Chapter 13
As promised, Morgan drove the truck home. Travis was perfectly fine with one beer under his belt, but it wasn’t about that. Not anymore. Morgan had said she would do it, and she meant to follow through.
Geoff giggled at the sight of his mother behind the oversized steering wheel. Travis grinned in delight and admiration.
Morgan was nothing if not a good sport.
“Are you really gonna drive it, Mom?” Geoff asked, after Travis hoisted the boy into the cab.
“You betcha,” Morgan nodded, then looked to Samantha, who snugged up against her on the bench seat, for some girl power affirmation. Her shy daughter flashed an uncertain smile. And then, the womea in charge dropped it into gear. She gave it a bit too much gas, and the truck’s treaded tires sprayed gravel the whole way out of the parking lot.
“You go, Mom!” Geoff cheered.
“It’s a bit touchy,” Travis calmly advised.
On the dark, quiet ride home, Morgan’s mind raced over her long, eventful day. To her surprise, her brain’s rewind fast-forwarded over the boardroom intrigue that spelled such a reversal in her fortunes at the office. Those things would sort themselves out in time.
Instead, the lingering thoughts and images were of family -- her fast-changing and ever-maturing children who Morgan needed to get to know all over again. How Geoff so instinctively and immediately gravitated toward the new male presence in the household. How badly must he have needed that, after years of a pre-occupied father whose absence in his son’s life was only formalized by Morgan’s divorce?
And then there was Samantha. Fragile, swan-like Samantha. Morgan made a mental note that she would have to work on boosting her daughter’s confidence. Samantha was such a unique flower, so ready to blossom. But she needed a gardener’s gentle nurturing and loving care. And she required some time in the sun -- time away from men like Morgan’s father, her ex-husband and even her young son. Samantha needed her own oxygen, just as Morgan had needed it. It was a supply she tapped into only after college, and even then the flow wasn’t constant. Not in the shadows of her then-husband’s atmosphere-sucking gravitational pull.
Travis was just the opposite of most of the men in her life. His coiled, compact body seemed to pull in on itself from its center. He did nothing to call attention to himself. Nothing he did was for show. And as Morgan watched him on the drive out, all throughout dinner and, especially, the strained scene with her father, Travis’s placid but deep reserve seemed to be drawing her in.
The dense substance at the core of this easy-going, centered man had its own gentle but firm attraction. And Morgan had felt it. She was fully aware of this, however. And she remained bound and determined not to fall within its tractor beam.
Because all the men in Morgan’s life had agendas. She knew that even Travis’ still, placid waters hid something in their depths. Morgan would need to discover this man’s deep secrets before she permitted herself to plunge in.
She would not be fooled. Not so soon after the debacle with Darren and all the irreparable harm it had wrought to her career. She could not afford another misstep, especially not with a man she had allowed into her children’s lives. The handyman dispatched by her father had been around for just one day. Yet, there they were, packed into his pickup truck like some happy family. Geoff even laid his head on Travis’s firm chest for the long, soothing ride home.
By the time Morgan pulled the pickup truck into her Squirrel Hill driveway, the kids were asleep and the coolness of the spring night had turned cold. Morgan turned the key and the old, balky engine coughed dead. She looked over at Travis.
“So this is what a regular life is like?” she whispered.
Travis shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. But whatever this is, I like it. You have great kids.”
Morgan looked away.
“Too bad their mother sucks,” she whispered.
“You don’t suck, M,” Travis said, bestowing a nickname on Morgan that would come to stick. “You just try to have everything.”
“Don’t remind me about work,” she said in hushed tones. “Right now, I feel light-years away from that office. And I mean it to stay that way. At least for a couple of days.”
“Good,” he said, putting a period on the subject. “So how do we get these zombies inside?”
Travis glanced down at the slumbering children with their slack, sweet faces.
“I think I can carry Geoff,” Morgan said, sizing up her son. “My personal trainer has me pumping well over a hundred pounds.”
Travis nodded in appreciation. “Look at you.”
“Chinese fire drill,” Morgan said, gently opening the creaky truck door, so they could switch sides and claim the kid they would carry to bed.
Travis followed suit with an even greater stealth. He didn’t make a sound as he climbed out and crept around his big, old truck.
Travis scooped up Samantha with an ease and delicacy that belied his compact build. It was much more of a struggle for Morgan to hoist Geoff from the truck’s high perch. The boy stirred and his mother groaned to heft his dead weight.
“Mom?” he groggily said.
“I got you,” Morgan answered.
And the security of his mother’s embrace seemed to send Geoff back to a blissful state of unconsciousness. And as Morgan looked down at her son, she realized she had not held him like this since the boy was fresh out of diapers. Still, her mother’s power to send her son off to sleep remained undiminished.
At the side kitchen door, Travis gently shifted Samantha until she was comfortably flopped over one shoulder, his strong arm providing a secure seat. He extended his free arm for Morgan to hand him Geoff. She carefully transferred her son, until he was draped over Travis’ opposite shoulder.
Morgan keyed the lock and held the door.
“Lead me to the bedrooms,” Travis said.
Morgan tiptoed through her own house.
First, they laid Geoff down in his computer and electronics filled room. Morgan spread back the sheets, then caught her son as Travis dipped the boy off his sturdy shoulder. She kissed her son’s forehead, then led Travis down the hall to Samantha’s room.
After similarly putting her daughter to bed, Morgan slowly pulled shut the bedroom door as the two adults stepped quietly into the dimly lit hallway.
“Thanks.” Morgan smiled at Travis. He flashed her a thumbs up, then followed her back down the stairs.
Walking into the outdated, lime-green surroundings, Morgan surveyed the scene as if seeing it for the first time.
“I guess this place could do with a bit of a makeover,” Morgan mused, craning her neck about the room.
“It could,” Travis neutrally agreed.
“So, how do we start?” Morgan turned to the handyman who was, indeed, so very handy.
“You tell me what you want,” Travis said, looking his beautiful client right in the eye. His gaze had warmth and power. It was as if there were a current running between them. For a long moment, Morgan could not break this connection, just as a person being electrocuted cannot rip his hands from the source of the current.
“What are we doing?” Morgan said in a low voice that was nearly inaudible.
“We’re starting,” Travis answered. “You’re telling me what you want.”
And in that moment, the two strangers who were opposites in nearly every way weren’t talking about cabinets, countertops and wallpaper.
But Morgan didn’t have an answer for him. Not about this. Not yet. Too much had happened. Things were changing too fast. And the truth was, Morgan didn’t know what she wanted.
The silence between them swelled. Yet, neither broke their electrically charged stare.
“I don’t know,” Morgan whispered after a long moment.
“Lots of people feel that way,” Travis answered.
“Nothing too modern,” Morgan elaborated. She could have been talking about her kitchen -- or her life.
Travis nodded.
“Classic’s good,” Travis agreed. “I can work with classic.”
“So can I,” she said.
“But we shouldn’t rush this,” Travis pointed out. “This is something you’re going to live with every day. You should be careful and deliberate in your choice.”
“That’s only wise,” Morgan concurred.
“How ‘bout I bring some catalogs in the morning?” Travis said.
“The morning?” Morgan asked.
“Bright and early,” he said. “Sometimes, things look different in the morning.”
“And what if they don’t?” Morgan asked. “What if you’re more sure than ever?”
“Then,” Travis said, stepping toward Morgan and taking her hand. “You know you’re onto something.”
He gave her soft, delicate hand a gentle squeeze. She could feel the understated power in his callused palms and rough-hewn fingers. And the electricity that had connected their stares now coursed and sparked throughout Morgan’s paralyzed body.
“I had a great evening,” Travis said, giving Morgan’s hand one more squeeze before breaking the connection. “Thanks.”
With that, he was gone.
And Morgan, a woman of constant motion, remained as still as a statue in his wake.
Morgan's Chase 1 (Power Play) Page 13