Morning Comes Softly

by Debbie Macomber

  “I suppose that would be all right.” She scooted closer and rolled onto her side. Travis stretched out his arm, cupping it around her shoulders. She nestled her head against his chest and could hear his heart pound. They were both stiff and silent, but it didn’t stop her from realizing how warm and vital he was.

  “This is nice,” Travis whispered. “You’re no bigger than a minute, but you’re soft and you smell nice.”

  “Thank you. You smell nice, too.”

  “I do?”

  Mary struggled not to laugh. Travis made it sound as if she’d insulted him.

  After a while he moved his arm from her shoulders to her back, lightly stroking the length of her spine. “Would you like to kiss?”

  Mary’s pulse quickened. “That would be a natural progression, don’t you think?”

  His hand beneath her chin lifted her mouth to his. Mary closed her eyes, unsure what to expect. Travis pressed his moist lips to hers in a gentle, unhurried exploration. As he had earlier with his hand against her back, his lips now began to stroke hers.

  The sensation was unfamiliar and a bit strange, but pleasurable. She allowed it to continue, even participated, although she was unsure what she should do, if anything.

  Travis’s kiss continued lightly at first, then playfully, as if enticing a response from her. Of their own accord, her lips parted for him, and his tongue moved forward, outlining her mouth, coaxing and enticing her own.

  This was good, much better than she’d ever been led to believe even in the books she’d read. Her heart was pounding hard and fast. Shyly at first, her fingertips rested against the hard angles of his jaw.

  “Mary…” His breathing was heavy as he broke the contact. She was so disappointed that her eyes flew open. She’d done something wrong, offended him, botched her one chance of showing him she was woman enough to satisfy him.

  “I did something wrong?”

  “No. You were doing everything just right.”

  “Then why did we stop?”

  “Because.” He left it at that and pressed his forehead to hers. Threading his fingers through her hair, he sighed deeply. The room went silent and still, but it was unlike the dark, throbbing silence they’d experienced earlier.

  “Good night, Travis,” she whispered.

  “’Night, Mary, and don’t worry, you did everything just right.”

  Logan held Tilly close and breathed in the fresh scent of her. He didn’t want to leave, although it was nearly three A.M. and he should have slipped away hours ago.

  He found contentment with Tilly. A peace he desperately needed came over him whenever he was with her, even though he was aware that Tilly was holding back a large part of herself.

  When he was first attracted to her, he wanted to date her, wanted to get to know her. He was emotionally raw after his divorce, and it had taken him a good long while to decide he was ready to date again.

  He liked Tilly, her quick wit, the friendly way she smiled when he came into the cafe. She was a breath of fresh air in a life that had been spent in a musty basement. She was sunshine after a week of rain.

  Tilly was attracted to him, too, at least he assumed she was until he asked her to a movie. Damn but it had taken him a week to gather up the courage for the simple request. His heart had been pounding like a schoolboy’s by the time he’d casually issued the invitation. Her quick refusal had set his ego back on its tail.

  It took a week for him to put the rejection behind him and try again. This time, when she refused him, he was ready. He laughed and told her he wasn’t going to give up. He wanted to take her to a movie, and by heaven he meant it.

  Tilly’s eyes had studied him, as if she were looking for something more. There was an edge to her; sometimes it shocked him how sharp and cutting it could be. She used it on him then, laughing sarcastically at his determination.

  A few days later Logan was back with another invitation to the movie. She smiled regretfully and suggested he give it up and date someone more his type.

  That was when Logan changed tactics. He found out where she lived and then one evening dropped by unannounced, claiming if she wouldn’t go to the movies with him, then he’d bring the movies to her. He handed her a video and walked into her dingy apartment.

  In retrospect, as he analyzed that evening now, Logan realized he’d made several costly mistakes. They’d made love that first night. He hadn’t intended to sleep with Tilly, not nearly so soon. He’d wanted to date her, court her, but as soon as he kissed her, she was all over him. He blamed himself for being so weak; it’d been months since he’d last made love, and Tilly was so damned tempting, so damned enticing. Before he realized matters had gone so far, she was naked beneath him, tears spilling from her eyes.

  He apologized, held her close, tried to explain that it had been a long time for him. Tilly said nothing. She barely even looked at him, giving him the impression she’d given him what he expected.

  Their relationship had gotten off on the wrong foot that night and had been headed down that same crooked path ever since.

  Logan loved her so damn much it frightened him, yet he’d never said the words, mainly because Tilly didn’t want to hear them. She gave him her body, but she held her heart and soul in reserve. More times than he could count, she’d frustrated him. Not physically, never physically, but emotionally. While her body fulfilled his, she held him at arm’s length.

  He never had gotten her to agree to date him. Every time he suggested they go out, she found an excuse. He felt as if he were butting his head against a brick wall. If he wanted to be with her, it was on her terms, not his.

  He breathed in the warm, musky scent of her and kissed the crown of her head, wondering if he’d ever crack those defenses she’d erected.

  Tilly stirred and lifted her head from the pillow of his chest. “What time is it?”

  “Late. I was thinking I’d spend the night.”

  His words were met with a soft, undecided silence. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Someone might recognize your car.”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “I care.”

  The more she protested, the stronger his determination became to override her objection, to make some headway, however slight, into their twisted relationship. “I don’t want to leave you, not tonight.”

  She rubbed her hand over his bare chest, and her fingers toyed with the short, dark hairs there. Although she appeared outwardly calm, he knew her well. Her sweet mind was racing at Indy 500 speed.

  “If you stay, I think we should talk.”

  This was welcome news. “All right, we’ll talk. It’s time, don’t you think?”

  “There’s a few things I want to know about you.”

  “All right, fire away.”

  “You’ll answer anything I ask?”

  His smile widened. “Within reason.”

  “We’ll start off easy, then. What’s your middle name?”

  He hesitated. “Don’t laugh, it’s Alvin.”

  “Logan Alvin?”

  “It was my grandfather’s name.”

  “I think it’s very nice. Dignified like.”

  He stroked her hair, loving the silky feel of it against his fingers. “You would. Next question.”

  “How come you’re so incredibly sexy? It’s unfair, you know. I moved to Grandview determined I wasn’t going to have anything to do with men again. Every time I fall in love, I end up getting hurt. Then along strolls this incredibly handsome lawyer who won’t take no for an answer.”

  “I guess you’re just lucky.”

  She laughed, but he noticed she didn’t echo his sentiment about being lucky to have him.

  “I remember when you first came into Martha’s,” she continued.

  “I remember it, too.” They’d chatted and she’d put him at ease immediately. It was that first night he started watching her, thinking this was the kind of woman he wanted to kn
ow better.

  “I have another question.”

  “Fire away.” This was rather enjoyable, lying here with her, warm and content in his arms.

  “Where do you go every Tuesday night?”

  Logan tensed. Suddenly the conversation was no longer fun. Probably he should have told her about his Tuesdays long before now. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and then again he was. “I drive into Moser to get sane.”

  “You’re seeing a psychiatrist?”

  “No, I’m attending a meeting.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  Logan released a breath while he collected his thoughts. He might as well explain and be done with it. If he knew of a way to decorate the truth, now would be the time for it. But he’d gotten too honest for such games. The honesty had attached itself to his sobriety.

  “I’m an alcoholic, Tilly. I’m surprised you hadn’t guessed before now.”

  “An alcoholic?” She repeated it as if she thought he were playing some kind of sorry joke. “But I’ve only seen you drunk once, and that was months and months ago.”

  “I know. I’ve only had one slip in the last five years.”

  She went still, and in that moment Logan knew he’d made a mistake.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, knowing he sounded defensive. “I’m repugnant to you now, is that it?”

  “No, of course not, it’s just that I’m surprised.”

  “Why? It happens in the best of families. Just ask my father.” He started to break free of her hold, but she stopped him.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “I think I should,” he said.

  “Why? You wanted to stay a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m flawed, Tilly, I have a disease, but this one isn’t going to disappear with a refillable prescription. I’m one drink away from ruining my life.”

  “Do you think I’m perfect?” she asked in a small voice. “Everyone has at least one skeleton in their closet. I’m no different.”

  Logan relaxed. “So you’ve got a deep dark secret yourself?”

  “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’ve got my secrets the same as you.”

  “Are you going to tell me about them?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “No.”

  “I told you mine.”

  “Well, maybe I’ve got more than one.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Tilly. There isn’t anything you could have done that would change what’s between us.”

  She gave a short, embittered laugh. “Sure.”

  “I mean it.”

  “So do I. I don’t want to talk about it, all right?”

  Logan didn’t have much choice. Already he could feel her withdrawing from him. “Of course. You don’t ever have to tell me if you don’t want.”

  “Besides,” she said, forcing a strained lightness into her voice, “I thought I was the one asking the questions here.”

  Seven

  The first rays of dawn banked the horizon as Travis sat on the edge of the mattress, smiling to himself. It was a rare morning when he woke up grinning, a rare morning indeed. He certainly hadn’t expected to be in a good mood, especially after the way he and Mary had argued when he’d first arrived home. Imagine…He’d thought she was meek and mousy, when in reality she was a spitfire. He’d felt as if he’d wrestled with a cougar when she’d finished with him.

  Quietly he slipped out of the bedroom. He was tired and aching inside and out, but he didn’t have all day to laze around. There was work to be done.

  Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at Mary, sleeping so soundly in his bed. The morning shadows fell across her face, and her baby fine hair fanned out across the pillow. Once again he wished he knew more about women.

  As was his habit, Travis put on a pot of coffee, waited for the first cup to drip through, took a couple of tentative sips, and then headed toward the barn.

  The morning was chilly. The sheen of a frost glinted in the early morning light as he made his way across the dusty yard and into the barn. The horses greeted him with loud snorts of welcome. Mad Max, the temperamental gelding, impatiently pawed with his hoof against the stall door, seeking Travis’s attention.

  Travis reached for the pitchfork and speared a bale of alfalfa. He fed the horses, gave them fresh water and grain. It was while he was walking back toward the house that he caught sight of something silky and white and a small footprint. Stooping down, he realized it was a feather, all fluffy and shiny. The footprint didn’t belong to any of the kids. Where the hell had it come from?

  In a heartbeat he knew. Mary.

  It made sense to him that she’d come into the barn looking for him. His heart quickened. She was a city girl, born and raised. She knew nothing of a rancher’s life. There were a hundred unseen dangers lurking around each corner for her to stumble upon. It would be just like her to decide to make friends with Mad Max.

  Travis could easily envision her walking into the paddock and coaxing the gelding with a sugar cube, unaware she was in any danger. With him working on the range, the horses and Mary were an accident waiting to happen.

  With that thought in mind, he hurried back to the house.

  Mary was up and dressed. She wore her hair down, tied loosely at her nape, and the style offered her a softer, gentler look. It was almost possible to forget she was a prim librarian. He might have pushed aside his concerns if he hadn’t noticed the clothes she was wearing. She had on pretty slacks and a bulky knit sweater the color of winter wheat. Travis sincerely doubted that she owned a decent pair of jeans, which strengthened his conviction that she was a babe in the woods. He couldn’t be out on the range, tending his herd day after day, while worrying about what was happening to her at the house.

  “Good morning,” she said, offering him a shy smile, but he noticed that her gaze skirted past his. She hadn’t forgotten about their encounter any more than he had. She walked over to the refrigerator and removed a slab of bacon. “The children are awake and dressing. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Were you in the barn last night?” he asked starkly.

  Mary set the bacon on the counter and turned to face him. “Briefly. Why?”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “How’s that?” she asked, stopping to rub her hands down her apron, studying him.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to be bossy or gruff or say things that are going to upset you, but the barn is no place for a city girl.”

  “But, Travis—”

  “For now,” he interrupted, knowing she was going to put up a fuss, “just until you’re familiar with the way a ranch is run.”

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I expect it is. All I ask is that you humor me.”

  She pinched her lips closed and set a pitcher of orange juice on the table. She wasn’t pleased with him, but that wasn’t something he could fret over now. He had a full day ahead of him. He couldn’t be out working the range and worrying about her getting herself into trouble with animals and tools she knew nothing about.

  Travis downed a glass of orange juice and three slices of bacon. “I don’t want to fight over this. Go ahead and be mad at me if you want, but I’m saying this for your own protection.”

  “Do you intend to be this high-handed in other matters as well?”

  He reached for his hat and set it on his head, taking his time adjusting it. “I expect I will.”

  “Then this is something we’re going to need to discuss.”

  Travis eyed the door, wanting to escape a confrontation. Mary didn’t seem to understand that there were men waiting and cattle to be fed. “Do you mind if we don’t discuss it now?” he asked, walking toward the door.

  “As a matter of fact, I do mind.”

  “Mary,” he said with an ill-concealed attempt at patience, “I’ve got a ranch to run.”

  “This is important, too.” H
er hands were braced against her hips, her stance combative. It didn’t take much to envision her in a library, reprimanding a card holder for overdue books.

  “We’ll talk later,” Travis promised as he headed out the door toward his truck.

  Mary was too furious to think, let alone argue. She turned around and headed for the stove, only to find the children standing in the middle of the kitchen studying her.

  “Are you and Uncle Travis having a fight?” Scotty asked.

  “No, sweetheart, everything’s fine.”

  “He was yelling at you,” Beth Ann whispered.

  “I don’t think he meant to,” Mary said as calmly as her pounding heart would allow. Last night, after Travis had come home, after they’d stopped yelling at each other and started really talking…and especially after they’d kissed, Mary had thought maybe they might begin to behave like…well, like man and wife. She had put so much stock in their forming a solid relationship. A friendship rooted in their mutual desire to become a family. But overnight, it seemed, Travis had become domineering and unreasonable. Instead of building bridges, they were detonating the little bit of common ground they shared.

  “Can we bake cookies?” Beth Ann asked, breaking into Mary’s thoughts. “Chocolate-chip ones, the kind my mommy used to make.”

  Mary’s eyes rested on the five-year-old, and her heart constricted for the little girl holding on to memories of her mother. It wasn’t for Travis that Mary had forsaken her home and friends and moved beyond the reach of civilization as she knew it.

  It hadn’t even been love or the opportunity of building a life with Travis that had prompted her away from Louisiana. No, she’d accepted Travis’s marriage proposal for herself, to banish the lonely emptiness of her soul.

  “With walnuts,” Scotty added enthusiastically. “Mom used to let me and Jim lick the beaters.”

  “That’s kid stuff,” Jim muttered.

  Mary studied the oldest of Travis’s nephews. To the best of her memory she couldn’t even remember seeing the boy smile. Her heart ached for the boy who felt he was too big to cry, yet was too young to carry the overwhelming weight of his grief alone.