Morning Comes Softly

by Debbie Macomber

  She was wearing a pale lavender dress, and the soft color enhanced her features, which were—he hated to say it—ordinary. She seemed a tad pale, until he realized she wasn’t wearing makeup. Not even a little blush or lip gloss. Her glasses were the huge horn-rimmed variety that took up nearly all of her face. Her classic navy blue coat was left unbuttoned, and she wore sensible black shoes. A book was tucked in her arm, and he glanced down to note it was one on child rearing. Apparently she didn’t know any more about the subject than he did. They were certainly going to be great parents, he told himself sarcastically. Funny he hadn’t thought of that before.

  In any other circumstances Travis was convinced he would have passed her by without even giving her a second glance. Damn, but she was small.

  The entire scrutiny took all of two seconds before he gave himself a mental shake, removed the Stetson from his head, and stepped forward.

  “Mary Warner?”

  “Yes.” She looked up at him with clear blue eyes.

  She had lovely eyes. She wasn’t his type, not in the least, but he appreciated beautiful eyes when he saw them.

  She stood absolutely still as they stared at each other. For the longest moment she said nothing, as if she too had been expecting something much more than he’d ever deliver. He straightened, uncomfortable under her scrutiny, wishing he’d taken the time to shower and shave before he left the ranch.

  “I’m Travis Thompson.”

  “I thought you must be.” Her voice was deeply southern, and her smile was shy, sweet. Gentle. A Mary Poppins sort of smile. Beth Ann, at least, was going to get her wish. As for him, there was no hope.

  Travis felt as though he’d been duped. The photo she’d sent had been vague and nondescript. The shot was much clearer of Mary’s friend than of herself. He’d studied her image for a good long while, sensing a rare beauty beneath those pale eyes and gentle features. He should have looked closer. Any beauty he’d detected from the photo had been in his imagination.

  Apparently everything she’d written about what a good cook she was had blinded him to the truth, because he experienced little, if any, of those feelings now. He’d needed someone for the children so badly that he’d made Mary into something she would never be. He should have known better, but by the time he’d read her letters and received her picture, he’d gotten fanciful.

  The number of women who’d responded to the ad had shocked Travis. He received fifteen replies that first week and more later, but by then he’d heard from Mary. Of all the women, she was the only one he considered suitable to help him raise his brother’s children. He’d like to see the state social worker find fault with a librarian!

  Some of the others who’d written had tempted him plenty. Pretty ones, desperate ones, sexy-as-hell ones, but Travis had repeatedly gone back to Mary’s simple, straightforward letter.

  He’d known long before he sent her the airfare that Mary Warner wasn’t a candidate for Miss America. He just hadn’t been prepared for a shy little mouse.

  “I thought the children would be here,” she said, glancing around for them.

  “They’re back at the ranch waiting.” He didn’t own a vehicle large enough for everyone to fit into and hadn’t gotten around to buying one. He probably wouldn’t until he’d sold off the rest of his herd.

  “I was hoping to meet them.” Once again she offered him a gentle smile, then quickly lowered her eyes to the floor.

  Mary Warner wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever dated, but he found himself growing to like that sweet smile of hers. And those eyes.

  “You’ll meet the children soon enough.” Pressing his hand against her elbow, Travis led the way to the luggage carousel. He wondered what the hell they’d find to say to each other during the two hours it would take to drive into Grandview.

  He was so much larger than Mary had envisioned. Six three had never seemed so formidable. His size was downright threatening. He wasn’t smiling, and his look, so dark and intense, intimidated her. His hair was brown and untamed and needed to be cut. She noted that he set his hat back on his head a second after he’d introduced himself, as if he felt uncomfortable without it. She found that somewhat endearing.

  His eyebrows were bushy and bleached nearly blond from too many hours in the sun. She didn’t know what to make of his eyes. They were an odd shade of brown—uncommon, really, a cross between brown and green—and when he smiled, which was rare, she noted, their color resembled Kentucky whiskey. His look was unreadable, as if he’d had a good deal of practice hiding his feelings.

  His face was nearly bronzed, weathered and beaten. He’d written that he was thirty-six, but he looked older. He might have been handsome if it weren’t for the chiseled hardness of his jaw. The contours were angled and abrupt.

  There was nothing soft in this man, nothing delicate or subdued, she noted. He made no apologies for who or what he was, nor did he make any attempt to hide it.

  If she were to have walked past him on the street, her first thought would have been that he’d stepped off the pages of a Louis L’Amour novel. A cowboy from a hundred years past, wearing faded denims, a blanket-lined jean jacket, scuffed boots, and a black hat. Mary strongly suspected he’d leaped from the back of a horse and hurried into Miles City to meet her plane. He hadn’t dressed for the occasion, but she wasn’t offended by that. He was a rancher, and from what he’d written, the hours he could spend working his spread were precious few since the arrival of the children.

  One thing did concern her, however. Travis Thompson was more man than she’d ever seen in her life. Having him touch her, even lightly at the elbow, unnerved her. Soon he’d have the right to touch her in other places, places no one else ever had, and she’d let him because…well, because a wife allowed a husband to do that sort of thing.

  Once they were outside, the wind cut through her like a hunting knife. Shivering, she buttoned her coat as fast as her fingers would cooperate and hunched her shoulders against the cold. Travis had warned her winter was setting in. It had gone without saying that the mild weather in Petite would be nothing like the bitter cold of Montana. Mary had thought she was prepared, but she wasn’t, not for anything like this, and it was barely October.

  Travis set her two large suitcases in the back of a dilapidated pickup. The rest of her things were being shipped. She didn’t take time to examine the truck carefully, other than to note that it didn’t look like it would last more than a few hundred miles.

  After helping her inside, Travis joined her. He started the engine, which roared to life with surprising energy as though to prove her wrong. She ran her hand along the tattered cushion in unspoken apology for having judged the truck harshly, and perhaps the man, too.

  The ride into Grandview took nearly two hours. Neither of them spoke much, although they both made a single attempt at polite conversation. Travis inquired about her trip and she asked about the children, and after that there seemed nothing more to say.

  The landscape as they rode along was as Mary had envisioned from the beginning. Stark and barren. They drove for miles on end, traveling up one rock-strewn hill and down another in what seemed to be an endless stretch of monotony broken by tumbleweeds that scooted across the road, carried by the howling wind. Mary had hoped to find grass rippling in the wind as the sun caressed the land. Only there was no grass and there was no sun.

  “It’s Mrs. Morgan’s day at the ranch,” Travis explained as they pulled off the highway and down a long, narrow roadway bordered on both sides by fenced land as rocky and barren as everything else around them. Curious, Mary wondered how anything sustained life in such desolation.

  “Clara Morgan visits once a week,” Travis went on to explain. “She does what she can to help with the children.”

  Mary nodded, not sure how to comment or even if one was needed.

  “I had the boys clean up their room. You can sleep there until the waiting period is over.” His hands tightened about the steering wheel as tho
ugh suggesting she might be having second thoughts. Mary couldn’t help wondering if maybe he was the one who would rather not go through with the ceremony.

  “Is sleeping in the boys’ room all right with you?” he asked gruffly.

  “That’ll be fine.”

  Just when Mary was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be, Travis slowed and turned into a gravel-packed driveway. The road was hardly one at all. It was steep and rocky and filled with ruts large enough to swallow half the truck. The ride was so jarring that she clung to the cushion in an effort to keep from being tossed about.

  Travis slowed as they reached the house and immense yard. Mary wasn’t sure what she’d expected. What she saw caused her heart to sink several notches. In her mind she’d conjured up a ranch that was something out of reruns from the old television series “The Virginian,” with a large, immaculate house set on a hill above pristine pastures and well-maintained outbuildings. What she found could best be described as a hodgepodge of dead and dying vehicles and neglected buildings.

  The house was there all right, but it was small and dingy looking. The wood had been exposed for so many years that whatever paint had been there had long since faded. The outbuildings, of which there were several, looked in even worse condition. A few were leaning slightly to one side as if all it would take was a brisk wind for them to collapse altogether. She counted four rusting cars and doubted that a single one of them was drivable.

  “It’s not much,” Travis said, apparently reading her thoughts. He studied her as if waiting for her to announce the whole thing was off and that she refused to marry him. If that was the case, Travis Thompson was going to be disappointed. Mary hadn’t agreed to this marriage expecting to be met by servants and the promise of room service. Her imagination had run away with her, that was all, but she could accept reality.

  “It’s a very nice place, Travis.”

  He cast her a surprised look, as though he wasn’t sure he should believe her. She smiled at him briefly and looked away, a little embarrassed.

  The back door opened and three children crowded on the porch when Travis helped her out of the truck. Mary paused, and her tender heart warmed at the sight of them. They were exactly as Travis had described them in their two brief conversations following her phone call. Stair steps. All three were ogling her, their expressions blank except for their eyes, which were incredibly round and wide. If she didn’t know better, Mary would have thought the three were posing for a poster of farm children back during the Great Depression of the 1930s.

  “Don’t be bothering Mary with a bunch of questions,” Travis warned as he guided her into the kitchen. After viewing the outside of the house, Mary thought she was braced for what she would discover inside. A surprise awaited her as she scanned the large room. The appliances, although they weren’t anything to brag about, were surprisingly modern. There was even a microwave oven. The walls were a cheery shade of yellow, but then Travis had mentioned having painted recently.

  Wordlessly the children followed her from the porch, gathering around her, looking as though they expected her to say or do something.

  “Hello,” she said softly, smiling down at them. If she was disappointed in Travis and the ranch, then these precious children more than made up for it. They’d spoken briefly on the phone, and each time Mary had come to know them a little better.

  The youngest smiled back shyly. “Can you do magic tricks?”

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “Yes, just like Mary Poppins.”

  “That’s stupid,” Scotty said. He was nearly as tall as his brother, with two front teeth growing awkwardly into place. A dash of cinnamon-colored freckles garnished his nose.

  “More important,” Jim argued, stepping forward, “when can you start cooking?”

  “As soon as you like.”

  “It’s a good thing, because Uncle Travis’s dinners are about to kill us all.”

  “For Pete’s sake, give her room to breathe,” Travis demanded, coming through the door hauling both of her suitcases. “They’ll talk your head off once you get to know them.”

  “We weren’t pestering her.”

  Travis closed the door with his boot and paused halfway across the kitchen floor. “Introduce yourselves proper like while I put her suitcases away.” He disappeared down a long narrow hallway.

  “I’m Jim.”

  Mary walked over to him and smiled. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand for the youth to shake, which he did.

  “You’re not very pretty.”

  Mary didn’t take offense, but the words stung nevertheless. “I know, but I can cook, and from what you said earlier that was all you wanted.”

  “I think she’s pretty,” a boyish voice announced from behind her. “Well, sort of.”

  Mary turned around to face Scotty.

  The youngster stuck out his hand. Mary shook it, then framed his face between her hands and smiled at him. “Thank you for saying I’m pretty.”

  The eight-year-old blushed profusely. “Well, you are.”

  “Sort of,” she reminded him.

  “I’m Beth Ann, and Uncle Travis ruined my best dress, and I need someone to make me another one.”

  “I’ll see what I can do with it first thing after dinner.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Morgan?” Travis asked on his way back from the bedroom.

  “She had to leave early, but she left you a note.”

  Travis nodded, walked over to the bulletin board, and removed the tack from a folded piece of paper. All three of the children were watching him, waiting for his response. Because they did, Mary did, too. She noted that his jaw tightened as he crumpled the note and tossed it in the garbage.

  “Is something wrong?’ Mary asked.

  “Nothing,” Travis answered, and reassured her with a smile, but it was weak at best and didn’t begin to reach his eyes.

  “Mrs. Morgan sent her congratulations and said something about the ladies group at the Grange holding a reception for us after the wedding.”

  Scotty whispered for Mary’s benefit, “She said she was looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I don’t have much to do with the folks in town,” Travis said darkly. “If you don’t object, I’d rather skip the reception.” His intense eyes studied hers.

  “Whatever you prefer.”

  “I think a party would be nice,” Scotty said.

  “Scotty,” Travis barked, “shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” Beth Ann announced. “Mrs. Morgan got so busy cleaning up for Mary that she forgot about dinner.”

  “She brought everything with her the way she always does,” Scotty explained. “It just needs to be heated up.”

  “I’ll do that,” Travis said to the children, “while you show Mary her room.”

  The three hesitated. “Remember what happened the last time?” Beth Ann whispered to Travis as though it were a secret she didn’t want Mary to hear.

  “I can warm something without ruining it,” Travis thundered, stalking across the kitchen.

  The children turned to cast pleading looks toward Mary. She hadn’t anticipated traveling for several hours and then being expected to manage dinner. But she’d do it without thinking twice, without question, because there were three sets of eyes staring at her expectantly.

  In all her life no one had ever needed Mary the way these four did. The warm sensation it created within her was like slipping into a tub of hot water on a winter day. It felt good all the way to the marrow of her bones.

  “You three show Mary to her room and then give her a tour of the house,” Travis instructed, opening the refrigerator and taking out several items.

  “I’ll do that,” Mary offered.

  “No, you won’t,” he returned gruffly. “Not after the day you’ve had. Contrary to what the children may say, I’m capable of warming up dinner.”

  �
�You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Still Mary hesitated, until Beth Ann slipped her small hand into Mary’s. “I want you to see my room first, okay?”

  Mary nodded and allowed the children to drag her down a narrow hallway. It was apparent they’d all made an effort to tidy up for her, but little could disguise the disorganization that greeted her in each and every room.

  The boys’ bedroom was the worst. A thin blanket covered the window, tacked to the frame with large nails. The curtain had been torn, Beth Ann explained, when Scotty had used it as a grapevine to swing from his bed to the floor. In the process he’d ripped the rods out of the wall.

  Each and every room was wallpapered, Mary noted, but the paper was badly yellowed with age, lending a dingy, dark feeling to the house.

  The master bedroom gave her pause. The curtains were closed, and dark shadows bounced against the hardwood floor. The closet was narrow, and Mary wondered how she and Travis would possibly find room to store their clothes in one so compact. The bed had been hastily made, and Travis’s boots and socks were strewn in one corner as if he’d carelessly tidied it that very morning.

  The living room was the largest room of the house, and she hesitated when she noted that Travis had arranged the long sofa so that it blocked off the front door. Surely he’d made a mistake, or else no one had come to call in a good long while. A massive stone fireplace took up one entire wall, bordered on each side by bookshelves. She smiled as she scanned the titles, pleased he appreciated good fiction as much as she did. Everything wasn’t so bleak after all, she reasoned. They had more than a love for these children in common.

  “I saw Travis Thompson in town the other day,” Hester Johnson said, loudly enough for everyone in the group to hear. They were gathered at the Grange for their weekly game of pinochle.