A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

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  "Ask your friend to wait outside." Knotting her hands into fists so tight that the oval tips of her nails bit into her palms, Bethany Wyndham glared at her stepfather.

  Big, robust, with steel gray hair and sky blue eyes, Jimmy Farraday looked a good ten years younger than his sixty years.

  Releasing the curvaceous redhead he held in his arms, Jimmy grinned wickedly at Bethany. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, removing the young woman's coral lipstick.

  "This isn't what it looks like," he said.

  "It never is, is it, Jimmy?"

  Gregarious, conservative in his public opinions, and the darling of Birmingham's redneck community, Jimmy could do no wrong in the eyes of his television audience. But privately, the man was a loudmouthed sleaze to whom decency and morality had no meaning.

  "I was just … er … interviewing Miss Rone for a job at WHNB." Jimmy patted the girl's behind. "Wasn't I, sugar pie?"

  Giggling, the silly girl cuddled closer to Jimmy's side. "I'm going to be singing every Friday on Jimmy's Wake Up Birmingham show."

  The girl gazed longingly at him, and for one brief moment, Bethany almost felt sorry for her. Good old boy Jimmy seemed to possess some sort of magnetism for certain women. Unfortunately, Bethany's mother was one of those women. What on earth her wealthy, elegant mother had ever seen in this uncouth womanizer, Bethany would never know. And why she endured the humiliation of staying married to him was just as much of a puzzle.

  "There's no need to mention this to your mother." Jimmy glanced at the open door behind Bethany. "You know how upset Eileen gets over the least little thing."

  "I'd get upset over the least little thing, too, if I was married to a man who couldn't keep his fly zipped."

  The redhead gasped.

  Jimmy chuckled. Bethany clenched her teeth.

  "Go on, Retta." Jimmy beamed his three-hundred-watt smile on Miss Rone. "Enjoy yourself at this little shindig my wife's throwing. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow—"

  "Tomorrow I'm going to be on Wake Up Birmingham," Retta Rone said in her chirpy, sing-song voice.

  Laughing, Jimmy watched the sway of Retta's slender hips as she slunk out of the study. The moment the young woman disappeared up the hallway, his bright smile softened and dimmed to a smirky grin.

  "To what do I owe the honor of this private meeting?" Jimmy glanced around the room. "You usually do your best to avoid being alone with me."

  "I'd rather be trapped in a pit of vipers than be alone with you," she told him. "I learned when you first married Mother what a vile, disgusting man you are."

  "You're never going to forgive me, are you, Bethy, for that little incident? I've tried to explain that I'd had too much to drink, your mother and I had had our first fight and—"

  "Save your explanations for someone who's stupid enough to believe them." Taking a deep, steadying breath, Bethany opened and closed her fists. "I despise you for the ten years of pure hell you've put my mother through, but I'm not here to discuss my mother. She's a grown woman. She can take care of herself. Why she stays with you I'll never know, but that's her decision."

  "Then if you don't want to tell me, once again, what a good-for-nothing husband I am, what is so important that you'd corner me in my study during one of your mother's parties?"

  Jimmy's grin exposed his big white teeth and deepened the dimples in his cheeks. In three long strides, he closed the distance between them. Immediately wary, Bethany stepped backward. He reached out, grabbed her arm and jerked her up against him.

  "You wouldn't be interested in finding out what I've got that keeps your mama married to me, would you?"

  "You bastard!"

  Using every ounce of her strength, Bethany slapped his face. His head jerked sideways from the force of her blow, and his grasp on her arm loosened. She pulled away from him. Swinging his hand up to his red cheek, he covered the mark of her hand-print with his spread fingers.

  Jimmy glared at her. "You know what your problem is, Bethy? You ain't getting any. What you need is a real man to put a smile on your face."

  If ever Bethany had hated Jimmy Farraday, she hated him at that precise moment. The man had a way of making everything seem sordid and dirty.

  "Anne Marie told me what you said to her, how you came on to her," Bethany said.

  "Is that what this is all about?" Jimmy shrugged. "Your little girl misunderstood. I was just trying to be grandfatherly. That's all. What's wrong with a man having a little birds and bees talk with his fifteen-year-old granddaughter?"

  "I'm giving you a warning that you'd better heed," Bethany said. "If you ever touch my daughter, I'll kill you!"

  A loud gasp came from the open doorway. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I—I—that is we didn't mean to…" the woman stammered.

  Recognizing the voice, Bethany turned around slowly. Vivian Crosby, Jimmy's secretary at WHNB, stood just outside the study with Tony Hayes, Jimmy's sidekick on his Wake Up Birmingham show, directly behind her.

  "We apologize," Tony said. "We've obviously interrupted a private conversation."

  "Just a little family squabble. A minor misunderstanding."

  Jimmy laughed, but when he reached out to touch Bethany, she slapped away his hand.

  "There is no misunderstanding," Bethany said. "I think I made myself perfectly clear. You can mess around on my mother all you want. I gave up on trying to make her see what kind of man you really are." Baring her teeth in a ferocious growl, Bethany narrowed her eyes. Her gaze skewered Jimmy Farraday to the bone. "But, so help me God, if you ever come near Anne Marie again, I will kill you."

  Tilting her chin and squaring her shoulders, Bethany walked out of the study, past Tony's and Vivian's shocked glances and down the hallway. Back in the throng of her mother's guests, she sought out a waiter and retrieved a glass of champagne from a silver tray. Her hand trembled.

  Glancing across the room, she caught a quick glimpse of her mother, gorgeous in her silver lamé gown. Only in recent years had Bethany appreciated how difficult it must have been for her mother to have been widowed at twenty-three and left with an infant to raise all alone. She understood, now that she was rearing Anne Marie alone, to what lengths a mother would go in order to protect her daughter. And with this new understanding had come forgiveness of her mother's past actions.

  Suddenly Jimmy Farraday appeared as if out of nowhere and slipped his arm around his wife's waist. When he leaned down and kissed Eileen on the cheek, Bethany snorted and shook her head sadly. Her poor mother was a fool.

  Seth Renfrew placed his hand on Bethany's shoulder. She smiled at her handsome, debonair business partner. They both looked across the room at the host and hostess of the evening's gala affair.

  "One of these days someone is going to do the world a favor and slit that sorry son of a bitch's throat," Seth said. "Your mother is far too good for him, you know. She deserves a man who loves her."

  Patting Seth's arm, Bethany sighed. "Maybe someday Mother will free herself from Jimmy and discover that the man who truly loves her has been within arm's reach all these years."

  "Eileen will never be free as long as Jimmy lives," Seth said, then lifted the champagne flute to his lips and emptied the glass.

  Sighing deeply, Bethany leaned her head against Seth's shoulder. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm afraid you're right, my friend."

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  Chapter 1

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  He had been home four days. If you could call
this mausoleum home. He felt like a caged animal. But he always had felt confined inside the walls of this Greek Revival mansion in Redmont, trapped by his family's vast wealth and imprisoned by the Kanes' social position in Birmingham.

  Even though he'd been away sixteen years, things had changed very little. The house remained spotlessly clean and impeccably decorated, the only alterations superficial ones made by an interior designer. The grounds, now tended by a local lawn service instead of a private gardener, were manicured perfection.

  The last time he'd come home, he'd sworn that he would never return. And he hadn't. Not when his cousin Amery had been killed in a car crash, not when his mother had undergone heart surgery and not even when his own father had died five years ago.

  So what the hell was he doing here now? It wasn't as if he and his mother had ever been close. As a boy, he'd spent more time with the housekeeper than he had with his parents. But when Ida Mae had called and asked him to come home, to come and see his mama before she died, he had agreed to a brief visit. Perhaps more for Ida Mae's sake than his mother's. She'd never before asked anything of him.

  His father had notified the Navy when Amery had died twelve years ago, and his mother had done the same when Henderson Kane passed away. By the time the messages had reached him, it had been too late to attend the funerals or even send flowers. If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he wouldn't have returned for Amery's funeral—he'd despised his cousin—and he wasn't even sure he'd have come home for his father's.

  But he was no longer a SEAL, no longer part of the most physically fit and ferocious warriors in the American military. He'd burned out after one mission too many, and three years ago, at thirty-five, he had hired on with Dundee Private Security in Atlanta. Now, when he was on an assignment, he was easier to reach. And after years of running away from the past, he finally realized that sooner or later every man's life comes full circle. No matter how long and hard you run, eventually every road leads home.

  Poor health had aged his mother, leaving the once stern matriarch a faded version of her former regal self. Heart surgery in the past had added years to Claudia Morgan Kane's life, but two recent heart attacks had warned the doctors that, despite their best efforts, the sixty-eight-year-old was dying.

  The double French doors leading to the study opened slowly and Ida Mae waddled into the room. Morgan supposed if anyone had ever really loved him just for himself, Ida Mae had. And he loved her, that fat, bossy, caring old woman who'd been more of a mother to him than his own mother had ever been. Ida Mae had been the one who had patched his skinned knees, who'd fed him cookies and milk in the kitchen and helped him with his homework before he'd been shipped off to McCallie Military School in Chattanooga.

  Shifting his position on the padded seat in front of the bay windows, Morgan smiled at Ida Mae. But she didn't return his smile. Her round, rosy face was somber. She held out the morning newspaper to him, her age-spotted hand quivering.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Take a look for yourself." She spread open the newspaper and lifted it up to him, practically shoving it under his nose. "When your mama learns about this, she's going to be powerfully upset. She sets great store by that girl. Always has."

  "What are you jabbering about? What girl?" Morgan grabbed the paper out of Ida Mae's trembling hand.

  "That girl is like a daughter to Miss Claudia. And the child … Lord, your mama loves that child better than anybody on earth."

  "Shh…" Morgan read the front-page headlines of Saturday's the Birmingham News. Stepdaughter Arrested for Farraday's Murder. Who the hell was Jimmy Farraday? Morgan wondered. And what was the man's connection to the Kane family?

  "You'd better call Dr. Bowers before you tell Miss Claudia about this." Ida Mae clutched her ample chest dramatically. "Lord, this is liable to be the end of your poor mama."

  He couldn't imagine anything being "the end" of his mother. Despite her poor health, Claudia remained cool, unemotional and totally in control. She was the same strong, powerful woman he remembered. In spirit, if not in body.

  Morgan studied the front page photograph of the attractive woman shown emerging from a police car. For a split second, he stopped breathing, then suddenly his heart pounded fast and loud, drumming in his ears. Was it? Could it be? She was older and more sophisticated than the girl he remembered, but he recognized that fragile, angelic face.

  Bethany Dow. No, not Dow. Wyndham. His cousin Amery's widow. The last time he'd seen her had been on her wedding day. He'd returned from basic training in San Diego, with a ring in his pocket and stars in his eyes. But he'd been too late. He'd stood in the shadows outside the church that rainy October evening and watched Amery help his bride into the waiting limousine.

  Morgan had carried the image of Bethany wearing her white lace wedding gown in his mind for a long, long time. She had been his for the taking once, and like a fool he'd turned his back on her when he'd turned his back on his life here in Birmingham. And he'd realized too late that even though he wanted no part of the world in which his parents lived, he did want the girl they'd chosen for him.

  "I can't believe Bethany killed that man." Ida Mae planted her pudgy hands on her broad hips. "He was no good, that one. And I suppose he deserved killing. But you remember what a kind, loving little thing Bethany was. She couldn't hurt a fly."

  Morgan scanned the article, quickly absorbing the gist of the story. Bethany Wyndham, 36, owner of the Bethany's Boutique chain of ladies' apparel shops, had been arrested late last night on suspicion of murder. The victim, her stepfather, had been shot repeatedly with a .25 caliber pistol at close range. The shots had alerted Farraday's colleagues. The body had been found in his WHNB office. The weapon was registered to Ms. Wyndham, who'd been the last person seen entering Farraday's office before the discovery of his bullet-riddled body.

  "There's no way to keep this a secret from your mama," Ida Mae said. "It'll be all over the television and newspapers forever and ever. That Jimmy Farraday was as popular in these parts as any Auburn or Alabama football coach. Everybody I know watches his Wake Up Birmingham show religiously."

  Folding the paper, Morgan laid it down on the antique tea table to his right. Grasping Ida Mae by one shoulder, he squeezed gently. "Getting this upset isn't good for your blood pressure." He placed his arm around her shoulders and led her over to the tub-backed beige chair near the fireplace. "Sit right here."

  Ida Mae eased her rotund body down into the chair, crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at Morgan. "I'm sitting," she told him. "Now what?"

  "Now, answer a few questions for me."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "I assume by your reaction to this article—" he glanced meaningfully at the newspaper on the table "—that Mother has remained close to Bethany since Amery's death."

  "Close? I'd say so." Narrowing her gaze, Ida Mae glared accusingly at Morgan. "Who do you think sat at the hospital day and night when your mama had her surgery? And who do you think stood at her side the day they buried your father? And who do you think comes by once a week and calls nearly every day to check on Miss Claudia?"

  "Bethany?"

  "She's been like a daughter to your mama," Ida Mae repeated. "Of course, if Miss Claudia had had her way, Bethany would have been your wife and our Anne Marie would have… Well, it don't matter none, I guess. Not after all these years. Anne Marie is as much a grandchild to your mama as she would have been if … if she'd been yours."

  Anne Marie? Bethany and Amery's daughter. Named for his and Amery's grandmother, Anne Marie Morgan. He hadn't known about the child until after Amery's death. Ida Mae had sent him a copy of his cousin's obituary.

  Up to that point, Morgan had thought the most difficult thing he'd ever have to face was Bethany's marriage to Amery. He'd been wrong. What had hurt the most—what had haunted him for years—was the knowledge that Bethany had given Amery a child. A child that should have been his.

 
; He'd blamed himself. He had rejected Bethany's love and left her defenseless against the machinations of her mother and his parents, who had desperately wanted a union between the two families. She'd been so young, so sweet and innocent—and so much in love with him. Dammit, how could he have been such a fool? He'd walked away from his one chance at happiness, and when he'd come to his senses, it had been too late. In her vulnerable state, Bethany had turned for comfort to his cold, calculating, status-oriented, money-hungry cousin.

  Logically Morgan knew he'd been the one at fault. But in the deepest recesses of his heart—a heart that he'd been told, more than once, was embedded in solid rock—he still questioned how, if Bethany had loved him so completely, she could have married another man so soon?

  "What are we going to do about telling Miss Claudia?" Ida Mae asked.

  "If you think telling Mother about—" he could barely bring himself to say her name aloud "—Bethany's arrest is going to upset her and endanger her health, perhaps we should keep it from her."

  "How are we going to do that? Miss Claudia reads the papers and watches television. And somebody's bound to come by or call to tell her about it."

  "Then I'll have to tell her."

  "Maybe you ought to call Dr. Bowers and have him here when you tell her." Staring directly at Morgan, Ida Mae widened her eyes in a you - understand - what - I - mean expression. "Just in case."

  "Call and find out how soon he can come over," Morgan said. "In the meantime, I'll go upstairs and see if Mother's awake, and if she is, I'll make sure she doesn't watch television."

  After walking Ida Mae out into the kitchen, he headed up the back stairs. On his way to his mother's room, he heard the telephone ringing. Damn! He hoped Ida Mae was the one who had answered.

  As a child, he'd never been allowed entrance into his parents' bedroom, so even now he hesitated momentarily outside his mother's private domain. Gripping the crystal knob, he opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit interior. His mother's soft, thick Southern drawl whispered quietly.