A Country Affair by Debbie Macomber
Six
“You don’t owe me anything, Clay,” Rorie said, struggling to make her voice light. Clay looked driven to the limits of exhaustion. Dark shadows had formed beneath his eyes and fatigue lines fanned out from their corners. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight he carried was more than he could bear. He studied her wearily, then turned away, stalking to the other side of the office. His shoulders heaved as he drew in a shuddering breath.
“I know I should feel some regrets, but God help me, Rorie, I don’t.”
“Clay, listen...”
He turned to face her then, and drove his fingers into his hair with such force Rorie winced. “I’d like to explain about Kate and me.”
“No.” Under no circumstances did Rorie want to listen to his explanations or excuses. She didn’t have a lot of room to be judgmental herself. She had, after all, been dating a man steadily for the past few months. “Don’t. Please don’t say anything. It isn’t necessary.”
He ignored her request. “Kate and I have known each other all our lives.”
“Clay, stop.” She pushed out the chair and stood up, wanting only to escape.
“For the last two years, it’s been understood by everyone around us that Kate and I would eventually get married. I didn’t even question the right or wrong of it, just calmly accepted the fact. A man needs someone to share his life.”
“Kate will make you a wonderful wife,” she said, feeling both disillusioned and indignant, but she refused to let him know how much his indiscretion had hurt her. “If you owe anyone an apology, it’s Kate, not me.”
His responding frown was brooding and dark. “I know.” He drew his fingers across his eyes, and she could feel his exhaustion. “The last thing in the world I want is to hurt Kate.”
“Then don’t.”
He stared at her, and Rorie made herself send him a smile, although she feared it was more flippant than reassuring. “There’s no reason for Kate to find out. What good would it do? She’d only end up feeling betrayed. Last night was a tiny impropriety and best forgotten, don’t you agree?” Walking seemed to help, and Rorie paced the office, her fingers brushing the stack of books and papers on his cluttered desk.
“I don’t know what’s best anymore,” Clay admitted quietly.
“I do,” Rorie said with unwavering confidence, still struggling to make light of the incident. “Think about it, Clay. We were alone together for hours—we shared something beautiful with Star Bright and...her foal. And we shared a few stolen kisses under the stars. If anything’s to blame, it’s the moonlight. We’re strangers, Clay. You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” Afraid to look him directly in the eye, Rorie lowered her gaze and waited, breathless, for his next words.
“So it was the moonlight?” His voice was hoarse and painfully raw.
“Of course,” she lied. “What else could it have been?”
“Yes, what else could it have been?” he echoed, then turned and walked out of the office.
It suddenly seemed as though the room’s light had dimmed. Rorie felt so weak, she sank into the chair, shocked by how deeply the encounter had disturbed her.
Typing proved to be a distraction and Rorie left the office a couple of hours later with a feeling of accomplishment. She’d been able to enter several time-consuming pages of data into the computer. The routine work was a relief because it meant she had no time to think.
The kitchen smelled of roasting beef and simmering apple crisp when Rorie let herself in the back door. It was an oddly pleasant combination of scents. Mary was nowhere to be seen.
While she thought of it, Rorie reached for the telephone book and called the number listed for the garage in Riversdale.
“Hello,” she said when a gruff male voice answered. “This is Rorie Campbell...the woman with the broken water pump. The one in Nightingale.”
“Yeah, Miss Campbell, what can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to be sure there wasn’t any problem in ordering the part. I don’t know if Clay... Mr. Franklin told you, but I’m more or less stuck here until the car’s repaired. I’d like to get back on the road as soon as possible—I’m sure you understand.”
“Lady, I can’t make that pump come any faster than what it already is.”
“Well, I just wanted to check that you’d been able to order one.”
“It’s on its way, at least that’s what the guy in Los Angeles told me. They’re shipping it by overnight freight to Portland. I’ve arranged for a man to pick it up the following day, but it’s going to take him some time to get it to me.”
“But that’s only three days.”
“You called too late yesterday for me to phone the order in. Lady, there’s only so much I can do.”
“I know. I’m sorry if I sound impatient.”
“The whole world’s impatient. Listen, I’ll call you the minute it arrives.”
She sighed. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”
“Clay got your car here without a hitch, so don’t worry about that—he saved you a bundle on towing charges. Shipping costs and long-distance phone bills are going to be plenty high, though.”
Rorie hadn’t even noticed that Dan’s shiny sports car wasn’t in the yard where Skip had originally left it. “So you’ll be calling me within the next day or two?” she asked, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. And trying not to consider the state of her finances, already depleted by this disastrous vacation.
“Right. I’ll call as soon as it comes in.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said again.
“No problem,” the mechanic muttered, obviously eager to end their conversation.
When the call was finished, Rorie toyed with the idea of phoning Dan next. She’d been half expecting to hear from him, since she’d left the Franklins’ number with his secretary the day before. He hadn’t phoned her back. But there was nothing new to tell him, so she decided not to call a second time.
Hesitantly Rorie replaced the telephone receiver, pleased that everything was under control—everything except her heart.
Dinner that evening was a strained affair. If it hadn’t been for Skip, who seemed oblivious to the tension between her and Clay, Rorie didn’t think she could have endured it. Clay hardly said a word throughout the meal. But Skip seemed more than eager to carry the conversation and Rorie did her best to lighten the mood, wondering all the time whether Clay saw through her facade.
“While you’re here, Rorie,” Skip said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, “you should learn how to ride.”
“No, thank you,” she said pointedly, holding up her hand, as though fending off the suggestion. An introduction to King and Hercules was as far as she was willing to go.
“Rain Magic would suit you nicely.”
“Rain Magic?”
“That’s a silly name Kate thought up, and Clay went along with it,” Skip explained. “He’s gentle, but smart—the gelding I mean, not Clay.” The younger Franklin laughed heartily at his own attempt at humor.
Clay smiled, but Rorie wasn’t fooled; he hadn’t been amused by the joke, nor, she suspected, was he pleased by the reference to Kate.
“No, thanks, Skip,” she said, hoping to bring the subject to a close. “I’m really not interested.” There, that said it plainly enough.
“Are you afraid?”
“A little,” she admitted truthfully. “I prefer my horses on a merry-go-round. I’m a city girl, remember?”
“But even girls from San Francisco have been known to climb on the back of a horse. It’ll be good for you, Rorie. Trust me—it’s time to broaden your horizons.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she told him, emphasizing her point by biting down on a crisp carrot stick with a loud crunch.
“Rorie, I insist. You aren’t going to get hurt—I wouldn’t let that happen, and Rain Magic is as gentle as they come. In fact—” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down “—if you want, we can ride double until you feel more secure.”
Rorie laughed. “Skip, honestly.”
“All right, you can ride alone, and I’ll lead you around in a circle. For as long as you want.”
Rorie shook her head and, amused at the mental picture that scenario presented, laughed again.
“Leave it,” Clay said with sudden sharpness. “If Rorie doesn’t want to ride, drop it, okay?”
Skip’s shocked gaze flew from Rorie to his brother. “I was just having fun, Clay.”
His older brother gripped his water goblet so hard Rorie thought the glass might shatter. “Enough is enough. She said she wasn’t interested and that should be the end of it.”
The astounded look left Skip’s features, but his eyes narrowed and he stiffened his shoulders in a display of righteous indignation. “What’s with you, Clay?” he shouted. “You’ve been acting like a wounded bear all day, growling at everyone. Who made you king of the universe all of a sudden?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring in the apple crisp,” Rorie said, and hurriedly rose to her feet, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire between the two brothers. Whatever they had to say wasn’t meant for her ears.
The exchange that followed ended quickly, Rorie noted gratefully from inside the kitchen. Their voices were raised and then there was a hush followed by laughter. Rorie relaxed and picked up the dessert, carrying it into the dining room along with a carton of vanilla ice cream.
“I apologize, Rorie,” Clay said soberly when she reentered the room. “Skip’s right, I’ve been cross and unreasonable all day. I hope my sour mood hasn’t ruined your dinner.”
“Of course not,” she murmured, giving him a smile.
Clay stood up to serve the dessert, spooning generous helpings of apple crisp and ice cream into each bowl.
Skip chattered aimlessly, commenting on one subject and then bouncing to another without any logical connection, his thoughts darting this way and that.
“What time are you going over to Kate’s tonight?” he casually asked Clay.
“I won’t be. She’s got some meeting with the women’s group from the Grange. They’re decorating for the dance tomorrow night.”
“Now that you mention it, I seem to remember Kate saying something about being busy tonight.” Without a pause he turned to Rorie. “You’ll be coming, I hope. The Grange is putting on a square dance—the biggest one of the year, and they usually do it up good.”
“Kate already invited me. I’ll be going with her,” Rorie explained, although she hadn’t the slightest idea how to square dance. Generally she enjoyed dancing, although she hadn’t gone for several months because Dan wasn’t keen on it.
“You could drive there with us if you wanted,” Skip offered. “I’d kinda like to walk in there with you on my arm. You’d cause quite a stir with the men, especially Luke Rivers—he’s the foreman at the Logan place. Most girls go all goo-goo-eyed over him.”
Clay’s spoon clanged loudly against the side of his glass dish and he murmured an apology.
“I’m sorry, Skip,” Rorie said gently. “I told Kate I’d drive over with her.”
“Darn,” Skip muttered.
The meal was completed in silence. Once, when Rorie happened to glance up, her eyes met Clay’s. Her heart felt as though it might hammer its way out of her chest. She was oppressively aware of the chemistry between them. It simmered in Rorie’s veins and she could tell that Clay felt everything she did. Throughout dinner, she’d been all too conscious of the swift stolen glances Clay had sent in her direction. She’d sent a few of her own, though she’d tried hard not to. But it was impossible to be in the same room with this man and not react to him.
A thousand times in the next couple of hours, Rorie told herself that everything would be fine as soon as she could leave. Life would return to normal then.
When the dishes were finished, Skip challenged her to a game of cribbage, and grateful for the escape Rorie accepted. Skip sat with his back to his brother, and every time Rorie played her hand, she found her eyes wandering across the room to where Clay sat reading. To all outward appearances, he was relaxed and comfortable, but she knew he felt as tense as she did. She knew he was equally aware of the electricity that sparked between them.
Rorie’s fingers shook as she counted out her cards.
“Fifteen eight,” Skip corrected. “You forgot two points.”
Her eyes fell to the extra ten, and she blinked. “I guess I did.”
Skip heaved a sigh. “I don’t think your mind’s on the game tonight.”
“I guess not,” she admitted wryly. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up to bed.” She threw him an apologetic smile and reached for her coffee cup. Skip was right; her mind hadn’t been on the game at all. Instead, her thoughts had been on a man who owed his loyalties to another woman—a woman whose roots were intricately bound with his. A woman Rorie had liked and respected from the moment they met.
Feeling depressed, she bade the two men good-night and carried her cup to the kitchen. Dutifully, she rinsed it out and set it beside the sink, but when she turned around Clay was standing in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Where’s Skip?” she asked a little breathlessly. Heat seemed to throb between them and she retreated a step in a futile effort to escape.
“He went upstairs.”
She blinked and faked a yawn. “I was headed in that direction myself.”
Clay buried one hand in his jeans pocket. “Do you know what happened tonight at dinner?”
Not finding her voice, Rorie shook her head.
“I was jealous,” he said from between clenched teeth. “You were laughing and joking with Skip and I wanted it to be me your eyes were shining for. Me. No one else.” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Jealous of a seventeen-year-old boy... I can’t believe it myself.”