Return of a Hero Read online

  “You were in Vietnam?” Of course, he would have been the right age.

  A frown furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I was over there.” The words came out harsh and clipped.

  Biding time because she heard his anger and pain, Laura drank her coffee. She’d met many veterans who didn’t want to discuss what had happened to them over there, and she felt Morgan was like that, too. Gently she steered the conversation back to her father. “The living room was Dad’s idea—the colors and the fabric. And so was the kitchen.” Fondly she laughed. “At the time we were playing this silly game, I really didn’t have any money for redecorating. But that didn’t matter. At least it offered Dad some sanity while he was over there. And Mom didn’t worry as much, because she had something to do, too.”

  Morgan could no longer sit still. The ghosts were rising in his memory again—the anger and frustration along with them. He paced slowly around the kitchen. “So how did you manage to get this house bought and decorated?”

  Leaning back, Laura sensed he’d moved away from the table. There was a new and different energy around him, and she felt his tension. “Dad was killed in a rocket attack in the seventh month of his tour. What I didn’t realize was that he’d taken out nearly half a million dollars in insurance before he left for Vietnam, just in case he did get killed. My mother and I found out about it when the lawyer read his will to us three weeks later.” She rose, picking up her cup and saucer and moved carefully to the drainboard. “So I bought this house instead of renting it, and Mom and I took each room, just as we’d planned it in our letters to Dad, and decorated.”

  Morgan stood in the center of the kitchen, staring at Laura. There was a sad smile on her lips. “It must have been hard,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “No, just the opposite really. I cried a lot, because he was a wonderful father and friend to me. So did Mom. But wallpapering and painting each room, then buying the furniture helped us expend our grief and get over his passing.” She patted the drainboard. “This home reflects the love we had as a family. That’s why I love it so much.” She gave him a shy look. “Maybe now you can understand why I wanted to come home from the hospital. I work through trauma better here than anywhere else.”

  Morgan tried to fight his need to hold her, but he walked up to her. Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked down at her. “You’re like this home,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion, “warm, caring and beautiful. Your parents gave you a lot of love, and it shows in many ways.”

  It felt so natural to lean her head against his chest and rest for just a moment. Laura sighed as Morgan’s arms slid around her shoulders, drawing her gently against him. “Right now, I don’t feel very strong, Morgan.”

  She fitted against his tall frame, Morgan thought, a willow in comparison to an oak. The fragrance that was hers alone filled his nostrils. He fought to keep his touch light and comforting, not intimate, as he wanted. “You’re stronger than you think,” he told Laura gruffly, his mouth near her ear. Caressing her back with his hands, he felt the firm softness of her flesh beneath the silk blouse. If he didn’t step back, he’d kiss her, and that wouldn’t be right. The timing was all wrong—as usual.

  Laura felt bereft as Morgan gently disengaged himself. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shh,” Morgan remonstrated, keeping one hand on her upper arm as she swayed. “That’s one of many things I like about you, Laura Bennett—your ability to show your feelings. If you’re feeling weak, you lean. If you’re feeling strong, you get feisty.” He grinned. “You’re one hell of a woman, did you know that?”

  She shook her head, forcing herself to retreat from him. Shaken by the unexpected contact, Laura found herself wanting more. “No, you’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice strained, “you’re the one who’s special.”

  Snorting vehemently, Morgan got busy and cleared the rest of the dishes from the table. “I’m special all right,” he growled. Just ask the press or the Pentagon. They’ll tell you all about me. He glanced at her after setting the dishes in the sink. Her lips were pursed, as if she were deep in thought. All this seemed like a fevered dream. This house that throbbed with life, the beauty and generosity of Laura, were all baubles being dangled cruelly in front of him and his harsh existence. If she found out he was Morgan Trayhern, the traitor, she’d scorn him. Sadness flowed through him, effectively squelching the fires of longing for her. Morgan hadn’t fully realized just how tough it would be to stay around Laura. Somehow he’d have to contain his unraveling emotions. Maybe by tonight things would settle into a routine, and he’d be able to control the feelings that Laura brought to brilliant, yearning life within him. Maybe…

  “The fire feels wonderful,” Laura murmured, sitting with her back to the fireplace. “April nights are always chilly in D.C.” Sasha lay directly in front of the fire, snoring fitfully.

  Morgan sat nearby in an overstuffed chair. He marveled at Laura’s hair, golden threads highlighted by the fire. She had dressed for bed and was wearing a long white cotton gown, her lavender chenille robe wrapped about her slender body. “You give April nights a new meaning,” he admitted, his voice deeper than usual.

  She drew her knees up, resting her cheek on them, a soft smile on her lips. “It sounds as if in your business you spend a lot of time outdoors. I imagine a quiet night like this is different for you.”

  The magazine in Morgan’s lap was a poor substitute for staring like a starving wolf at Laura. He was disgusted with himself, taking advantage of her blindness by watching her for minutes at a time. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have a woman if he wanted. That wasn’t the issue at all. The issue was Laura and her Dresden doll delicacy, her graceful motions with her hands, that heart-grabbing laughter that made him want to drag her into his arms and crush her against him, never letting her go.

  Morgan cleared his throat. “I do spend a lot of time outside,” he admitted. Did she hear the longing in his voice? God, he hoped not. She trusted him completely, and he wouldn’t reward that trust by letting her know of his insatiable need for her.

  Lulled by the peace swirling gently between them, Laura confessed, “When I saw you standing there in the rain at the airport, I sensed this terrible tragedy and loneliness in you, Morgan. That scar on your face…”

  Uncomfortable, he placed the magazine on the coffee table. “I’d just gotten some bad news that morning,” he said gruffly.

  “That scar…did you get it in Vietnam?” Somehow Laura sensed that the suffering surrounding Morgan stemmed from that time in his life. The need to get to the real him, the man she sensed beneath all that weight he carried on his powerful shoulders, was forcing her to ask deeply personal questions.

  Automatically Morgan’s fingers went to the ridge of the scar, and he scowled. “Yeah, I got it there.”

  “Tell me how?”

  His stomach knotted. If Laura had been pushy or curious, it would have been easy to tell her to mind her own business, but the quaver in her voice unstrung him, and he leaned back, closing his eyes. “I got it in hand-to-hand combat. My company and I were led into a trap and we had to defend a hill,” he said in a low, hard voice.

  “My God,” she whispered. Slowly she got up from her spot near the fireplace. Hand outstretched, she took small steps in the direction of where Morgan sat. Her lips parted as his fingers wrapped strongly around her arm and he guided her to the chair near him. She sat back down on the floor, nestled at his feet, her back against the chair. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she told him softly. “But you wear sadness around you like a good friend, Morgan.” She took a deep breath and dove in. “We barely know each other, and I know your personal life isn’t any of my business, but I just can’t seem to help myself. If I’m being nosy, tell me to quit asking questions.”

  He lifted his hand, and noticed it was trembling. Laura’s face was tilted in his direction, her lips parted, pleading. Stroking her hair, Morgan managed a tortured smile. “Sweet Laura,�
�� he said thickly, “your heart is pure, so you can see straight through a person.” Her hair was clean, and the strands flowed like molten gold between his scarred fingers.

  Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers trembled across her hair, again and again. “I don’t need eyes to hear the pain in your voice, Morgan,” Laura whispered. “I—there’s something special we share. I can’t define it, but it’s there.” She placed her hand on his knee, lifting her face more in his direction. “Something tragic happened to you yesterday morning. That’s why you stepped off that curb without looking. Please, let me help, if I can….” She moistened her lips. “If nothing else, I’m a good listener, Morgan. And I care…”

  Pain, like a volcano inside his chest, exploded violently within him. It seared his heart, soaring up into his throat, and he leaned forward, resting his cheek against the top of Laura’s head ever so lightly, needing the comfort she offered. Without a word, he gripped her shoulders, simply holding her, his breathing ragged.

  A little cry escaped Laura’s lips, and she placed her arm around his shoulder. “Morgan, what is it? You’re shaking.”

  Shutting his eyes tightly, he fought to find his voice. “This isn’t real,” he said gruffly. “None of this is real, especially you….”

  His hands were splayed across her back, and Laura relaxed within them. Something was terribly wrong. Blindly she groped with her hand, her fingers coming in contact with his face. She could feel the thick welt of the scar that ran the length of his face. “You’re wrong,” she said, her voice quavering. “This is all real, Morgan. Especially me. I can feel your pain…. Talk to me about it. Whatever it is, I can deal with it.”

  The desire to spill the horrible facts surrounding his life dealt him an almost lethal blow. Her fingers were warm against his chilled flesh. He fought the overpowering urge to tilt her face upward and crush those pleading lips beneath his mouth. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, and his breathing was harsh. “N-no,” he whispered, “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Laura asked, gently running her fingers across the scar.

  If he didn’t push her away, he’d take her, and Laura didn’t deserve that. He released her slender form, keeping his hands on her shoulders as he drew away. “Both,” he said thickly.

  He’d been so close to allowing that awful load he carried to slide into her waiting arms. Laura swallowed her disappointment. She managed a small smile and lifted her hands so that they came to rest on his forearms. The tightly muscled power in them fairly vibrated through her fingertips. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were special, Morgan.”

  A startled laugh broke from him. He gave her a gentle shake. “Special? You’ve got your priorities skewed, sweet swan.”

  She laughed softly. “Swan? Is that how you see me? Tall and skinny with my bird-size bones?”

  Her laughter melted the wall of pain that threatened to engulf him. It was a miracle in itself, and Morgan stared down at her. “Yeah, you’re a beautiful, graceful swan.” He released her shoulders and picked up one of her wrists, turning it over carefully in his large hands. “You’re tiny but mighty.”

  His touch was evocative, sending warming threads of yearning up Laura’s arm, the heat flowing through her like an awakening river of molten lava. “So, you see my backbone of steel?” She ached to lean upward, find his mouth and kiss him.

  “A beautiful spine and a set of small, but very strong shoulders,” he murmured. All he had to do was lean forward—mere inches—to kiss her. He shut his eyes, fighting the overwhelming urge.

  “Make me a promise, Morgan?”

  He felt her hands tighten on his arms. “What?”

  “You know I’m strong enough to hear anything you might tell me. Promise me that if you want to talk, you’ll unload your burden on me?”

  Smiling gently, he placed a chaste kiss on her wrinkled brow. “Sweet, guileless swan. Come on, you’ve had a long day, and it’s time for bed.”

  Morgan’s kiss had been fleeting. His mouth had been strong against her forehead, and Laura felt the heat escalate within her at his unexpected gesture. “I think you’re right,” she whispered. “This swan is ready to call it a night.”

  Chapter Four

  “Be quiet, you little beggar, or you’ll wake up Laura,” Morgan growled at the robin, who frantically cheeped in her cage. Morning sunlight cascaded through the green curtains at the windows. Rubbing his face tiredly, Morgan went through the motions of feeding the baby bird. Who could believe this almost featherless creature could cause such a ruckus?

  Morgan knew he’d overslept. He’d been unable to sleep for a long time after his conversation with Laura by the fireplace. And then his sleep had been broken with nightmarish memories intermixed with Laura’s haunting face dancing before him. Dressed in only a pair of pajama bottoms, Morgan enjoyed the feel of the sunlight against his upper body as he stood at the sink, feeding the robin her morning meal.

  “I’ll tell you what, little lady, you’re lucky I put up with you.”

  “Morgan?”

  He turned, hearing Laura’s sleep-filled voice. His heart tightened in his chest as he took in her rumpled appearance. Sasha, who’d slept in her mistress’s bedroom, wagged her tail in greeting as she ambled toward Morgan. Sometime during the night Laura’s bandage had slipped off. Her blue eyes were incredibly large and thickly lashed. Dragging in a deep breath, he felt that same molten desire explode through him just as it had the night before.

  “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “We both overslept and this little beggar was hungry.”

  Laura smiled and walked slowly toward Morgan’s voice, her hand held out in front of her. “I heard Robby cheeping like crazy. I thought something was wrong,” she offered huskily, finding the countertop and halting.

  Laura’s eyes were puffy with sleep, her hair mussed and framing her face. Morgan swallowed hard, putting the robin back in the cage. “She won’t squawk for at least an hour. I stuffed her with four worms.”

  Laura chuckled and tried to smooth her hair away from her face. “Despite all your snarling and growling about feeding Robby, I really think you like her.” Wildly aware of Morgan’s overpowering masculinity, Laura sensed she was very close to him. Her dreams had been torrid, centering around her in Morgan’s arms.

  “You look beautiful just the way you are,” Morgan said thickly. He placed the cage back against the wall and turned to her. The white cotton gown was wrinkled, the boat neck revealing her finely sculpted collarbones and emphasizing the smooth expanse of her throat. “And you’re going to catch your death of cold if you don’t get a robe.”

  “Oh, dear, I forgot to put it on.” Laura pressed both hands to her cheeks, feeling heat steal into them. The gown she wore wasn’t sexy in her mind, but she heard the longing in Morgan’s tone. “I’m sorry,” she began lamely. “I’m so used to padding around here alone in my gown when I get up in the morning.”

  Squeezing her upper arm, Morgan murmured, “Don’t be. Hold on, I’ll get the robe for you.”

  Laura turned toward the sunlight, reveling in the warmth enveloping her. In a minute, Morgan returned and helped her on with the chenille robe.

  “Can you see anything yet?” Morgan asked, standing next to her, studying her flawless blue eyes. The pupils were huge and black.

  Dejectedly Laura shook her head. “No—nothing.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Morgan, what if Dr. Taggert is wrong? What if this isn’t temporary?”

  He heard the carefully concealed terror in her voice. “I learned a long time ago to live one day at a time, Laura. You do the same.”

  All her fears surfaced as Morgan’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “My livelihood depends on my being able to see. I’ve got three articles due at different magazines in the next two weeks. They’re typed, but they need to be edited and then a final copy run off on the printer.”

  “One day at a time, little swan,” Morgan urged, sliding his arm around her drawn sho
ulders. There was no reasoning around Laura, he realized with a pang as he drew her against him. She brought out so many withheld emotions in him, and he responded to them without even thinking. Giving her a quick squeeze and then releasing her, he said, “Let me make breakfast. You have your bath and get dressed. After we’re done eating, I’ll help you with those articles.”

  Laura turned, gripping his hand. “Oh, Morgan, would you?”

  He smiled down into her eyes, which sparkled with renewed hope. “I’m not very good at typing, but we’ll get them done. Let’s go to your bedroom and figure out what you want to wear today. Then I’ll whip up a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon.“

  “Well,” Laura asked, sitting at her office desk, “what do you think of the first article?”

  Morgan had brought another chair into the office and placed it next to hers. He’d finished reading the ten-page article on spy satellites. “Very good.”

  She caught the admiration in his voice. “I can almost hear you asking how a woman could know so much about something so complex, right?”

  He grinned up at her. Laura had chosen to wear a pink long-tailed shirt that hung over her curved thighs and a pair of jeans. She had begged him to leave the bandages off her eyes, and he’d agreed. Her blond hair framed her face in a natural page boy, barely grazing her shoulders. The bangs fell softly across her brow, following the gentle slope of her eyebrows.

  “No…I’m more impressed with how you got this kind of information. Isn’t it classified?”

  She chuckled. “No. I’ve got friends down at the Pentagon vaults where all the declassified material is kept. I practically live down there some days, reading through hundreds of pages of information, pulling out interesting tidbits and then compressing them into an article format.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Will you read the article back to me, sentence by sentence? That way I can listen to it and see if something needs to be changed or tightened up.”