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The middle-aged man grinned.
"Hard to miss that bandage," he recalled.
"She was too proud to ask for help, but nobody minded lifting the suitcases for her. She said one of
them had a lot of books in it, and that was why it was so heavy.
She studied Native Americans, she said. "
Tate's heart jumped with delight.
"Where did she go?"
"Went to Nashville," the man recalled.
"I had to show her where to go in the terminal, because she had to change buses. Let me see, where
was it she wanted to go? Clarksville?
No. Sounded a little like that, though." He thought for a minute while Tate waited with barely
contained patience.
"Cullenville. That's it. Cullenville. Was going to work in a museum there. Smart girl. Knew all about
the first Native Americans who lived in these mountains, too."
Tate thanked the man, gave him a twenty-dollar bill for his time, and went back to his apartment to
make an airplane reservation. Tate had gone to see Audrey to make his situation crystal clear.
Surprisingly she'd gone to pieces and admitted to a drug problem that had crippled her ability to
reason. She apologized for planting the stories in the tabloids about Tate seducing a teenage Cecily
and Audrey's engagement to him and offered to speak to Cecily on his behalf. He put her in touch with
a psychologist he knew and helped get her into a treatment center, where, Tate hoped, she was going
to stay for some time. He blamed her for contributing to Cecily's flight, but he knew he had to
shoulder a large part of the blame.
He'd spent a lot of time with Audrey. Now, he had to face the fact that it had only been to keep Cecily
from seeing how he really felt.
He'd also been able to put together a profile of Gambini, and it wasn't reassuring. The man had been
in trouble with the law since his teens, and he'd managed to slip out of two murder indictments. He
had a violent temper and a reputation for revenge, and it was said that he never gave up until he
finished what he started. Tate feared for Cecily's safety.
Impatiently Tate started to phone the airport to get a ticket on the next flight to Nashville. It was then
he realized that, when he found Cecily, he didn't know what he was going to say to her. It stopped him,
but only for a minute. She was still at risk from Gabrini and she didn't know it. He'd have to work out
his apology on the way. He made his reservation for the next morning and then sat down in his lonely
apartment and recounted his recent sins.
He thought about the baby and his heart jumped. He wondered if it would have his features or hers, if
it would be a boy or a girl. His eyes softened, thinking of how Cecily loved children, of how tender
and loving she'd be with his child. She'd loved him for so long. His groan was audible. She probably
didn't love him now; he'd seen to that. He got up and paced and wished he knew what to say to her.
Then it occurred to him that the man at the very center of this whole damned mess might have some
ideas on that theme. After all, he'd coaxed a woman into his arms after a thirty-six-year absence and a
lot of resentment. He shouldered into his coat and went out the door.
Chapter Fourteen 1 ate rang Senator Holden's home on the way there, to be told that they'd arrived
home the night before. Tate didn't ask to speak to his mother or Matt. But he needed advice, and his
father seemed like the logical person to give it to him, despite the bad blood between them.
He drove himself to Maryland, thinking about Cecily in Tennessee with his baby, and worried sick
about how he was ever going to get her back and salvage any of his pride. He was even more worried
about Gabrini and his attempt at revenge, chillingly certain that the man would eventually track her.
Matt's housekeeper let him in with a grimace.
"I'm harmless today," Tate assured the woman as she led the way to where Matt Holden was standing
just outside the study door.
"Right. You and two odd species of cobra," Matt murmured sarcastically, glaring at his son from a
tanned face.
"What do you want, a bruise to match the other one?"
Tate held up both hands.
"Don't start," he said.
Matt moved out of the way with reluctance and closed the study door behind them.
"Your mother's gone shopping," he said.
"Good. I don't want to talk to her just yet."
Matt's eyebrows levered up.
"Oh?"
Tate dropped into the wing chair across from the senator's bulky armchair.
"I need some advice."
Matt felt his forehead.
"I didn't think a single malt whiskey was enough to make me hallucinate," he said to himself.
Tate glowered at him.
"You're not one of my favorite people, but you know Cecily a little better than I seem to lately."
"Cecily loves you," Matt said shortly, dropping into his chair.
"That's not the problem," Tate said. He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely between his splayed
knees.
"Although I seem to have done everything in my power to make her stop."
The older man didn't speak for a minute or two.
"Love doesn't die that easily," he said.
"Your mother and I are a case in point. We hadn't seen each other for thirty-six years, but the instant
we met again, the years fell away. We were young again, in love again."
"I can't wait thirty-six years," Tate stated. He stared at his hands, then he drew in a long breath.
"Cecily's pregnant."
The other man was quiet for so long that Tate lifted his eyes, only to be met with barely contained
rage in the older man's face.
"Is it yours?" Matt asked curtly.
Tate glowered at him.
"What kind of woman do you think Cecily is? Of course it's mine!"
Matt chuckled. He leaned back in the easy chair and indulged the need to look at his son, to find all the
differences and all the similarities in that younger version of his face. It pleased him to find so many
familiar things.
"We look alike," Tate said, reading the intent scrutiny he was getting.
"Funny that I never noticed that before."
Matt smiled.
"We didn't get along very well."
"Both too stubborn and inflexible," Tate pointed out.
"And arrogant."
Tate chuckled dryly.
"Maybe."
"I've told Leta. Maybe I should tell you, too," Matt began.
"I'm sorry for what you went through when you were a kid...."
Tate held up a hand.
"Neither of us can change what was," he said quietly.
"It was almost a relief to know Jack Winthrop wasn't my father. It helped me to understand why he
hated me so much. I don't blame you. My mother keeps secrets very well."
"Too well," Matt said gruffly.
"I wish she hadn't kept this one. I've missed so much." He added, averting his eyes. It was difficult to
say these things, but they needed to be said.
"If I'd had any idea that you were my son, I would have swept the floor with your damned stepfather
years ago!"
Tate touched his cheekbone and grinned.
"I take the point, about not underestimating you because of your age.
God, you hit hard!"
"I had provocation," Matt reminded him.
Tate sighed.
"Yes, you did. I was way out of line. I'm sorry I said those things to my mother. When she's ready to
listen, I'll apologize for every one of them."
"She's not angry," came the quiet reply.
"She understood what you were going through. So did I."
He smoothed a place on his slacks. "I gave Cecily hell, too."
"She deserved it least of all," Matt pointed out.
"She was involved strictly because she didn't want to see you hurt. She would have done anything to
spare you."
"Life hurts," Tate said simply.
"There's no way around the pain of it."
"So they say."
"Cecily was in the hospital, did you know?" he asked after a minute.
Matt sat forward scowling.
"What?"
"A car tried to run her over in the parking lot where she works."
"Oh, good God!" Matt exploded.
"Who?"
"A man named Gabrini, apparently, one of the men in the gambling syndicate," he said with barely
contained fury.
"Well, is Cecily all right?" Matt persisted.
"She had concussion and a fractured wrist, but she's fine." He looked up briefly.
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