Free Morning Glory by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

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      She saw his hesitation, saw him rest his hands on his thighs as if afraid to reach out again.
      "Eat," she ordered, then began chopping up an egg for Baby Thomas.
      As he had last night, Will ate in a state of disbelief at his good fortune. He was half done before realizing she was only picking at a piece of dry toast. His forkhand paused.
      "What's the matter?" she inquired, "Somethin' cooked wrong?"
      "No. No! It's ... why, it's the best breakfast I ever had in my life, but where's yours?"
      "Food don't agree with me this early in the morning."
      He couldn't imagine anyone not eating if food was plentiful. Had she given him her share, too?
      "But—"
      "Women get that way when they're expectin'," she explained.
      "Oh." His eyes dropped to her belly, then quickly aside.
      Why, I swear , she thought. That man's blushin'! For whatever reason, the thought pleased her.
    * * *
    After breakfast she sat him on a chair in the middle of the kitchen and tied a dishtowel around him, backward. Her first touch sent shivers down his calves. He listened to the scissors snip, felt the comb scrape his skull and closed his eyes to savor each movement of her knuckles against his head. He shuddered and let his hands go limp on his thighs, covered by the dishtowel.
      She saw his eyes drop closed.
      "Feel good?" she asked.
      They flew open again. "Yes, ma'am."
      "No need to stiffen up." She nudged his shoulder gently. "Just relax."
      After that, she worked in silence, letting him absorb the pleasure undisturbed. His eyelids slid closed again and he drifted beneath the first gentle woman's touch he'd experienced in over six years. She brushed the tip of his ear, the back of his neck, and he was lulled into his private, soft place. Lord, lord ... it was good...
      When the haircut was done she had to wake him.
      "Hm?" He lifted his head, then jerked awake, dismayed at finding he'd dozed. "Oh ... I must've—"
      "All done." She whisked the dishtowel off and he rose to peer into the tiny round mirror next to the sink. The hair was slightly longer above his right ear than above his left, but overall the haircut was a great improvement over the close shearing he'd received in prison.
      "Looks good, ma'am," he offered, touching a sideburn with his knuckles. He looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you. And for breakfast, too."
      Whenever he thanked her she brushed it off as if she'd done nothing. Sweeping the floor, she didn't look up. "You got a healthy head of hair there, Mr. Parker. Glendon's was thin and fine. Always cut his, too." She waddled to the side of the room for a dustpan. "Enjoyed doin' it again. Enjoyed the smell of the shavin' soap around the house again, too."
      She had? He thought he'd been the only one to enjoy those things. Or perhaps she was being kind to put him at ease. He found himself wanting to return the favor.
      "I can do that," he offered as she bent to collect his streaky brown hair from the floor.
      "It's as good as done. Wouldn't mind, however, if you took over the chore of feeding the pigs."
      She straightened and their eyes met. In hers he saw uncertainty. It was the first thing she'd asked him to do, and not too pleasant. But what was unpleasant to one man was freedom to Will Parker. She'd fed him, lent him her husband's razor, shared her fire and her table and had put him to sleep with a comb and scissors. His lips opened and a voice inside urged, Say it, Parker. You afraid she'll think you ain't much of man if you do?
      "That haircut was the best thing I've felt for a long time."
      She understood perfectly. She, too, had spent so much of her life in a loveless, touchless world. Odd, how a statement so simple formed a sympathetic bond.
      "Well, I'm glad."
      "In prison—"
      Her eyes swept back to his. "In prison, what?"
      He shouldn't have started, but she had a way about her that loosened his jaws, made him want to trust her with the secrets that hurt