Megan's Mate

Chapter 9

Unbelievable, Megan thought, staring at the notes Fergus had written in his crabbed hand beside stock quotations. He could speak of his wife, a potential war and his valet in the same faintly irritated tone. What a miserable life Bianca must have had. How terrible to be trapped in a marriage, ruled by a despot and without any power to captain your own destiny.

How much worse, she thought, if Bianca had loved him.

As she often did in the quiet hours before sleep, Megan flipped through the pages to the series of numbers. She had time now to regret that she'd never made it to the library.

Or perhaps Amanda was a better bet. Amanda might know whether Fergus had had foreign bank accounts, safe-deposit boxes.

Peering down, she wondered whether that was the answer. The man had had homes in Maine and in New York. These could be the numbers of various safe-deposit boxes. Even combinations to safes he'd kept in his homes.

That idea appealed to her, a straightforward answer to a small but nagging puzzle. A man as obsessed with his wealth and the making of money as Fergus Calhoun had been would very likely have kept a few secret stores.

Wouldn't it be fantastic, she thought, if there was some dusty deposit box in an old bank vault? Unopened all these years, she imagined. The key lost or discarded. The contents? Oh...priceless rubies or fat, negotiable bonds. A single faded photograph. A lock of hair wound with a gold ribbon.

She rolled her eyes and laughed at herself. “Imagination's in gear, Megan,” she murmured. “Too bad it's so farfetched.”

“What is?”

She jumped like a rabbit, her glasses sliding down to her chin. “Damn. Nathaniel.”

He was grinning as he closed and locked the terrace doors at his back. “I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

“I am. But you didn't have to sneak up on me that way.”

“When a man comes through a woman's window at night, he's supposed to sneak.”

She shoved her glasses back in place. “They're doors.”

“And you're too literal.” He leaned over the back of the chair where she sat and kissed her like a starving man. “I'm glad you talk to yourself.”

“I do not.”

“You were, just now. That's why I decided to stop watching you and come in.” He strolled to the hallway door, locked it. “You looked incredibly sexy sitting there at your neat little desk, your hair scooped up, your glasses sliding down your nose. In that cute, no-nonsense robe.”

She wished heartily that the practical terry cloth could transform into silk and lace. But she had nothing seductive to adorn herself in, and had settled for the robe and Coco's perfume.

“I didn't think you were coming after all. It's getting late.”

“I figured there'd be some hoopla over yesterday, and that you'd need to settle Kevin for the night. He didn't get wind of it, did he?”

“No.” It touched her that he would ask, that it would matter to him. “None of the children know. Everyone else has been wonderful. It's like thinking you're alone in a battle and then finding yourself surrounded by a circle of shields.” She smiled, tilted her head. “Are you holding something behind your back?”

His brows rose, as if in surprise. “Apparently I am.” He drew out a peony, a twin to the one he'd given her before. “'A rose,'“ he said, “'without a thorn.'“

He crossed to her as he spoke, and all she could think for one awed moment was that this man, this fascinating man, wanted her. He started to take its faded twin from the bud vase on her desk.

“Don't.” She felt foolish, but stayed his hand. “Don't throw it out.”

“Sentimental, Meg?” Moved that she had kept his token, he slipped the new bud in with the old. “Did you sit here, working late, looking at the flower and thinking of me?”

“I might have.” She couldn't fight the smile in his eyes. “Yes, I thought of you. Not always kindly.”

“Thinking's enough.” He lifted her hand, kissed her palm. “Nearly.” To her surprise, he plucked her from the chair, sat himself down and nestled her in his lap. “But this is a whole lot better.”

It seemed foolish to disagree, so she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Everyone's getting prepped for the big Fourth of July celebration,” she told him idly. “Coco and Dutch are arguing about recipes for barbecue sauce and the kids are bitterly disappointed we won't let them have small, colorful bombs to set off.”

“They'll end up making two kinds of sauce and asking everyone to take sides.” It was nice sitting like this, he thought, alone and quiet at the end of the day. “And the kids won't be disappointed after they see the fireworks display Trent organized.”

Kevin had talked of nothing else all evening, she remembered. “I've heard it's going to be quite a show.”

“Count on it. This bunch won't do anything halfway. Like fireworks, do you, sugar?”

“Almost as much as the kids.” She laughed and snuggled against him. “I can't believe it's July already. All I have to do is get about two dozen things out of the way so I can compete in the great barbecue showdown, keep the kids from setting themselves on fire and enjoy the show.”

“Business first,” he murmured. “Working on Fergus's book?”

“Mmm-hmm... I had no idea how much of a fortune he'd amassed, or how little he considered people. Look here.” She tapped her finger to the page. “Whenever he made a note about Bianca, it's as if she were a servant or, worse, a possession. He checked over the household accounts every day, to the penny. There's a notation about how he docked the cook thirty-three cents for a kitchen discrepancy.”

“A lot of people think more of money than soul.” He flipped idly through the book. “I can be sure you're not sitting on my lap because of my bank balance—since you know it down to the last nickel.”

“You're in the black.” “Barely.”

“Cash flow is usually thin the first few years in any business—and when you add in the outlay in equipment you've purchased, the down payment for the cottage, insurance premiums and licensing fees—”

“God, I love it when you talk profit and loss.” Letting the book close, he nipped playfully at her ear. “Talk to me about checks and balances, or quarterly returns. Quarterly returns make me crazy.”

“Then you'll be happy to know you and Holt underestimated your federal payments.”

“Mmm...” He stopped, narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You owe the government another two hundred and thirty dollars, which can be added to your next quarter due, or, more wisely, I can file an amended return.”

He swore halfheartedly. “How come we have to pay them in advance, anyway?”

She gave him a light kiss in sympathy. “Because, Nathaniel, if you don't, the IRS will make your life a living hell. I'm here to save you from them. I'm also, if your system can take the excitement, going to suggest you open a Keogh—a retirement account for the self-employed.”

“Retirement? Hell, Meg, I'm thirty-three.”

“And not getting a day younger. Do you know what the cost-of-living projections are for your golden years, Mr. Fury?”

“I changed my mind. I don't like it when you talk accountant to me.”

“It's also good tax sense,” she persisted. “The money you put in won't be taxable until you're of retirement age. When, usually, your bracket is lower. Besides, planning for the future might not be romantic, but it is rewarding.”

He slid a hand under the terry cloth. “I'd rather have instant gratification.” Her pulse scrambled. “I have the necessary form.”

“Damn right you do.”

“For the Keogh. All you need to— Oh.” The terry cloth parted like water under his clever hands. She gasped, shuddered, melted. “How did you do that?”

“Come to bed.” He lifted her. “I'll show you.”

Just past dawn, Nathaniel strolled down the curve of the terrace steps, his hands in his pockets and a whistle on his lips. Dutch, in a similar pose, descended the opposite curve, both men stopped dead when they met in the center.

They stared, swore.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Dutch demanded. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I live here, remember?”

Nathaniel inclined his head. “You live down there.” He pointed toward the kitchen level.

“I'm taking the air,” Dutch said, after a fumble for inspiration.

“Me too.”

Dutch flicked a glance toward Megan's terrace. Nathaniel gave Coco's a studying look. Each decided to leave well enough alone.

“Well, then. Suppose you want some breakfast.”

Nathaniel ran his tongue around his teeth. “I could do with some.” “Come on, can't dawdle out here all morning.”

Relieved with the solution, they walked down together in perfect agreement.

She overslept. It was a breach in character that had her racing out of her room, still buttoning her blouse. She stopped to peek into Kevin's bedroom, spotted the haphazardly made bed and sighed.

Everyone was up and about, it seemed, but her.

She made a dash toward her office, crossing breakfast with her son off her list of small pleasures for the day.

“Oh, dear.” Coco fluttered her hands when Megan nearly mowed her down in the lobby. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm just late.” “Did you have an appointment?”

“No.” Megan caught her breath. “I meant I was late for work.”

“Oh, my, I thought there was a problem. I just this minute left a memo on your desk. Go ahead in, dear, I don't want to hold you up.”

“But—” Megan found herself addressing Coco's retreating back, so she turned into her office to read the message.

Coco's idea of an interoffice memo was something less than professional.

Megan blew out a breath, and was reading the memo again when Amanda popped in. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” She handed over the paper she held. “Do you think you could interpret this for me?”

“Ah, one of Aunt Coco's convoluted messages.” Lips pursed, Amanda studied it. “Well, the coffee and muffins are easy.”

“I got that part.” In fact, Megan helped herself to both. “Want some?”

“No, thanks, she already delivered mine. Kevin ate a good breakfast. I can vouch for that. When I saw him, he was scarfing down French toast, with Nathaniel battling him for the last piece.”

Megan bobbled her coffee. “Nathaniel was here for breakfast?”

“Eating and charming Aunt Coco, while telling Kevin some story about a giant squid. They'll be back in a few hours,” she continued, tapping the note, “because Kevin talked Nate into taking him out on the tour again. It didn't take much talking,” she added with a smile. “And we didn't think you'd mind.”

“No, of course not.”

“And the bit about the cards defies interpretation. That's pure Aunt Coco.” Amanda set the memo down again. “It's spooky, though, just how often she hits the mark. Been asked any questions lately?”

“No, nothing in particular.”

Amanda thought of what Sloan had related to her about Nathaniel's feelings. “Are you sure?”

“Hmmm? Yes. I was thinking about Fergus's book. I suppose it could loosely be considered a question. At least there's one I want to ask you.”

Amanda made herself comfortable. “Shoot.”

“The numbers in the back. I mentioned them before.” She opened a file, handing a copy of the list to Amanda. “I was wondering if they might be passbook numbers, or safe-deposit boxes, safe combinations. Lot numbers, maybe, on some real estate deal?” She moved her shoulders. “I know it's silly to get so hung up on them.”

“No.” Amanda waved the notion away. “I know just what you mean. I hate it when things don't fit into place. We went through most of the papers from this year when we were looking for clues to find the necklace. I don't recall anything that these figures might connect to, but I can look through the material again.”

“Let me do it,” Megan said quickly. “I feel like it's my baby.”

“Glad to. I've got more than enough on my plate, and with the big holiday tomorrow, barely time to clean up. Everything you'd want is in the storeroom under Bianca's tower room. We've got it all boxed according to year and content, but it's still a nasty, time-consuming job.”

“I live for nasty, time-consuming jobs.”

“Then you'll be in heaven. Megan, I hate to ask, but it's the nanny's day off, and Sloan's up to his ears in plywood or something. We've been playing pass-the-babies this morning, but I've got an appointment in the village this afternoon. I could reschedule.”

“You want me to baby-sit.” “I know you're busy, but—”

“Mandy, I thought you'd never ask me.” Megan's eyes lit up. “When can I get my hands on her?”

Kevin figured this was the best summer of his life. He missed his grandparents, and the horses, and his best friend, John Silverhorn, but there was too much to do for him to be really homesick.

He got to play with Alex and Jenny every day, had his own fort, and lived in a castle. There were boats to sail, and rocks to climb—and Coco or Mr. Dutch always had a snack waiting in the kitchen. Max told him really neat stories. Sloan and Trent sometimes let him help with the renovations, and Holt had let him drive the little powerboat.

All his new aunts played games with him, and sometimes, if he was really, really careful, they let him hold one of the babies.

It was, to Kevin's thinking, a really good deal.

Then there was Nathaniel. He snuck a look at the man who sat beside him, driving the big convertible up the winding road to The Towers. Kevin had decided that Nathaniel knew something about everything. He had muscles and a tattoo and most always smelted like the sea.

When he stood at the helm of the big tour boat, his eyes narrowed against the sun and his broad hands on the wheel, he was every little boy's idea of a hero.

“Maybe...” Kevin trailed off unta Nathaniel glanced down at him. “Maybe what, mate?”

“Maybe I could go back out with you sometime,” Kevin blurted out. “I won't ask so many questions next time, or get in the way.”

Was there ever a man, Nathaniel wondered, who could defend himself against the sweetness of a child? He stopped the car at the family entrance. “I'll pipe you aboard my ship anytime.” He flicked a finger down the brim of the captain's hat he'd carelessly dropped on Kevin's head. “And you can ask all the questions you want.”

“Really?” Kevin pushed the brim back up, so that he could see. “Really.”

“Thanks!” Kevin threw his arms around Nathaniel in a spontaneous hug that had Nathaniel's heart sliding down the slippery chute toward love. “I gotta tell Mom. Are you going to come in?”

“Yeah.” He let his hands linger on the boy a moment before they dropped away.

“Come on.” Bursting with tidings, Kevin scrambled out of the car and up the steps. He hit the door running. “Mom! I'm back!”

“What a quiet, dignified child,” Megan commented as she stepped into the hallway from the parlor. “It must be my Kevin.”

With a giggle, Kevin darted to her, rising on his toes to see which baby she was holding. “Is that Bianca?”

“Delia.”

Kevin squinted and studied. “How can you tell them apart? They look the same.”

“A mother's eyes,” she murmured, and bent to kiss him. “Where've you been, sailor?”

“We went way, way out in the ocean and back, twice. We saw nine whales. One was like a baby. When they're all together, they're called a pod. Like what peas grow in.”

“Is that so?”

“And Nate let me steer and blow the horn, and I helped chart the course. And this man on the second deck was sick the whole time, but I wasn't 'cause I've got good sea legs. And Nate says I can go with him again, so can I?”

Nearly nine years as a mother had Megan following the stream of information perfectly. “Well, I imagine you can.”

“Did you know whales mate for life, and they're not really fish at all, even though they live in the water? They're mammals, just like us and elephants and dogs, and they've got to breathe. That's how come they come up and blow water out of their spouts.”

Nathaniel walked in on the lecture. And stopped, and looked. Megan stood, smiling down at her son, his hand in hers and a baby on her hip.

I want. The desire streamed through Nathaniel like sunlight, warm, bright. The woman—there had never been a question of that. But he wanted, as Sloan had said, the whole package. The woman, the boy, the family.

Megan looked over and smiled at him. His heart all but stopped.

She started to speak, but the look in Nathaniel's eyes had her throat closing. Though she took an unconscious step back, he was already there, his hand on her cheek, his lips on hers with a tenderness that turned her to putty.

The baby laughed in delight and reached for a fistful of Nathaniel's hair.

“Here we go.” Nathaniel took Delia, hefted her high so that she could squeal and kick her feet. When he settled her on his hip, both Megan and Kevin were still staring at him. He jiggled the baby and cocked his head at the boy. “Do you have a problem with me kissing your mom?”

Megan made a little strangled sound. Kevin's gaze dropped heavily to the floor. “I don't know,” he mumbled.

“She sure is pretty, isn't she?”

Kevin shrugged, flushed. “I guess.” He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Lots of men kissed his mother. His granddad and Sloan—and Holt and Trent and Max. But this was different. He knew that. After all, he wasn't a baby. He shot a look up, lowered his eyes again. “Are you going to be her boyfriend now?”

“Ah...” Nathaniel glanced at Megan, was met with a look that clearly stated that he was on his own. “That's close enough. Does that bother you?”

Because his stomach was suddenly jittery, Kevin moved his thin shoulders again. “I don't know.”

If the boy wasn't going to look up, Nathaniel figured it was time to move down. He crouched, still holding the baby. “You can take plenty of time to think about it, and let me know. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Kevin's eyes slid up toward his mother's, then back to Nathaniel's. He sidled closer and leaned toward Nathaniel's ear. “Does she like it?”

Nathaniel clamped down on a chuckle and answered solemnity with solemnity. “Yeah, she does.”

After a long breath, Kevin nodded. “Okay, I guess you can kiss her if you want.”

“I appreciate it.” He offered Kevin a hand, and the man-to-man shake had the boy's chest swelling like a balloon.

“Thanks for taking me today.” Kevin took off the captain's hat. “And for letting me wear this.”

Nathaniel dropped the hat back on Kevin's head, pushed up the brim. “Keep it.”

The boy's eyes went blank with shocked pleasure. “For real?” “Yeah.”

“Wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Look, Mom, I can keep it. I'm going to show Aunt Coco.”

He raced upstairs with a clatter of sneakers. When Nathaniel straightened again, Megan was eyeing him narrowly.

“What did he ask you?”

“Man talk. Women don't understand these things.”

“Oh, really?” Before she could disabuse him of that notion, Nathaniel hooked his fingers in her waistband and jerked her forward.

“I've got permission to do this now.” He kissed her thoroughly, while Delia did her best to snuggle between them.

“Permission,” Megan said when she could breathe again. “From whom?”

“From your men.” He strolled casually into the parlor, laid Delia on her play rug, where she squealed happily at her favorite stuffed bear. “Except your father, but he's not around.”

“My men? You mean Kevin and Sloan.” Realization dawned, and had her sinking onto the arm of a chair. “You spoke to Sloan about... this?”

“We were going to beat each other up about it, but it didn't come to that.” Very much at home, Nathaniel walked to the side table and poured himself a short whiskey from a decanter. “We straightened it out.”

“You did. You and my brother. I suppose it didn't occur to either of you that I might have some say in the matter.”

“It didn't come up. He was feeling surly about the fact that you'd spent the night with me.”

“It's none of his business,” Megan said tightly.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. It's water under the bridge now. Nothing to get riled about.”

“I'm not riled. I'm irritated that you took it upon yourself to explain our relationship to my family without discussing it with me.” And she was unnerved, more than a little, by the worshipful look she'd seen in Kevin's eyes.

Women, Nathaniel thought, and tossed back his whiskey. “I was either going to explain it to Sloan or take a fist in the face.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“You weren't there, sugar.”

“Exactly.” She tossed back her head. “I don't like to be discussed. I've had my fill of that over the years.”

Very carefully, Nathaniel set his glass down. “Megan, if you're going to circle back around to Dumont, you're just going to get me mad.”

“I'm not doing that. I'm simply stating a fact.”

“And I stated a fact of my own. I told your brother I was in love with you, and that settled it.”

“You should have...” She trailed off, gasped for air that had suddenly gone too thin. “You told Sloan you were in love with me?”

“That's right. Now you're going to say I should have told you first.”

“I... I don't know what I'm going to say.” But she was glad, very glad, that she was already sitting down.

“The preferred response is 'I love you, too.'“ He waited, ignored the slow stroke of pain. “Can't get your tongue around that.”

“Nathaniel.” Be calm, she warned herself. Reasonable. Logical. “This is all moving so fast. A few weeks ago, I didn't even know you. I never expected what's happened between us. And I'm still baffled by it. I have very strong, very real feelings for you, otherwise I couldn't have stayed with you that first night.”

She was killing him, bloodlessly. “But?”

“Love isn't something I'll ever be frivolous about again. I don't want to hurt you, or be hurt, or risk a misstep that could hurt Kevin.”

“You really think time's the answer, don't you? That no matter what's going on inside you, if you just wait a reasonable period, study all the data, balance all the figures, the right answer comes up.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “If you're saying do I need time, then yes, I do.”

“Fine, take your time, but add this into your equation.” In two strides he was in front of her, dragging her up, crushing her mouth with his. “You feel just what I feel.”

She did—she was very much afraid she did. “That's not the answer.”

“It's the only answer.” His eyes burned into hers. “I wasn't looking for you, either, Megan. My own course was plotted out just fine. You changed everything for me. So you're going to have to adjust your nice neat columns and make room for me. Because I love you, and I'm going to have you. You and Kevin are going to belong to me.” He released her. “Think about it,” he said, and walked out.

Idiot. Nathaniel continued to curse himself as he spun his wheels pulling up in front of Shipshape. Obviously he'd found a new way to court a woman: Yell and offer ultimatums. Clearly the perfect way to win a heart.

He snatched Dog out of the back seat and received a sympathetic face bath. “Want to get drunk?” he asked the wriggling ball of fur. “Nope, you're right, bad choice.” He stepped inside the building, set the dog down and wondered where he might find an alternative.

Work, he decided, was a wiser option than a bottle.

He busied himself with an engine until he heard the familiar blat of a horn. That would be Holt, bringing in the last tour of the day.

His mood still sour, Nathaniel went out and down to the pier to help secure lines.

“The holiday's bringing in a lot of tourists,” Holt commented when the lines were secured. “Good runs today.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel scowled at the throng of people still lingering on the docks. “I hate crowds.”

Holt's brow lifted. “You were the one who came up with the Fourth of July special to lure them in.”

“We need the money.” Nathaniel stomped back into the shop. “Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“Who's ticked you off?”

“Nobody.” Nathaniel took out a cigar, lit it defiantly. “I'm not used to being landlocked, that's all.”

Holt very much doubted that was all, but, in the way of men, shrugged his acceptance and picked up a wrench. “This engine's coming along.”

“I can pick up and go anytime.” Nathaniel clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Nothing holding me. All I got to do is pack a bag, hop a freighter.”

Holt sighed, accepted his lot as a sounding board. “Megan, is it?” “I didn't ask for her to drop in my lap, did I?”

“Well...”

“I was here first.” Even when he heard how ridiculous that sounded, Nathaniel couldn't stop. “Woman's got a computer chip in her head. She's not even my type, with those neat little suits and that glossy briefcase. Who ever said I was going to settle down here, lock myself in for life? I've never stayed put anywhere longer than a month since I was eighteen.”

Holt pretended to work on the engine. “You started a business, took out a mortgage. And it seems to me you've been here better than six months now.”

“Doesn't mean anything.”

“Is Megan dropping hints about wedding bells?”

“No.” Nathaniel scowled around his cigar and snarled. “I am.”

Holt dropped his wrench. “Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You're thinking of getting married, and you're kicking around here muttering about hopping a freighter and not being tied down?”

“I didn't ask to be tied down, it just happened.” Nathaniel took a deliberate puff, then swore. “Damn it, Holt, I made a fool of myself.”

“Funny how we do that around women, isn't it? Did you have a fight with her?”

“I told her I loved her. She started the fight.” He paced the shop, nearly gave in to the urge to kick the tool bench. “What happened to the days when women wanted to get married, when that was their Holy Grail, when they set hooks for men to lure them in?”

“What century are we in?”

The fact that Nathaniel could laugh was a hopeful sign. “She thinks I'm moving too fast.”

“I'd tell you to slow down, but I've known you too long.”

Calmer, he took up a ratchet, considered it, then set it down again. “Suzanna took her lumps from Dumont. How'd you get past it?”

“I yelled at her a lot,” Holt said, reminiscing. “I've tried that.”

“Brought her flowers. She's got a real weakness for flowers.” Which made him think that perhaps he'd stop on the way home and pick some up.

“I've done that, too.” “Have you tried begging?”

Nathaniel winced. “I'd rather not.” His eyes narrowed curiously. “Did you?”

Holt took a sudden, intense interest in the engine. “We're talking about you. Hell, Nate, quote her some of that damn poetry you're so fond of. I don't know. I'm not good at this romance stuff.”

“You got Suzanna.”

“Yeah.” Holt's smile spread. “So get your own woman.” Nathaniel nodded, crushed out his cigar. “I intend to.”