“Oh, well, hi, Angie.” He smiled at how youthful the girl sounded. “This is Brent Michaels. I need to speak with Laura Morgan, please.”
“I’m sorry, she’s not in today. Would you like to leave a message? Or maybe someone else can help you.”
“No, I don’t think anyone else can help with this,” he admitted with a smile. “It’s personal.”
“Oh, are you calling about the wedding? If you are, you might try Laura at the house. Although she’s probably still at the alterations lady, picking up her dress.”
The air left his lungs in a painful rush. Wedding! He nearly shouted the word out loud before his years of experience as an investigative reporter took over. “Uh, yes. Yes, of course. The wedding.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as his mind took a dizzy whirl inside his head. “I’m, eh, a friend of the family, and I seem to have misplaced my invitation. I don’t suppose you have the time and place for the ceremony, do you?”
“Oh, sure. It’s on Laura’s calendar. Hang on, and I’ll go grab it.”
As he waited, he forced himself not to panic. Maybe it wasn’t her wedding. How could it be? He’d only been gone two and a half months. She couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with someone else so quickly. Unless she’d decided to marry Greg Smith. No, she’d sworn that was over, that she didn’t love Greg, and he couldn’t see her marrying for anything less than love.
Except she wanted a home, a family. Children. Would she marry Greg simply to have all that?
“Here it is,” Angie announced. “Let’s see, the ceremony will be at the First Methodist Church in Beason’s Ferry on Saturday at four o’clock with a reception at the VFW Hall to follow. Do you need the addresses?”
“No. I know where they are.” His clenched teeth made the words come out as a snarl. “Does her calendar mention the name of the groom?”
“Well, no, but everybody knows it’s Greg Smith.”
“Son of a bitch!” He jammed his thumb against the off button and nearly hurled the phone into the reflecting pool. She was really going to do it. She was going to marry that whey-faced, mealy-mouthed pharmacist!
“Like hell she is!” he growled. Turning, he stalked toward the nearest Metro station, his mind racing with, every step. The ceremony wasn’t until Saturday, which gave him plenty of time to get to Laura and inform her she wasn’t going to marry anyone but him!
As he walked, he punched in her home number, but all he got was Melody’s answering machine. Just as well, he decided. For something like this, he needed to talk to her face to face, not over the telephone. He stopped to make another call before he descended into the underground Metro station. His producer’s voice came on the line.
“Margie, look, I need to leave town unexpectedly. Family emergency. Can someone cover my beat for a few days?”
“Well, sure, I guess, if it’s an emergency.” Concern filled the woman’s voice. “There hasn’t been a death, has there?”
“No,” he said. “But there might be,” he added under his breath. He’d break every bone in Greg’s body before he let some other man marry Laura. “I need a plane ticket to Houston right away. What travel agency do we use?”
She looked up the information on her Rolodex and gave it to him. When he got through to the travel agent moments later, he lost what little control be had left. “What do you mean, you can’t get me a flight out of here until Monday!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Michaels, but it is the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Thanksgiving! Who cares about Thanksgiving?” He tried and failed to rein in his temper. “You don’t understand. I have to get to Houston.” After a few more minutes of fruitless arguing, he hung up on the woman and stalked into the Metro station to catch a subway to the hotel where he rented a room by the week. Even after two months, be hadn’t been able to bear looking at houses without Laura. Every time he saw a place that needed renovating, he remembered the weekends they’d spent together fixing up his house in Houston.
Damn! There had to be some way to get to Houston, other than hanging around the airport hoping for a standby ticket. If the flights were as booked as the travel agent claimed, he couldn’t take a chance. He needed to get to Laura. Now.
By the time he reached his hotel room, a plan had formed in his mind. He had three days to get from D.C. to Texas. His Porsche was the next best thing to flying. Grabbing a suitcase, he packed in record time.
Thirty minutes later, he hit the interstate doing a hundred and five. He checked the radar detector and settled back for the drive. Barring any major complications, he’d make it to Laura in plenty of time to stop the wedding.
Chapter 26
Laura hesitated at the front door, not sure if she should ring the bell or just open the door. It felt odd, being faced with such a decision while standing on the front step of the house where she’d grown up. Would the door even open if she tried to turn the knob? Too well she remembered the last time she’d come home and found the house locked against her.
Squaring her shoulders, she decided to try the knob. If it gave, she’d walk on in. If it didn’t… If it didn’t, she’d ring the bell and keep right on ringing it until her father answered. Melody was right. This nonsense had gone on long enough. Thanksgiving Day was meant to be shared by family. And she would share it with the only family she had, whether he’d invited her or not.
To her relief, the knob gave. Easing the door open, she stepped hesitantly over the threshold. The moment she closed the door against the cool autumn air, the stillness of the house enveloped her like an old friend welcoming her in a warm embrace. The familiar sights and smells filled her senses. She took a deep breath and smiled at the scent of lemon oil and floor wax—and something else. Was that the smell of fresh-baked turkey and homemade rolls?
She should have known better than to imagine her father sitting in the dark, starving from his own stubbornness on Thanksgiving Day. In Beason’s Ferry, neighbors looked after one another, even if the one who needed looking after was the town’s most obstinate widower.
The sound of football on TV drew her to the den. She made the trek slowly, noting the cleanliness of the front parlor. Filtered sunlight glowed on the cherry wood coffee table with its porcelain figurines all in their proper places. At least her father had had Clarice these past months. Even if the two rarely exchanged a word, the mere presence of another human in the house could be a comfort. She knew that all too well, since loneliness had descended upon her the minute Greg had come to Houston to whisk Melody off to his parents’ house in a neighboring town for the holiday.
Not that she begrudged Melody and Greg their happiness; but she was somewhat amazed at how warmly Melody had been welcomed by Greg’s small-town, ultraconservative family. The Smiths apparently looked on their future daughter-in-law with a sense of awe for her artistic talent. Likewise, the people of Beason’s Ferry had taken to the pharmacist’s bride, especially the fund-raising committee, who’d already roped Melody into organizing the arts and crafts show for the next Homes Tour.
Still, Laura had felt a bit abandoned when her friend left. That, combined with a nagging image of her father being equally alone, had finally prodded her to take the long-overdue first step toward reconciliation.
A burst of cheers and an announcer yelling “touchdown” pulled her the last few steps to the den where she and her father had spent so many evenings. He relaxed in his recliner, facing the TV. A quiet warmth filled her as she leaned against the doorjamb, savoring the sight of him. He’d never been much of a man for watching sports, preferring a good John Wayne movie on a quiet afternoon. Still, not watching the Longhorns and the Aggies on Thanksgiving was next to sacrilege in Texas. And Dr. Walter Morgan was as proud of being a UT alumnus as he was of being a Son of the Republic.
He was a man who liked tradition, her father: a man who clung to the tenets of strength, honor, and integrity. Above all, he believed a man’s role in the world was to protect and provide. Providing had never been a p
roblem for him. Her heart ached, knowing he saw himself as a failure in the other regard. He hadn’t been able to save his wife from her own self-destruction, or to spare his daughter the pain of growing up.
Tears unexpectedly prickled her eyes. She sniffed to hold them back. At the sound, her father glanced around, then bolted from the chair. Emotions flickered across his face, from surprise to joy to something that looked like guilt before the mask dropped firmly into place.
“Hello, Daddy,” she said with a sad smile. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t expected the discomfort to strike quite this close to the bone. He made no move to answer, and she fought the urge to fidget. “I know I should have called first, but…”
But I was afraid you’d tell me not to come. She wanted to shout “I’m your daughter! And I’m hurting, too!” Instead, she sighed in resignation, pleading with him to understand. “Dad, it’s Thanksgiving. Whether you want to claim me or not, we’re still a family. And I don’t see any reason why either one of us should spend this day alone.”
“I’m, uhm—” He eyes darted toward the kitchen, and to her surprise a hint of color rose up his neck. “I’m not exactly alone.”
“Walter, dear?” a feminine voice rang out from the kitchen. “Do you want whipped topping on your pecan pie?”
Laura’s eyes widened. She knew that voice. She knew she knew it, she just couldn’t believe it. She stared at her father for confirmation, but he stood ramrod straight, his chin raised as his face turned red.
“Walter?” The woman’s voice grew louder as she appeared in the doorway opposite Laura, an apron tied about her waist, a pie plate in one hand. She halted abruptly when she spotted Laura.
“Miss Miller?”
“Close your mouth, dear,” Miss Miller said. “It’s unbecoming to gape.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laura said. The woman looked neat as always in a shirtwaist dress.
“Well, Walter?” The schoolteacher gave Laura’s father a pointed look.
“Well what, Ellie?” He grumbled.
Miss Miller propped one hand on her narrow hip. “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to ask your daughter to join us for a bite of pie?”
Her father’s lips thinned, like a child refusing to speak.
“Thank you anyway,” Laura hastened to say. “But I’m not hungry … just yet. Maybe later?” She added the last hopefully, glancing back to her father. His eyes softened, even if his posture remained rigid.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Miss Miller marched into the room like General Patton in two-inch pumps. “Walter, sit.” She pointed at his recliner. To Laura’s surprise, her father sank obediently into his chair. “Now, eat your pie and visit with your daughter while I go finish the dishes.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
“Fine!” Miss Miller slammed the plate onto the table beside her father’s chair, picked up the remote control, and hit the mute button. “Then you won’t have your mouth full when you tell her how glad you are to see her. Laura Beth.” The woman turned with eyes narrowed.
“Have a seat and catch your father up on how you’ve been these last months. He’s plumb eaten up with worry, even if he won’t admit it.”
Laura sat on the sofa.
Miss Miller turned to go but hesitated at the door. As she looked at Laura’s father, her face softened in a way that almost made her pretty. “Walter Morgan, you are the finest man I have ever known, but so help me, if you keep punishing that child for her mother’s sins, I swear I’ll keep walking right out that back door.”
Her father’s back snapped straight. “I have never punished Laura Beth for anything her mother did.”
Miss Miller shook her head, her eyes pleading. “Let it go, Walter. You are never going to be free of that woman and the pain she put you through until you let it go.”
The moment Miss Miller left, silence settled over the room. Laura waited. Now that she’d made the first step in coming, she was determined that her father make the next. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him fidget slightly and frowned. She’d seen her father angry, stoic, and proud; she’d even seen him emotionally shattered. But she couldn’t remember ever seeing him nervous.
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I hear you’re working for a pediatrician.”
“Yes. Dr. Velasquez.” Laura folded her arms, then unfolded them and smoothed the pleats of her pants.
“I’ve heard he’s very good.” Her father drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You enjoy working for him?”
“Very much. Although I’m thinking of applying for a position as director of ways and means for KIND, Kids In Need of Doctors. It’s a national organization that raises money to help children receive medical treatment.”
“Oh?” he prompted.
Laura clasped her hands, wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up. She’d learned of the job opening through a friend she’d made while helping Brent with his special report. The foundation was based in Washington, D.C., and she’d all but been told the job was hers if she’d just apply. That, however, was a decision she wasn’t ready to face. Not today.
“Yes, well, I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I think I’d enjoy the work.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a smile of pride tug at his lips. “Yes. You always did enjoy helping others.”
“I guess I get that from you,” she offered. “You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever known. I always admired that about you.”
He turned his head, and she saw his throat move, as if trying to swallow a painful knot.
Taking a deep breath, she searched for a different subject. “I assume you heard Greg Smith is getting married.”
“Yes. Yes I did.” His voice sounded too tight for his casual manner. “Quite a shock that, him up and marrying his former girlfriend’s roommate. Had all the old hens around here clucking for days. Some of the young ones, too.”
“I imagine it did.” She glanced away, knowing that if he’d heard about where she worked and about Greg and Melody, he’d heard about her breakup with Brent. Small-town grapevines had far-reaching roots. She prayed he wouldn’t bring it up. Not yet. Maybe later, after they got through this first awkward meeting. If they got through it.
“You all right with that?” he asked. “Greg marrying your roommate?”
“I couldn’t be more pleased.” Her smile was genuine if fleeting. “In fact, I’m going to be Melody’s maid of honor. The ceremony is this Saturday, at the First Methodist Church.”
“So I heard.”
“Would you, uhm…” she straightened the crease of her slacks “—care to come?”
A short silence fell. “I might.” His fingers drummed on the chair arm. “If you think the bride and groom wouldn’t mind.”
“They’d be delighted.”
“Do you think they’d mind if I brought a … date?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I—I think it would be fine if you brought a date. In fact, I think it would be wonderful.”
“You do?” His gaze finally met hers.
She blinked back tears. “Yes, Daddy, I really do.”
“Then you don’t mind about me and Ellie.”
“No! Of course I don’t mind! Did you think I would?”
“I don’t know.” He looked frustrated and confused. “Children are funny sometimes, about this sort of thing. And I just—” He broke off abruptly as his face crumbled.
In a flash, she crossed the room and knelt before him. His arms pulled her into a crushing embrace. She felt him kiss the top of her head as he stroked her hair.
“Oh, God, Laura Beth I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, but after all the things I said, I knew I’d hurt you, and I didn’t know how to make it right. I couldn’t face you, even though I’ve been so worried. I know I wasn’t a very good father. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Who says you weren’t a good father?” She pulled back
to look into his eyes. “You were the best father a girl could have, in spite of everything you were going though. Raising a daughter alone would be hard for any man. Yet you were always there for me, and I never doubted how much you loved me.”
“You were the one who took care of me.” He cupped her face and gave her a sad smile. “I never quite knew what to do with you. Even as a child, you were such a quiet, solemn thing, like a miniature adult. At least when your mother was alive, she knew how to make you laugh and play like other children. Then, suddenly—” A tear rolled down his cheek.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
“Suddenly, she was gone,” he said. “And I was so caught up in my own grief, I—I forgot to take care of you. I just sat here, sunk in my self-pity, letting you look after me. Then the next thing I know, you’re all grown up and wanting to leave home, and I couldn’t quite figure out how it happened. All those years I threw away— And I wanted them back, Laura Beth. I still want them back.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry.” She hugged him again, breathing in the scent of fabric starch and Old Spice. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to forgive you for. I’m the one—”
“No.” She leaned back and covered his mouth with her fingertips. “Hear me out. You’re not the only one who floundered out of not knowing what to do. All those years I took care of you, I was keeping busy so I wouldn’t have to grieve. Only I forgot to give you the one thing you needed most: to feel needed. I should have let you take care of me some, too. In fact, I should have stomped my foot and made you. Instead, I left you alone, because it was easier for me. I can’t give you back the years we lost, but if you’re willing to try, we can go forward from here.”
He shook his head. “If I could only take back the things I said that day—”
“No. No regrets.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Let’s just take it from right here, right now, and see where that leads us. Agreed?”
When his face softened, she saw more clearly the man who lived behind the proud mask. He looked lonely and humbled and more vulnerable than even she had suspected. “Agreed,” he said at last.
Drive Me Wild Page 27