“Make you pay for dragging me onto this stupid ride.”
“No more,” he pleaded. “I promise. We’re heading for my place the minute we’re out of here.”
“But I’m hungry,” she said, pouting prettily.
“I’ll feed you later. Lobster, hell, anything you want, just move your hand before you drive me out of my mind.”
Tilly thrilled at the awesome power she held over Logan. It had never been like this with the others. Both Phil and Davey had held her firmly in their grasp until she’d lost all respect for herself. To be the one in control of the relationship was a powerful aphrodisiac.
By the time they were back on the ground, Tilly was as eager to leave as Logan. She changed her mind, however, as they raced past the booth selling cotton candy.
“Logan,” she said breathlessly. She was forced into taking two steps to his. “I’d like some cotton candy.”
Logan pretended to be exasperated, but the smile that wobbled at the edges of his mouth gave him away. “First you drive me wild with need, then you frustrate me within an inch of my life. Cotton candy?”
Tilly nodded.
“All right,” he said, bringing out his wallet. “I might as well get a candy apple while I’m at it.” He laid a couple of bills on the counter and kissed her neck, “Heaven knows I’m going to need my strength later.”
“Hello, Tilly.”
The friendly southern drawl caught Tilly off guard, and she turned around to find Mary Thompson standing behind her. “Mary,” she said, genuinely pleased to see her newfound friend. “Hello.”
“I thought that was you,” Mary said. “You look wonderful. I wish I could get my hair to go like that.”
“Listen, honey, two hours in a beautician’s chair and a can of hairspray and they can do anything.”
Mary laughed, and Logan cleared his throat, seeking an introduction.
“Mary, the man with candy apple smeared all over his face is Logan Anderson,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist and easing him forward. “Logan, Mary Thompson, Travis’s wife.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Logan said. “Are you enjoying the carnival?”
“I just finished an hour behind the raging waters of Gold Pan Creek,” Mary said, looking mildly flustered. “In other words I was the fish in Fish.”
“Oh, the kids’ game.”
Mary nodded. “Travis was going to meet me here at eight, but I can see he’s behind schedule. Beth Ann’s probably roped him into taking her on the merry-go-round. They wouldn’t allow her on any of the other rides because her arm’s in a cast.”
“That’s right,” Logan said absently, “Dad mentioned Beth Ann to me recently. She broke her arm in the school yard last week, didn’t she?”
Mary nodded. “And frightened Travis and me out of five years of our lives. She’ll heal nicely, but I don’t know if Travis or I’ll recover anytime soon.”
The sound of raised, angry voices captured Mary’s attention, especially when one voice was so familiar. Tilly turned to discover Travis having a heated argument with Sheriff Tucker.
“What’s happening?” Tilly asked.
“I don’t know,” Mary said, biting her lower lip. Her soft blue eyes revealed her worry. She loved him, Tilly noted, and was pleased.
Travis poked his finger in the sheriff’s chest.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mary said urgently.
“Of course.”
“It was very nice to have met you, Mr. Anderson. Your father was wonderful with Beth Ann.”
“Thank you.”
By tacit agreement, Logan and Tilly edged toward Travis and Mary. By the time they reached the outskirts of the milling crowd, Tilly realized Sheriff Tucker was having as difficult a time holding his temper as Travis. His ears were bright red, and his jaw was tight and clenched.
“Listen here, Travis, you push this much farther and I’m going to haul your butt to jail.”
Tilly studied Travis. The cold look in his eyes seemed capable of freezing out the sun. His jaw resembled granite, and when he spoke, his words sounded like bits of chewed-off concrete. His hands were knotted into fists as if he would swing with the least provocation.
“Travis…” Mary was trying to gain his attention, but to no avail. “What is it? Tell me what’s happened.”
“Sheriff Tucker is closing the investigation into my parents’ death,” Jim Thompson announced. “He said he hasn’t got a single lead. He’s going to list the accident as unsolved and stuff it in a drawer somewhere.”
“I don’t have any choice,” the sheriff said. “Even if we could afford to keep the case open, we don’t have any clues. If you’re looking for someone with Firestone radial tires, then I’d be dragging half the folks of Custer County in to be questioned. I can’t do that.”
With a grunt of disgust, Travis lowered his arms, pivoted sharply, and stalked toward the parking lot. Mary and the three children hurried along after him, having trouble keeping up with his lengthy strides. Mary’s arms protected Beth Ann and the middle boy. The older youth held his back ramrod straight. The pain and outrage pulsated from him as clearly as it did from Travis.
Sheriff Tucker glanced about him, eyeing the crowd of curious onlookers that had formed to watch the scene.
“There isn’t anything more I can do,” the lawman stressed to no one in particular. His frustration seemed as keen as Travis’s. Several folks were mumbling, and it seemed most sympathized with Travis. “Break it up, folks,” he said, shooing them away. “There’s nothing here to see.”
Logan pitched his half-eaten apple into the waste bin. “Let’s get out of here,” he told Tilly, reaching for her hand.
“Do…you still want to go to your place?” Tilly whispered.
Logan glanced toward the retreating figure of Travis, Mary, and the children, and a shudder went through him. Slowly he shook his head. “Not now.”
Fourteen
Travis couldn’t sleep. Over and over again his mind replayed the horror of the night Lee and Janice had died. Every time he closed his eyes, the vision of his brother trying frantically to avoid a head-on collision seared into his brain. The tires screeching against the dry payment, Lee’s cry for his wife to protect herself, screamed through his mind. He felt Lee’s panic and terror as the car propelled off the road and swerved toward the tree. Unspeakable pain tore through him to think how Lee must have realized there was no avoiding the inevitable.
By four A.M. Travis acknowledged sleep was useless. The anger crawled like a serpent, winding its way around his soul. The frustration ate at the lining of his stomach like acid.
Had his brother screamed? Had Janice? Had their deaths been instantaneous, or had they suffered agonizing pain? Oh, God, please, please, Travis begged mutely. He didn’t want to know.
But he had to know. To feel. The hate needed to be fed in order to thrive.
Sheriff Tucker had done his duty. The entire investigation had been wrapped interminably in red tape, bogged down in a sea of inefficiency and cold disregard. Two lives had been snuffed out that night, and no one seemed to care.
“I won’t let it happen,” he shouted, his fury propelling him upright. He rubbed his face with his hand, and the sound of his raspy breathing filled the silence of the night.
“Travis?” Mary’s soft voice came to him in the fog of his agony.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, and plowed his fingers through the unruly thatch of his hair.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said less vehemently. He hadn’t meant for his restlessness to wake her.
She sat up, and her hand unerringly located his cheek in the still darkness. Her skin felt smooth and warm against his. It was all Travis could do not to drag her into his arms and breathe in her softness. She was his only link to reason; if he continued to dwell on Lee and Janice, he felt that he would surely go mad.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mary asked with gentle concern.
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Travis removed her hand; the temptation to accept her comfort was too great. “No. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It’s about Lee and Janice, isn’t it?” she asked in a whisper. “And what Sheriff Tucker said.”
“I told you,” he said forcefully, “this doesn’t concern you.” He tossed aside the covers, leaped from the bed, and reached for his jeans. He yearned to immerse his pain in Mary’s gentleness. Her love would heal him, her love would make him whole again. He was in desperate need of her softness, of her comfort. With everything in him, he longed to bury himself in her warm body, seek the emotional sanctuary she offered.
Instead he was forced to plunge headfirst into the pulsing bitterness that surrounded him. He dared not release it lest he forget his promise to Lee, to the children, and to himself. He’d find whoever was responsible, whatever the price.
He stood by the kitchen counter in the darkness while the coffee brewed. Mary wandered into the room, dressed in her housecoat. He watched as her shadow migrated against the opposite wall, and it seemed that she was moving in slow motion. She stood directly behind him, looped her arms around his waist, and pressed her head to his back.
“It’s all right, you know,” she assured him in a delicate whisper.
“What is?” he growled. “That Lee and Janice are dead? Is that what’s all right? Well, it isn’t with me. Ask Jim if he’s willing to forget it. Ask Scotty and Beth Ann.” He released himself from her hold. Her touch was too potent to ignore. He had to push her away, although it hurt him more than she’d ever know.
He needed her then, her body, but it wouldn’t be love, it’d be sex. Brutal and demanding. Mary deserved better than that, far better. He refused to vent his frustration on her, refused to force the brunt of his pain on her fragile body.
“Go back to bed.”
“Please, I want to help.”
“Just do as I ask,” he snapped. “Don’t fight me, just for once.”
She stepped away from him as though she’d been burned. Even in the darkness he could see the tears glistening in her eyes as she spun away and returned to their bedroom.
Travis exhaled and toyed with the idea of following her and apologizing. Loving Mary was too damn easy, and he needed to remember, not forget. He couldn’t afford to go soft now, not when his sinister mood had to be fed. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of burying his mission. Everyone else had given up finding Lee’s killer, but he wouldn’t. He’d die first. The sooner Mary accepted the inevitability of that, the better.
Travis remained in the kitchen for several hours. He sat at the table, his hands cupping a hot coffee mug. The heat in his palms radiated up his arms.
Jim was the first one awake, and Travis barked out the oldest boy’s chores without so much as looking at the youth. Jim didn’t utter a word before dressing and heading for the barn. The slamming door was the only indication Jim gave of his feelings.
As soon as the back door closed, Scotty strolled into the kitchen in his flannel pajamas. It looked almost as if the boy were sleepwalking. He yawned loudly and sank down in front of the cupboard. Apparently Scotty was unaware of Travis because he reached for a box of cold cereal. He opened the lid and inserted his hand. From the looks of it, there wasn’t much left because his elbow disappeared inside the cardboard box and when he withdrew his hand, his fingers were coated in crumbs, which he took delight in licking.
“Get dressed,” Travis snapped unreasonably.
Scotty started and turned around. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“Get dressed and then you can eat.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with your uncle,” Mary’s gentle voice intervened. “By the time you’re back I’ll have toast ready for you.”
“With strawberry jam?”
“With strawberry jam,” Mary promised.
The muffled sound of her slippers moved behind Travis. “There’s no need to snap at the children,” she said evenly, without censure.
“I’ll do as I damn well please.”
Her sigh suggested a wealth of impatience. “You’re behaving like an angry bull, Travis Thompson. I suggest you go about your day before we do or say something we’ll both regret.”
Travis knew she was right. He didn’t like admitting it, and wouldn’t, except he didn’t have the energy or the desire to tangle with Mary. He was angry and irrational, and he knew it, but he had no intention of altering his mood.
“I’ll be chopping wood.”
“Good,” she said approvingly. “Maybe you can vent some of that frustration with an ax. I’ll keep the children out of your way.”
He nodded, carried his coffee with him, and slammed out of the house. He passed Jim in the yard. The boy glared at him with undisguised malice, which was fine with Travis.
Mary’s shoulders sagged with relief when Travis vacated the kitchen. He was in one bear of a mood. She realized he was dealing with the frustration of his talk with Sheriff Tucker. With the local police working on the matter, Travis had been content to sit back and let them do whatever they could to find Lee and Janice’s killer. The law had access to equipment and information unavailable to a cattle rancher.
Now that the investigation was closed, Travis would want to take it up on his own. He’d never accept Sheriff Tucker’s decree. Nor would he give up. He meant to find the driver responsible for his brother’s death, and heaven help whoever stood in his way.
“Is Uncle Travis gone?” Scotty asked, sticking his head around the hallway corner. “He nearly bit off my head.”
“He got up on the wrong side of the bed, is all,” Mary explained. She doubted that Travis had slept. She’d wakened several times during the night, and each time he’d been awake. He’d tried to let her think he was asleep, but she’d known otherwise.
The back door opened and Jim walked slowly into the house.
“I think Jim got up on the wrong bed, too,” Scotty whispered.
“The wrong what?” Jim demanded.
“Is anyone interested in pancakes?” Mary asked, hoping to divert an argument. Like Travis, Jim had taken the sheriff’s news hard.
“Me,” Scotty piped up enthusiastically.
Jim shrugged.
“I like pancakes,” Beth Ann said, pulling out the chair and climbing onto the seat, “but I like them best the way Mommy used to make them.”
“Yeah,” Scotty agreed, his eyes growing wide. “I’d forgotten. Mom used to cook them in weird shapes, then she made up funny names for them and told us how brave we were for gobbling up monsters.”
“It was stupid,” Jim muttered.
“It wasn’t,” Scotty cried, refusing to allow his older brother to destroy the happy memory. “It was fun.”
“That’s because you’re a kid.”
“Jim,” Mary said in her finest disciplinary tone, leveling the full force of her gaze on him. “Drop it.”
“I’ve forgotten lots of things about Mommy,” Beth Ann said sadly, and laid her head on the table. “Sometimes I forget what she looked like.”
“Her picture’s in the living room,” Mary reminded her gently.
“She didn’t look like that…exactly,” Scotty explained. “Her hair was shorter, and her eyes…”
“Mom wore glasses,” Jim added.
“I don’t want to forget Mommy,” Beth Ann whined. “I want to remember Daddy, too.” It sounded as though she were close to tears.
“Dad’s easy to remember,” Scotty said, brightening. “Uncle Travis and Dad look alike.”
“Travis isn’t our father.” Jim’s words bordered on desperation. “He’ll never be our father. Never.”
“What can I do to help you remember?” Mary wanted to know, unwilling to let the precious memories the children had of their parents fade.
“I want to go see them,” Scotty suggested, and his voice wobbled with emotion.
“You can’t, stupid, they’re dead.”
“Jim,” Mary pleaded
. “Don’t be so cruel. Scotty knows that, and so does Beth Ann. Your brother’s asking to go to the cemetery and visit their graves, aren’t you, Scotty?”
The eight-year-old nodded and kept his gaze lowered. Mary noticed the tears that brimmed in his eyes and the boy’s effort to hide them from his sarcastic older brother. When Jim wasn’t looking, Scotty rubbed the back of his hand under his nose.
“As soon as we’ve finished with breakfast, we’ll drive out to the cemetery.”
“I’m not going.”
Mary’s gaze sought out the twelve-year-old. How cold his eyes were, not unlike Travis’s had been that morning. His young jaw was clenched, and he seemed to be waiting for Mary’s comment, possibly her insistence.
“I’m not going to force you,” she assured him.
“It wouldn’t do you any good, even if you tried. My parents aren’t there, anyway. What good is looking at a lump in the ground going to do? It isn’t going to help Beth Ann remember Mom and Dad any better. All it’ll do is make us miss them more. If Scotty wants to be so dumb, fine, but I won’t.” With that he slammed out the door.
A strained painful silence followed his departure.
“Why’s Jim so mad?” Beth Ann wanted to know, cocking her head to one side as if that would help her understand.
“Because he misses your mom and dad so much,” Mary offered, feeling Jim’s pain as strongly as if it were her own. How vulnerable he was, standing on the threshold of his teen years, trapped and miserable. Too old to suck his thumb like Beth Ann or cry like Scotty, but too young to carry such a heavy load of anguish all on his own. Her heart went out to him, but she didn’t know how to reach him.
“I…I don’t think I want pancakes.” Scotty’s words brought an added ache to her heart.
“I don’t, either,” Beth Anne echoed, and Mary noted the five-year-old was back to sucking her thumb.
She poured herself a cup of coffee while the two youngest children ate their cereal. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing by taking them to the graveyard. Instead of soothing their loss, it might rip open half-healed wounds, destroy the trust she’d worked so hard to construct since her arrival. As much as she loved the children, she’d never be their biological mother. She was a sorry replacement, and visiting the gravesite might well remind them of that.
Morning Comes Softly Page 19
