on you until the first day of the trial."

Julian didn't look too happy about this and changed the subject.

"When are you getting married?" he asked.