A Country Affair by Debbie Macomber

Twelve

“So you’re really going,” Skip said as he picked up Rorie’s bags. “Somehow I figured I might’ve talked you into staying on for the county fair.”

“You seem intent on bringing me to ruin, Skip Franklin. I’m afraid I’d bet all my hard-earned cash on those pig races you were telling me about,” Rorie teased. Standing in the middle of the master bedroom, she surveyed it to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

A pang of wistfulness settled over her as she slowly looked around. Not for the first time, Rorie felt the love and warmth emanating from these brightly papered walls. Lazily, almost lovingly, she ran her fingertips along the top of the dresser, letting her hand linger there a moment, unwilling to pull herself away. This bedroom represented so much of what she was leaving behind. It was difficult to walk away.

Skip stood in the doorway impatiently waiting for her. “Kate phoned and said she’s coming over. She wants to say goodbye.”

“I’ll be happy to see her one last time.” Rorie wished Skip would leave so she could delay her parting with this room a little longer. Until now, Rorie hadn’t realized how much sleeping in Clay’s parents’ room had meant to her. Her appreciation had come too late.

“Mary’s packing a lunch for you,” Skip announced with a wry chuckle, “and knowing Mary, it’ll be enough to last you a week.”

Rorie smiled and reluctantly followed him down the stairs. As Skip had claimed, the housekeeper had prepared two large bags, which sat waiting on the kitchen table.

“Might as well take those with you, too,” Mary muttered gruffly. “I hate the thought of you eating restaurant food. This, at least, will stick to your ribs.”

“Goodbye, Mary,” Rorie said softly, touched by the housekeeper’s thoughtfulness. On impulse she hugged the older woman. “Thank you for everything—including our talk this morning.” The impromptu embrace surprised Rorie as much as it obviously did Mary.

“You drive careful now, you hear?” the housekeeper responded, squeezing Rorie tightly and patting her back several times.

“I will, I promise.”

“A letter now and again wouldn’t be amiss.”

“All right,” Rorie agreed, and used her sleeve to blot tears from the corners of her eyes. These people had touched her in so many ways. Leaving them was even more difficult than she’d imagined.

The housekeeper rubbed the heel of her hand over her right eye. “Time for you to get on the road. What are you doing standing in the kitchen chitchatting with me?” she asked brusquely.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Mary’s gruff voice didn’t fool Rorie. The housekeeper’s exterior might be a little crusty, and her tongue a bit surly, but she didn’t succeed in disguising a generous, loving heart.

“I don’t know where Clay is,” Skip complained after he’d loaded the luggage into the MG’s trunk. “I thought he’d want to see you before you left. I wonder where he got off to.”

“I’m...sure he’s got better things to do than say goodbye to me.”

“No way,” Skip said, frowning. “I’m going to see if I can find him.”

Rorie’s first reaction was to stop Skip, then she quickly decided against it. If she made too much of a fuss, Skip might suspect something. She understood what had prompted Clay to stay away from the house all morning, and in truth she was grateful. Leaving Elk Run was hard enough without prolonging the agony in lengthy farewells.

Skip hesitated, kicking at the dirt with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot. “You two didn’t have a fight or anything, did you?”

“No. What makes you ask?”

Skip shrugged. “Well... It’s just that every time I walked into a room with the two of you, I could feel something. If it wasn’t for Kate, I’d think my big brother was interested in you.”

“I’m sure you’re imagining things.”

“I suppose so,” Skip said with a nod, dismissing the notion. “Ever since you got here, though, Clay’s been acting weird.”

“How do you mean?”

“Sort of cranky.”

“My unexpected arrival added to his problems, don’t you think?” In so many ways it was the truth, and she felt guilty about that. The responsibilities for the farm and for raising Skip were sobering enough; he didn’t need her there to wreak havoc with his personal life.

“You weren’t any problem,” Skip answered sharply. “In fact, having you around was fun. The only trouble is you didn’t stay long enough.”

“Thank you, Skip.” Once again she felt her throat clog with tears. She was touched by his sweet, simple hospitality and reminded of how much she’d miss him.

“I still kinda wish you were going to stay for the fair,” he mumbled. “You’d have a good time, I guarantee it. We may not have all the fancy entertainment you do in San Francisco, but when we do a county fair, we do it big.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great fun.”

Skip braced his foot against the bumper of the faded blue pickup, apparently forgetting his earlier decision to seek out Clay, which was just as well.

“You don’t like the country much, do you, Rorie?”

“Oh, but I do,” she said. “It’s a different way of life, though. Here on Elk Run, I feel like a duck in a pond full of swans.”

Skip laughed. “I suppose folks there in the big city don’t think much of the country.”

“No one has time to think,” Rorie said with a small laugh.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Everyone’s got thoughts.”

Rorie nodded, not knowing how to explain something so complex. When Skip had spent some time in the city, he’d figure out what she meant.

“The one thing I’ve noticed more than anything is how quiet it is here,” she said pensively, looking around, burning into her memory each detail of the farmhouse and the yard.

“I like the quiet. Some places, the noise is so bad I worry about ear damage,” Skip said.

“I imagine if I lived here, I’d grow accustomed to the silence, too. But to be honest, I hadn’t realized how much I enjoy the sounds of the city. There’s something invigorating about the clang of the trolley cars or the foghorn on the Bay early in the morning.”

Skip frowned and shook his head. “You honestly like all that racket?”

Rorie nodded. “It’s more than that. The city’s exciting. I hadn’t really known how much living there meant to me before coming to Elk Run.” Rorie wasn’t sure how to describe the aroma of freshly baked sourdough bread, or the perfumed scent of budding rosebushes in Golden Gate Park, to someone who’d never experienced them. Country life had its appeal, she couldn’t deny that, but she belonged to the city. At least, that was what she told herself over and over again.

“Ah,” Skip said, and his foot dropped from the bumper with a thud, “here’s Clay now.”

Rorie tensed, clasping her hands in front of her. Clay’s lengthy strides quickly diminished the distance between the barn and the yard. Each stride was filled with purpose, as though he longed to get this polite farewell over with.

Rorie straightened and walked toward him. “I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes,” she said softly.

“Kate’s coming to say goodbye,” Skip added.

Rorie noted how Clay’s eyes didn’t quite meet her own. He seemed to focus instead on the car behind her. They’d already said everything there was to say and this final parting only compounded the pain.

“Saying thank you seems so inadequate,” Rorie told him in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady. “I’ve appreciated your hospitality more than you’ll ever know.” Hesitantly she held out her hand to him.

Clay’s hard fingers curled around her own, his touch light and impersonal. Rorie swallowed hard, unable to hold back the emotion churning so violently inside her.

His expression was completely impassive, but she sensed that he held on to his self-control with the thinnest of threads. In that moment, Rorie felt the longing in him and knew that he recognized it in her, too.

“Oh, Clay...” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. The impulse to move into his arms was like a huge wave, threatening to sweep over her, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d have the strength to resist.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Clay muttered grimly.

“I...can’t help it.” But he belonged to Kate and nothing was likely to change that.

He took a step toward her and stopped himself, suddenly remembering they weren’t alone.

“Skip, go hold Thunder for Don. Don’s trying to paste-worm him, and he’s getting dragged all over the stall.” Clay’s words were low-pitched, sharp, full of demand.

“But, Clay, Rorie’s about to—”

“Do it.”

Mumbling something unintelligible, Skip trudged off to the barn.

The minute his brother was out of sight, Clay caught Rorie’s shoulders, his fingers rough and urgent through the thin cotton of her blouse. The next instant, she was locked against him. The kiss was inevitable, Rorie knew, but when his mouth settled over hers she wanted to weep for the joy she found in his arms. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her mouth, until she clung to him with hungry abandon. They were standing in the middle of the yard in full view of farmhands, but Clay didn’t seem to care and Rorie wasn’t about to object.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he whispered huskily.

Rorie’s heart constricted.

At the sound of a car in the distance, Clay abruptly dropped his arms, freeing her. His fingers tangled in her hair as if he had to touch her one last time.

“I was a fool to think I could politely shake your hand and let you leave. We’re more than casual friends and I can’t pretend otherwise—to hell with the consequences.”

Tears flooded Rorie’s eyes as she stared up at Clay. Then, from behind him, she saw the cloud of dust that announced Kate’s arrival. She inhaled a deep breath in an effort to compose herself and, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of one hand, forced a smile.

Clay released a ragged sigh as he trailed a callused hand down the side of her face. “Goodbye, Rorie,” he whispered. With that, he turned and walked away.

Thick fog swirled around Rorie as she paused to catch her breath on the path in Golden Gate Park. She bent forward and planted her hands on her knees, driving the oxygen into her heaving lungs. Not once in the two weeks she’d been on vacation had she followed her jogging routine, and now she was paying the penalty. The muscles in her calves and thighs protested the strenuous exercise and her heart seemed about to explode. Her biggest problem was trying to keep up with Dan, who’d run ahead, unwilling to slow his pace to match hers.

“Rorie?”

“Over here.” Her voice was barely more than a choked whisper. She meant to raise her hand and signal to him, but even that required more effort than she could manage. Seeing a bench in the distance, she stumbled over and collapsed into it. Leaning back, she stretched out her legs.

“You are out of shape,” Dan teased, handing her a small towel.

Rorie wiped the perspiration from her face and smiled her appreciation. “I can’t believe two weeks would make such a difference.” She’d been back in San Francisco only a couple of days. Other than dropping off the MG at Dan’s place, this was the first time they’d had a chance to get together.

Dan stood next to her, hardly out of breath—even after a three-mile workout.

“Two weeks is a long time,” he said with the hint of a smile. “I suppose you didn’t keep up with your vitamin program, either,” he chastised gently. “Well, Rorie, it’s obvious how much you need me.”

She chose to ignore that comment. “I used to consider myself in top physical condition. Not anymore. Good grief, I thought my heart was going to give out two miles back.”

Dan, blond and debonair, was appealingly handsome in a clean-cut boyish way. He draped the towel around his neck and grasped the ends. Rorie’s eyes were drawn to his hands, with their finely manicured nails and long tapered fingers. Stockbroker fingers. Nice hands. Friendly hands.

Still, Rorie couldn’t help comparing them with another pair of male hands, darkly tanned from hours in the sun and roughly callused. Gentle hands. Working hands.

“I meant what I said about you needing me,” Dan murmured, watching her closely. “It’s time we got serious, Rorie. Time we made some important decisions about our future.”

When she least expected it, he slid closer on the bench beside her. With his so smooth fingers, he cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her flushed cheeks. “I did a lot of thinking while you were away.”

She covered his fingers with her own, praying for an easier way to say what she must. They’d been seeing each other for months and she hated to hurt him, but it would be even crueler to lead him on. When they’d started dating, Dan had been looking for a casual relationship. He’d recently been divorced and wasn’t ready for a new emotional commitment.

“Oh, Dan, I think I know what you’re going to say. Please don’t.”

He paused, searching her face intently. “What do you mean?”

“I did some thinking while I was away, too, and I realized that although I’ll always treasure your friendship, we can’t ever be more than friends.”

His dark eyes ignited with resistance. “What happened to you on this vacation, Rorie? You left, and two weeks later you returned a completely different woman.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rorie objected weakly. She knew she was different, from the inside out.

“You’ve hardly said a word to me about your trip,” Dan complained, in a tone that suggested he felt hurt by her reticence. “All you’ve said is that the car broke down in the Oregon outback and you were stuck on some farm for days until a part could be delivered. You don’t blame me for that, do you? I had no idea there was anything wrong with the water pump.”

She laughed at his description of Nightingale as the outback.

“You completely missed the writers’ conference, didn’t you?”

“That couldn’t be helped, but I enjoyed the rest of my vacation. Victoria was like stepping into a small piece of England,” she said, in an effort to divert his attention from the time she’d spent on the Franklin farm. Victoria had been lovely, but unfortunately she hadn’t been in the proper mood to appreciate its special beauty.

“You didn’t so much as mail me a postcard.”

“I know,” she said with a twinge of guilt.

“I was lonesome without you,” Dan said slowly, running his hand over her hair. “Nothing felt right with you gone.”

Rorie knew it had taken a lot for him to admit that, and it made what she had to tell him all the more difficult.

“Dan, please,” she said, breaking away from him and standing. “I... I don’t love you.”

“But we’re friends.”

“Of course.”

He seemed both pleased and relieved by that. “Good friends?” he coaxed.

Rorie nodded, wondering where this was leading.

“Then there’s really no problem, is there?” he asked, his voice gaining enthusiasm. “You went away, and I realized how much I love you, and you came back deciding you value my friendship. That, at least, is a beginning.”

“Dan, honestly!”

“Well, isn’t it?”

“Our relationship isn’t going anywhere,” she told him, desperate to clarify the issue. Dan was a good person and he deserved someone who was crazy in love with him. The way she was with Clay.

To Rorie’s surprise, Dan drew her forward and kissed her. Startled, she stood placidly in his arms, feeling his warm mouth move over hers. She experienced no feeling, no excitement, nothing. Kissing Dan held all the appeal of drinking flat soda.

Frustrated, he tried to deepen the kiss.

Rorie braced her hands against his chest and tried to pull herself free. He released her immediately, then stepped back, frowning. “Okay, okay, we’ve got our work cut out for us. But the electricity will come, in time.”

Somehow Rorie doubted that.

Dan dropped her off in front of her apartment. “Can I see you soon?” he asked, his hands clenching the steering wheel. He didn’t look at her but stared straight ahead as though he feared her answer.

Rorie hesitated. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, Dan, and I don’t want to take advantage of your feelings. I think it’d be best if you started seeing someone else.”

He appeared to consider that for an awkward moment. “But the decision should be mine, shouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then leave everything to me, and stop worrying. If I choose to waste my time on you, that’s my problem, not yours. I think you’re going to change your mind, Rorie. Because I love you enough for both of us.”

“Oh, Dan.” Her shoulders sagged with defeat. He hadn’t believed a single word she’d said.

“Now don’t look so depressed. How about a movie on Sunday? It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”

Exhausted, she shook her head. “Dan, no.”

“I insist, so stop arguing.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue. “All right,” she murmured. He’d soon learn she meant what she’d said. “All right.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at six.”

Rorie climbed out of the MG and closed the door, turning to give Dan a limp wave. She paused in the foyer of her apartment building to unlock her mailbox.

There was a handful of envelopes. Absently, she shuffled through a leaflet from a prominent department store, an envelope with a Kentucky postmark and an electric bill. It wasn’t until she was inside her apartment that Rorie noticed the letter postmarked Nightingale, Oregon.