Marie Ferrarella - Travis's Appeal

“Let’s see,” Travis said, his eyes skimming along the contours of her face, “we’ve discussed kids and marriage, all before we’ve even kissed.” Was it his imagination, or did his throat tighten just a wee bit as he made his observation?

All the butterflies in Shana’s stomach lined up on the runway, bracing for take-off, then glided off into the horizon in unison as she drew her courage to her, draping it about herself like a blanket. Or a protective shield.

“There’s an easy solution for that,” she told him, then congratulated herself that her voice didn’t crack or tremble.

One arched eyebrow raised itself. “Oh?”

“Yes, ‘oh.’”

And then, before she lost her nerve, Shana leaned over into his space. Framing his face with her long, delicate fingers, she pressed her lips against his…

Marie Ferrarellahas written more than one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

By

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To Evelyn, and the Ghost of Christmas Past

It was another typical day in paradise.

While the carefully made-up newscasters talked about “storm watches” and blizzards hitting every state both east and north of New Mexico, here, in Bedford, happily nestled in the middle of Southern California, the sun was seductively caressing its citizens with warm, loving fingers.

Travis Marlowe would have preferred rain. He wished for a gloomy, rainy day where the sun absented itself and illumination came from artificial sources rather than the incredibly bright orb in the sky.

Rain and gloom would have far better suited his current mood. Moreover, the lack of light would have soothed his present condition. He had no idea why his head hadn’t killed him yet.

It was true what they said. No good deed went unpunished.

All right, it wasn’t exactly a good deed. It was part of his job. Kind of. While the firm’s bylaws didn’t state that burning the midnight oil was part of the job, he still felt it was required—even if he was the only one doing the requiring.

Angry little devils with sledgehammers pounded along the perimeter of his temples.

That’s what he got for staying up most of the night, working out the kinks in Thomas Fielder’s revocable living trust and then deciding to sack out on the sofa in his office rather than driving home at almost five in the morning.

The firm, leather sofa, while perfectly fine for sitting, was definitely not the last word in comfort for sleeping. Not only his head, but his neck ached, thanks to the rather strange position he’d woken up in this morning. His neck felt not unlike a pipe cleaner permanently bent out of shape.

To add insult to injury, every time he turned his head, horrible pains shot out of nowhere, piercing the base of his neck and making Travis wish that he’d died sometime in the early morning.

But here it was, a brand new sunny day and he had to face it. And look relatively happy about it.

Taking the change of shirt and underwear he kept in the bottom drawer for just such an emergency, Travis hoped that a quick shower in the executive bathroom would help set him back on the right track.

“Go home,” his father, one of the senior partners for the family law firm where he worked, said by way of a greeting. A quick assessment had Bryan adding, “You really look like hell.”

Bryan Marlowe made no secret of the fact that he was quite happy that at least one of his four sons had followed him into law. Not a man to brag, it was still very obvious that he was proud of his son. Travis thought, if his father was telling him to go home, he must look like death warmed over—or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

“I’ll look better after a quick shower,” Travis promised. He was about to nod at the clothing in his arms, but stopped himself—and prevented another onslaught of pain—just in time.

Bryan snorted as his eyes traveled the length of his son. “That will be one hell of a rejuvenating shower.” Pausing, Bryan frowned. “Why didn’t you go home last night like everyone else?” he asked.

Travis shrugged, his broad shoulders moving beneath a light blue dress shirt in desperate need of an iron. “You know how it is. You keep telling yourself ‘Oh, just one more thing’…and then, suddenly, it’s morning. Or close to it.”

Somewhere on the floor honeycombed with suites, one of the attorneys slammed a door. The sound reverberated throughout the hall. Travis winced as the sound ground its heel into his head.

“Headache?” Bryan guessed.

There was no point in lying. “Yeah. A doozy.”

The answer just reinforced Bryan’s initial reaction. “Like I said, go home, Travis. Take a personal day and take that shower in your own bathroom.”

Travis had no desire to go home, where time hung too heavily on his hands. “I’m fine, really. Besides, never know when I might need one of those personal days. Better to save them.”

Bryan frowned. He had a case he wanted to review before his early morning appointment arrived, but as his wife Kate had taught him, nothing was more important than family. And right now, that meant Travis.

“I wish to God you needed to take one of those personal days. You know, Travis, when you told me that you wanted to go into family law, I don’t think there was a prouder father under the sun. I mean, I love all of you boys—and Kelsey,” Bryan tossed in his daughter’s name. Because she was the last born, and a girl, he had a tendency to place her in a category all her own, something Kelsey bristled at when he did. “And I’m proud of each of you, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little disappointed when Mike, Trevor and Trent didn’t follow me into the field. I always envisioned all five of us having our own company.”

The corners of Travis’s mouth curved. “Marlowe and Sons?”

“Something like that,” Bryan freely admitted. “Still, one is better than none and your brothers all have done very well in their chosen fields.”

Travis was vaguely aware that he had someone coming in this morning, although the exact time escaped him. He needed to get ready. “Where’s this going, Dad?”

Bryan stopped, amused rather than annoyed at the prodding. “We’re lawyers, Travis. Roundabout is our regular route.”

Travis smiled indulgently. “Sorry.”

“My point,” Bryan confided, “is that you turned out to be more like me than I ever thought possible.”

Travis studied his father’s face. It was a face that, if he so desired, gave nothing away. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Yes and no,” Bryan allowed. “Your dedication is admirable. The fact that you do nothing else but work is not.” Here, his son had turned out to be too much like him. The old him, Bryan amended silently. Because he was familiar with the signs, he wanted to help his son avoid the pitfalls. “Now, I know exactly how easy it is to get caught up in things because it’s easier to do that than face your own problems. Until Kate came along and pointed it out, I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”