When Morning Comes by Francis Ray Page A

want to see her,” Mrs. Ward said, her lower lip trembling.
    â€œI know, honey, but we’ll wait if Dr. Mathis thinks it’s better for both of you,” Mr. Ward said, kissing his wife’s hands and looking up at Dr. Mathis. “He’s been right so far.”
    If Cade was surprised by her husband’s quick agreement, he didn’t show it. Sabrina certainly was. Something had happened between them and she wanted to know what it was.
    â€œGood-bye,” Cade said, and strode from the room.
    Sabrina followed him out. “I have questions.”
    â€œSomehow I’m not surprised, but I have patients to see.”
    â€œThen why don’t you call me and we can have lunch or dinner as the case might be at my place,” she said. The invitation just slipped out, but it made perfect sense. She wanted to be with him, wanted them to get to know each other better. She couldn’t cook anything except breakfast food and seldom did that. Maybe she could grill.
    â€œWhat if I have plans?”
    â€œDo you?” she asked boldly. It was a good thing she fought for what she wanted.
    â€œGood-bye, Ms. Thomas.”
    She folded her arms and stared up at him. “If I wait for you to call and I don’t eat until later tonight, I’ll probably be a bit out of sorts Monday, maybe Tuesday as well.”
    â€œMs. Thomas, you’re skating on thin ice.”
    â€œI don’t plan on falling through,” she said, and couldn’t help the grin that sprang to her face. She found she liked teasing Cade, even liked the way he clipped out her name so formally. “The second you call I’ll throw the steaks on the grill so you can eat when you get there, and go home afterward.”
    He stared down at her. She stared back up at him.
    â€œLate lunch.”
    â€œSee you then,” she said, and walked away, grinning for all she was worth.
    *   *   *
    Tristan pulled up in front of Kara’s house and got out of his truck. Blooming plants were everywhere, huddled beneath the two red oaks in front, bordering the walkway, hugging the house. Red and deep purples were the dominant colors with a smattering of white and yellow peeking through here and there. Kara apparently preferred strong colors. There was passion simmering beneath her calm surface.
    It remained to be seen if he would get to sample that passion.
    Going up the walk, he rang the doorbell. On the long porch were colorful pots of flowers. He idly wondered if Kara had painted the red clay pots.
    The door opened. Kara stood there. She was as strikingly beautiful as he remembered and just as weary. She looked as if she didn’t know whether she wanted to close the door or invite him in.
    â€œHi, Kara. Thanks for letting me come over to see your paintings. I admit I’m anxious to see them,” he said, hoping to help her make the decision in his favor.
    â€œHi. Please come in.”
    He stepped over the threshold, and frowned. The house was neat and well furnished, but dull with dark woods and dark print fabrics. Kara was wearing dark colors as well. Her curly brownish-black hair was tied back. He got the impression of a self-contained woman, not the passionate woman who had painted the pictures in her office with such power.
    â€œI thought about bringing the paintings down, but decided to wait on you,” she said, and bit her lower lip. “It’s probably dusty. I haven’t been up there in a month.”
    â€œI’m used to dirt.”
    She nodded and didn’t move.
    He suddenly understood her nerves were related to her paintings as well. He wished he could reassure her, but he couldn’t do that until he’d seen her other work. The paintings in her office could have been inspired by the emotional connection and loss of her father. “Which way?”
    â€œSorry. This way.” She led him down a short hallway. The ladder was already down. “It’s