Return of a Hero Page 6

  “Yeah, and I’ll input the edits and then print out a final draft for you.”

  She reached out, her hand coming in contact with his chest instead of his arm. The tensile strength of his muscles sent a thrill through her. She moved her hand to find his arm, giving it a warm squeeze. “We work well as a team, don’t we?”

  “Since the beginning,” Morgan agreed huskily, lost in the beauty of her eyes. Eyes that showed him the world in a frame of hope, not despair. Rousing himself from his discovery, he grabbed a pencil. “Okay, here comes the first sentence. If we’re lucky, we’ll be finished by noon.“

  Morgan dawdled over the noontime meal of tuna salad sandwiches, sweet pickles and potato chips with Laura. The first article was completed. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had so much fun or laughed as hard as he had in that three-hour period. Between editing and the five phone calls that Laura had answered, the article had been revised and printed out to perfection.

  Laura licked her fingers after finishing off a third sweet pickle. A new kind of excitement was growing inside her—a sweet euphoria she’d never felt before. It was all due to Morgan, she realized. The need to know more about him never left her. Picking up the paper napkin, she blotted her lips. Sasha sat by her chair, begging for another sweet pickle, a favorite food of hers.

  “Every time you feed the robin, you act as if you don’t like to do it,” Laura noted. “Why?”

  Disgruntled once again by her acute hearing and observation, Morgan said, “When I came home from the naval academy on leave for the first time, my sister, Aly, and I went out hunting together. Actually,” he went on, frowning, “I was the one who wanted to hunt. Aly was happy just to tag along.” He shook his head, a smile edging his mouth. “She was only twelve at the time and had missed her big brother, so she was like my shadow on that first leave.”

  Laura leaned forward, hearing the nostalgia in Morgan’s voice. “It sounds as if Aly idolizes you.”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah. She was a great kid sister, always hanging around with Noah and me.” Glancing up at Laura, he halted, realizing just how much he’d divulged about his past by naming his brother and sister. Would Laura piece things together? Judging from the tenderness in her eyes, Morgan guessed not, and slowly continued.

  “I had this .22 caliber rifle I’d grown up with as a kid. My dad and I had gone deer hunting every fall for as long as I could remember. Aly didn’t usually like to come with us because she hated to see anything killed. I’d taken the rifle along for the hell of it as we walked through this wooded grove. I wanted to keep up my proficiency shooting, so I was aiming at tree branches in the distance, not birds or animals.” Morgan crumpled the napkin in his hands, staring down at the light-green tablecloth.

  “I picked out a branch on one tree and fired. There was a robin’s nest on it, hidden by leaves, and I hadn’t realized it was there. The nest fell out of the tree. Aly ran over to it. When I got there, she was crying.”

  “Oh, Morgan,” Laura whispered, sliding her hand outward, making contact with his. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged, the memory returning powerfully to him. “Two of the three baby robins were dead. The third one had a broken wing, and Aly gently picked it up. She thought we could save it, so I wrapped the bird up in my handkerchief to keep it warm for the walk back to the house.

  “When we got home, Aly and I got a shoe box, made a little nest for the bird and kept it warm. She went outside with me to dig worms. I felt terrible, because I’d had no intention of killing anything,” Morgan admitted.

  Laura tightened her fingers around his. “Did the baby live?”

  He sighed. “It died two days later. It must have had internal injuries. The bird should have survived with only a broken wing.”

  “You both must have been devastated.”

  Morgan took her hand between his, lightly tracing each of her long, artistic fingers. “Aly cried for hours after the baby died. All I could do was hold her and tell her I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant to hurt the robin.”

  “She wasn’t upset with you, was she?”

  “No, not Aly. She’s just as softhearted as you are.”

  Sniffing, Laura swallowed back her tears for Morgan’s sake. He might misconstrue her compassion for pity. “Robby brings all those memories back to you, doesn’t she?”

  Looking over at the robin, who slept contentedly in the makeshift nest of grass in the cage, Morgan nodded. “Yeah, the little beggar brings it all back to me. Except maybe this time I won’t kill it. Maybe she’ll live despite me.”

  The urge to whisper his name and pull him into her arms was real. Instead Laura held his hand tightly. “Why do I get this feeling that you think everything you touch is somehow worse off?”

  “Not much in my life has had a good ending, Laura,” Morgan warned her darkly, getting up. “I don’t have to stay in one place long before things turn to hell in a hand basket. Look at you. All you had to do was see me at an airport and you got injured saving my miserable neck.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Laura told him fervently. “You’re a kind and good person.”

  “Tell that to the world,” he growled, picking up the plates and taking them to the dishwasher. “Come on, let’s get back to work on those last two articles.“

  Phone calls from well-wishers who had found out about her injury via the newspaper, and editors whom Laura had worked with, came in all afternoon. Some flowers arrived, and Morgan brought them into her office. Her enthusiasm over receiving the fragrant bouquet did nothing but remind him that he should have had the sensitivity to bring her some, too. By six o’clock, Morgan was in ill humor.

  He got up and went to the kitchen to make them supper. His anger at the situation bred more frustration. What if she was blinded for life? He couldn’t just leave her stranded. In his mind, no one who was loyal ever deserted. As he peeled the potatoes, he began to consider the possibility of staying stateside. He now knew he wasn’t a CIA mole. So it didn’t matter whether he signed up for another five-year stint with the French Foreign Legion or not.

  Throwing the potatoes into a pot to boil, Morgan began collecting the vegetables from the refrigerator for a salad.

  “Here, little beggar,” he muttered, throwing the robin a piece of lettuce. The bird promptly climbed out of her nest in the bottom of the cage and gobbled up the greenery. Morgan grinned tightly, throwing her another piece. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

  So was he, if he were honest with himself. He liked Laura a hell of a lot—and not for reasons of pity or owing her for saving his life. Looking around at the quiet kitchen, he was astonished, as he always was, by the peace that reigned within this home. Tearing up bib lettuce leaves and putting them in a large bowl, Morgan realized his newfound contentment was due to Laura.

  And if Laura’s sight came back in two weeks, what would he do? He released a long sigh, grabbing a carrot and methodically beginning to slice it into the bowl. With her background in military information, she’d recognize him sooner or later. Disgruntled, he found himself wanting to stay, but realized it was a stupid dream. This was still nothing more than a beautiful dream that would end very abruptly.

  “Mmm, smells good, whatever you’re cooking,” Laura said, coming into the kitchen. She found a chair in the nook and sat down. “Can I help?”

  “I’ve got chicken in the oven, and I’m working on a salad. Just sit there and look beautiful.”

  Smiling, Laura murmured, “I wish I could see your face, Morgan Ramsey, when you say that.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “To see if you’re teasing me or if you mean it.”

  He grinned as he chopped up a scallion. “And if I did mean it, Ms. Bennett, what would you do, I wonder?”

  “You’re such a rogue,” she said with a laugh, clapping her hands delightedly. “And too much of an officer and a gentleman to take unfair advantage of me.”

  Scowling, he scooped the scallion into the bowl.
The tomato was next. “Not anymore.”

  Undaunted by his growling rejoinder, she sat, enjoying his presence. “So, you graduated from Annapolis as an officer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Navy?”

  “No…marine corps.”

  Her eyebrows moved upward. “That makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “When I saw you, you reminded me of a tough-as-nails soldier. The marine corps image suits you.”

  “That’s over with now,” he said in a clipped tone. Moving the bowl of salad to the table, he opened the silver drawer and pulled out the necessary utensils.

  “What’s the saying? You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy? I think that applies to you in a marine corps sense. You’re still a marine at heart, Morgan.”

  “Probably.” She’d never know that he used those skills to this very day.

  “Were you a lieutenant in Vietnam?”

  He placed the silverware on the table, his scowl deepening. “No, a captain.”

  “My dad was a major in the army. He had a company of men to command while he was in Vietnam. Did you?”

  Morgan straightened, feeling the tension thrum through him. “Yeah, I had one hundred sixty men under my command.”

  She tilted her head, hearing raw anguish in his voice. “It’s a terrible responsibility,” Laura whispered. “And knowing you the way I do, I’ll bet you cared deeply for each and every one of them.”

  “Let’s get on another subject, Laura. I don’t feel like discussing this one very much.”

  Laura winced at the anger in his voice. She placed her hands in her lap and bowed her head. “Sometimes I can put my foot in my mouth, Morgan….”

  He’d seen her face go pale at his snarling order to drop the topic. Cursing himself, he went over and knelt in front of her, scooping up her hands in his. “I’m the one who should apologize,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to rip your head off.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s just that some of your mannerisms make me think of Dad. In some ways you’re alike.”

  “A soldier is a soldier,” he uttered tiredly. “The uniform may be different, but underneath it, we’re all the same. Scared men just trying to do our jobs and uphold our responsibilities.”

  Murmuring Morgan’s name, Laura pulled her hands out of his and slid them across his shoulders. “I feel you’re like Dad. You may have been overresponsible, Morgan. Maybe you cared a little too deeply, a little too much…. That can leave an open wound in your heart and memory. Even to this day.”

  He longed to lean forward and rest his head against Laura. The anguish of the past stared him in the face. “One thing our family prides itself on is responsibility,” he told her in a strained tone. “We have a long military tradition of caring for those under our command. My men were more than numbers to me, Laura. More than just sets of dog tags.”

  She threaded her fingers through his short black hair. “I know,” she whispered, “I know….”

  A cry lodged in Morgan’s throat as she drew him forward. The softness of her fingertips across his neck and shoulders melted his resolve. He shut his eyes, burying his face against her small, warm body. As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he felt a shudder work its way up and out of him. She smelled so good, so fresh and clean, when his world consisted of little more than dirt, sweat and desert. He slid his arms around her small waist, aware of her diminutive size against his bulk and brawn. Yet she was strong in ways that he wasn’t right now, and that knowledge shook Morgan to the core.

  Closing her eyes, Laura pressed him against her, his head resting on her bosom. When she felt him shudder, she tightened her arms around him. “Oh, Morgan, you’re so strong for so many, and I know you’re tired,” she murmured against his hair. “I understand that. My dad carried the same terrible weight on his shoulders for almost fifteen years. I saw what his care and concern did to him. Every man was like the son he never had. He knew their names, the names of their wives and children. And whenever one of them died, he wrote a long letter to the wife and family.” She smiled weakly and caressed his hair. “The war isn’t that far away from you, either, is it? It’s a living hell for you today, just as it was years ago.”

  Morgan held her tightly, hearing the fluttering beat of her generous heart beneath his ear. Each stroke of her hand on his head eased a little more of the anguish he’d carried so long by himself. When he felt her lips press against his temple, he groaned. God, he had to get a hold on himself for her sake. He wanted to take Laura, right now. He wanted to love her with wild, hungry abandon and hear her cry out with pleasure. But he wouldn’t drag her into his morbid, complicated life. There was no happy ending for them. No, he wasn’t going to ruin one more life.

  “Listen to me,” Morgan commanded harshly, easing out of her arms. He saw huge tears in her lustrous blue eyes, and he winced. “Don’t open yourself up to me and my problems, Laura. Dammit, you’ve got enough worries without taking on mine.”

  Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she nodded. “It’s my nature to get involved, Morgan. I was adopted, and my parents always said I was a fighter for the underdogs of the world.”

  With his thumbs he wiped away the two tears that trailed down her cheeks. “Then fight for someone who’s worth fighting for. I’m not. The die was cast for me many years ago, little swan.”

  Laura struggled to control her escaping feelings for him—feelings of desire, not pity. Just the roughened touch of Morgan’s thumbs against her flesh made her ache to love him. There was some deep inner knowing within her that if she could get him to trust her, she could help him in so many ways.

  Forcing a slight smile, she murmured, “I guess I’m letting this trauma get to me.”

  He caressed her hair. “Yeah, a close call with death can make you do things you’re sorry for later.”

  She nodded, biting down on her lower lip. She wanted to say, Making love with you, Morgan, would be the most right thing in the world for both of us. But she didn’t. Let him think what he wanted. He brought out all her instincts for nurturing, caring and loving. And every piece of information she’d dragged out of him thus far told her his life was a picture of terrible tragedy. Something had happened to his company in Vietnam. What?

  Rising to his feet, Morgan left her side. Despite his pleading, he saw the stubborn set of her chin and the spark of defiance in her eyes. Still, those warming seconds in her arms did nothing but make him starved to explore Laura. All of her….

  “Tomorrow morning,” Laura began, her voice low with emotion, “Captain Jim Woodward from the marine corps is coming over. I’ll interview him at ten.”

  Morgan leaned against the counter, scowling. A marine officer. The chances of getting recognized increased a hundredfold. He couldn’t risk it.

  “No problem. I’ll go back to my hotel and—”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Why did Morgan always think he was unwanted? “If you could tape the session and run the recorder, it would be of immense help to me.”

  Shifting uneasily, Morgan grimaced. “Look, I don’t want to butt into your personal life.”

  Laughing, Laura said, “Captain Woodward isn’t part of my personal life. He’s a long-time associate whom I frequently contact for marine corps articles, that’s all.” Then she shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have a personal relationship right now. I’ve spent the past year working on the second of three military history books.” She almost added that her engagement to Major Roarke Anderson, an air force pilot, hadn’t worked out. He couldn’t handle her independence or the fact that she was a celebrated author. But that was a year ago, and her heart had healed, leaving room for someone else. For Morgan, perhaps….

  Stymied by her honesty, Morgan paced the room. “I just thought this guy meant something to you.”

  “Then you’ll stay and help me? Please?”

  Rubbing his chin, Morgan wondered if Woodward would rec
ognize him. It was a chance he’d have to take. Besides, he was relieved to hear Laura was free of any personal entanglements. “Sure, no problem.“

  Morgan answered the door. It was exactly ten, and he was sweating, hoping like hell Woodward wouldn’t recognize him. He opened the door to a tall, well-built officer in a tan marine corps uniform.

  “The name’s Ramsey,” Morgan said. “Ms. Bennett is expecting you.”

  Woodward’s green eyes narrowed slightly. He hesitated fractionally, then held out his hand. “Captain Jim Woodward.”

  Morgan shook the officer’s hand. It was similar to his own—callused and strong. This man wasn’t any desk sitter at the Pentagon. If he wasn’t so worried about being recognized, Morgan thought he would like the officer. Part of it was Woodward’s proud carriage, his fearless green eyes and the square set of his face. Another part was the confidence and power he radiated. At one time, Morgan remembered, he had, too. “Come in. Ms. Bennett is in her office. Because of her injury, I’ll be assisting her today.”

  “Fine. I know where her office is,” Woodward said, taking off his cap and placing it beneath his left arm.

  Laura heard both men coming and sat expectantly in her office chair. Today she wore a teal-blue silk blouse and an ivory skirt and jacket—all business. She never appeared for an interview without wearing a suit. Nervously she kept her hands in her lap. Would Jim’s discomfort over her blindness interfere with the forthcoming interview?

  “Hey, tiger,” Jim called from the door. “It’s all over the Pentagon that you bumped your head and hurt yourself. How are you feeling?”

  Relief swept through her that the two men got along, and she smiled. “Jim Woodward, you’re a terrible tease at the best and worst of times. I’m doing well. Come in.” She held out her hand. When Jim took it, Laura felt how different his grip was than Morgan’s powerful, yet gentle one.

  Jim put his hat on the edge of Laura’s desk and took the chair next to hers. He searched her features. “Is it true? That you were temporarily blinded? All I see is a nasty cut on the temple and a few scratches on your cheek.”