Jill stared. So Kelsey had known.

Kelsey formed an impish smile. "When I asked to meet you, I knew the only way was if we were actually related. Mom couldn't do it otherwise. She had to have a source of contact outside the donor program. Like adoption records."

The little imp. "So you knew from the start."

Kelsey nodded. "You didn't hide it very well."

Jill dropped her face and smiled.

"Mom worries so much how I'll handle things. She tries to protect me, but I know a lot more than she thinks."

Jill nodded.

"What's he like?"

Jill drew a jagged breath. She didn't have to ask who. "Well, he's handsome. Dark hair and your color eyes. And he's done very well. I don't know much else anymore. I hadn't seen him in years."

"Why didn't you marry him?"

Jill faced her unabashed daughter. "I was seventeen. My parents were furious. They wouldn't let me see him. They did what they thought was right, just as yours did by not telling you-"

"I know that. But sometimes they think I'm still a little girl. I know I look like it."

"But you're a brave young woman. And bright." Jill gave her a wry smile. Not only had the child figured it all out, she'd maneuvered her into confessing and providing the rest of the information, a tactic Jill might have used herself at that age.

Kelsey pierced her suddenly with Morgan's eyes. "Why did you give me away?"

Her heart staggered. "I obeyed my parents." Jill would not tell her daughter she'd fought just to save her life. "But I've thought of you so often over the years."

Now Kelsey was silent. They looked into each other's faces without guile. Jill didn't know this child, but then, she did. They'd shared the same blood, the same nourishment, the hope and heartbreak. "I'm sorry, Kelsey." "Don't be. God knew where I needed to be. I just wanted to know."

Jill's heart split. God knew where she needed to be? Had God taken her baby because she could not have handled Kelsey's illness? How would she and Morgan have dealt with it all? Would it have torn apart an immature relationship, left them reeling and fighting? Her heart staggered in her chest. Was she so shallow, so inept? Anger burned up inside. She would have done her best. The same way she'd protected Kelsey from the secret solution of her problem, she would have protected her from ... leukemia?

"You can tell Mom we talked." Kelsey smiled. "I'm sure she's guessed, since I wanted to see you alone."

Jill nodded.

Kelsey moistened her lips. "You said his name is Morgan, right?"

"Yes."

Kelsey looked away. "Did he say ... anything when you told him?" "He wants to see you."

Kelsey was quiet a long time. "I'll have to wait. And pray."Oh, Lord, the child's astute.

"But thank you for asking him to be tested. I'm sure you did."

Jill met the pert smile with her own, but it was forced. "He wanted to help."

Kelsey nodded. "I'm tired now."

Jill stood, letting her eyes linger on this child she'd birthed. "Good-bye, Kelsey."

Kelsey raised her fingers with another smile. "Thanks."

Jill closed the door behind her, drew a breath, and fought back the tears. She descended the stairs, wishing she could just go home, but Cinda waited in the living room, and Roger had come home from work and joined her. Jill spread her hands. "Kelsey guessed. I couldn't lie to her."

Cinda nodded. "We wouldn't want you to."

"She also asked about Morgan." Jill looked toward the window, wanting to get out, to be alone.

"It's all right, Jill." Cinda stood and put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for coming."

Jill nodded, rolling her lips in against the tears. That would probably be the last time she saw Kelsey, or any of them. It was now their life, as it had been for fourteen years. She turned for the door.

Cinda murmured, "Would you like me to keep you informed?"

Jill paused. Did she want to know if Kelsey died? But she wouldn't die. Morgan's marrow would cure her. It had to. "Yes, if you don't mind."

Roger joined them at the door. "We're very grateful." He was a quiet man with a soft voice that seemed incongruous with his heavily callused hands and cracked knuckles.

Jill smiled in response, then went out and drove home to Beauview. She went into her townhouse in stunned silence, came to a stop in the center of the living room and moaned, clutching her head between her palms. She dropped to her knees, but no prayer would come. How could she talk to God when He had deemed her unfit?

Had they all known? Her parents, her aunt who kept her through the pregnancy and daily reminded her not to grow attached? "God knew where I needed to be." Such innocent words, yet they tore open her spirit and left it writhing in pitiful shreds. Worthless, they cried. Worthless.

CHAPTER.

13.

Morgan loved the rugged shore of the Santa Barbara coast. The public beach, a couple miles south of his home, was not that great, and his narrow strip at the base of the cliff could hardly be called beach at all. But the view and the power of the sea-that was worth every cent he'd spent on his coastal property. He sat a long while on his balcony, long after the citrine and ruby hues had faded over the water, and now there was only the restless sound of it. He nursed a snifter of Courvoisier in the starlight and thought of Jill.

It had taken a lot for her to come to him, to find and tell him the truth an? ask his help. All for a child she'd sloughed off at birth. But Rick's words were true. It could not have been easy for Jill to stand up against her parents and have the child. It meant embarrassment for the family, especially one so "Christian."

Morgan well remembered their condemnation. He might have been the anti-Christ, not a foolish kid in love with their daughter. His youth bore no consideration, nor the fact that Jill had willingly participated. No, he was the accursed, and she ...

He raised his glass. "Here's to you, Jill, my sweet fall from grace." He drank her toast, thinking of her eyes awash with tears, and how he'd wanted to kiss them away. "Blissful iniquity." Strange how porous the self became in the still of night. His chest constricted and he took the brandy into his throat as he took the night into his soul.

Jill opened her swollen eyes to the tapping on her window. What? She rolled out of bed, crossed the room, and pushed aside the curtain. Dan. He motioned to her, and she trudged to the front door and admitted him. "I'm not running today."

He chucked her chin. "You look awful."

"Thank you."

"Are you sick?"

Yes. Unto death. "No."

"What is it, Jill?"

She headed for the kitchen, poured two glasses of orange juice, and sat on the iron stool at her counter. Dan took the other stool and swigged down a gulp of juice. Jill let the tangy sweetness refresh her mouth, though it was a surface reaction at best.

"Tell me what's up."

"I don't feel like talking."

Dan rolled the juice glass in his large palms. "It's Morgan Spencer."

He spoke the name as he might some punk he'd run down and cornered.

She raised her eyes. "It's not Morgan. It's ..." She drew and released a breath, stood, and walked to the glass door. The morning was damp, the sky dull. The wind would blow it clear, but then the sun would reveal everything in sharp chiaroscuro. She didn't want to see clearly. She didn't like what she had seen already.

Why was Dan here? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? She closed her eyes. "I doubt my faith, Dan. I don't know what to believe anymore." She glanced over her shoulder at him.

His face was kind and frank. "Maybe you've just grown up. Isn't that from the Bible? When I was a child I spoke like a child, but now I'm a man?"

Jill's soul constricted. Was that it? Was she finally seeing through a myth? Was Shelly right, that there was no difference between those who believed and those who didn't? They were all in the same mire, mucking through the best they could? She tried to think of one definitive prayer God had answered.

Maybe Joey calmed because she held him, not from any divine favors dropped from heaven. All those countless prayers she'd uttered were probably waving out into space in unending futility. It was nothing. A great empty nothingness.

She looked back out into the milky sky. Was there no heaven beyond? No hell beneath? Or was it something more profound than her limited faith could frame? Prove yourself to me. Make me know.

Dan stood and crossed to her. "Things happen that open our eyes. I gave religion a try, but it never made any difference. I find my own answers now." He took her waist in his hands, his badge cutting into her shoulder blade. He pressed his cheek to the side of her head. "Why don't we run?"

"In your uniform?"

"I brought a change."

She leaned into him and shook her head. He kissed her hair, her ear. She pulled away. "Stop it, Dan."

He let her go. "What's the matter?"

Couldn't he see she was a wreck?

"I thought we'd solved it, Jill. The things that stood between us."

She turned and looked into his face. What conclusion had he drawn?

He spread his hands. "If you're done with your concerns and I'm done with mine ..."

"What are you saying, Dan?"

He caught her shoulders. "Your faith is no longer an issue, and I don't have to prove myself competent to please a woman." His face was earnest. "We've taken away the obstacles. That's how life works." She pressed her fingertips to her temple, then shot her gaze through his eyes. "Obstacles? Do you understand I'm questioning everything I am?"

He rolled his eyes. "Jill ..."

"Get out, Dan."

He let go and stepped back, then picked up his hat and left. She drained her glass of orange juice and got into the shower. Motions. She had to go through the motions. The hot water removed the night's film from her skin, but inside, her spirit was limp. She shampooed and bared her teeth to the water, filled her mouth and swished.

Apple-scented steam rolled over the mirror and walls when she opened the curtain and stepped out. Rascal meowed outside the door, and she opened it just as the phone began to ring. Jill scooped Rascal up and dropped him on the bed as she picked up the receiver. "Yes, I told him to leave, no I won't reconsider, and no I don't need brownies or milk or a shoulder to cry on."

"Okay," the woman's voice said.

"Hello?" Jill caught the towel to her mouth.

"This is Anita Rawlings. I wanted to let you know Angelica's sick and won't make her tutoring today."

"Oh, Anita."

"It's okay, Jill. It sounds like you could use a day off."

Jill drew a shaky breath. In truth, she might lose her mind. "Thanks for calling, Anita."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"I'll pray for you today."

Jill said nothing. They'd spoken in the past about faith in general terms, the usual platitudes. Did she want Anita's prayers? What difference did it make? "Thanks." She hung up and pulled on her running shorts, sport bra, and tank. She tied on her Nikes and headed out the sliding glass door. It was backward to shower and then run, but since she was not teaching after all, she had to do something.

She slid the door shut and hurried past Shelly's patio. She thought Shelly had been watching Dan leave. Most of her life was a drama for Shelly, but if she'd been thinking, she'd know her friend would not be awake yet. Brett was probably just getting up and starting his morning routine before Dan joined him to go to the station. Dan had allowed time for a run.

Jill reached the path and stopped to stretch. Already the air was muggy. The cornfields might love it, but it oppressed her as she started to run. Or was it more than the air? Her own spirit was muggy, weighing her down. She forced her legs to move in a steady, constant battle over lassitude. Each stride was one more than the last. She could do that much. Too many things were out of her control, but she could make her legs run.

Just over an hour later, she left the park and headed back to her patio door. She blew the bedraggled bangs from her face as she passed Shelly's, noting the cruiser outside. She'd almost made it by when Shelly opened the door and called to her, holding a yellow-green lollipop as a bribe.

The last thing she wanted was to go inside with Brett and Dan there. Why weren't they at the station already? Shouldn't they be gone? But maybe it was earlier than she thought. She went through Shelly's door and met the lollipop straight on. "What's this one?"

"Your suggestion. Kiwi-pineapple."

Jill took the sucker and glanced at Dan standing in Shelly's kitchen, one hip to the counter, eating an eclair. The sweet did not help his expression as the lollipop would not help her. Get out were strong words to him.

Shelly put on a mock New York accent. "Taste it already."

Jill licked the sweet obediently, identifying pineapple at once but less kiwi. How did kiwi taste anyway? She'd only named that flavor symbolically. Dan gobbled the eclair and dabbed cream from his fingers onto a napkin. Should she say something? Apologize? No, it was better that they face it. They couldn't remain in limbo, neither together nor apart. At least this way it was settled.

Brett came out of the study with whatever he'd needed to retrieve. He nodded and the two of them headed out the front door. Jill followed Dan with her eyes, but neither had said a word.