"You'll find him changed."

I know! But she couldn't think of that. "Will he help her?" She couldn't stop the question. She felt terrible for Morgan, but it was Kelsey who needed help.

Celia's mouth hardened. "Do you imagine he won't?"

Jill took another drink, more to hide from Celia's ire than anything. What did she imagine? His hard blue eyes had haunted her sleep, his sardonic smile, the cutting words. None of that mattered. "I only found a post office box in California. I didn't want to tell him in a letter."

"He's staying at Rick's ranch in Colorado right now."

"Rick's ranch?"

Celia stood. "I'll write you directions from the Denver airport."

"You will?" She had hoped, yet expected Celia to refuse. Or maybe she'd hoped Celia would refuse.

Celia fixed her gaze flatly. "Would you tell him this over the phone?"

She had considered that a mode of least resistance, but Jill shook her head. "No, I intended to do it in person, though I wasn't sure you'd agree that was best."

Celia lifted the tray. She paused. "I know you're trying to make things right. But the truth is, great harm was done. I don't know any better than you how to set it right. But there's a young girl who needs help, quickly, I surmise. The best way to get through to Morgan would be to go there."

Jill nodded. "Then I will."

Celia went again into the kitchen. Jill heard the tray bang and the glasses clank as though she'd set it down too hard. She waited, hands gripped together.

Celia returned, handed her a slip of paper. "Here are the directions to the ranch. It's in the mountains. You'll want to rent a car that can take a grade."

Jill nodded silently, then, "I'm very sorry."

Celia looked into her face. "You did the right thing. You gave your child life. I just wish you could have told us the truth." Her eyes teared.

Jill didn't want to see it. Not in Celia of all people. She looked down at the paper in her hands. "Thank you. For this." She held it up. It would cost a fortune to fly on such short notice, but there really was no other way. "Should I call him first?"

Again Celia's mouth tightened, and her eyes grew immeasurably sad. "No." Was there some reason behind her certainty? Jill's chest seized. What was she going into? But there was nothing more to say except, "May I give you my phone number ... in case you need to reach me?"

"Yes, thank you." Celia's voice was tight.

Jill reached into her purse and took out her business card, which included her home phone. Only certain people received those. But she wanted Celia to have it now. She didn't know why. She left the house completely drained. If it took so much to tell Morgan's mother, how would it be to tell Morgan?

Her stress intensified when she got home to a message from her own mother. Ordinarily, she would call right back and they would share a pleasant, if superficial, conversation. Now she felt like a traitor. It was tacitly understood that Kelsey was not a subject for discussion. That unhappy incident was behind them. It had never occurred to Mom how much Jill had needed her when Kelsey was born, how it might have eased the pain for the months afterward if she could have told her what the baby looked like, how long and hard she'd pushed, how tearful and ecstatic the Bensons had been.

But Mom's first words to her when she came back were, "It's over and forgotten, Jill." She had meant it kindly, perhaps, but besides burying the pain, it had left a superficial facade between them they both worked hard to maintain. But now, how could she leave Morgan's mother grieving the situation and say no word to her own about the circumstances that were turning her life upside down?

She went to find Shelly. A friend was definitely in order. Shelly opened immediately at her knock.

"Can I use your computer?" Shelly's DSL line would be faster than her Internet service, and she wanted things put into motion before she lost her nerve.

Shelly grabbed her arm and dragged her in. "Yes, on one condition, and you know what it is."

"I'll tell you everything, but first I need to buy a plane ticket for this weekend."

Shelly gripped both arms. "To find Morgan?"

Jill nodded, more bleak inside than Shelly could know. "He's at his brother's ranch in Colorado, and it's going to drain my account getting there." Not to mention her courage and fortitude. But this was what she had to do. She would gather her energy for the hurdle and leap. How she landed was up to God.

CHAPTER.

9.

Taking his keys from the hook in the kitchen, Rick crooked an eyebrow. "Sure you won't come?"

Morgan shook his head. Rick's little mountain church service was not calling to him. He glanced at Todd, standing with Stan's hand on his shoulder, obviously feeling the same way. His face was drawn down in his typical scowl, but he was not Morgan's responsibility. If Stan was surprised he didn't rush off with the rest of them to worship, it was a good lesson in making assumptions.

Todd's sister, Sarah, waved as they all left the kitchen. She wasn't as stuck-up as she'd seemed, probably just shocked by the arrival of a foul-mouthed, sullen kid in her life. There still wasn't much interaction between the two, but that took time. Stan's wife, Melanie, was the last through the door, and Morgan released a slow breath of relief.

Noelle was home but upstairs fighting a virus. Rick had assured him she'd be all right sleeping off the bug, and he could use some time alone. With the roar of Rick's truck fading from the yard, the house grew quiet. Just now that felt fine. Ascon had contacted him again, but the current CEO, the daughter of Ascon's creator, was still playing games. She expected his consultation to give her suggestions she might want to consider. He didn't work that way. Following his initial viability analysis, she'd have to commit to the measures he had outlined in order to give her company any shot at the New York Stock Exchange. It was his reputation as much as her corporate success.

She knew what he could do, and the board was running scared enough to pressure her, but she still resisted his involvement as a "rent a CEO," as she had quaintly, though not originally, put it. If she waited too long, Morgan would look elsewhere. He didn't waste time on lost causes. There were plenty of challenges with potential, and he could choose where to spend his energy.

Taking the mug of coffee, he went to the front room, where he'd stashed his kangaroo leather briefcase and spread his proposal over the table. He'd faxed it to Ascon already, but he studied it now for any flaw, any improvement.

He had addressed Ascon's particular situation without disclosing the exact measures he would take to correct the problems. Once they contracted his services, he'd give Ascon their money's worth. Morgan read through the pages, satisfied. Marlina Aster would have to take him on reputation or not take him at all.

He moved on to his laptop to study his next options. He'd researched several corporations who'd queried his program, and he studied the different files now, sorting them according to likeliness. Those he found most promising, he'd send a follow-up proposal. And there were any number of fresh possibilities with the unstable economy. He sent an e-mail to his professional assistant with the names of the companies he'd chosen to look at next. She'd make the initial contact, then he would go in person to assess the need and either take charge himself or send out a team.

Car tires grinding on gravel in the yard signaled a visitor, but he remained focused until he heard the knock. He could hardly expect Noelle to answer in her condition, so he went to the door and pulled it open. The greeting died on his lips with the high-tension jolt to his system.

It had been bad enough the other night at the reunion when he'd half expected to see her. The incongruity of finding Jill on Rick's porch now left him without remark, though for so many years he had imagined her showing up one day and explaining it had all been a terrible mistake.

"Morgan, I ... I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

Wondering hardly seemed sufficient for the high-speed RAM spinning in his head. Obviously some errant thread had reconnected them the other night and now formed a noose around his throat that stifled any words. He had imagined this meeting on his terms, in a place he controlled, not Rick's ranch, where he went to hide, to let down his guard and be real. Jill's presence violated his intention.

He looked from her face down her blue knit tank and waist-tie pants that fluttered in the wind, then back to her face framed with that short, sassy hair. Whatever her reason for being there, it wouldn't be good. But what else was new?

She drew herself up with determination. "I need to talk to you."

The muscles pulled tight in the back of his neck. "I thought we covered it all the other night." His tone iced even him, but he would not give her the advantage.

She looked to the side, a stark extremity in her expression that tugged at his gut. "No, there's more that needs to be said."

The wind fanned her hair as she returned her gaze to his face, imploring ... what? What could she possibly want from him? Absolution? "If you're confessing, I forgot my collar."

And there was the telltale fire in her eyes. She hadn't come to grovel; there was purpose behind her supplication. "Will you please listen to me?"

It was rude and went against his grain to let her stand there. Even facing off with business adversaries, he maintained a calculated courtesy. Now his first instinct was to shut the door and walk away. And regret it for the next fifteen years?

Jill's fingers shook as she caught a strand of hair from her eye, tearing up from the gusting wind-not as composed as she wanted him to think. "I would have called, but Celia recommended I not."

He gripped the door's edge. "You spoke to my mother?"

"I needed to find you."

A surge of anger. She had no right. What could be so important she had braved his mother, and Mom had directed her to him? Cold dread washed over.

"I had to, Morgan. Just let me explain."

Irritated, he stepped back and motioned her in.

She paused inside the entry, glancing around the main room. "This is Rick's place?" An attempt at normalcy, like the small talk she'd made the other night to polish the splintered gash between them.

"His humble abode." He closed the door, hoping she felt as trapped as he did.

"It's nice." Her gaze paused on the grand piano. "Who plays?"

Morgan nodded up the stairs. "Rick's wife. She's sleeping off a flu- especially rough, since she's pregnant. Happily, if you can believe that." He passed by her. "Drink?"

"No thank you."

As she followed him around the couch to the gathering space before the huge stone fireplace, his nerves rose up in static electric response, each nerve isolating from the next, drawn irresistibly toward her. He resisted by putting as much space between them as the setting allowed.

Her hands gripped the handles of her purse. Where was her confidence in the charm and acceptance that had always drawn people to her? Why did she suddenly draw from him a traitorous compassion?

"Morgan ..."

He pressed a forearm to the massive half-log mantel and fixed her with a lionlike stare. "Yes?"

"Could we sit?" She lowered herself to the dun-colored couch.

He ignored the suggestion. She was not as beautiful as some of the women he'd dated. But there was an attractiveness that went beyond her features, her long, toned figure. A personality and intelligence that hollered "get to know me." She'd had the same spark fifteen years ago, and it angered him to acknowledge it still.

His gaze sent a satisfying flush up her throat, but then she seemed to be fighting tears. He hadn't expected that. She must be more keyed up than he'd realized. He resisted moving toward her as he might have. Why should he comfort her? Yet it tugged anyway. "You had something to say?"

"Yes, I ..." Her voice broke and she pressed her hands to her face. "I don't know how to tell you."

That from the girl who had already given him the best and the worst news in his life? She'd shown up without invitation, begged her way in, and now thought she could stammer and cry? Losing patience, he crossed over, sat down, and took her hands from her face. Her gray eyes were awash with some hurt, deep and terrible. Was it catharsis, forgiveness she wanted? Dread and calm mingled. "Just tell me."

She drew a deep breath. "Morgan, I never aborted our baby. I gave her up for adoption."

He dropped her hands, denial searing his mind. Their baby wasn't dead? Comprehension grew. The images that had formed his guilt were false. The disgust, which had grown like cancer inside him every time he remembered the girl he had loved ... He shoved up from the couch unable to stand her closeness. Fifteen years, believing he had fathered a child she'd chosen to destroy. And now ...

"It was the best thing for all of us. She's had a good home, a Christian family."

His throat cleaved. It had all been a lie. Why? He searched her face as though the answer could be found there. Grief, anxiety, and fear-but nothing he could grasp. And then the realization washed through him. She had lied to be rid of him and their child.

Hands clenched, he strode to the window. It was her so-called right-her body, her choice. So what brought her here now? Why this tearful episode, this encroachment on his life? Even if the other night had shown her he was doing well financially, she could hardly sue for child support. Not when she'd given the baby away-without his consent.

"What do you want?" He spoke to the glass but, shaded as it was by the porch, even that held her reflection.

She pressed clasped hands to her knees. "Morgan, she has leukemia. Acute lymphocytic leukemia."

He took that in with no sensation, his responses uncharacteristically inactive.

"They treated her four years ago and controlled it. But she came out of remission and chemotherapy isn't working. She needs a bone marrow transplant from someone genetically connected."

He expelled his breath and dropped his head as the pieces clicked together. "You don't match." His voice was dust.

"No."

"Why else would you need me?" He turned from the window.

"Morgan, I ..."

He walked to the mantel and leaned, but it offered scant support. A child. A daughter out there somewhere, the fruit of his love for Jill. Not dead. But dying. Her words sank in. Leukemia. He knew the gravity of that disease. His daughter had leukemia. He clenched his hands and the muscles of his arms pulled like ropes.

"Morgan ..."

"Just tell me what I need to do." He turned enough to see her blink back her tears. What did she expect?

"There are initial blood tests." She reached into the purse at her feet and drew out a card. "This is the oncologist at the Yale Cancer Treatment Center. You can contact him for instructions. If there's a match, he'll tell you what happens next and they'll ... let Kelsey's family know."

"Kelsey." His voice rasped, and his own hand shook as he rubbed it over his hair. His daughter. "I want to see her." The words were out before he thought of all that would mean. Then he turned fully. "I want to see her."

Jill struggled again for words. "It's not that easy, Morgan."

Easy? Did she think this was easy?

"She's very sick, and Cinda ... her parents don't want to add stress."

Her parents. A mother and, of course, a father. He dropped his chin to his chest. He was nothing but the sperm donor. The girl out there knew nothing about him or anything he'd accomplished or ever would. He couldn't see her; he could only make another biological donation.

Jill scribbled a number on the back of the card. "In case you need to reach me. I'm sorry, Morgan."

He didn't answer. Anything he said now would draw blood.

Jill started to stand, but a motion overhead caught her eye. A woman walked out across the balcony, amber hair hanging just below her shoulders. One hand rested on her swelling abdomen through the sage green robe that hung to midcalf. It must be Rick's wife, and she was beautiful.

She came down to the bottom of the stairs and gave Morgan a smile just touching her lips but deep in her gray-green eyes. She cared for him, cared a lot. Then she turned. "Hello. I thought I heard voices." She stifled a cough and cleared her throat.