“I know they both wanted children,” Laura said. She rallied gamely, though reminded that she could never have them again herself. “They deserve every happiness.”
Leaning over, Morgan kissed the back of her hand. “No question about that. So, how do think you’ll like your new home, Mrs. Trayhern? Will a Philipsburg, Montana, address help fulfill your dreams?”
Her lower lip quivered. “Yes,” she whispered, “it’s a dream come true, Morgan. I just don’t believe it. I never thought—”
“Good,” he rumbled, satisfied. “Let me call this woman architect. We’ve got some designing to do. If we’re lucky, we’ll get things set in motion. In a couple of days, we can fly to the Cascades and set up temporary housekeeping at Jake’s cabin. Then we’ll have the kids flown out to be with us.”
Laura nodded, overwhelmed. Finally, she managed to say in a broken whisper, “We’ll be a family again….”
Morgan lay in bed with Laura in his arms. It was barely dawn at Jake’s cabin in the pristine wilderness of the Cascade Range of central Oregon. Laura’s warmth felt damn good to him. How he looked forward each night to sharing this bed with her. Had three months fled by already? He keyed his hearing to the room next door, where the children were sleeping soundly. Jason would wake up around seven, he knew, and little Katherine would follow shortly. Then the day’s chaotic but fulfilling events would begin. But right now, it was only five-thirty, plenty of time to savor the silence—and Laura.
A sweet longing filled Morgan, as it always did when he awoke at this time of morning. In some ways the past three months had been like a visit to hell, in other ways, heaven. The children had finally settled in, and Morgan was amazed at their resiliency, considering the toll that had been taken. Even more profound was the fact that Jason, who’d been showing hyperactive symptoms, was calming down, and it was now that Morgan honestly began to see the cost to his family. Jason was reacting to the stress Morgan had always brought home with him from Perseus. The little boy picked up on his worries like all-terrain radar.
Little Katherine, who’d been still being breast-fed at the time of the kidnapping, was sleeping much better, too. She had been through nights where she’d wake up screaming—for no reason. Here at the cabin, Katherine was finally sleeping soundly through the nights, and Morgan knew Laura was especially grateful, since she was usually the one to get up and go to her.
Chickadees began chirping outside the window, and somewhere, far off, the high, warning shriek of a blue jay could he heard. Morgan thought it was probably reacting to the old cougar that lived about ten miles from the cabin, high in the cliffs where there was a cave. He and Laura hadn’t been able to do much hiking yet, because of the weather, but with winter’s hold on the mountains finally breaking, spring flowers were beginning to dot the surrounding landscape.
Laura…A pain filled him, along with a fear. They still hadn’t been able to make love—because of the damnable rapes. Morgan found himself hating Garcia more every day. Dr. Parsons had warned him about Laura’s on-again, off-again ability to be touched, kissed, held or loved. With the children underfoot, the possibility of lovemaking had become strictly a nighttime affair, and Laura was still recovering from the trauma, desperately needing all the sleep she could get.
Morgan tried to take on some of the mothering role so Laura didn’t have the pressure of caring for the children twenty-four hours a day. He was learning in no uncertain terms that being a housewife was a damned demanding and drudgery-filled job—and his admiration for Laura had increased tenfold as a result. His taking over half the family duties had brought them all much closer together as a unit, too, in a way that wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t sold his business. In a perverse way, Morgan liked the change. He’d never realized the extent of the toll on him, until he’d gotten far away from the intense demands of Perseus.
Laura moved in his arms, her brow resting against his jaw. Her breathing was soft and shallow, and he could feel her stirring from sleep. Moving his hand along her slender arm, he felt the softness of her skin, the curve of her body fitting against his. The silk of her hair tickled his lips, and he smiled lazily as she pressed her full length against him like a cat stretching languidly. A part of him was scared to death of her rejection—once again—should he try to love her. But Ann had said to remain intimate with Laura on as deep a level as she could tolerate.
That was the frustration, he thought, as he eased Laura onto her back, his arm beneath her neck and cradling her shoulders. Neither he nor Laura knew when her rape trauma would rear its ugly head. Sometimes it was when he was kissing her. Other times, when he caressed her breast. Or, if he became too aggressive, she would instantly freeze and push him away. The worst was the look of terror in her eyes. It made Morgan feel like a bastard, and his emotions would flash to an overriding anger—toward Garcia. It was as if the drug kingpin was here, standing between them at their most intimate times together, and Morgan could taste his hatred for the evil man and what he’d done to Laura.
So he’d learned to go slow and easy, which wasn’t all that hard for him. Morgan missed those times of passionate spontaneity he’d once shared with Laura. But if he grieved silently for that aspect of their old relationship, he never told her, because he didn’t want to hurt or worry her.
Still, Morgan had seen progress in the intimacy they’d gradually established. The first month he’d learned not to play the rejected husband. Laura could no more help her flashbacks, or that out-of-body sensation that sometimes drove a wedge between them, than he could his occasional nightmares where he relived the horrors of that Vietnam hill. He watched now as Laura sleepily lifted her lashes to reveal smoky blue eyes. Smiling, he leaned over and caressed her parted lips. She tasted sweet and soft beneath his exploration, and he felt her moan, her arms sliding around his shoulders in invitation.
Her lips parted even more, and, feeling her hips move against his hardness, he groaned. Her silky hair swirled across her shoulder as he lifted the thick strands, easing his fingers across the top of her head in a gentle, kneading motion. Nothing relaxed her more than his combing her hair or gently massaging her scalp, he’d discovered. Another part of him waited with bated breath to be shoved away, or to feel her stiffen awkwardly in his arms—her nonverbal request, asking him to stop. How he wanted to love her completely! The ache in his loins burned through him as he allowed his hand to range tentatively down her arm to her waist.
Her skin was soft and giving as he cupped her hip and brought her against him. It was then that he felt her stiffen. It was nothing obvious, but mentally he cursed, placing a tight rein on his own raging needs. As he eased his mouth from hers, he opened his eyes and looked into hers. They were wide again—with fear. Dammit, anyway!
“Morgan,” Laura began softly, “I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” he exclaimed harshly, easing away from her and sitting up. “You don’t have to apologize, Laura.” And she didn’t. It wasn’t her fault. He saw her crestfallen look, disappointment joining the guilt in her expression. He couldn’t be impatient or angry under these circumstances, and he didn’t want her to think he was upset with her. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling her gently against him.
She came without a word, resting against his naked form, her head against his shoulder, her arm around his waist.
“That’s better,” Morgan murmured against her hair. He pressed a kiss to it and held her a little tighter for a moment.
“It was so wonderful, like before,” Laura said in a whisper. “And when you touched my hip, I had this awful flashback, Morgan.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her cheek against his warm, strong shoulder. Biting back the words of apology, knowing they would only upset Morgan, she concentrated instead on the sensation of his hand moving slowly up and down the curve of her arm. The massive pounding of his heart told her how badly he wanted her. And she wanted him, too! At least, her heart did, though her mind seemed to control everything—including the flashb
acks that came between them, chilling her ardor, preventing her from loving him physically.
“Listen,” Morgan said gruffly, “I’m beginning to realize that rape is like war. They’re one and the same.” He caressed her slender jaw and looked deeply into her worried eyes. “You remember how many times when we were making love I’d have a PTSD flashback to Vietnam?”
“Yes,” Laura said with a grimace.
“And how those flashbacks interrupted our lovemaking?”
“You’re right, they did. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Because,” Morgan said gently, “over the years the flashbacks diminished, intruding less and less on us.”
Laura felt hope spring up in her breast. “Yes, that’s right, they did.”
“So,” he whispered, caressing her hair and placing a kiss on her brow, “this is no different. You didn’t get angry with me for my flashback.”
“No, but you felt bad about it coming between us.”
“Yes,” he admitted heavily, “I did. You went unfulfilled.”
“So did you,” she noted wryly, content to be held by him forever. Did Morgan realize how strong he was for her? It was more than just his physical size and strength—it was the strength of his heart, and his support of her.
The phone rang.
Morgan groaned and reluctantly released Laura. The phone didn’t ring often, and when it did, he made a point to answer it, because it was usually Mike Houston with information they needed. Had they found that second hit man? He fervently hoped so as he shrugged on his terry-cloth robe and moved quickly into the living room to the phone.
Laura sat up in bed, ran her fingers through her mussed hair and decided she might as well get up, too. The mood had been spoiled anyway. She heard Morgan answer the phone tersely, followed by the usual grunts of “yes” or “no” that she’d heard so many times before. Retrieving her robe, she slipped it on over her silky pink nightgown and went to the bathroom.
She was filling the tub with water when Morgan entered the bathroom, an odd expression on his face as he shut the door behind him.
“Who was calling?” she asked, taking the jar of orange-scented crystals from the vanity.
“It was Mike.”
Laura opened the jar and sprinkled a handful of crystals into the water. “What’s up?”
Morgan leaned against the door, his hands in the pockets of his robe as he watched her. “Good news.”
“Oh?” She set the jar back on the vanity and gathered up her hair with a pink ribbon so it would be off her neck.
“Yeah, the CIA just called Mike. Garcia was flying to Bogotá, Colombia, with thirty other powerful drug lords from around South America for a big meeting.” He smiled a little. “The plane carrying them blew up in midair halfway to their destination.” Morgan saw Laura’s eyes go wide with shock, and she stood very still.
“Then—”
“He’s dead. The whole lot of them are dead. There were no survivors, according to Colombian officials.” Morgan snapped his fingers. “Just like that, all those bastards went up in a puff of smoke.” His smile was savage and filled with satisfaction.
A chill went through Laura as she stood considering the news. “He’s dead….” Garcia, her rapist, was dead. Somehow, the idea was liberating, and for a moment she felt guilty that she was glad he was no longer alive. It wasn’t like her to wish anyone dead. Ever. At times, in sessions with Dr. Downey, she’d confided with great guilt that she’d like to kill Garcia herself for what he’d done to her. Laura hadn’t felt good about admitting it, but Pallas had assured her it was a healthy, normal reaction.
Morgan moved over to Laura and pulled her into his arms. “You okay? You’re a little pale.”
She closed her eyes and sank willingly against him. His arms were strong and supportive, and right now, she needed that sensation. Slipping her own arms around him, she pressed her face against his robed chest. “I’m okay…just…in shock, I guess.”
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch,” he growled, easing his fingers across her jaw. “Mike also said they caught the second hit man in New Orleans. He’s in jail now, awaiting deportation.”
“Thank God,” Laura whispered, feeling even more weight falling from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized until now how much tension she still carried in them. As if sensing her thoughts, Morgan began running his large hand slowly across her shoulders.
“We’re free,” he told her. “Really free, now. With all the major drug lords dead, the underlings will be scrambling to take over and rebuild their empires. They’re going to be too busy in their own backyards to come after us again.”
“You really think that, Morgan?”
“Yes, I do.” He eased her away, dropping a quick kiss on her parted lips, and smiled down at her. “The CIA will take advantage of this shift of power. Mike said he’s going to fly back down to Peru and help them create continued chaos in the drug industry—to try to stop it from re-forming, or at least from re-forming too quickly.”
“But,” she protested, “what about Ann? They’re in love with each other! What will she do?”
“Mike said Ann’s going down with him. She’s submitting her resignation to the CIA and quitting Perseus.” He smiled a little. “Mike’s head over heels in love with her, and they’re going to set up housekeeping in Lima, Peru. He’ll be working with the Peruvian government at the capital, and Ann’s going to start working with the city’s poor, because doctors are always needed there.”
“Will they be in danger, though?”
“Some,” Morgan admitted, gently tracing the outline of one of her arched eyebrows. “They know the risks, Little Swan. They’ll take steps to protect themselves.”
“I’m so happy for them,” she murmured. “Ann deserves someone like Mike. He’s a neat guy—” she looked up at him, smiling “—like you.”
Morgan cherished her lips, and felt her returning ardor as he absorbed her feminine form against him. The air was moist and filled with the fragrance of orange blossoms. “There’s just something about us old, battered warriors, eh?” he teased as she moved from his embrace to shut off the water in the tub.
Laura removed her robe and hung it on a hook. “Yes, there’s something very sexy, dangerous and provocative about you warriors,” she teased in return, meeting his very male smile. She saw the desire smoldering in his eyes as she eased the nightgown over her head.
“Come on,” she entreated, stepping into the oversize tub. “Join me?”
Morgan groaned. “The water smells like perfume.”
With a lilting laugh, Laura held out her hand. “Oh? Big, bad old warriors can’t stand a little perfumed water every once in a while? Really, Morgan, being a man doesn’t mean you can’t smell good.”
“There’s a difference between man smells and woman smells,” he muttered defiantly, shedding his robe. He saw the impish quality dancing in Laura’s eyes as he gripped her outstretched hand.
“Who knows?” she said, baiting him. “Something good might happen when we take a bath together. It’s a new experience—why not try it? I thought you warriors were always up for new adventures.”
Stepping into the warm water, Morgan grinned. A decided difference had come into Laura after hearing the news about Garcia. Maybe, just maybe, it would help her continue to get well—to know that the person who had victimized her had gotten his just reward. The gold flecks were back in her eyes, and for that Morgan was grateful. It was the first time he’d seen those shining sunlit flecks in far too long.
As they lowered themselves into the steamy, scented water, Morgan held Laura’s returning smile as she picked up the soap. Life was getting better—one day at a time, one hour at a time—just as Dr. Parsons had promised. Right now, their new home was being built by contractors on BlueMountain in Montana. By June, they would be moved in. The future seemed suddenly brighter and happier than ever before to Morgan, and a fierce love swept through him as Laura moved to his side
and began to provocatively slide the lathered soap across his shoulders and chest. In that moment, he knew without doubt that his marriage was whole again, and there would be no other woman for him ever but Laura.
Epilogue
“Look, Morgan!” Laura called from where she crouched in her wildflower garden. “Come and look.”
He stood on the sun deck of their Montana home, his hands deep in the pockets of his Levi’s. Jason and Katherine were helping their mother weed the garden, which bloomed in colorful profusion on the eastern side of their new home. Laura’s face shone with joy, her once-pale skin turned a golden tan from her many hours in the sun spent working not only on her huge, oval flower garden, but on an even bigger vegetable patch.
Where had the past fifteen months fled since the fateful day when he’d found her unconscious on that trail? Morgan hesitated a moment on the deck, simply enjoying the sight of his family busily working together on a project they all loved. Since that day at the Donovan Ranch, Morgan had never regretted a single one of the major, life-altering decisions he’d made. His love for Laura and his children and their safety was more important to him than anything else in the world.
The warmth of the wood railing felt good beneath his callused palms as he leaned over to watch his family. Jason, the very active seven-year-old that he now was, rushed up and down the rows, picking at a weed here and a weed there, unconcerned about being thorough. Meanwhile, Katherine worked at Laura’s side as they eliminated every last little weed among the brilliant, blooming flowers.
The straw hat Laura wore to protect her face made her look like an old Victorian print, Morgan thought. She wore a loose, summery white blouse and baggy, light blue trousers that had seen better days. But it was the smile always hovering around her lips that sent his heart pounding and made his lower body tighten instantly every time. Katherine liked coveralls, bright-colored ones, especially, and her blond hair was in tiny braids, the red ribbons matching the flush on her cheeks. Yes, Katherine decidedly took after Laura, while Jason was the spitting image of himself.
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