A Country Affair by Debbie Macomber

Four

Clay ran toward the barn with Rorie right behind him. He paused to flip a switch, flooding the interior with bright light.

The gray mare in the center stall continued to neigh and thrash around. Rorie found it astonishing that the walls had remained intact. The noise of the animal’s pain echoed through the stable, reflected by the rising anxiety of the other horses.

Clay took one look at the mare and released a low groan, then muttered something under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Rorie cried.

“It seems Star Bright is about to become a mother.”

“But why isn’t she in one of the foaling stalls?”

“Because two different vets palpated her and said she wasn’t in foal.”

“But...”

“She’s already had six foals and her stomach’s so stretched she looks pregnant even when she isn’t.” Clay opened the stall door and entered. Rorie’s hand flew to her heart. Good grief, he could get killed in there!

“What do you want me to do?” she said.

Clay shook his head. “This is no place for you. Get back to the house and stay there.” His brow furrowed, every line a testament to his hard, outdoor life.

“But shouldn’t I be phoning a vet?”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Boiling water—I could get that for you.” She wanted to help; she just had no idea how.

“Boiling water?” he repeated. “What the hell would I need that for?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed with a shrug, “but they always seem to need it in the movies.”

Clay gave an exasperated sigh. “Rorie, please, just go to the house.”

She made it all the way to the barn door, then abruptly turned back. If anyone had asked why she felt it so necessary to remain with Clay, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. But something kept her there, something far stronger than the threat of Clay’s temper.

She marched to the center stall, her head and shoulders held stiff and straight. She stood with her feet braced, prepared for an argument.

“Clay,” she said, “I’m not leaving.”

“Listen, Rorie, you’re a city girl. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“I’m a woman, too. The sight of a little blood isn’t enough to make me faint.”

Clay was doing his best to calm the frightened mare, but without much success. The tension in the air seemed to crackle like static electricity.

“I haven’t got time to argue with you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Good.”

Star Bright heaved her neck backward and gave a deep groan that seemed to reverberate in the stall like the boom of a cannon.

“Poor little mother,” Rorie whispered in a soothing voice. Led by instinct, she carefully unlatched the stall door and slipped inside.

Clay sent her a look hot enough to peel paint. “Get out of here before you get hurt.” His voice was low and urgent.

Star Bright reacted to his tension immediately, jerking about, her body twitching convulsively. One of her hooves caught Clay in the forearm and, almost immediately, blood seeped through his sleeve. Rorie bit her lip to suppress a cry of alarm, but if Clay felt any pain he didn’t show it.

“Hold her head,” Clay said sharply.

Somehow Rorie found the courage to do as he asked. Star Bright groaned once more and her pleading eyes looked directly into Rorie’s, seeming to beg for help. The mare’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she flailed her head to and fro, shaking Rorie in the process.

“Whoa, girl,” Rorie said softly, gaining control. “It’s painful, isn’t it, but soon you’ll have a beautiful baby to show off to the world.”

“Foal,” Clay corrected from behind the mare.

“A beautiful foal.” Rorie stroked the sweat-dampened neck, doing what she could to reassure the frightened horse.

“Keep talking to her,” Clay whispered.

Rorie kept up a running dialogue for several tense minutes, but there was only so much she could find to say on such short acquaintance. When she ran out of ideas, she started to sing in a soft, lilting voice. She began with lullabies her mother had once sung to her, then followed those with a few childhood ditties. Her singing lasted only minutes, but Rorie’s lungs felt close to collapse.

Suddenly the mare’s water broke. Clay wasn’t saying much, but he began to work quickly, although she couldn’t see what he was doing. Star Bright tossed her neck in the final throes of birth and Rorie watched, fascinated, as two hooves and front legs emerged, followed by a white nose.

The mare lifted her head, eager to see. Clay tugged gently, and within seconds, the foal was free. Rorie’s heart pounded like a locomotive struggling up a steep hill as Clay’s strong hands completed the task.

“A filly,” he announced, a smile lighting his face. He reached for a rag and wiped his hands and arms.

Star Bright turned her head to view her offspring. “See?” Rorie told the mare, her eyes moist with relief. “Didn’t I tell you it would all be worth it?”

The mare nickered. Her newborn filly was gray, like her mother, and finely marked with white streaks on her nose, mane and tail. Rorie was touched to her very soul by the sight. Tears blurred her vision and ran down her flushed cheeks. She blotted them with her sleeve so Clay couldn’t see them, and silently chided herself for being such a sentimental fool.

It was almost another hour before they left Star Bright’s stall. The mare, who stood guard over her long-legged baby, seemed content and utterly pleased with herself. As they prepared to leave, Rorie whispered in her ear.

“What was that all about?” Clay wanted to know, latching the stall door.

“I just told her she’d done a good job.”

“That she did,” Clay whispered. A moment later, he added, “And so did you, Rorie. I was grateful for your help.”

Once more tears sprang to her eyes. She responded with a nod, unable to trust her voice. Her heart was racing with exhilaration. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more excited. It was well past midnight, but she’d never felt less sleepy.

“Rorie?” He was staring at her, his eyes bright with concern.

She owed him an explanation, although she couldn’t fully explain this sudden burst of emotion. “It was so...beautiful.” She brushed the hair from her face and smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn’t think she was just a foolish city girl. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she doubted that any man had seen her looking worse, although Rorie was well aware that she didn’t possess a classic beauty. She was usually referred to as cute, with her slightly turned-up nose and dark brown eyes.

“I understand.” He walked to the sink against the barn’s opposite wall and busily washed his hands, then splashed water on his face. When he’d finished, Rorie handed him a towel hanging on a nearby hook.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how to describe it,” she said, after a fruitless effort to find the words to explain all the feeling that had surged up inside her.

“It’s the same for me every time I witness a birth,” Clay told her. He looked at her then and gently touched her face, letting his finger glide along her jaw. All the world went still as his eyes caressed hers. There was a primitive wonder in the experience of birth, a wonder that struck deep within the soul. For the first time, Rorie understood this. And sharing it with Clay seemed to intensify the attraction she already felt for him. During that brief time in the stall, just before Star Bright delivered her foal, Rorie had felt closer to Clay than she ever had to any other man. It was as though her heart had taken flight and joined his in a moment of sheer challenge and joy. That was a silly romantic thought, she realized. But it seemed so incredible to her that she could feel anything this strong for a man she’d known for mere hours.

“I’ve got a name for her,” Clay said, hanging up the towel. “What do you think of Nightsong?”

“Nightsong,” Rorie repeated softly. “I like it.”

“In honor of the woman who sang to her mother.”

Rorie nodded as emotion clogged her throat. “Does this mean I did all right for a city slicker?”

“You did more than all right.”

“Thanks for not sending me away... I probably would’ve gone if you’d insisted.”

They left the barn, and Clay draped his arm across her shoulders as though he’d been doing it for years. Rorie was grateful for his touch because, somehow, it helped ground the unfamiliar feelings and sensations.

As they strolled across the yard, she noticed that the sky was filled with a thousand glittering stars, brighter than any she’d ever seen in the city. She paused midstep to gaze up at them.

Clay’s quiet voice didn’t dispel the serenity. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”

Rorie wanted to hold on to each exquisite minute and make it last a lifetime. A nod was all she could manage as she reminded herself that this time with Clay was about to end. They would walk into the house and Clay would probably thank her again. Then she’d climb the stairs to her room and that would be all there was.

“How about some coffee?” he asked once they’d entered the kitchen. Blue left his rug and wandered over to Clay. “The way I feel now, it would be a waste of time to go to bed.”

“Me, too.” Rorie leaped at the suggestion, pleased that he wanted to delay their parting, too. And when she did return to her room, she knew the adrenaline in her system would make sleep impossible, anyway.

Clay was reaching up for the canister of coffee, when Rorie suddenly noticed the bloodstain on his sleeve and remembered Star Bright’s kick.

“Clay, you need to take care of that cut.”

From the surprised way he glanced at his arm, she guessed that he, too, had forgotten about the injury. “Yes, I suppose I should.” Then he calmly returned to his task.

“Let me clean it for you,” Rorie offered, joining him at the kitchen counter.

“If you like.” He led her into the bathroom down the hall and took a variety of medical supplies from the cabinet above the sink. “Do you want to do it here or in the kitchen?”

“Here is fine.”

Clay sat on the edge of the bath and unfastened the cuff, then rolled back his sleeve.

“Oh, Clay,” Rorie whispered when she saw the angry torn flesh just above his elbow. Gently her fingers tested the edges, wondering if he needed stitches. He winced slightly at her probing fingers.

“Sorry.”

“Just put some antiseptic on it and it’ll be all right.”

“But this is really deep—you should probably have a doctor look at it.”

“Rorie, I’m as tough as old leather. This kind of thing happens all the time. I’ll recover.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said primly.

“Then put on a bandage and be done with it.”

“But—”

“I’ve been injured often enough to know when a cut needs a doctor’s attention.”

She hesitated, then conceded that he was probably right. She filled the sink with warm tap water and took care to clean the wound thoroughly. All the while, Rorie was conscious of Clay’s eyes moving over her face, solemnly perusing the chin-length, dark brown hair and the big dark eyes that—judging by a glance in the mirror—still displayed a hint of vulnerability. She was tall, almost five-eight, her figure willowy. But if Clay found anything attractive about her, he didn’t mention it. Her throat muscles squeezed shut, and, although she was grateful for the silence between them, it confused her.

“You missed your vocation,” he told her as she rinsed the bloody cloth. “You should’ve been a nurse.”

“I toyed with the idea when I was ten, but decided I liked books better.”

His shoulders were tense, Rorie noted, and she tried to be as gentle as possible. A muscle leaped in his jaw.

“Am I...hurting you?”

“No,” he answered, his voice curt.

After that, he was an excellent patient. He didn’t complain when she dabbed on the antiseptic, although she was sure it must have stung like crazy. He cooperated when she wrapped the gauze around his arm, lifting and lowering it when she asked him to. The silence continued as she secured the bandage with adhesive tape. Rorie had the feeling that he wanted to escape the close confines of the bathroom as quickly as possible.

“I hope that stays.”

He stood up and flexed his elbow a couple of times. “It’s fine. You do good work.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“The coffee’s probably ready by now.” He spoke quickly, as if eager to be gone.

She sighed. “I could use a cup.”

She put the medical supplies neatly back inside the cabinet, while Clay returned to the kitchen. Rorie could smell the freshly made coffee even before she entered the room.

He was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of the fragrant coffee, waiting for her.

“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” she murmured, adding cream and sugar to the mug he’d poured for her.

A certain tension hung in the air, and Rorie couldn’t explain or understand it. Only ten minutes earlier, they’d walked across the yard, spellbound by the stars, and Clay had laid his arm across her shoulders. He’d smiled down on her so tenderly. Now he looked as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

“Have I done anything wrong?” she asked outright.

“Rorie, no.” He set his mug aside and gripped her shoulders with both hands. “There’s something so intimate and...earthy in what we shared.” His eyes were intense, strangely darker. “Wanting you this way isn’t right.”

Rorie felt a tremor work through him as he lifted his hands to her face. His callused thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks.

“I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” he whispered hoarsely, his expression uncertain.

“It’s...been the same for me, from the moment you stepped out of the truck.”

Clay smiled, and Rorie thought her knees would melt. She put her coffee down and as soon as she did Clay eased her into his arms, his hands on her shoulders. Her heart stopped, then jolted back to frenzied life.

“I’m going to kiss you....”

He made the statement almost a question. “Yes,” she whispered, letting him know she’d welcome his touch. Her stomach fluttered as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

Rorie had never wanted a man’s kiss more. His moist lips glided over hers in a series of gentle explorations. He drew her closer until their bodies were pressed tight.

“Oh, Rorie,” he breathed, dragging his mouth from hers. “You taste so good... I was afraid of that.” His mouth found the pulse in her throat and lingered there.

“This afternoon I thought I’d cry when the car broke down and now...now I’m glad...so glad,” she said.

He kissed her again, nibbling on her lower lip, gently drawing it between his teeth. Rorie could hardly breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She slumped against him, delighting in the rise and fall of his broad chest. His hands moved down her back with slow restraint, but paused when he reached the curve of her hips.

He tensed. “I think we should say good-night.”

A protest sprang to her lips, but before she could voice it, Clay said, “Now.”

She looked at him, dazed. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him. “What about my coffee?”

“That was just an excuse and we both know it.”

Rorie said nothing.

The silence between them seemed to throb for endless minutes.

“Good night, Clay,” she finally whispered. She broke away, but his hand caught her fingers, and with a groan he pulled her back into his arms.

“What the hell,” he muttered fiercely, “sending you upstairs isn’t going to help. Nothing’s going to change.”

His words brought confusion, but Rorie didn’t question him, didn’t want to. What she longed for was the warmth and security she’d discovered in his arms.

“Come on,” he whispered, after he’d kissed her once more. He led her through the living room and outside to the porch, where the swing moved gently in the night breeze.

Rorie sat beside him and he wrapped his arm around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder, savoring these precious moments.

“I’ll never forget this night.”

“Neither will I,” Clay promised, kissing her again.

Rorie awoke when the sun settled on her face and refused to leave her alone. Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled contentedly, basking in the memory of her night with Clay. They’d sat on the swing and talked for hours. Talked and kissed and laughed and touched...

Sitting up, Rorie raised her hands high above her head and stretched, arching her spine. She looked at her watch on the nightstand and was shocked to see that it was after eleven. By the time she’d climbed the stairs for bed the sky had been dappled with faint shreds of light. She suspected Clay hadn’t even bothered to sleep.

Tossing aside the blankets, Rorie slid to the floor, anxious to shower and dress. Anxious to see him again. Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way down the stairs.

Mary, who was dusting in the living room, nodded when she saw Rorie. Then the housekeeper resumed her task, but not before she’d muttered something about how city folks were prone to sleeping their lives away.

“Good morning, Mary,” Rorie greeted her cheerfully.

“’Mornin’.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Where they ought to be this time of day. Working.”

“Yes, I know, but where?”

“Outside.”

Rorie had trouble hiding her smile.

“I heard about you helping last night,” Mary added gruffly. “Seems you did all right for a city girl.”

“Thank you, Mary. You don’t do half bad for a country girl, either.”

The housekeeper seemed uncomfortable with the praise, despite the lightness of Rorie’s tone. “I suppose you want me to cook you some fancy breakfast.”

“Good heavens, no, you’re busy. I’ll just make myself some toast.”

“That’s hardly enough to fill a growing girl,” Mary complained.

“It’ll suit me fine.”

Once her toast was ready, Rorie carried it outside. If she couldn’t find Clay, she wanted to check on Nightsong.

“Rorie.”

She turned to discover Skip walking toward her, in animated conversation with a blonde. His girlfriend, she guessed. He waved and Rorie returned the gesture, smiling. The sun was glorious and the day held marvelous promise.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” Skip said.

“I’m sorry—I don’t usually sleep this late.”

“Clay told me how you helped him deliver Star Bright’s filly. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I heard.”

Rorie nodded, her heart warming with the memory. “Well, I tried to get you up. It would’ve been easier to wake a dead man than to get you out of bed last night.”

Skip looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry about that, but I generally don’t wake up too easily once I’m asleep.” As he spoke, he slipped his arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders. “Rorie, I want you to meet Kate Logan.”

“Hello, Kate.” Rorie held out a hand and Kate shook it politely.

“Hello, Rorie,” she said. “Clay and Skip told me about your car troubles. I hope everything turns out all right for you.”

“I’m sure it will. Do you live around here?” Rorie already knew she was going to like her. At a closer glance, she saw that Kate was older than she’d first assumed. Maybe her own age, which gave credence to Skip’s comment about liking older, more mature women.

“I don’t live far,” Kate said. “The Circle L is down the road, only a few miles from here.”

“She’s going to be living with us in the near future,” Skip put in, gazing fondly at Kate.

The young woman’s cheeks reddened and she smiled shyly.

“Oh?” Skip couldn’t possibly mean he planned to marry her, Rorie thought. Good heavens, he was still in high school.

He must have seen Rorie’s puzzled frown, and hurried to explain. “Not me,” he said with a short laugh. “Kate is Clay’s fiancée.”