“Travis asked me to contact him by phone once I’d reached my decision.”
“I take it you haven’t phoned him.”
“Not yet,” Mary confirmed. She was trying to think clearly, weigh her decision with a logical mind, and examine the pros and cons without emotion. There was no need to coat the fairy-tale picture of marriage she’d built in her mind; she knew what she wanted, and she also knew what she was getting.
It was either a mistake to have come to Georgeanne or the best thing she could have done. Mary didn’t know which.
She reached for her iced tea and took a sip. As she did, she recalled her friend’s cluttered refrigerator door. Her heart ached, throbbing with a need so strong it was all she could do not to burst into tears.
Through all the years that their friendship spanned, Mary realized sadly that Georgeanne McKay hadn’t really known her. Georgeanne, whose life was so littered and happy, couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to live in the sterile, tidy world of loneliness. Her friend, who’d been loved and desired by one man from the time she was in high school, had no conception of what it meant to be a thirty-two-year-old virgin. Her friend’s reaction had been one of selfish need. Georgeanne could never appreciate what Travis’s offer meant to someone like Mary.
Within her hand Mary held the only opportunity she might ever have to find happiness with a man. There were children involved, young, grieving children who needed her. For the first time in years she had hope, and it was a damn sight better than filling the emptiness with faded dreams.
Okay, Mary was willing to admit marrying a stranger did sound like the action of someone desperate and hopeless. So? Those were the very feelings she’d been stuffing deep inside her all these years. She was sick of pretending otherwise. Sick of denying the lack and all that went with it.
Georgeanne must have sensed Mary’s attitude because she released a labored sigh. “I don’t mean to sound so skeptical. For all I know your cowboy may be…wonderful. I assume you’ve had him checked out? I mean, he could be a mental patient or have a criminal record or any number of things that you should know about.”
“I don’t need to do that,” Mary responded defiantly. Now her friend seemed to be questioning her ability to judge character.
Georgeanne looked all the more concerned. “Please tell me this is all some silly joke. You really aren’t seriously thinking of going through with this, are you?”
“Yes, I most likely will marry Travis.” Georgeanne had given her something to think about, Mary admitted. As for taking the time to have Travis checked out, as Georgeanne put it, she didn’t feel it was necessary. If the state of Montana considered him fit enough to raise three children, there couldn’t be that much wrong with him.
Georgeanne meant well, but for the first time Mary recognized a side of her friend’s personality she’d never viewed before. As for marrying Travis, Mary’s mind was set.
“How could you even consider marrying a man you’ve never met?” Georgeanne reached for her iced tea, jerking it so hard that it sloshed over the sides. She took a sip, then set it back down on the glass-top table with a thud.
“He and the children need me. It’s enough. I don’t expect you to understand what it means to be needed,” she returned sadly.
“This isn’t you, Mary, it just isn’t you. You’ve always been so levelheaded. My instincts tell me it’s all wrong, you can’t honestly mean to move halfway across the country to marry this cowpoke.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Well because…because if you want a husband, this isn’t the way to go about getting one. Did you ever stop to think the only reason he wants a wife is because of those children?”
“Of course. They’re the reason I’m marrying him.”
Mary’s answer seemed to confound her friend even more.
“I…thought you were happy. You’ve always seemed to be…this just isn’t something you would normally do.”
“Oh, but, Georgeanne,” she disputed, amazed that her friend didn’t know her at all, “it is me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited in my life. I feel so rich inside, as if I’ve won the lottery.”
“Have you thought about his motives? Have you honestly considered why he’s willing to marry someone he’s never met? He’s using you.”
Mary smiled softly, dismissing her friend’s fears. Georgeanne had used her, too, as a sounding board, to help her with the children when they were younger, to sew her clothes. “Don’t be so hard on Travis. I’m using him, too. We’re both doing this because of the children. They need me, and it feels so wonderfully good to be needed.”
“I need you, too,” Georgeanne argued, her voice growing urgent. “We’ve been friends nearly our whole lives. I’m trying, Mary, honestly trying to understand, but I just don’t. You’re willing to toss away everything you’ve ever worked for because some cowboy needs a wife, and because some children you’ve never met need mothering? You’re risking so much, and for what? What do you expect in return?”
In some ways Mary appreciated her best friend’s concern, but it wasn’t going to make the least bit of difference. Her course had been set from the instant she’d heard Sally and Karen talking about Travis’s ad. In that moment some unnamed emotion had scooted down the length of her spine, and she hadn’t been the same since. She sincerely doubted that she ever would be again. The ad had been the pivotal point of her life. It had forced her to take an honest look at her existence. She couldn’t bear to go on another day the way she had been. Pretending to be happy. Imagining so much that was never there and never would be unless she took action. Travis was giving her the opportunity, and she was so overcome with gratitude that it was all she could do to refrain from dancing down Petite’s oak-lined streets.
“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” Georgeanne whispered. “You’ve already made your decision.”
The brown eyes staring at Mary so intensely persuaded her that she really should have led into this discussion with a little more tact. But after so many years of friendship, she hadn’t thought it would be necessary.
“I feel as though I’ve lived my entire life in a glass bowl,” Mary said in one last effort to explain. “Georgeanne, look at me. I’m thirty-two years old, don’t you think it’s time I lived a little?”
“But marrying a stranger is like learning how to fly by leaping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Perhaps,” Mary agreed, but she never had been afraid of heights, and for the first time in more years than she wanted to count, she was ready to soar.
“Promise me one thing,” Georgeanne pleaded, gripping Mary’s hands with her own. “Give it a week. Think through every detail of this before contacting him. A week shouldn’t be so long to wait. Will you do it? For me? Please?”
Mary sighed, then nodded reluctantly.
“You know what I was thinking?” Scotty said, his elbows propped on the kitchen table, his freckled face buried between his small hands. He paused, his expression dour.
“What’s that?” Travis was busy scrubbing out the bottom of a cast-iron stew pot. He’d gotten distracted and left it on the stove several hours too long. Hell, he didn’t know something could get this badly burned. The meat was scorched, the vegetables had cooked so long they were an unrecognizable mass, and it looked like he’d damn near destroyed the best pot he owned.
“I was thinking,” Scotty continued, frowning, “that Mary’s decided she doesn’t want to marry us.”
Travis muttered a cuss word under his breath. The truth of the matter was he’d been having those same thoughts himself. By his calculations, Mary had received his letter a full seven days earlier. Seven days. She should have been able to make up her mind in that amount of time. He’d laid his cards on the table, been as honest and straightforward as he knew how to be, and ruined everything in the process.
He’d give her a few more days, then sort through the other letters he’d received and answer one of those. Hell, find
ing a woman willing to marry him was proving to be as difficult as locating a housekeeper.
“Did I just hear you say a bad word?” Beth Ann asked, stalking in from the living room, arms akimbo. Travis swore the kid had better hearing than some bats.
“I might have muttered something just now.”
“Something bad?”
“He’s worried,” Scotty explained patiently. “A man should be able to let off a little steam when he’s got something heavy on his mind.”
For being eight, the kid was all right. Travis saw more of Lee in Scotty than the other two kids. At times it was almost painful watching the lad, and at others…at other times Travis’s heart felt a bit lighter seeing bits and pieces of his brother’s wit and charm sparkling from the boy’s eyes.
Jim physically resembled Lee the most, but his personality was more like Travis’s. He didn’t say much but stood back and soaked in what was going on around him. Of the three, Jim was the cynic, the pessimist. Travis tried to be patient with the boy, but frankly he was getting sick of dealing with his sour, critical moods. If Jim behaved this way at twelve, then Travis hated to think what he’d be like at fifteen.
“We might as well accept the fact she’s not coming,” Jim announced. “Why should she?”
“I liked her the best,” Beth Ann said sadly, scooting out the chair and sitting down next to her brothers. The five-year-old’s shoulders slumped forward as if her head weighed too much. Travis had managed to comb her hair into pigtails, and although they were lopsided he was downright proud of his efforts.
Scotty leaned across the table and whispered in a voice Travis wasn’t supposed to have heard but did. “We’ve got to do something quick before Uncle Travis poisons us with his cooking.”
“I heard that,” Travis muttered. “No one ever died because something was a little overcooked.”
“A little,” Jim complained loudly. “It’s going to take you a week to scrub the burnt stuff off the bottom of that pot.”
“If you’re going to complain, I’ll let you do the scrubbing.”
“How long will it be before Mrs. Morgan comes to visit us again?” Beth Ann asked wistfully.
“Six days,” Scotty answered, as though they were sure to be the longest six days known to mankind.
The old lady continued to drive out and visit every week. In the beginning, fool that he’d been, Travis had resented the intrusion. Several women from town had wanted to smother him with advice and drown him in their charity. He hadn’t wanted any part of it. He’d been gruff and unfriendly when they’d driven out to the Triple T carting food and cleaning supplies, too damn proud to accept their help. Four months had altered his opinion. Anyone who made the trip to the ranch hauling anything edible was given a welcome fit for royalty.
No one came, however, with the exception of Clara Morgan. The retired schoolteacher stopped by weekly with dinner fixings, stayed long enough to talk to each of the children, and then promptly left. Travis half suspected she was the one who’d contacted the Children’s Protective Services with a long list of complaints. He hadn’t figured out if the old woman was friend or foe, but since she served up the only decent meal they could plan on for the week, Travis didn’t ask.
The phone rang, and all three kids turned bright eyes toward Travis. He should never have said anything about asking Mary to phone. He regretted that now. His own disappointment was keen enough without having to deal with theirs.
“You going to answer that?” Scotty demanded after the second ring.
“Give me a minute, will you?” he returned brusquely, reaching for a dish towel. He never thought he’d see the day he was suffering from dishpan hands.
“She might not wait a minute,” Scotty argued.
“It isn’t her, anyway,” Jim said with a sneer. “She isn’t goin’ to call.”
Travis pointed his index finger at the older boy. “I told you before to quit being so damn negative,” he reprimanded as he reached for the telephone receiver. Jim’s rotten attitude nagged at Travis. “Triple T,” he barked into the mouthpiece, frowning. He needed to do something about Jim, only problem was, he didn’t know what.
“Hello…Travis?”
The voice that came at him was soft and feminine, with a warm southern drawl. Travis’s hand tightened around the receiver as his heart tripped. “Mary?” He flashed a triumphant look toward the kitchen table as though he’d known it was her all along.
“Yes, it’s me. You asked me to phone.”
“Have you decided?” Travis hated the eagerness he heard in his own voice. He should sound cool and collected, as if her response didn’t matter to him one way or the other. There were plenty of other letters to sort through. Even a few worth considering. None that matched hers, but she didn’t know that.
“You didn’t send a picture.” Her words were mildly accusing.
“Did you ask for one?” He tried not to let his impatience show, but he was having a damn hard time of it.
He could almost hear her smile, which was nonsensical. “Listen, if you want something, you’re going to have to learn to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Are you tall?”
“Six three. I’m a little on the scrawny side.”
“That’s because he has to eat his own cooking,” Scotty shouted, and the three gathered around the table all laughed. The tension had broken, and for that, at least, Travis could be grateful.
He silenced them with a look. He didn’t want Mary to think he was marrying her just because she was a good cook, although that was part of it. Heaven knew he’d lain awake nights thinking about the meals she’d make. If she could win a blue ribbon for a fig pie, then it didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out what she could do with apples or peaches.
“If you want a picture, I’ll mail you one,” he said a bit more gruffly than he intended. He could have told her some women thought he was handsome, but he didn’t want to sound conceited. It was generally accepted that he was good-looking.
“Mailing me a photo won’t be necessary.”
It was all Travis could do not to demand why the hell she’d asked for one in the first place, then. Furthermore, he wished she’d answer his question. The way he figured it, if he said nothing, she’d eventually get around to telling him what he wanted to know.
A painful silence fell between them. It was all Travis could do not to blurt out the question once more.
“The reason I phoned,” Mary said after several torturous moments, “was to let you know that I’ve given thoughtful consideration to your proposal and have decided to marry you. That is, if you still want me?”
Want her! He hadn’t met the woman, and everything within him longed to bring her into his arms and tell her how grateful he was. The weight of ten years was lifted from his shoulders in that moment.
“Great,” he said, struggling to disguise his enthusiasm and not succeeding. He gave the kids a thumbs-up sign and grinned when the three clasped arms around one another’s waists and danced around the table.
“I’d like to speak to each of the children, but before I do I thought we should agree on a date so I can make the travel arrangements.”
“Fine. I’ll call the airlines and have a ticket waiting for you at the desk. Is Saturday convenient?”
“This Saturday?”
When else did she think he meant? “Yes. The children and I are eager to meet you.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t possibly be ready so soon.”
A man could get used to a voice that soft, Travis mused. It was like listening to a flow of liquid honey.
“There are several matters I must see to before leaving Petite,” she added. “I’ve decided to put the furniture in storage and rent the house. There’s so much to sort through. Why, it could take weeks.”
“Weeks!”
“I was thinking two months would be adequate.”
“Two months?” His hold tightened on the telephone to a punishing
force. “We can’t possibly wait that long.” Not with the state social worker breathing down his neck. Not with him ruining every pot and pan in the house. If that wasn’t enough incentive, he had a ranch to run. He needed a wife, and he needed her now.
“All right,” Mary said genially enough. “One month. That will be pushing it, but I’ll need at least thirty days to conclude my affairs in town.”
“No way.” His tone was sharp enough to stop the children cold. Three pairs of anxious eyes turned to him. “One week,” he said firmly. “That’s all the time I’ve got. Either take it or leave it.” He sounded far more confident than he was feeling.
“Uncle Travis,” Scotty reminded him, waving his hands wildly, “she can cook real good.”
“Well?” Travis pressed, ignoring the boy.
“She sings made-up songs,” Beth Ann added in a soft, pleading voice.
“If that’s the case,” Mary said with an abrupt sigh, “then a week will just have to do.”
She wasn’t pleased, Travis could tell that much, but it couldn’t be helped.
Mary hesitated, and then her voice dipped slightly. “I’m looking forward to meeting you all.”
“I’m anxious to meet you, too.” Travis was convinced she didn’t have a clue exactly how much.
Four
Mousy. It was the only word Travis could think to describe Mary Warner when she stepped off the plane. His heart sank and took a moment to rally itself. Long legs, that was all he’d asked for, and what did he get? Minnie Mouse.
All right, he was willing to admit, he was being unfair. She’d sent him the photo, and he’d known she wasn’t an Amazon. He just hadn’t expected her to be quite so…so diminutive.
Travis didn’t know when he’d seen anyone who looked more like a librarian than Mary did. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and as best he could calculate she was a full foot shorter than he was. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. If her plain features and size weren’t discouraging enough, she looked as if a stiff wind would topple her, and God knew there were plenty of those in Grandview. Travis doubted that Mary Warner had much if any stamina. She didn’t look strong enough to shift the gears on his truck, let alone cook and clean for an entire household. As for living on a ranch, she’d be as out of place as a palm tree in Alaska.
Morning Comes Softly Page 5
