“Your emotions were running high at the time.” Rorie’s had been, too; she understood Kate’s pain because she’d been in so much pain herself.
“But I was pretending to be your friend when in reality I almost hated you.” Kate paused, her shoulders shaking with emotion. “That was the crazy part. I couldn’t help liking you and wanting to be your friend, and at the same time I was eaten alive with jealousy and selfish resentment.”
“It’s not in you to hate anyone, Kate.”
“I…I didn’t think it was, either, but I was wrong. I can be a terrible person, Rorie. Facing up to that hasn’t been easy.” She took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Then…a few days after I mailed that letter to you, Clay came over to the house wanting to talk. Almost immediately I realized I’d lost him. Nothing I could say or do would change the way he felt about you. I said some awful things to Clay that night…. He’s forgiven me, but I need your forgiveness, too.”
“Oh, Kate, of course, but it isn’t necessary. I understand. I truly do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, dabbing her eyes with the crumpled tissue. “Now I’ve got that off my chest, I feel a whole lot better.”
“But if Clay had broken your engagement when he came to San Francisco, why didn’t he say anything to me?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know what happened while he was gone, but he hasn’t been himself since. He never has been a talkative person, but he seemed to draw even further into himself when he came back. He’s working himself into an early grave, everyone says. Mary’s concerned about him—we all are. Mary said if you didn’t come soon, she was going after you herself.”
“Mary said that?” The housekeeper had been the very person who’d convinced Rorie she was doing the right thing by getting out of Clay’s life.
“Well, are you going to him? Or are you planning to stick around here and listen to me blubber all day? If you give me any more time,” she said, forcing a laugh, “I’ll manage to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.” Kate stood abruptly, pushing back the kitchen chair. Her arms were folded around her waist, her eyes bright with tears.
“Kate,” Rorie murmured, “you are a dear, dear friend. I owe you more than it’s possible to repay.”
“The only thing you owe me is one godchild—and about fifty years of happiness with Clay Franklin. Now get out of here before I start weeping in earnest.”
Kate opened the kitchen door and Rorie gave her an impulsive hug before hurrying out.
Luke Rivers was standing in the yard, apparently waiting for her. When she came out of the house he sauntered over to her car and held open the driver’s door. “Did everything go all right with Kate?”
Rorie nodded.
“Well,” he said soberly, “there may be more rough waters ahead for her. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m buying out the Circle L.” Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “She’s going to be fine, though. I’ll make sure of that.” He extended his hand, gripping hers in a firm handshake. “Let me be the first to welcome you to our community.”
“Thank you.”
He touched the rim of his hat in farewell, then glanced toward the house. “I think I’ll go inside and see how Kate’s doing.”
Rorie’s gaze skipped from the foreman to the house and then back again. “You do that.” If Luke Rivers had anything to say about it, Kate wouldn’t be suffering from a broken heart for long. Rorie had suspected Luke was in love with Kate. But, like her, he was caught in a trap, unable to reveal his feelings. Perhaps now Kate’s eyes would be opened—Rorie fervently hoped so.
The drive from the Logans’ place to the Franklins’ took no more than a few minutes. Rorie parked her car behind the house, her heart pounding. When she climbed out, the only one there to greet her was Mary.
“About time you got here,” the housekeeper complained, marching down the porch steps with a vengeance.
“Could this be the apple-pie blue-ribbon holder of Nightingale, Oregon?”
Mary actually blushed, and Rorie laughed. “I thought you’d never want to see the likes of me again,” she teased.
“Fiddlesticks.” The weathered face broke into a smile.
“I’m still a city girl,” Rorie warned.
“That’s fine, ’cause you got the heart of a country girl.” Wiping her hands dry on her apron, Mary reached for Rorie and hugged her.
After one brief, bone-crushing squeeze, she set her free. “I ’m a meddling old woman, sure enough, and I suspect the good Lord intends to teach me more than one lesson in the next year or two. I’d best tell you that I never should’ve said those things I did about Kate being the right woman for Clay.”
“Mary, you spoke out of concern. I know that.”
“Clay doesn’t love Kate,” she continued undaunted, “but my heavens, he does love you. That boy’s been pining his heart out for want of you. He hasn’t been the same from the minute you drove out of here all those weeks ago.”
Rorie had suffered, too, but she didn’t mention that to Mary. Instead, she slipped her arm around the housekeeper’s broad waist and together they strolled toward the house.
“Clay’s gone for the day, but he’ll be back within the hour.”
“An hour,” Rorie repeated. She’d waited all this time; another sixty minutes shouldn’t matter.
“Dinner will be ready then, and it’s not like Clay or Skip to miss a meal. Dinner’s been at six every night since I’ve been cooking for this family, and that’s a good many years now.” Mary’s mouth formed a lopsided grin. “Now what we’ll do is this. You be in the dining room waiting for him and I’ll tell him he’s got company.”
“But won’t he notice my car?” Rorie twisted around, gesturing at her old white Toyota—her own car this time—parked within plain sight.
Mary shook her head. “I doubt it. He’s never seen your car, so far as I know, only that fancy sports car. Anyway, the boy’s been working himself so hard, he’ll be too tired to notice much of anything.”
Mary opened the back door and Rorie stepped inside the kitchen. As she did, the house seemed to fold its arms around her in welcome. She paused, breathing in the scent of roast beef and homemade biscuits. It might not be sourdough and Golden Gate Park roses, but it felt right. More than right.
“Do you need me to do anything?” Rorie asked.
Mary frowned, then nodded. “There ’s just one thing I want you to do—make Clay happy.”
“Oh, Mary, I intend to start doing that the second he walks through that door.”
An hour later, almost to the minute, Rorie heard Skip and Clay come into the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner?” Skip asked immediately.
“It’s on the table. Now wash your hands.”
Rorie heard the teenager grumble as he headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
“How’d the trip go?” Mary asked Clay.
He mumbled something Rorie couldn’t hear.
“The new librarian stopped by to say hello. Old man Logan and Kate sent her over—thought you might like to meet her.”
“I don’t. I hope you got rid of her. I’m in no mood for company.”
“Nope,” Mary said. “Fact is, I invited her to stay for dinner. The least you can do is wipe that frown off your face and go introduce yourself.”
Rorie stood just inside the dining room, her heart ready to explode. By the time Clay stepped into the room, tears had blurred her vision and she could hardly make out the tall, familiar figure that blocked the doorway.
She heard his swift intake of breath, and the next thing she knew she was crushed in Clay’s loving arms.
Seventeen
Rorie was locked so securely in Clay’s arms that for a moment she couldn’t draw a breath. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was being hugged by the man she loved and he was holding on to her as though he didn’t plan to ever let her go.
Clay kissed her again and again, the way a st
arving man took his first bites of food, initially hesitant, then eager. The palms of Rorie’s hands were pressed against his chest and she felt the quick surge of his heart. His own hand was gentle on her hair, caressing it, running his fingers through it.
“Rorie…Rorie, I can’t believe you’re here.”
Rorie felt the power of his emotions, and they were strong enough to rock her, body and soul. This man loved her. He was honest and hardworking, she knew all that, but even more, Clay Franklin was good, with an unselfishness and a loyalty that had touched her profoundly. In an age of ambitious, hardhearted, vain men, she had inadvertently stumbled on this rare man of character. Her life would never be the same.
Clay exhaled a deep sigh, and his hands framed her face as he pulled his head back to gaze into her eyes. The lines that marked his face seemed more deeply incised now, and she felt another pang of sorrow for the pain he’d endured.
“Mary wasn’t teasing me, was she? You are the new librarian?”
Rorie nodded, smiling up at him, her happiness shining from her eyes. “There ’s no going back for me. I’ve moved out of my apartment, packed everything I own and quit my job with barely a week’s notice.”
Rorie had fallen in love with Clay, caught in the magic of one special night when a foal had been born. But her feelings stretched far beyond the events of a single evening and the few short days they’d spent together. Her love for Clay had become an essential part of her. Rorie adored him and would feel that way for as long as her heart continued to beat.
Clay’s frown deepened and his features tightened briefly. “What about Dan? I thought you were going to marry him.”
“I couldn’t,” she said, then smiled tenderly, tracing his face with her hands, loving the feel of him beneath her fingertips.
“But—”
“Clay,” she interrupted, “why didn’t you tell me when I saw you in San Francisco that you’d broken your engagement to Kate?” Her eyes clouded with anguish at the memory, at the anxiety they’d caused each other. It had been such senseless heartache, and they’d wasted precious time. “Couldn ’t you see how miserable I was?”
A grimace of pain moved across his features. “All I noticed was how right you and that stockbroker looked together. You both kept telling me what a bright future he had. I couldn’t begin to offer you the things he could. And if that wasn’t enough, it was all too apparent that Dan was in love with you.” Gently Clay smoothed her hair away from her temple. “I could understand what it meant to love you, and, between the two of us, he seemed the better man.”
Rorie lowered her face, pressing her forehead against the hollow of his shoulder. She groaned in frustration. “How could you even think such a thing, when I love you so much?”
Clay moved her face so he could meet her eyes. “But, Rorie…” He stopped and a muscle jerked in his jaw. “Dan can give you far more than I’ll ever be able to. He’s got connections, background, education. A few years down the road, he’s going to be very wealthy—success is written all over him. He may have his faults, but basically he’s a fine man.”
“He is a good person and he’s going to make some woman a good husband. But it won’t be me.”
“He could give you the kinds of things I may never be able to afford….”
“Clay Franklin, do you love me or not?”
Clay exhaled slowly, watching her. “You know the answer to that.”
“Then stop arguing with me. I don’t love Dan Rogers. I love you.”
Still his frown persisted. “You belong in the city.”
“I belong with you,” she countered.
He said nothing for a long moment. “I can’t argue with that,” he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “You do belong here, because God help me, I haven’t got the strength to let you walk away a second time.”
Clay kissed her again, his mouth sliding over hers as though he still couldn’t believe she was in his arms. She held on to him with all her strength, soaking up his love. She was at home in his arms. It was where she belonged and where she planned to stay.
The sound of someone entering the room filtered through to Rorie’s consciousness, but she couldn’t bring herself to move out of Clay’s arms.
“Rorie!” Skip cried, his voice high and excited, “What are you doing here?”
Rorie finally released Clay and turned toward the teenager who had come to her rescue that August afternoon.
“Hello, Skip,” she said softly. Clay slipped his arm around her waist and she smiled up at him, needing his touch to anchor her in the reality of their love.
“Are you back for good?” Skip wanted to know.
She nodded, but before she could answer Clay said, “Meet Nightingale’s new librarian.” His arm tightened around her.
The smile that lit the teenager’s eyes was telling. “So you’re going to stick around this time.” He blew out a gusty sigh. “It ’s a damn good thing, because since you left, my brother’s been as hard to live with as a rattlesnake.”
“I’d say that was a bit of an exaggeration,” Clay muttered, clearly not approving of his brother’s choice of description.
“You shouldn’t have gone,” Skip said, sighing again. “Especially before the county fair.”
Rorie laughed. “You ’re never going to forgive me for missing that, are you?”
“You should’ve been here, Rorie. It was great.”
“I’ll be here next summer,” she promised.
“The fact is, Rorie’s going to be around for a lifetime of summers,” Clay informed his brother. “We ’re going to be married as soon we can arrange it.” His eyes held hers but they were filled with questions, as if he half-expected her, even now, to refuse him.
Rorie swallowed the emotion that bobbed so readily to the surface and nodded wildly, telling him with one look that she’d marry him any time he wanted.
Skip crossed his arms over his chest and gave them a smug look. “I knew something was going on between the two of you. Every time I was around you guys it was like getting zapped with one of those stun guns.”
“We were that obvious?” It still troubled Rorie that Kate had known, especially since both she and Clay had tried so hard to hide their feelings.
Skip’s shrug was carefree. “I don’t think so, but I don’t care about love and all that.”
“Give it time, little brother,” Clay murmured, “because when it hits, it’ll knock you for a loop.”
Mary stepped into the room, carrying a platter of meat. “So the two of you are getting hitched?”
Their laughter signaled a welcome release from all the tensions of the past weeks. Clay pulled out Rorie’s chair, then sat down beside her. His hand reached for hers, lacing their fingers together. “Yes,” he said, still smiling, “we’ll be married as soon as we can get the license and talk to the pastor.”
Mary pushed the basket of biscuits closer to Skip. “Well, you don’t need to fret—I’ll stay for a couple more years until I can teach this child the proper way to feed a man. She may be pretty to look at, but she don’t know beans about whipping up a decent meal.”
“I’d appreciate that, Mary,” Rorie said. “I could do with a few cooking lessons.”
The housekeeper’s smile broadened. “Now, go ahead and eat before the potatoes get cold and the gravy gets lumpy.”
Skip didn’t need any further inducement. He helped himself to the biscuits, piling three on the edge of his plate.
Mary playfully slapped his hand. “I ’ve got apple pie for dessert, so don’t go filling yourselves up on my buttermilk biscuits.” Her good humor was evident as she surveyed the table, glancing at everyone’s plate, then bustled back to the kitchen.
Rorie did her best to sample a little of everything. Although the meal was delicious, she was too excited to do anything as mundane as eat.
After dinner, Skip made himself scarce. Mary delivered a tray with two coffee cups to the living room, where Clay and Rorie sat close
together on the couch. “You two have lots to talk about, so you might as well drink this while you’re doing it.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Clay said, exchanging a smile with Rorie.
The older woman set the tray down, then patted the fine gray hair at the sides of her head. “I want you to know how pleased I am for you both. Have you set the date yet?”
“We’re talking about that now,” Clay answered. “We ’re going to call Rorie’s family in Arizona this evening and discuss it with them.”
Mary nodded. “She ’s not the woman I would’ve chosen for you, her being a city girl and all, but she’ll make you happy.”
Clay’s hand clasped Rorie’s. “I know.”
“She’s got a generous soul.” The housekeeper looked at Rorie and her gaze softened. “Fill this house with children—and with love. It’s been quiet far too long.”
The phone rang in the kitchen and, with a regretful glance over her shoulder, Mary hurried to answer it. A moment later, she stuck her head around the kitchen door.
“It’s for you, Clay. Long distance.”
Clay’s grimace was apologetic. “I ’d better get it.”
“You don’t need to worry that I’ll leave,” Rorie said with a laugh. “You ’re stuck with me for a lot of years, Clay Franklin.”
He kissed her before he stood up, then headed toward the kitchen. Rorie sighed and leaned back, cradling her mug. By chance, her gaze fell on the photograph of Clay’s parents, which rested on top of the piano. Once more, Rorie felt the pull of his mother’s eyes. She smiled now, understanding so many things. The day she’d planned to leave Elk Run, this same photograph had captured her attention. The moment she’d walked into this house, Rorie had belonged to Clay and he to her. Somehow, looking at his mother’s picture, she’d sensed that. She belonged to this home and this family.
Clay returned a few minutes later, with Blue trailing him. “Just a call from the owner of one of the horses I board,” he said, as he sat down beside Rorie and placed his arm around her shoulder. His eyes followed hers to the photo. “Mom would have liked you.”
Rorie sipped her coffee and smiled. “I know I would have loved her.” Setting her cup aside, she reached up and threw both arms around Clay’s neck. Gazing into his eyes, she brought his mouth down to hers.
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