“Let’s eat breakfast first,” Mary suggested. “When we’re finished with chores we’ll bake cookies.”
Beth Ann smiled happily, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“If Jim doesn’t want a beater, can I have it?” Scotty asked as Mary set the skillet on the burner and peeled off thick bacon slices.
Jim looked to Mary, trapped between maintaining his superiority and letting go of a favorite treat. The decision seemed to be a weighty one.
“I’m probably going to need Jim’s help,” Mary said. “I might not have all the right ingredients in the dough. If Jim tasted it, he’d probably know if anything was missing. I’d appreciate you helping me out in this.”
Jim’s solemn dark eyes studied her. “Okay, but only this one time. If you bake cookies again, you’re going to have to ask Scotty to do your tasting for you.”
Mary nodded gravely. “I appreciate the help.”
As the morning progressed there were several other things Mary decided that she’d appreciate. Peace and quiet, for example. She wasn’t accustomed to all the noise three young children generated.
A piercing yell jerked her away from the sink, followed by Scotty, who raced toward her, gripping hold of her sweater and hiding behind her.
“Give it to me,” Jim demanded, rounding the corner, his face red and furious.
“Children, please, don’t argue,” Mary said evenly.
“It’s mine!” Scotty shouted. If he didn’t let loose of her sweater soon, it would be stretched all the way to her knees.
“Give it back,” Jim said menacingly, edging his way toward Mary.
“I will not tolerate fighting,” she said in her most authoritative voice. Intent on each other, both boys ignored her. She turned one way and then another, wanting to reason with them before she realized they were playing a game of ring-around-a-rosy using her as tag center.
“I said I wouldn’t tolerate any fighting,” she said again, more forcefully.
“You have to tell them they can’t watch television if they fight,” Beth Ann suggested from the doorway.
Mary wasn’t accustomed to accepting advice from a five-year-old, but she was growing desperate. “Stop this right now!” she shouted. They ignored her, and she reached for Scotty, but he was as slippery as new shoes. Jim was worse, escaping her frantic grasp with no problem.
“Stop this minute!” she shouted again. She might as well have been speaking to shelves of books for all the attention they paid her.
Jim caught his brother by the arm, tossed him down on the floor, and threw himself on top. Scotty’s head hit with a decided clunk, and Mary gasped, thinking he might be seriously injured. Arms and legs were kicked in every direction, making it impossible to separate them.
She bent over the boys, trying desperately to pry them loose from each other and having as much success with that as she’d had quelling their argument.
The sharp, discordant explosion of noise behind her sounded like a plane taking off a runway. Mary straightened and whirled around.
Beth Ann was standing on a chair, slamming a wooden spoon against a black skillet. The racket was so loud, Mary placed her hands over her ears.
Both boys struggled into a sitting position and glared at their sister.
“Look what you’ve done to Mary,” Beth Ann cried, and waved the spoon at them dictatorially.
“No television for a week, otherwise Mary will have to tell Uncle Travis.”
Jim leaped upright and straightened his shirt.
Scotty followed and reluctantly handed his brother a card.
A baseball card, Mary realized as she slumped onto a chair. They’d been ready to pulverize each other over a stupid baseball card. She swallowed tightly and brushed the hair out of her face, using both hands. It wasn’t until then that she realized how badly she was shaking.
“Are you all right?” Beth Ann asked.
Mary forced herself to smile and nodded.
“Don’t worry, boys do that sometimes, you just have to be firm with them.”
“I see,” she whispered, waiting until the trembling had passed before she stood. What in heaven’s name did she think she was doing, taking on the rearing of these three youngsters? Beth Ann knew more about being a mother than she did. Dear, sweet heaven, what had she gotten herself into?
The sound of a car door slamming in the yard announced Travis’s arrival home later that afternoon.
“We’re baking cookies,” Beth Ann announced excitedly as he walked in from the porch.
Travis grinned and removed his hat, placing it on the peg just inside the house. “I wonder what a man has to do to get the first cookie out of the oven.”
“Mary already promised me the first cookie,” Scotty said, “because I helped the most.” He eyed her, anxious, it seemed, for her not to mention the fight. Mary wouldn’t, but not for the reasons he assumed.
“Yes, but I’m the man of the house, so I should get the first cookie.”
“I worked the hardest.”
“Are you going to argue with your uncle Travis?” he challenged.
Scotty grinned from ear to ear and nodded.
Travis reached for the boy, grabbing him around the waist and scooping him into the air. Scotty squealed with delight as his uncle whirled him around, all the while yelling he wasn’t giving up his cookie no matter what.
Mary found herself smiling as well, pleased that the terrible tension from the morning had passed.
The oven timer buzzed, and using pot holders, she brought out the cookie sheet before inserting the fresh one Beth Ann and Scotty had dotted with dough.
The sound of a second car pulling into the yard diverted everyone’s attention from the cookies.
“Someone’s here,” Jim announced, peeling back the curtain and looking out the window.
“It’s Larry Martin,” Travis said after glancing out the back door window. He stepped outside to greet the other man.
“Howdy, Larry,” Mary heard Travis say. “What can I do for you?” Busy scraping the warm cookies off the sheet, she didn’t look up until she finished. Then she automatically acknowledged Travis’s friend with a smile. Being hospitable had been an important part of her upbringing. The Warner family had been well known for their southern hospitality.
The second man had a friendly, open face. He was about the same height and weight as Travis, and his gaze flickered toward her with undisguised curiosity.
His ready smile warmed her. “I stopped in at Martha’s this afternoon,” Larry explained. “Tilly told me you’d gotten yourself a wife. Stopping by to introduce myself seemed the neighborly thing.” Although he was talking to Travis, his gaze continued to rest on Mary.
“This is Mary,” Travis said.
Mary couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a note of reproach in his voice and wondered at its cause. Larry was just being sociable. Apparently their dinner at Martha’s following the wedding ceremony had served its purpose. Word of their marriage was out. Travis Thompson had found himself a wife.
“The cookies are warm from the oven,” Mary said. “Would you like one, Larry?”
Larry slapped his hat down on the peg next to Travis’s and nodded appreciatively. “I don’t mind if I do. It’s been a good long while since I’ve feasted on homemade cookies. From the looks of it, they’re chocolate-chip, my favorite.”
“Travis?” She couldn’t help being flattered by Larry’s apparent approval of her, but Travis was the man she’d married.
He accepted the cookie and dispensed napkins to the three children.
“So you went and got yourself hitched,” Larry said companionably, making himself at home at the kitchen table next to Travis. “When did all this happen?” he asked as Mary delivered two cups of coffee to the men.
“Yesterday,” Travis answered.
“We got out of school for it,” Scotty said.
Larry grinned at the boy. “So what does it feel like to be a newlyw
ed?”
Mary was curious herself as to Travis’s response. He shrugged. “The same, I guess.”
Larry’s gaze returned to Mary, and she felt the blush infuse her cheeks with color. It seemed both men were studying her, and, uncomfortable, she returned her attention to the cookies.
“I can’t say when I’ve enjoyed anything more,” Larry said, reaching for a second cookie.
The two men spoke easily for several minutes, then stood and wandered outside. It was an hour or so later when they strolled back into the house. By then Mary was busy with preparations for the evening meal.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked when she noticed Larry eyeing the fresh green salad she was making. “We’re having veal scaloppine.”
“If you’re sure it’s no problem.”
“None whatsoever. There’s plenty, and we’d be happy to have you.” He was their first guest, and Mary was pleased he’d taken the time to stop by and introduce himself.
“I’d be honored to join you,” Larry told her, sounding almost gleeful.
Mary knew she’d made a mistake when she looked at Travis. He was frowning and seemed withdrawn throughout the meal, which turned out to be something of an uncomfortable ordeal. Mary was eternally grateful for the children, who helped carry the dinnertime conversation, plying Larry with a variety of questions.
It didn’t help matters any to have Travis sitting at the head of the table brooding while Larry gushed with compliments over her cooking.
When Travis’s friend left for the evening, Mary was relieved. She cleared the dishes from the table while Jim and Scotty took turns taking their baths. Beth Ann, who occasionally still needed a nap, grew cranky and restless. She knelt down on the floor and placed her head on the chair seat.
“I want my mommy.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Mary whispered, lifting the little girl into her arms.
Beth Ann pressed her head against Mary’s shoulder. “I’m glad you married Uncle Travis.”
“I’m glad I did, too.” And she meant it, despite her morning, her disagreement with Travis, and the struggle with the children. She had a good deal to learn when it came to managing a family, but she’d seen progress from both sides. They were opening up to her, and they had helped abate her own loneliness.
When the boys finished in the bathroom, Mary bathed Beth Ann, tucked her into bed, and read to her from her favorite book. When she finished she sang to her. By the time she’d finished the first verse, Beth Ann was sound asleep.
Travis was in and out of the house. By the time Mary finished with Beth Ann, the boys were in the living room watching television.
She was at the sink, finishing up the last of the dishes, when the back door opened and Travis stepped inside the kitchen.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, turning around to face him. She reached for a hand towel and briskly dried her hands as she prepared to do battle.
“I want to talk to you, too,” he returned stormily. “First off, we need to set something straight. You’re my wife, and I don’t appreciate you flirting with my friends.”
“Flirting with your friends!” Mary was so aghast, it took her a moment to speak. “Perhaps speaking now isn’t such a good idea after all,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m about to forget I’m a lady and say something I’ll regret later.”
“Like what?”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
“I’ll tell you what I know, then. I don’t like my wife of two days behaving like a siren in front of my best friend. If you find that so objectionable, then we’d better clear the air right now.”
They stood half a kitchen apart physically, half a universe emotionally. Mary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Travis was more than unreasonable, he was insulting.
“Teasing Larry…a siren…me? You’ve got to be joking!”
Two giant strides and Travis ate up the distance between them. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Larry was gawking at you, and you ate it up.”
“I ate it up…gawking?” She was too furious even to speak coherently. Mentally she counted to ten before attempting to make sense of his accusations. “I’ve never known a more domineering, pigheaded, unreasonable man in my life. How in heaven’s name are we ever going to stay married when we can’t even talk civilly to one another?” She was fighting her outrage for all she was worth and losing the battle.
“It didn’t help to have you all agog over Larry.”
“Agog? I did nothing more than invite him to dinner.”
“Because you’re attracted to him.”
Mary stared at Travis, strongly suspecting he’d spent too many hours in the sun. Either that or he’d gone daft. His face was hard and immobile. She might have deemed this a sick joke if his eyes hadn’t been so intense.
“It doesn’t help matters any that he feels the same way about you.”
Mary went still. Travis honestly believed his friend was captivated by her. She, who knew next to nothing about men. What enthralled Larry had been her cooking. Mary guessed he hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in months. It wasn’t her wit or her stimulating conversation as much as the veal and the homemade cookies.
“The charm was oozing out of you.” Each word was hard and precise, as if it wrenched Travis just to utter them. “My goodness, it was like falling into a jar of honey just watching you cozy up to Larry.”
“You make me sound like a hussy,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. This relationship wasn’t going to work, she realized with unbearable sadness. Married two days and already she tasted the bitterness of defeat. It was impossible to reason with Travis; he’d already tried and judged her, found her guilty, and nothing she could say or do would alter what had happened. Knowing that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Travis heard the bedroom door close, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The problem wasn’t with Mary, but with him. He was jealous, pure and simple. It had started when Larry had complimented the cookies and she’d blushed with pleasure. He should have been saying all those things to her, not Larry. He should have been the one telling her the veal was as tender as he’d ever tasted and that his grandmother had never made biscuits this light and fluffy. It should have been him saying how lucky he was to have married a woman like Mary. Instead it had been his friend.
The morning had gotten started wrong when they’d had that tiff about Mary going into the barn. Travis berated himself for the thousandth time for not being more subtle. If only he’d sat down with her, confessed his concerns. Mary would probably have agreed willingly, understood his worries.
Unfortunately he had never been a man for words. His lack hadn’t been important until the children and Mary had come into his life. Not only was he expected to know all the things a husband did, things like romance and compliments. Now it seemed he was obliged to explain himself as well.
Travis had managed the ranch for too many years on his own to have his decisions questioned. When he wanted something done, he assigned the task to one of the hands.
Apparently Mary didn’t take kindly to orders. It looked as though he was going to have to change his ways. The knowledge produced a series of unsettling questions. Now if only he could come up with the answers.
Travis poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table to mull over the problems he and Mary were experiencing. He was at fault, but admitting it was harder than he realized. If he felt more comfortable, he’d go to her now. But she was upset and angry, and frankly, he feared he’d unwittingly say or do something more to infuriate her. It was better to wait, let matters settle down, and then approach her.
Carrying his coffee with him, Travis moved into the living room, where Jim sat watching television. The youth barely acknowledged him.
“Did Scotty go to bed already?”
“No.”
“Then wher
e is he?”
Jim shrugged, his attention focused on the police show. Travis didn’t think anything more of it until fifteen minutes had passed and Scotty still hadn’t appeared. Travis knew the eight-year-old was as keen on this particular show as his older brother.
Stretching his legs, he wandered down the hall to the boys’ bedroom. The room was neat and tidy, a stark contrast to the way they’d kept it before Mary’s arrival.
Beth Ann was sound asleep.
Travis checked the barn and around the outside of the house, calling Scotty’s name. Mary must have heard his increasingly frustrated shouts because she joined him a few minutes later.
“What happened to Scotty?” she asked, wrapping a light jacket around her to ward off a chilly evening wind.
“He isn’t in the house.”
“What about the barn?”
“I already looked.”
“Is he hiding?”
“Hell if I know,” Travis snapped, and immediately felt guilty. “Jim doesn’t seem to know where he went, either.”
“Do you think he might have run away?” she asked timidly.
Travis hadn’t considered that. “Why would he do anything like that?”
“I don’t know. Why do any of us do the things we do?”
It was the same question Travis had been asking himself all night. “Where would he go?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was laced with alarm.
Travis was beginning to experience a healthy dose of anxiety himself. It was growing darker and colder by the minute.
“Did you find him?” Jim asked. He stood on the back porch, the tips of his fingers tucked in the back pockets of his acid-washed jeans.
“Jim,” Mary said earnestly, “we can’t find Scotty anywhere. Is there any possibility he might have run away?”
The wind was picking up, and Travis moved closer to Mary, wanting to shield her from the strong gusts. He longed to put his arm around her and tell her he was sorry, but the words stuck in his throat.
“He might have,” Jim said thoughtfully after a minute.
“Where would he have gone?”
“Home,” the youth suggested sadly, his eyes downcast.
“Home?” Travis repeated, and his heart ached with the lone word. This was Scotty’s home now. Lee’s place had been sold in probate a couple of months earlier. The older couple who bought the ranch had made several changes. Travis had avoided driving in that direction, not wanting to dredge up unhappy memories.
Morning Comes Softly Page 11
