The Way Home (36 page)

Though she felt guilty for thinking it, she couldn’t honestly say she missed her mother. Meg loved her but they’d never really been close. Perhaps it was because Ruth had always been too busy struggling to stay afloat in the turbulent waters of life to have much time for the quiet moments that went into building closeness with another human being.

And Patsy? It was ironic that she’d had to move two thousand miles away to find her way back to something of the old closeness she’d once known with her sister. They’d already exchanged several letters, and Meg felt closer to her than she had in years.

Aware that Millie was still waiting for an answer to her question, she shook herself out of her thoughts and smiled at the other woman.

“My sister and I have been writing,” she said finally, sidestepping the question. “And I certainly don’t miss the weather,” she added, nodding to the warm sunshine that spilled into the courtyard. “With weather like this, it’s hard to believe that Thanksgiving is next week.”

“You get used to it,” Millie said, flicking ash off her as-yet-untouched cigarette and giving the sunshine an indifferent look. “I been out here four years now, ever since the divorce, and after a while you begin to crave a change of seasons. I mean, there’s hardly any difference between summer and winter, except it rains in the winter.”

“I guess that could get a little tiresome,” Meg said politely, but she didn’t believe it. It seemed as if she’d known more than enough winters. The warmth of the California sunshine seemed to sink all the way to her bones, driving out a lifetime of cold. Of course, maybe it was Ty that was doing that, she thought, flushing a little.

“You two going back to Indiana for Thanksgiving or Christmas?” Millie asked.

“Iowa. No, we’re not going back.” She suspected that Ty’s parents would rather have invited Bonnie Parker to share the holidays with them than their new daughter-in-law. “A few of Ty’s friends are going to join us for Thanksgiving.”

“They seem like a swell bunch of guys,” Millie said. There was a wistfulness in her tone that made Meg lift her eyes from the button she’d been replacing. “It’s almost like you were all a family, the way they show up here at all hours.”

“I guess it is.” Meg hadn’t thought about it but she realized Millie was right. They had become a kind of family, more of one in some ways than anything she’d ever known.

“That kid, Max, seems real stuck on you.”

“Max?” Meg glanced at her in surprise. “Stuck on me?” She chuckled. “I think you’ve been an actress too long, Millie. You’re starting to see dramatic potential where it doesn’t exist.”

“Maybe you’re right.” The reference to her being an actress was a stroke to Millie’s ego that she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. “But like I said before, I do have strong sensibilities when it comes to people. Max is real fond of you.”

“I’m fond of him, too,” Meg said comfortably, returning her attention to her sewing.

There was a period of silence, something of a rarity when Millie was around. Since auditioning didn’t seem to fill up much of Millie’s time, she was often home during the day. When she grew bored with her own company, she sometimes sought Meg out. She was not like anyone Meg had every known before. Her wardrobe and makeup seemed taken right from a movie screen. And her conversational style was unique, to say the least. But once Meg got past Millie, the actress who was filled with sensibilities, she found there was a surprisingly genuine and unexpectedly nice woman beneath the surface.

“That fellow, Joe Long, is he going to be coming over for Thanksgiving?” Millie’s tone was elaborately casual. When Meg looked at her, she was placing a fresh cigarette in the holder, her movements languid.

“Last I heard, Joe was planning on being here. It’s too far for him to go home to Texas. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no particular reason.” Millie lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug that would have done Greta Garbo proud. “I just wondered.”

“Oh.” Meg’s needle made another trip through the button.

“Is he seeing anyone that you know of?” Millie couldn’t have sounded less interested.

Meg bit the inside of her lip to hold back a smile. If this was an example of Millie’s acting skills, it was no wonder she hadn’t been hired.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hard to imagine a man like that running loose,” Millie said wistfully. “I mean, a girl just can’t help but notice a guy like that. So tall and that cute little accent.”

Meg wasn’t sure Joe would appreciate hearing his slow Texas drawl called cute but she didn’t argue. She was occupied with trying to imagine Millie Marquez and Joe Long as a couple and finding it wasn’t as hard to do as she had thought. Joe’s slow-talking style might be just the right balance to Millie’s occasionally empty-headed chatter. Besides, in her current state of wedded bliss, she was not averse to dabbling a little in matchmaking.

“Would you like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?” she asked guilelessly.

It had been quite the nicest Thanksgiving she could remember, Meg thought. She ran a dish towel over a solid blue plate, part of the hodgepodge of plates and cups that made up her dinnerware. Nothing matched anything else, but no one seemed to mind. After setting the plate in the cupboard, she reached for another, this one orange and chipped on the edge. She smiled as she dried it. She couldn’t imagine that the holiday dinner would have tasted any better if it had been served on the finest Havilland china.

Millie had been right — they had created a kind of family. Joe and Max and Billy, Clint and Clive, though she still wasn’t sure she could tell them apart, even Millie had become part of their little circle. They’d crowded around the table, eating the food they’d all chipped in to pay for, and for the first time in her life, Meg had felt as if she had something for which to be truly thankful. A family in the best sense of the word.

And Ty. Most of all, she was thankful to have Ty. The few weeks since she’d become his wife in fact as well as in name had been wonderful. And if she sometimes thought, wistfully, that life could be perfect if only Ty loved her as much as she loved him, she quashed the thought as soon as she became aware of it, telling herself not to be greedy. For now it was enough that Ty cared for her. That could grow into love, given time and patience. She had plenty of both.

Meg tried not to remember Patsy’s comment that a marriage could be based on a “fond kind of love.” Or to wonder how she’d feel if five years from now or ten years, all Ty could give her would be that sort of love.

Leaning against the dooijamb, watching her, Ty wondered what thoughts were going through her head. Expressions flickered across her face like images on a screen, a soft smile giving way to a frown. The frown in its turn replaced by a slight firming of her chin that might have meant she’d made her mind about something, and then that expression fading into a vaguely anxious look.

“What are you thinking about?”

At the sound of his voice, Meg gasped and jerked her head toward him, her eyes wide and startled.

“I thought you were starting a fire,” she said.

“It’s started. So I came to see if you needed any help with the dishes.”

“It’s all done.” She turned to hang the damp towel over the edge of the sink. “Besides, the dishes are my job.”

“I’ve been known to wash a dish or two since leaving home.”

“It’s not a man’s job.” Meg reached behind her to untie the blue gingham apron she wore.

“There were a lot of times when Jack and I couldn’t afford to hire a maid,” he said idly, his gaze admiring the soft thrust of her breasts beneath the pale-yellow cotton of her dress.

“Well, you have a wife now. You don’t have to do dishes.”

“But wives are good for so many more interesting tasks.” Grinning, he reached out and slid one arm around her waist, pulling her up against him. He bent his head and nuzzled the side of her neck.

“Ty, we’re in the kitchen!” Meg protested breathlessly.

“What better place to find out that you taste delicious,” he said with a growl, nibbling on her ear.

“If you’re hungry, maybe you should have another piece of pie,” she told him primly, her hands braced against his chest.

The only thing he was hungry for was her, but when Ty lifted his head and saw the pinkness in her cheeks, he didn’t say as much. Sometimes he forgot how innocent she still was.

“Come admire the fire,” he said, deciding that there could be worse things than having to seduce his wife. Though she’d never said as much, he had the feeling that she suspected there was something more than a little sinful about the way she enjoyed his lovemaking.

He’d been careful not to rush her. The way Meg had blossomed these past few weeks was more than ample evidence that he’d been a fool to think she wasn’t ready to make their marriage a real one. Though he’d thought Jack was crazy when he said it, maybe Meg
had
wondered why he didn’t share her bed; maybe she had thought he didn’t want her. But she couldn’t have any doubts on that score now.

“Did you notice the way Joe and Miliie hit it off?” she asked as they settled on the sofa in front of the fire. “I think they’ll make a nice couple.”

“Joe and Millie?” Ty’s eyebrows climbed in surprise. “That’s like pairing Gary Cooper and Betty Boop. Only I think Betty Boop is smarter.”

“Don’t be mean,” Meg protested, elbowing him in the ribs. “Millie’s very nice when you get to know her.”

‘ “What makes you think Betty Boop isn’t?”

“She likes Joe.” Meg ignored his facetious question. “And I think he likes her.”

Ty opened his mouth to argue then closed it, remembering the way his friend’s eyes had seemed to linger on Millie’s brilliant red hair. He’d assumed Joe was as blinded by the color as everyone else was but, now that he thought about it, there’d been admiration in that look.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” he muttered.

“I think they’ll do very well together,” Meg said smugly. She snuggled a little closer to his side.

“Maybe.” Ty was losing interest in Joe and Millie’s potential as a couple. Of far more immediate concern was finding the pins that held Meg’s hair in a soft bun and pulling them out.

She murmured something, not quite a protest, not yet a plea, as Ty threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up to his. She stared up at him and Ty thought he’d like to drown himself in the blue of her eyes. With one hand supporting her head, he let the other drop to the row of neat buttons that marched down the front of her dress.

“Did I ever tell you how much I like dresses that button down the front?” he whispered. He saw her throat work as she swallowed.

“No.” The word was little more than a breath.

“I do.” He slid his hand under the loosened fabric of her dress, flattening his palm against her stomach, feeling the warmth of her beneath the cotton slip. “We’re not in the kitchen anymore,” he said huskily.

“I know.” She lifted her hand, her fingers threading through the thick blackness of his hair as he lowered his head to hers.

If this was a sin, it was surely the sweetest he’d ever known, Ty thought as he tasted her response.

The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed to fly past. Meg’s birthday came in early December. In years past, the occasion had been marked by her mother baking a cake and if there was money to spare, which was rare, a small gift of some kind, usually something practical, like underwear or a new pair of shoes. She saw no reason to think that this birthday would be any different from the seventeen birthdays that had preceded it.

When Ty came home in the middle of the afternoon and presented her with a beautiful bouquet of eighteen pale-yellow roses, Meg was thrilled. It was the first time anyone had given her flowers, and to receive roses in December seemed particularly wonderful.

“Oh, Ty, they’re so beautiful.” She set the bouquet on the table, as carefully as if the flowers had been made of spun glass, and then turned and put her arms around his neck, rising on her toes to kiss him. His hands caught her around the waist, pulling her close, and the kiss became a much more thorough thank-you than she’d intended. When he finally let her go, she was flushed and breathless.

“If I’d known I’d get that reaction, I’d have brought you flowers sooner,” Ty said, grinning wickedly. Meg’s blush deepened but she was pleased to see that his breathing was just a little faster than it had been.

“Thank you for the roses, Ty. They’re the best birthday present I’ve ever had,” she said shyly.

“Well, I hope you’re not going to think that for very long,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Wait. I’ve got to put my roses in water.”

“They’ll be fine,” he told her, not slowing his pace. “Your other birthday present is outside.”

“Another
birthday present?” The roses were so much more than she’d expected that Meg couldn’t imagine what else he could possible give her.

It was another in a seemingly endless parade of warm, blue-sky days, a far cry from the cold and snow of an Iowa December. As she hurried along behind Ty, Meg could feel the tension in the hand that held hers. Whatever her other present was, he was excited about it. The idea that he was excited about giving something to her seemed so amazing that she nearly walked into him when he stopped abruptly.