Return of a Hero (5 page)

Laura took his silence as a reply. “I don’t mean to be snoopy,” she began awkwardly.

“Sorry,” Morgan muttered, “I was thinking about something else.”

“There’s an accent to your speech. Are you from a foreign country?”

Her ability to pick up little things like that shouldn’t surprise him, but it unnerved him. “I’m American, but I live in France.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the total truth, either. “For the past six years, I’ve been putting my engineering skills to work for the French.”

“An engineer,” Laura marveled. “I was right. You looked as if you could build things. Your hands are square and large, and you looked as if you get a lot of physical exercise.”

Damn, she didn’t miss much at all. “Right on all accounts. I build bridges.” That was true, but he also dug ditches, canals and roads wherever the Legion wanted them.

“You’re a man with wanderlust in his heart, always on the move.”

Morgan squirmed because he didn’t want to lie to her. “I do travel around,” he said. “I’ve got enough foreign countries under my belt to last me a lifetime.”

“Do I hear longing in your voice?” Laura asked. “Maybe you want to settle down and get some good home cooking and a family atmosphere for a bit.”

He laughed, staring down at his scarred, callused hands. “Yeah, I dream about that every so often.” Just as he wondered daily how his father and mother were doing down in Clearwater. The itch to pick up a phone and call them was excruciating. But Morgan didn’t want to renew their heartbreak over his disappearance. Seven years had healed their grief. He didn’t want to add to it now.

“I’m not such a bad cook,” Laura hinted wryly. “If you help me in the kitchen, I can promise you some great home-cooked meals.”

“I haven’t had a decent meal in a long time,” Morgan said fervently. He couldn’t get that house out of his mind, or her beautiful bedroom. His vivid imagination was torturing him again, and he savagely slammed a lid on his needs. His dreams had died in 1970. There was no future for him. Ever.

Laura smiled gently. “You sound like a man starved for a little bit of home life.”

Reluctantly Morgan rose. “I’m not going to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me,” he teased her, watching her lips move into a smile that touched his cold, aching heart.

“You’re leaving?”

She must have heard him get up from the chair. “For being temporarily blind, you don’t miss much, do you?”

Disappointed that he was going, Laura tried to mask her reaction. “Blame it on my dog ears. My parents always told me I was supersensitive to everything. I guess it’s true.”

Morgan reached over and patted her shoulder. “You wear it well. Look, I brought you a suitcase with some items you’ll probably want while you’re here in the hospital. I’ll get a nurse to take care of unpacking them for you.”

His touch on her shoulder was hesitant, almost shy, and Laura’s senses told her that Morgan, despite his size and harshly carved face, was a gentle man underneath. “Thank you for everything, Morgan.”

He walked to the door, taking one last glance at her. She looked like a waif in that dreary light-blue hospital gown. “You just get a good night’s sleep. I’ll go home and check on your pets. Then I’ll be at the Grand Hotel. The nurses’ station will have my phone number in case you need me.”

Fear started to stalk her once more, and Laura tried to swallow it. “When will I see you again?”

Her mouth was delicious, but the corners were pulled in, as if she were experiencing either pain or fear. Morgan shrugged. “Considering I’m the guy who caused you to be in this predicament, I wouldn’t think you’d want to see much of me too often.”

“No…please, come back soon. Visiting hours start at eleven in the morning,” Laura blurted. She compressed her lips, realizing that she sounded like a frightened little girl incapable of caring for herself. “I mean—” she rubbed her brow, the ache beginning again “—it gets lonely here, and I miss Robby and Sasha so much….”

“I understand,” Morgan said quietly. He forced himself to open the door, instead of walking back over to her bed and enfolding her in his arms. Right now she needed a little care. That was what he was best at: caring. It came naturally to him. “I’ll be here at eleven, then. That’s a promise.”

Chapter Three

“I
t’s final, Dr. Taggert, I’m leaving.”

Morgan stood in the open doorway of Laura’s hospital room, listening to her raised voice. Taggert was standing at her bedside, an agitated look on his face.

“I’m glad you’ve arrived, Mr. Ramsey,” the doctor muttered.

Laura turned her attention from the physician. “Morgan?”

He allowed the door to shut, painfully aware of the desperation in her tone. “It’s me. What’s going on?” Halting on the other side of her bed, he was surprised as Laura lifted her hand, trying to make contact with him. He took her hand firmly. Her fingers were icy cold.

“Morgan, I’ve made a decision,” Laura said, speaking rapidly because she didn’t want the doctor to interrupt. “I had a terrible night’s sleep here. I feel good enough to leave. I need my home in order to heal.” Her grip on him tightened. “Please take me home. I told Dr. Taggert I’d sign the release papers.”

Automatically Morgan soothed her by stroking her hand. “Take it easy, Laura.” He lifted his gaze to the physician, who was standing with crossed arms, a scowl deepening on his brow. “Doctor, is it safe for her to leave this soon?”

“She ought to stay here for at least forty-eight hours—for observation after any kind of head injury,” he muttered defiantly. “That trauma to her head could cause a hemorrhage. She should remain at least another day so we can make sure that isn’t going to happen.”

Laura’s nostrils flared. “Morgan, the X-rays on my hard head came back without any sign of a concussion!”

“It’s only twenty-four more hours, Ms. Bennett.”

“Morgan,” Laura pleaded huskily, “will you take me home?”

“Yeah, hold on just a minute.” He directed his attention back to Taggert. “She’s obviously upset at having to stay, Doctor. And some people recuperate better in a familiar setting.” He ought to know. Six months in a hospital bed in Japan had nearly driven him crazy while he’d recovered from his massive wounds. He understood Laura’s need to get out of these sterile confines.

Scratching his head, Taggert walked toward the door. “If she insists on going home, she shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Think you can stand me underfoot for twenty-four hours?” he asked Laura.

“Yes.” She fought to keep the wobble out of her voice. “Just let me go home, Morgan. You know what I need….”

He squeezed her hand, then placed it back in her lap. “I do,” he agreed quietly. “Okay, Doctor, set things in motion. Ms. Bennett is going home.”

Shrugging, Taggert pulled open the door. “Fine. A nurse will be down shortly with the forms to sign and a wheelchair.”

Releasing a sigh, Laura sagged back against the pillows. “Thank you, Morgan. I’m sorry you had to walk in on our argument.”

He grinned. “That’s all right. I’ve been in a few crossfires before and managed to survive them.”

“I knew you’d understand. I slept terribly last night, and I’m a grouch today. My head’s fine. It’s just my silly eyes.” She made a graceful gesture with her hand. “My home is everything to me. It’s safety. It’s peace. Here I can’t do anything except lie in bed. I feel so damned helpless!”

Morgan reached over and massaged her left shoulder gently. “Calm down, my flighty swan, I’ll take you home.”

His touch was firm and Laura relaxed the instant his hand rested on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to be such a pain in the rear. You probably think I’m—”

“You’re not being unreasonable, Laura. I spent a lot of months in a hospital many years ago, and I almost went crazy. I wanted to go home, too, but I couldn’t. I know how you’re feeling. There’s no apology needed. Okay?”

“Okay,” Laura whispered. Rallying, she reached up, finding his hand and holding it between hers. “Thanks. At least when I get home, I can get up and move around or work on my article.”

“Whoa, one thing at a time. Let’s see how it feels just to get up and walk around. You took a severe bump to your head. You might get dizzy.”

He was right, Laura conceded. “I never realized how much I disliked hospital environments until last night,” she grumped. “You’re right. I’ll take it one step at a time.”

Already color was coming back into her pale cheeks. He wanted to lean over and brush that slope of cheek to find out if Laura was as soft as she appeared to be. Morgan put a clamp on the simmering desires that automatically surfaced whenever he was around her.

“Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“Did you sleep well last night?”

He grinned. “No, I had a lousy night’s sleep.” He always did, but he didn’t want to say that.

“Look, I know it’s terribly awkward for you, having to stay at my house one night just to play baby-sitter. We barely know each other, but I trust you.”

“I think I’ll manage to sleep under your roof,” he said dryly.

“You don’t mind?”

“No.” In all honesty he was looking forward to sleeping in a real home.

The nurse came in with a clipboard holding several papers. Another nurse followed her. For the next fifteen minutes, Morgan was busy taking instructions on how to dress Laura’s eyes twice daily and bandage them. She signed the forms with his help, and then a wheelchair was ushered into the room.

Morgan gripped her hand. “You ready to fly this place?” he asked.

Eagerly Laura threw off the covers, exposing the long cotton nightgown. “Just get me my chenille robe and we’re gone.” Right now all she wanted was home.

“Sasha!” Laura cried, throwing her arms awkwardly around the whining Saint Bernard. Laughter bubbled up in her throat as she hugged her dog affectionately.

Morgan stood back, suitcase in one hand, and quietly closed the front door behind him. Sunlight poured through the east windows, illuminating the living room, alive with life. Laura looked tiny in comparison to the huge, tail-wagging Saint, who panted happily and whined a joyous greeting to her mistress.

Laura stood, her hand moving outward, connecting with Morgan’s. He was always there, somehow sensing when she needed his help. “Oh, Morgan, it’s so wonderful to be home!” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t care.

He smiled, holding her hand more firmly. “I know…Come on, let’s get you to your bedroom.”

“No, take me to the bathroom, will you? I want to fill the tub with orange blossom bubble bath and soak off this hospital smell!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he chuckled. “Okay, little swan, let’s fly to your bath so you can smell like oranges instead of antiseptic.”

Morgan led her into the long, rectangular bathroom that had a green carpet and sunny wallpaper covered with white and yellow daisies. He marveled over his and Laura’s innate ability to work as a team without any conversation. Laura started filling the bath and poured the bubble liquid into the water, the scent of orange blossoms filling the air. He left and went to her bedroom. In no time he had chosen a pair of tan slacks, a pink blouse and lingerie for her to wear after her bath. Placing them on the vanity, he shut the door and left.

It was past noon and he was hungry. Walking out to the kitchen, he fed the noisy baby robin, then attended to the details of a lunch for himself and Laura. Sasha sat at his feet, thumping her thick tail, as he made peanut butter sandwiches. “No,” he told the dog, “this other sandwich is for your mistress.”

Sasha tilted her head, whining.

“Oh, all right….” Morgan threw her a slice of bread and watched it disappear inside her cavernous mouth. “Good thing you’re friendly. I’d hate to get bitten by the set of choppers you’ve got,” Morgan muttered, and went back to making lunch.

Laura emerged half an hour later. Using her hand, she followed the hallway wall until it intersected with the kitchen. “Are you in here?” she asked.

Morgan looked up from where he was sitting in the sunny breakfast nook. “Yes. Hold on, I’ll help you over to the table.”

Laura held up her hand. “No, stay there. I’ve got to get around on my own, Morgan.” Smiling, she added, “I feel a hundred and ten percent better! Did I button this blouse right, or is it hanging at an angle?”

He got to his feet, quietly coming to her side, just in case she stumbled on her way across the kitchen. “You look fine.” Hell, she looked breathtakingly beautiful. She had taken off the bandage and washed her hair, then replaced the dressing afterward. Her golden hair hung damply around her shoulders. The fragrance of orange blossoms filled his nostrils as he remained close to her. The pale-pink blouse was excruciatingly feminine, the ruffles around her slender neck emphasizing her delicate beauty. The mobility of her lips entranced him, and Morgan felt heat uncurling deep within him. A gnawing hunger made him all too aware of how she affected him.

Making contact with the wooden chair, Laura pulled it out and sat down. “Success!” she declared, laughing.

“You’re doing fine,” Morgan congratulated her. “Here’s lunch.” He placed the plate with the sandwich in front of her. “I made some coffee. You want some?”

Famished, Laura picked up the sandwich. “Yes, please.” She smelled it. “Peanut butter. One of my favorites. Thanks for making it.”

Heat nettled Morgan’s face as he poured coffee into the dainty china cup decorated with pansies. Her gratefulness made him feel as if he’d given her the most beautiful gift in the world. “I’m afraid my skills as a cook are lacking, Laura.”

“Why do you always belittle what you do, Morgan?”

Settling back at the table, opposite her, he scowled. “What do you mean?”

Laura placed the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of her, hearing the carefully veiled pain in his voice. “You’re always cutting yourself down in some way,” she murmured. “That self-deprecating humor isn’t deserved.”

Pushing the cup around on the saucer, Morgan scowled. “Yes, it is,” he said, and let it go at that. One look at her face, however, and he realized she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re too damn good at being a writer,” he griped.