The Way Home (51 page)

When the tears finally slowed, Meg became aware of Ty holding her cradled across his lap in the wing chair. Her head rested on his shoulder and she could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, strong and steady.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her breath catching on a half sob.

“You should have cried like that weeks ago.” His voice was a low rumble in her ear.

“I didn’t want to upset you.” Her words were slurred by the wave of exhaustion washing over her.

“It upset me more to see you so unhappy.”

He was so good to her, she thought tiredly. So good. If only he loved her. If only … The emotional storm had taken its toll, and she fell asleep without finishing the thought.

Meg woke suddenly, startled and disoriented. The first pale-gray shadows of dawn had crept into the room, more an easing of the dark than true daylight. Her body felt oddly heavy, almost weighted down. She blinked groggily at the window, her mind foggy with sleep. She didn’t remember coming to bed. She’d been sitting up, worrying about Ty and then — Ty.

She turned her head and saw his face on the pillow beside hers. He slept on his side, his leg thrown across her hips, his arm across her body, one hand nearly cupping her breast. No wonder she’d felt weighted down. Meg felt something unfurl inside her, a warmth, a need — love. Things she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time. As she watched, his eyelids quivered and then lifted and he stared directly into her eyes.

“Good morning.” His voice was husky with sleep.

“Good morning.” Meg felt herself blushing like a child. It seemed so long since they’d awakened like this. She looked away from him to hide her foolish embarrassment.

“I slept here last night,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I noticed.”

There was a short silence and then: “Do you mind?” he asked.

The question brought her eyes back to his face. He looked … uncertain, she thought. As if he weren’t sure of his welcome. How could he not know how she’d ached to have him beside her at night? But he was looking at her with a vulnerability she’d never associated with him. The thought of Ty being vulnerable was a novel one.

“I thought you didn’t want to be here,” she said quietly.

“I thought you didn’t want me here.” His mouth twisted at the irony of each of them thinking they knew what the other was feeling.

“I’ve missed you,” she admitted, opening a window for him to see into her heart. She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers brushing against the early-morning stubble that shadowed his jaw.

She saw his eyes change, a new awareness entering them, a hunger that sparked an answering need deep inside her. He brought his hand up to catch hers, bringing her palm to his mouth. Meg felt her breath catch and the spark became a fire.

“Meg?”

So many questions in just that soft word. For a moment, she felt a spurt of panic. It was as if she were standing just outside the safe wall she’d so carefully built to shield her emotions. She could turn now and run back behind it. She’d be safe from hurt. And so lonely. Or she could give him the answer that beat in every bit of bone and blood. And risk being hurt again.

“Yes.” The answer was a sigh of surrender, to her own needs, to the hunger that filled her. “Yes.”

“Yes.” He echoed the word with a purely masculine emphasis that made her shiver. And then his mouth was on hers and Meg was melting against him.

He made love to her with fierce gentleness, holding her as if she were fragile as porcelain, yet still demanding — and getting — a deep, womanly response. He wasn’t content until she was shuddering against him, her soft cry of pleasure swallowed by his mouth, her trembling climax spinning him into his own fulfillment.

Meg fell asleep almost immediately afterward, a deep, dreamless sleep from which she woke three hours later feeling relaxed and rested in a way she hadn’t known in a long time. Ty was gone but on the pillow beside her was a tiny bouquet of crocuses. With a whisper of pleasure, Meg lifted them, savoring the softness of the petals in her hand. She knew just where he’d picked them and wondered if Edwina Vanderbilt would notice that her flower bed had been vandalized.

Beneath the flowers was a note:
Back at noon. Dress for a picnic. Ty.

It was hardly a love note, but Meg folded it carefully and tucked it away in the old cigar box she kept at the bottom of her underwear drawer. It didn’t hold much — a few childish trinkets, a postcard from Paris, sent to her by an aunt who’d died when she was eight. Folded neatly to one side was the handkerchief Ty had left behind at the stream all those years ago, and tucked in its fold was a pressed yellow rose from the bouquet he’d given her for her birthday. Not the most extensive collection of mementos, she thought as she added the note to the box and closed the lid. But there’d be others.

She lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror, startled by the changes she saw. This wasn’t the same girl who’d looked back at her recently. This girl had color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Even her hair seemed to have regained its bounce. This girl was alive, happy.

Meg smiled at her reflection, liking what she saw. It had been a long time since she’d felt hopeful, since she’d dared to think that all her dreams just might come true. But last night had proved that miracles were still possible. Ty cared for her. And she clung to the belief that caring could become love.

Meg shook off the somber mood that threatened to take hold of her. She had to let the future take care of itself. At the moment, her most pressing concern was what to wear to a picnic.

“There’s still a lot of work but we’re chipping away at it. I thought we’d paint this summer.” Ty leaned back on his elbows and looked at the house, imagining what it would look like with a fresh coat of white paint.

“I saw a house once that was painted white with dark-green trim,” Meg said, a touch of dreaminess in the comment.

“Green it is,” Ty said, mentally painting over the blue shutters he’d envisioned.

“Really?” she said, sounding surprised and pleased.

“Sure.” He turned his head to look at her. “It’s your home, Meg.”

“I know.” The look she turned on the house was hopeful but held a trace of doubt, as if she couldn’t quite believe in the reality of it.

And why should she?
Ty thought. There’d been little enough in her life to encourage her to have much belief in the future. Just as there’d been nothing in her past to make her think he
wouldn’t
blame her for the miscarriage. He’d been such a fool. So wrapped up in his own pain and guilt that he hadn’t stopped to think that she’d naturally blame herself.

Meg’s eyes were still on the house and Ty let his gaze linger on her. She was so beautiful. Sometimes he almost forgot how beautiful she was, and then he saw her like this and she almost took his breath away. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the apple tree, bare but for the delicate tracery of soft white blooms. It caught in her hair, turning it to a pure gold that made his fingers itch to feel its warmth. They’d spent some time walking around the farm while he showed her the work that had been done. The sun had left a dusting of color across her nose and cheeks, a pretty flush on her pale skin. Her eyes were a pure deep sapphire, and even after all these months. Ty still felt as if it might be possible to drown in their clarity.

He chuckled to himself and Meg turned an inquiring look his direction. “I was just thinking that today has been quite a contrast to yesterday,” he said, surprised to find that he could smile at the memory.

Meg flushed and looked down at the blanket on which they’d spread their picnic. “I’m sorry I wouldn’t come out here, Ty. I just — Oh!” Her apology broke off on a startled gasp as he reached up and grabbed hold of her shoulders, dragging her down on top of him as he lay back against the blanket.

“No more apologies,” he said in a mock-stern voice.

“But I — “ Meg flattened her palms against his chest and pushed herself up until she could see his face.

“I’ll have to charge a penalty for every apology,” he warned her.

“A penalty?” She gave him a wary look.

“It’ll cost you a kiss for every apology,” he told her firmly.

She blinked in surprise. There hadn’t been much teasing in her life, and he could see a trace of uncertainty in her eyes as she looked at him. But what she saw must have reassured her because her mouth curved in a slow smile that made his pulse race. He doubted she had any idea of how she affected him. Though she was an eager participant in their lovemaking, she retained a certain innocence that was somehow sexier than the most experienced courtesan could have been.

“I have to kiss you every time I say I’m sorry?” she asked, wanting to clarify the rules of the game.

“That’s right.”

She glanced at him from under her lashes, her teeth tugging on her lower lip while she considered the possibilities. Ty watched her, wondering if she’d take up the challenge or back away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. The pink in her cheeks was caused by more than the sun, but the look in her eyes was pure invitation.

“That’s one kiss.” Ty made an effort to sound stem, but it was difficult when he could feel his blood heating in his veins.

She dropped a quick kiss on his mouth, jerking her head back before he had a chance to respond.

“That was hardly a kiss,” he complained.

“I’m sorry. Oops. Now I owe you another one.”

He made sure this kiss was slower. Ty’s fingers found their way beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head and holding her mouth against his. When he finally let her lift her head, they were both breathing a little raggedly. Ty stared up at her, seeing the sensuous daze in her eyes. God, he’d missed this, missed her.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“What for?”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t do this sooner. And that’s two I owe you.” He rose up, his mouth closing off any response she might have made. He heard her gasp as he turned so that she lay beneath him on the blanket. But her fingers were already burrowing into the thick dark hair at the base of his skull, pulling him closer, her slender body arching into his.

There, beneath the worn branches of the old apple tree, their bed lightly dusted with apple-white flower petals, Ty and Meg completed the healing process they’d begun the night before, reaffirming life and their marriage in the most fundamental way possible.

CHAPTER 22

The afternoon passed in drowsy contentment, and Ty found himself somewhat guiltily glad that Jack’s excesses of the night before had made it easy to persuade him to go home this morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a day as much as he had this one. Watching Meg walk through the house, seeing her tentative pleasure as she absorbed the idea that this was her home, to do with as she pleased, was more than enough reward for the hours of hard work that had gone into the place.

She seemed highly impressed with every nail he’d hammered, every shingle he’d replaced. Ty found himself trying to think of still more things to show her just for the pleasure of hearing her tell him how clever he was. It would be easy to get addicted to that kind of praise, he thought ruefully.

He’d been keeping half an eye on the storm clouds building to the west, hoping the rain would hold off. He didn’t want to have to cut the day short. The weather obliged until almost dark, when the breeze veered abruptly into a gusting wind. The rain began just as they finished loading the picnic things into the roadster. Ty quickly put the roof up, securing the windshield latches and sliding into the car just as it began to rain in earnest.

They didn’t talk much during the drive home, but it was a peaceful silence, not like the silence that had lain between them for the past few weeks. Ty parked the car next to the curb, but neither of them moved to get out. The day had been too perfect to want to see it end. But a crack of thunder overhead broke the quiet moment.

“Go ahead. There’s no sense in both of us getting wet,” Ty said, nodding to the steady fall of rain. “I’ll get the picnic basket and be right in.”

Meg nodded and reached for the door handle. But before she touched it, she turned back. “I had a wonderful day, Ty. Thank you.”

She brushed a quick kiss on his mouth and then was gone, ducking out into the rain. Ty watched her hurry up the walk, his mouth curved in a smile whose contentment might have startled him if he’d seen it. He waited until he’d seen Meg reach the door before he pushed open his own door. Despite the rain, he didn’t hurry to reach the shelter of the porch. He hated to see the day end, even if prolonging it involved getting a little damp.

Another week or two and maybe they could move out to the farmhouse, he thought, frowning at his childhood home. He appreciated his parents letting them stay here for the past few weeks and the money they’d saved would come in handy, but, remembering the exchange between his mother and his wife the night before, Ty wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have tightened their belts a bit and rented a place to stay. Too late to worry about it now, he decided as he reached the porch.

Meg had left the door open a crack for him. Smiling a little, Ty pushed it open and stepped into the entryway. The sound of his mother at her most cutting wiped the smile from his mouth.