Summertime Dreams

Five

“You and Clay are...engaged,” Rorie murmured as shock waves coursed through her blood. They stopped with a thud at her heart and spread out in ripples of dismay.

Somehow Rorie managed a smile, her outward composure unbroken. She was even able to offer her congratulations. To all appearances, nothing was wrong. No one would’ve known that those few simple words had destroyed a night she’d planned to treasure all her life.

“I hope you and Clay will be very happy,” Rorie said—and she meant it. She’d just been introduced to Kate Logan, but already Rorie knew that this sweet, friendly woman was exactly the kind of wife a man like Clay would need.

“Skip’s rushing things a little,” Kate pointed out, but the glint of love in her eyes contradicted her words. “Clay hasn’t even given me an engagement ring yet.”

“But you and Clay have been talking about getting married, haven’t you?” Skip pressed. “And you’re crazy about him.”

Kate blushed prettily. “I’ve loved Clay from the time I was in fifth grade. I wrote his name all over my books. Of course, Clay wouldn’t have anything to do with me, not when he was a big important high-schooler and I was just the pesky little girl next door. It took a while for him to notice me—like ten years.” She gave a small laugh. “We’ve been dating steadily for the past two.”

“But you and Clay are going to get married, right?” Skip continued, clearly wanting to prove his point.

“Eventually, but we haven’t set a date, although I’m sure it’ll be soon,” Kate answered, casting a sharp look at Rorie.

The tightness that had gripped Rorie’s throat eased and she struggled to keep her smile intact. It was impossible not to like Kate, but that didn’t lessen the ache in Rorie’s heart.

“The wedding’s inevitable,” Skip said offhandedly, “so I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you were Clay’s fiancée, now was I?”

Kate smiled. “I suppose not. We love each other, and have for years. We’re just waiting for the right time.” Her eyes held Rorie’s, assessing her, but she didn’t seem worried about competition.

Rorie supposed she should be pleased about that, at least.

“I was taking Kate over to see Nightsong,” Skip explained to Rorie.

“I actually came to Elk Run to meet you,” the other woman said. “Clay stopped by last night and told me about your car. I felt terrible for you. Your whole vacation’s been ruined. You must be awfully upset.”

“These things happen,” Rorie said with a shrug. “Being upset isn’t going to ship that part any faster. All I can do is accept the facts.”

Kate nodded sympathetically. “Skip was about to show me the filly. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

Rorie nodded, unable to excuse herself without sounding rude. If there’d been a way, she would have retreated, wanting only to lick her wounds in private. Instead, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt, she mumbled, “I was headed in that direction myself.”

Skip led the way to the barn, which was alive with activity. Clay had explained that Elk Run employed five men full-time, none of whom lived on the premises. Two men mucking out stalls paused when Skip and the women entered the building. Skip introduced Rorie and they touched the tips of their hats in greeting.

“I don’t understand Clay,” Skip said as they approached the mare’s stall. “When we bought Star Bright a few years back, all Clay could do was complain about that silly name. He even talked about getting her registration changed.”

“Star Bright’s a perfectly good name,” Kate insisted, her sunny blue eyes intent on the newborn foal.

Nightsong was standing now on knobby, skinny legs that threatened to buckle, greedily feasting from her mother.

“Oh, she really is lovely, isn’t she?” Kate whispered.

Rorie hadn’t been able to stop looking at the filly from the moment they’d reached the stall. Finished with her breakfast, Nightsong gazed around, fascinated by everything she surveyed. She returned Rorie’s look, not vacantly, but as though she recognized the woman who’d been there at her birth.

Rorie couldn’t even identify all the emotions she suddenly felt. Some of these feelings were so new she couldn’t put a name to them, but they gripped her heart and squeezed tight.

“What I can’t understand,” Skip muttered, “is why Clay would go and call her Nightsong when he hates the name Star Bright. It doesn’t sound like anything he’d ever come up with on his own, yet he says he did.”

“I know,” Kate agreed, “but I’m glad, because the name suits her.” She sighed. “Clay’s always been so practical when it comes to names for his horses, but Nightsong has such a romantic flavor, don’t you think?”

Skip chuckled. “You know what Clay thinks about romance, and that makes it even more confusing. But Nightsong she is, and she’s bound to bring us a pretty penny in a year or two. Her father was a Polish Arabian, and with Star Bright’s bloodlines Nightsong will command big bucks as a National Show Horse.”

“Skip.” Clay’s curt voice interrupted them. He strode from the arena leading a bay mare. The horse’s coat gleamed with sweat, turning its color the shade of an oak leaf in autumn. One of the stablemen approached to take the reins. Then Clay removed his hat, wiping his brow with his forearm, and Rorie noticed the now-grimy bandage she’d applied last night. No, this morning.

She stared hungrily at his sun-bronzed face, a face that revealed more than a hint of impatience. The lines around his mouth were etched deep with poorly disguised regrets. Rorie recognized them, even if the others didn’t.

Clay stopped short when he saw Kate, his eyes narrowing.

“’Morning, Kate.”

“Hello, Clay.”

Then his gaze moved, slowly and reluctantly, to Rorie. The remorse she’d already sensed in him seemed unmistakable.

“I hope you slept well,” was all he said to her.

“Fine.” She detected a tautness along his jawline and decided he was probably concerned that she’d say or do something to embarrass him in front of his fiancée. Rorie wouldn’t, but not because she was worried about him. Her sense of fair play wouldn’t allow her to hurt Kate, who so obviously adored this man.

“We’re just admiring Nightsong,” Kate explained, her expression tender as she smiled up at him.

“I can’t understand why you’d name her that,” Skip said, his mouth twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “You always pick names like Brutus and Firepower, but Nightsong? I think you’re going soft on us.” Considering himself particularly funny, Skip chuckled and added, “I suppose that’s what love does to a man.”

Kate’s lashes brushed against the high arch of her cheek and she smiled, her pleasure so keen it was like a physical touch.

“Didn’t I ask you to water the horses several hours ago?” Clay asked in a tone that could have chipped rock.

“Yes, but—”

“Then kindly see to it. The farrier will be here any minute.”

The humor left Skip’s eyes; he was clearly upset by Clay’s anger. He looked from his brother to the two women and then back at Clay again. Hot color rose into his neck and invaded his face. “All right,” he muttered. “Excuse me for living.” Then he stormed out of the barn, slapping his hat against his thigh in an outburst of anger.

Kate waited until Skip was out of the barn. “Clay, what’s wrong?”

“He should’ve done what I told him long before now. Those horses in the pasture are thirsty because of his neglect.”

“I’m the one you should be angry with, not Skip.” Kate’s voice was contrite. “I should never have stopped in without calling first, but I...wanted to meet Rorie.”

“You’ve only been here a few minutes,” Clay insisted, his anger in check now. “Skip had plenty of time to complete his chores before you arrived.”

Rorie tossed invisible daggers at Clay, annoyed with him for taking his irritation out on his younger brother. Skip had introduced her to Clay’s fiancée. That was what really bothered him if he’d been willing to admit it—which he clearly wasn’t.

“We came here to see Nightsong,” Kate said again. “I’m glad you named her that, no matter what Skip thinks.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and rested her head against his broad chest. “He was just teasing you and you know how he loves to do that.”

Clay gave her an absent smile, but his gaze settled with disturbing ease on Rorie. She met his eyes boldly, denying the emotions churning furiously inside her. The plea for patience and understanding he sent her was so obvious that Rorie wondered how anyone seeing it wouldn’t know what was happening.

As though she’d suddenly remembered something, Kate dropped her arm and glanced hurriedly at her watch. She groaned. “I promised Dad I’d meet him for lunch today. He’s getting together with the other Town Council members in one of those horribly boring meetings. He needs me as an excuse to get away.” She stopped abruptly, a chagrined expression on her face. “I guess that tells you how informal everything is in Nightingale, doesn’t it, Rorie?”

“The town seems to be doing very well.” She didn’t know if that was true or not, but it sounded polite.

“He just hates these things, but he likes the prestige of being a Council member—something I tease him about.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Clay offered.

“Oh, there’s no need. You’re busy. Besides, I wanted to talk to Rorie and arrange to meet her tomorrow and show her around town. I certainly hope you remembered to invite her to the Grange dance tomorrow night. I’m sure Luke would be willing to escort her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” Rorie blurted.

“Nonsense, you’d be more than welcome. And don’t worry about having the right kind of clothes for a square dance, either, because I’ve got more outfits than I know what to do with. We’re about the same size,” Kate said, eyeing her. “Perhaps you’re a little taller, but not so much that you couldn’t wear my skirts.”

Rorie smiled blandly, realizing it wouldn’t do any good to decline the invitation. But good heavens, square dancing? Her?

“Knowing you and Skip,” Kate chastised Clay, “poor Rorie will be stuck on Elk Run for the next four days bored out of her mind. The least I can do is see that she’s entertained.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Rorie said. The sooner she got back on the road, the safer her heart would be, and if Kate Logan was willing to help her kill time, then all the better.

“I thought I’d give you a tour of our little town in the morning,” Kate went on. “It’s small, but the people are friendly.”

“I’d love to see Nightingale.”

“Clay.” The brusque voice of a farmhand interrupted them. “Could you come here a minute?”

Clay turned to the man and nodded. “I have to find out what Don needs,” he said quietly. As he met Rorie’s eyes, a speculative look flashed into his own.

She nearly flinched, wondering what emotion her face had betrayed. From the minute Clay had walked into the barn, she’d been careful to school her expression, not wanting him to read anything into her words or actions. She’d tried to look cool and unconcerned, as if the night they’d shared had never happened.

“You two will have to excuse me.” Weary amusement turned up the corners of his mouth and Rorie realized he’d readily seen through her guise.

“Of course,” Kate said. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

Clay nodded abruptly and departed with firm purposeful strides.

Kate started walking toward the yard. Rorie followed, eager to escape the barn and all the memories associated with it.

“Clay told us you’re a librarian,” Kate said when she reached the Ford parked in the curving driveway. “If you want, I can take you to our library. We built a new one last year and we’re rather proud of it. I know it’s small compared to where you probably work, but I think you’ll like what we’ve done.”

“I’d love to see it.” Libraries were often the heart of a community, and if the citizens of Nightingale had seen fit to upgrade theirs, it was apparent they shared Rorie’s love of books.

“I’ll pick you up around ten tomorrow, if that’s convenient?”

“That’d be fine.”

“Plan on spending the afternoon with me and we’ll meet Clay and Skip at the dance later.”

Rorie agreed, although her enthusiasm was decidedly low. The last thing she wanted was to be at some social event with Clay. Never mind how Dan would tease her if he ever discovered she’d spent part of her vacation square dancing with the folks at the Grange.

“Bye for now,” Kate said.

“Bye,” Rorie murmured, waving. She stood in the yard until Kate’s car was out of sight. Not sure what else to do, she wandered back into the house, where Mary was busy with preparations for lunch.

“Can I help?” she asked.

In response, Mary scurried to a drawer and once again handed her a peeler. Rorie started carefully whittling away at a firm red apple she’d scooped from a large bowlful of them.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking?” Mary demanded, pointing her own peeler at Rorie.

“I’ve managed to keep from starving for the last few years,” she retorted idly.

The merest hint of amusement flashed into the older woman’s weathered face. “If I was judging your talents in the kitchen on looks alone, I think you’d starve a man to death within a week.”

Despite her glum spirits, Rorie laughed. “If you’re telling me you think I’m thin, watch out, Mary, because I’m likely to throw my arms around your neck and kiss you.”

The other woman threw her a grin. Several peaceful minutes passed while they peeled apple after apple.

“I got a call from my sister,” Mary said hesitantly, her eyes darting to Rorie, then back to her task. “She’s coming to Riversdale and wants to know if I can drive over and see her. She’s only going to be in Oregon one day.”

This was the most Mary had said to Rorie since her arrival. It pleased her that the older woman was lowering her guard and extending a friendly hand.

“I’d like to visit with my sister.”

“I certainly think you should.” It took Rorie another minute to figure out where Mary was heading with this meandering conversation. Then suddenly she understood. “Oh, you’re looking for someone to do the cooking while you’re away.”

Mary shrugged as if it didn’t concern her one way or the other. “Just for the evening meal, two nights from now. I could manage lunch for the hands before I leave. It’s supper I’m worried about. There’s only Clay and Skip who need to be fed—the other men go home in the evenings.”

“Well, relax, because I’m sure I can manage one dinner without killing off the menfolk.”

“You’re sure?”

Mary was so completely serious that Rorie laughed outright. “Since my abilities do seem to worry you, how would you feel if I invited Kate Logan over to help?”

Mary nodded and sighed. “I’d rest easier.”

* * *

Rorie stayed in the kitchen until the lunch dishes had been put away. Mary thanked her for helping, then went home to watch her daily soap operas.

Feeling a little lost, Rorie wandered outside and into the stable. Since Clay had already shown her the computer, she decided to spend the afternoon working in his office.

The area was deserted, which went some distance toward reassuring her—but then, she’d assumed it would be. From what she’d observed, a stud farm was a busy place and Clay was bound to be occupied elsewhere. That suited Rorie just fine. She hoped to avoid him as much as possible. In three days she’d be out of his life, leaving hardly a trace, and that was the way she wanted it.

Rorie sat typing in data for about an hour before her neck and shoulders began to cramp. She paused, flexing her muscles, then rotated her head to relieve the building tightness.

“How long have you been here?”

The rough male voice behind her startled Rorie. Her hand flew to her heart and she expelled a shaky breath. “Clay! You frightened me.”

“How long?” he repeated.

“An hour or so.” She glanced at her watch and nodded.

Clay advanced a step toward her, his mouth a thin line of impatience. “I suppose you’re looking for an apology.”

Rorie didn’t answer. She’d learned not to expect anything from him.

“I’ll tell you right now that you’re not going to get one,” he finished gruffly.

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.”