Morgan's Marriage

by Lindsay McKenna

  “What do you think?” Laura asked Morgan.

  “It’s nice,” he grunted. Moving forward, he reached to help Rachel with the bags. The ground was covered with pine needles, but the soil was clay, and it stubbornly stuck to his shoes. Rachel had warned them that cowboy boots would be the uniform of the day. Above them, the Arizona sun shone brightly. It was the end of February, and the temperature was already in the high fifties, with no snow in sight. The cabin was located about ten miles north of the small town of Sedona in a huge canyon filled with pine trees and white-barked sycamores. The walls of the canyon, Rachel had told them as she made the drive up the narrow road to the cabin, consisted of red and white sedimentary sandstone, laid down millions of years ago and layered with black basalt—the remains of lava from the volcanic activity that had been a big part of the region’s prehistoric past.

  Picking up their luggage, Morgan strode into the cabin. It was small—only four rooms. Panic surged within him as he noted that there was only one bedroom. Rachel smiled and pushed some of her reddish brown hair away from her face after hefting two suitcases onto one of the room’s twin beds.

  “We use this cabin during branding season,” she said, sweeping her hand around the room. “The twin beds are all we have.”

  Morgan stared at them. The room was small, the two beds covered with light pink chenille spreads. The windows were open to allow the clean, pine-fragrant air to circulate. “It’ll be fine, Rachel.”

  “Good,” she said with relief. “I’m going to give Laura a quick tour of the kitchen facilities.”

  Morgan stood alone in the quiet bedroom. At least they’d have separate beds. Still, he was uncomfortable with the idea of Laura being so close to him at night, though he wasn’t sure why. Since the day he’d come out of the coma, he’d watched her gradually retreat from him in a number of ways. Could he blame her? He certainly wasn’t reaching out to touch her or show her any kind of intimacy a husband might share with his wife. But how could he? Still, her increasing silence spoke louder than words. Maybe Jake was right, and he should pay more attention to his feelings. It was as if an invisible cord was strung between him and Laura—one composed of instinctive responses that he fought daily to ignore.

  Turning slowly around, Morgan opened his suitcase and pulled open one of the dresser drawers. Laura kept up a smiling exterior and was excellent at small talk, but he could feel her hiding a lot deep within her. He heard the sudden chatter of chickadees outside the window, joined by the high squeak of a flicker. Going to the screened window, he spotted the rust red underwings of the flicker on a branch of a pine not far from the cabin. Funny, he recognized those sounds, and he’d known automatically what kind of bird made them. Maybe, he ruminated, returning to his unpacking, he shouldn’t give up hope yet.

  When he’d finished putting his clothes away, he opened Laura’s suitcases. His hands stilled as he saw several photos in a plastic bag lying on top of her clothes. Over the weeks, Laura had brought several photos to him in hopes of jogging his memory. These, he knew, were framed photos of his children, and one of their entire family. Fingering them, Morgan felt an odd emotion flow through him—the first of its kind. Holding the photos, he savored the odd feeling.

  “Morgan?”

  He lifted his head at the sound of Laura’s voice. She stood hesitantly in the doorway. Her blond hair had been swept back, captured into a girlish ponytail with tendrils at her temples that emphasized her very readable blue eyes. Morgan noticed she’d changed from the dark green silk shirtdress she’d traveled in, into a bright pink, long-sleeved blouse and jeans. His lower body tightened in appreciation. For a woman who’d had two children, she still had a body that could make any man look twice.

  “Yes?” His voice came out off-key, and he saw her eyes become shadowed as she saw him bending over her suitcase, photos in hand. Did she think he was snooping without permission?

  She smiled hesitantly and moved to the end of the bed. “I see you found the family photos.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, handing them to her. As his fingers touched hers briefly in the exchange, that same feeling washed over him again, settling in the region of his heart. Too much was going on, and he needed quiet time to analyze this new twist in his feelings. Maybe Jake had been right after all; maybe he did need quiet and isolation to get in touch with his old, stuck memories.

  “You look…different,” Laura said, taking the photos and arranging them on top of the dresser. “Are you okay?”

  Shrugging, Morgan looked around. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He could feel her gaze on him, the question strung between them. “Maybe a little tired,” he said. Actually, that wasn’t a lie. The trip by Learjet—his company jet, or so they told him—had been long and wearing on him. He twisted to look in her direction.

  “I just heard the Jeep leave.”

  “Yes, Rachel’s gone.” Laura shrugged a little nervously. “It’s just you and me now.”

  Morgan saw the exhaustion in her eyes. “Listen, why don’t you rest? I can see you’re tired.”

  “I’ll be okay. Just being here is invigorating, isn’t it?” She turned, covering her exhaustion with a strained smile.

  Morgan had the crazy urge to step up to her, grab her by her small shoulders and give her a shake. She was putting on that cheery-faced routine for him again, and he could sense her retreating deep within herself—as usual. Keeping in mind Jake’s warning that it was time to think of someone besides himself, he said gruffly, “When I saw those photos, I felt something….”

  Laura’s heart thudded once to underscore her reaction. “You did?”

  With a shrug, Morgan growled, “I don’t know what I felt. Just…something.”

  Looking around the room, Laura said, “Ann was hoping that if we got off alone, your memory might slowly begin to return.”

  Sunlight lanced through the western window of the bedroom, and Morgan saw it touch Laura’s hair, the strands turning radiant, like a halo across her crown, until a breeze outside the cabin moved the branches of a pine tree and blocked the ray of light. How beautiful Laura was, he realized, beginning to appreciate her on a new, unspoken level. Her skin was translucent, and he could see the small blue veins beneath her eyes. Her mouth was decidedly one of her finest features—full and soft and excruciatingly vulnerable looking. He found himself wondering what it would be like to explore it with his own—and groaned internally at the thought.

  The thought was so unbidden, so foreign to him, that Morgan stood very still, assimilating the urge. Scowling, he said, “Rachel mentioned that this used to be an area sacred to the Indians.”

  “Magic?” Laura said wistfully, beginning to put her clothes in the drawers. “We could use some magic in our lives right now,” she added with a gentle laugh.

  Morgan moved around the small room, noting that Laura’s bed was no more than six feet from his. Beyond this room, a long, rectangular living room held a worn leather couch with a black-white-and-gray Navajo rug thrown over the back, and two overstuffed chairs. Although the cabin had electricity and running water, Oak CreekCanyon was several thousand feet deep, so television reception wasn’t possible.

  Morgan halted in the bedroom doorway, his hand resting tentatively on the jamb. Funny, he’d never studied Laura as he did now. She had an undeniable grace about her, in the way her small hands moved as she unpacked her clothes. Morgan liked the fact that she didn’t wear much makeup or paint her fingernails. No, Laura had a distinctly natural quality. “You belong out here,” he said huskily.

  “What?” Laura straightened and looked up at him. The expression on Morgan’s face was thoughtful, and Laura couldn’t quite decipher the emotion banked in his darkened eyes. Her skin prickled pleasantly; a familiar sensation from the old days when he’d often fixed her with that hooded, burning look. Her mouth went dry momentarily, and she froze beneath his gaze.

  Morgan watched Laura’s eyes widen—beautifully. Could a change of location suddenly make him awar
e of her on such a new, primal level? He felt his body tighten with need—of her. The sensation was startling, and he wondered obliquely if she realized he wanted her sexually. That would be embarrassing—to her and him. He still didn’t remember anything specific, but suddenly, his body was recalling something—something he had to fight. Morgan would no more entertain the thought of taking Laura for sexual reasons than he would any other woman. He had to feel more than raw, sexual chemistry.

  “Uh…” He lifted his hand, a little embarrassed. “This place, I guess. I feel different here. How about you?”

  Laura felt the invisible cord that had suddenly bound them snap and dissolve just as quickly as it had appeared. That intangible connection was an old, wonderful feeling that had inexplicably established itself between them for the first time since Morgan’s return, however briefly. Once they’d shared that sensation twenty-four hours a day. Startled by its unexpected reemergence, Laura’s voice was husky with emotion as she said, “Yes, there’s a feeling about this place I can’t put my finger on—yet.”

  Morgan saw her hands tremble slightly as she tucked her silky lingerie away in the drawer. What would Laura look like dressed in that pink silk camisole and bikini panties? The image wavered tauntingly before his eyes. With a shake of his head, he forced himself away from the doorway and into the living room. Looking down, he realized his body was responding to her with a will of its own. Damn!

  Feeling the need of fresh air, he went outside. A battered four-wheel drive Toyota Land Cruiser sat beside the cabin—their transportation if they needed to go somewhere, though Major Houston had warned them not to go anywhere without checking in with him at ranch headquarters first. The old gray Toyota had seen better days. As Morgan stepped onto the pine needles, still damp from a rain two days earlier, he felt a certain affinity with the vehicle. He was a little beat up and rusty himself.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Laura’s voice intruded gently on his thoughts. It reminded him of the breeze wafting through the pine trees that surrounded the log cabin. He’d jammed his hands into his jeans pockets as he’d stood looking at the Toyota. Now he looked across his shoulder to see her standing tentatively, as if he might banish her with a dark look or irritable wave of his hand. Her face was so easily read, her eyes broadcasting anxiety.

  Morgan turned and gestured for her to come closer. “Let’s go explore the creek.”

  “Are—are you sure?”

  He studied her flushed face and gazed deeply into her eyes. Maybe this place really was magic, Morgan thought, as he felt Laura’s anxiety, and sensed that she didn’t want to be left alone—that she needed his company. His or anyone’s? Rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned toward her fully. “Ann said I should try talking more openly to you,” he confided in a low tone, “and I know I’m not the world’s most talkative person. I feel you’re anxious. Over what?”

  Laura stood transfixed by his gray gaze. Morgan’s face had changed from that frighteningly implacable mask to the familiar expression of the man she had known for so many years. Hungrily, she took in his concern—for her. It was the first time she’d experienced his care since his return, and it left her off balance and feeling suddenly vulnerable in a new way. Just as quickly, Morgan could close up, she knew, striking another wounding blow to her vulnerability. She wasn’t sure she could stand too many more of those blows.

  Opening her hands, she whispered, “I’m feeling pretty shaky right now, Morgan. I—” she looked up at the towering pine trees behind him “—my heart’s beating like a runaway freight train in my chest and my hands are sweaty….”

  Scowling, he moved slowly toward her. He not only heard but felt an edge of panic to her voice. Though he wanted to reach out and grip her hands, he stopped about six feet away. Yes, fear was mixed with the anxiety in her eyes. “I’m not too good at this yet,” he mumbled, “about talking or trying to talk. What are you afraid of?”

  Shrugging, Laura whispered, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” She rubbed her damp palms self-consciously on the thighs of her Levi’s. Her heart continued to pound, and she wondered obliquely if she was having a heart attack. “I have to sit down,” she said, and she moved spasmodically toward an old, carved bench along the cabin wall. If she didn’t sit down, she feared her knees would buckle.

  Without thinking, Morgan gripped her arm and guided her to the bench. Her skin was soft and firm beneath his hand. For a moment, the fragrance of her camellia perfume beckoned to him. He saw the flash of surprise in her eyes as he made contact and realized this was the first time he’d touched her. Once she was settled on the bench, he released her and crouched in front of her, a few inches separating them. Laura nervously touched her brow and tried to give him a smile that said she was going to be all right.

  “Were you always like this?” he wondered in a low voice.

  “Like what?” Laura asked, clasping her hands in her lap. Morgan’s very presence was beckoning powerfully to her. Oh, to throw herself into his strong, capable arms and be held! How many times had she dreamed he was holding her safe? Holding her tight against his comforting bulk? Laura fought against those needs. Morgan had touched her because she was unsteady on her feet. It meant nothing personally to him, she realized with renewed agony.

  Morgan gestured to her. “You always try to hide how you’re really feeling. I can see you’re scared about something.”

  Hanging her head, Laura closed her eyes. “It’s—just a reaction. Ann told me they were called anxiety attacks.”

  “Why do you have them?”

  Her throat closed with tears. She’d gotten so used to Morgan not caring about her personally that his unexpected focus was too much for her to cope with on top of her weakened state. “I—I’ve had them since my rescue,” she stammered.

  Morgan saw her wrestling with very real anxiety. Her hands twisted in her lap and the corners of her mouth pulled inward as if to battle inner demons. “Laura?” He called her name huskily, stunned by the avalanche of feeling behind it. But Morgan didn’t have time to analyze his own responses. Right now, what was important was the fact that Laura was hurting.

  Compressing her lips, Laura looked up—and nearly melted beneath Morgan’s tender gaze. She wanted to fly off that bench and into his arms. Just to feel safe, even for a moment! “Ann calls it PTSD—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” Her voice broke, and she forced out the rest of the words. “Anxiety attacks are part of it.” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t get them very often. I don’t know why I had one now. I—I feel safe here.” She looked away. “I feel safe because you’re here….”

  As Morgan continued to crouch before her, he felt a gutting, knifelike sensation pierce his chest and move outward, as if someone were invisibly carving his heart into pieces. He saw Laura’s courage in that moment, as she struggled to tame those demons that were strangling the life out of her eyes. “You might look fragile,” he rasped, “but you sure as hell have courage.” When she turned her head aside to avoid his gaze, Morgan slowly unwound from his position.

  “Come on,” he ordered huskily, holding out his hand to her. “What do you say we go for a walk and look around our new home?”

  Chapter 5

  Laura stared in disbelief as Morgan offered her his hand. It was a large, square hand, familiar old scars mingling with frightening new ones. Choking back a sob, she hesitantly lifted her hand and slid it into his. As his callused fingers curled around hers, she felt his momentary hesitation. He was doing this not because he’d suddenly rediscovered his love for her. No, it was a humane gesture, and she knew she had to be careful not to make anything more of it than that.

  Still, as she stood, a thrill arced through her. Morgan’s hand was as warm and dry as hers was damp and cool. Just the fact that he had made physical contact with her gave her the strength to stand. Her shaky knees grew stronger. Her heart rate slowed. All the while, her gaze was held by his tender one. It was as if so much o
f the old Morgan from before the kidnappings had returned to her side! Laura wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Starved for the feel of him, she closed her eyes and merely stood there for a moment, savoring Morgan on all levels. The singing of the birds, the rush and tumble of the nearby creek, the soft breeze lifting her hair, all ceased to exist as she centered her heart and soul on his warm fingers curved around her own. She swore she could feel his pulse beat through his fingers, as if he were a lifeline restoring her will to live, feeding her with the desire to fight back for what had been so cruelly torn from her months before. She felt his strength infusing her, halting the terrible downward spiral she’d been inhabiting far too long.

  In moments, the anxiety was washed away, replaced by a feeling of serenity that Laura had thought she’d never feel again. Morgan stood near her, mere inches between them as he lightly grasped her hand. He’d reached out to touch her of his own accord, not because she’d begged him to.

  Morgan’s hand disengaged from hers, and Laura’s lashes flew open. To her regret, he moved away from her to follow a small path that led down to the creek bank. Tears welled into her eyes, and a cry lodged in her throat. She swayed, caught herself, then wrestled with the feeling of abandonment he’d created by releasing her. She stared at him, the cotton shirt stretched tautly across his massive shoulders as he picked his way carefully among the rocks and over downed tree limbs toward the creek’s pebble-strewn bed. A breeze momentarily wafted several strands of his short, black hair.

  Swallowing hard, Laura released a tremulous sigh. Well, what did she expect? Too much, she warned herself as she forced herself to follow him. Her steps seemed wooden and uncoordinated as she tried to recover from his fleeting touch, and her fingers tingled wildly where he’d held them. Heat throbbed moltenly upward through her arm to wrap softly around her aching heart. It was enough. Her heart was no longer bounding, and her anxiety had miraculously dissolved. For that she was more than grateful.