Clay (Texas Rascals Book 11)

by Lori Wilde

  At the sight of her uncle, Molly’s face dissolved into a grin, and he had Tobie’s heart singing.

  Edward’s eyes narrowed as he got to his feet and turned to face Clay. The two men sized up each other like wary roosters circling for a fight. Thrusting out his chest, Edward glared down the end of his patrician nose at Clay.

  The difference between the men was acute. Where Edward was formal and fussy in his flawless suit and expensive Italian loafers, Clay was beyond casual in faded blue jeans torn at the knees, bare feet, and sleep creases on his cheek.

  Edward held himself with the prim dignity of royalty, while Clay folded his arms over his chest and affected a bad-boy slouch.

  The dissimilarity deepened.

  Edward’s haircut was exact, not a hair out of place, whereas Clay’s unruly locks were shaggy and bed-tousled. Even their speech was in opposition. Edward uttered stiff, well-thought-out words. Clay said whatever was on his mind.

  With the two of them in front of her, there was no comparison. Clay was the one who made her pulse pound, and her breath go shallow.

  His was the image etched into her mind.

  Edward represented material wealth, security, stability. Clay personified simplicity, spontaneity, freedom. All her life, Tobie had convinced herself she wanted what Edward could offer, while in her heart she desperately needed the things only someone like Clay could provide.

  How could she have been so wrong for so long?

  Clay rounded the rocking chair with the calculated nonchalance of a predator stalking his quarry, placing himself between Edward and Tobie with the baby.

  “Tobie’s with me now,” he said, and she had no urge to contradict him.

  “Do I know you?” Edward frowned.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Edward shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I’ve seen you somewhere before but not in ragged jeans and no shirt.”

  “You must be mistaken,” Clay said firmly.

  Shifting his gaze from Clay to Tobie, Edward cleared his throat. “Is it true? Are you with him now?”

  “Yes,” she said, unprepared for her own answer. “It’s over between us, Edward. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. But we’re finished.”

  “Are you sure, Tobie?”

  “You heard the lady,” Clay growled and thrust out his chest.

  True to his nature, Edward refused to battle him. Lifting his chin, he stopped long enough to scoop the roses off the small table. Turning, he left with his spine stiff and his nose in the air.

  “So that’s Dr. Edward Bennet,” Clay said, once Edward had driven away.

  “Yes, but I would have preferred to handle things my way.”

  “What in the heck did you see in him?” Clay pulled a face.

  His gloating, cock-of-the-walk manner irritated her. She and Edward were through, yes, but she still hadn’t fully decided about Clay. Then it occurred to her that Clay was jealous.

  “Edward’s very structured and dependable, unlike some people I could name.” She leveled him a cool glance.

  “Oh-ho, is that a jab at me?”

  “Take it as you will.”

  “Face facts, Tobie, moolah attracted you to Dr. Bennet, plain and simple.”

  “That’s not true,” she denied. How could one man infuriate her, and yet excite her like no other?

  “It doesn’t matter. Ancient history. Let’s go make breakfast.” He extended a hand.

  She hesitated and ducked her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  He kneeled in front of the rocking chair. Leaning over, he hooked one finger under her chin, tugging her face up to meet his eyes.

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  His fingers on her chin felt so erotic. Helplessly, Tobie let him tip her head back. She could have shifted Molly so that the baby was in her lap between them instead of tucked against Tobie’s side, but she didn’t.

  Caught up like a kite in a high wind, she followed his movements, allowing his mesmerizing charms to reel her in.

  “I could so kiss you right now, Dr. Avery,” he murmured, low and throaty.

  She was about to tell him that was perfectly fine by her, but then Molly grinned and held out her arms to him.

  Clay grinned and reached for his niece. With the baby in one arm, he held out his other hand to help Tobie from the rocker. As she stood, he slid his arm around her shoulders. The sensation felt good.

  Too good.

  She stepped away.

  He looked a little hurt but said nothing.

  Tobie led the way into the cabin. She stopped in the doorway when she saw a picnic basket with a folded blanket on top sitting on the coffee table with a bottle of iced champagne beside it.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Champagne brunch.”

  “What for?”

  “To celebrate the recycler.”

  “When did you do all this?” she asked, amazed.

  “While you were sitting on the porch with Molly.”

  “Wow.”

  “Don’t be so impressed,” he said. “It’s just egg salad sandwiches and chocolate croissants I bought from the bakery yesterday.”

  “Too late, I’m already impressed.”

  “Do you want to carry Molly?” he asked. “Or the picnic basket?”

  “Always Molly.” She grinned and took the baby from him.

  He took the champagne from the ice bucket, wiped it down with a paper towel, and slipped it into the basket. Then he tucked the blanket under one arm and looped the picnic basket handle over his elbow and ushered her back outside.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Willow Creek.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Short walk over that rise.”

  “Nice.” It had been years since she’d had an outdoor picnic and never a champagne brunch by a creek.

  Clay guided her out of the gate that sectioned off the cabin from the acreage stretching out before them. It was warm on this spring morning, but not too hot. There was a nice breeze, and the walk was pleasant.

  He walked close beside her, and she caught his scent. He smelled like charged ions during an electrical storm—sharp, tangy, stimulating.

  Molly babbled in Tobie’s arms and made grasping motions at a butterfly that flitted past them on its way to the colorful zinnias growing along the fence row.

  They crested the hill just behind the cabin. Down below, a little creek, created from the spring run-off from the Davis Mountains, curved gently across the valley. Willow trees grew along the banks, their long, slender branches trailing in the water. Spread out across the land, wildflowers sprouted a beautiful carpet of bloom.

  A sweet oasis in the Chihuahuan Desert.

  She studied his profile as they walked down the hill toward the creek. The man was such a paradox. One minute strong and forceful, his chin firm and uncompromising, as when he’d stared down Edward. That was the tenacious side of him that kept him plugging on with his inventions long after lesser men would have surrendered. But in the next moment, his jaw would soften, and he’d looked gentle and concerned as he had last night after she’d fled from his embrace.

  And the tender way he was with Molly.

  “Here we are,” Clay said, setting down the basket to spread out the blanket in the cool shadows of the willow trees.

  The cerulean sky, the dancing wildflowers, the butterflies flitting from blossom to blossom conspired to create a magical setting.

  When Clay finished spreading out the blanket, she sank to her knees beside him. Molly babbled, squirming to get free. Tobie settled her down. The baby squealed with glee and wiggled her bare toes in the gentle breeze.

  Clay lifted the basket lid and took out egg sandwiches and chocolate croissants. “Pastry or sandwich?”

  “Croissant,” she said. “Since it’s a celebration. Did you make the egg salad yourself?”

  “Yep. I boiled the eggs last night.”

  “So, you’d planned this celebration all along?” She canted h
er head to study him.

  “Nah, Molly likes egg salad. But I have had the champagne in the fridge for several months now. I knew I was close.”

  “You have such confidence in yourself.”

  “You gotta believe to make dreams come true.”

  Her father had believed in himself, but his dreams had never come true.

  “Champagne?” Clay removed the bottle and two plastic glasses from the basket.

  “Just a bit. It is ten o’clock in the morning.”

  He peeled off the foil wrapping and popped the cork. Champagne fizzed down his hand. The sound, the dry smell of champagne, brought memories to Tobie’s mind. How many nights had she lain in bed dreaming of the days when she’d sip champagne and eat caviar on the French Riviera with the love of her life?

  She smiled at her silly childhood whimsy. Eating homemade egg salad sandwiches by the creek on the Trueblood ranch with Clay and Molly was a million times better than her girlish idea of love.

  Tobie caught a peek at the champagne label. Expensive stuff. How could he afford it?

  “I decided it was worth the splurge,” he said as if reading her mind. Wiping his hand on a paper napkin, he poured the two plastic glasses half-full and extended one to her. “Just for a celebration like this. It’s a perfect day. The recycler works. It’s springtime. I’m here with Molly… and you.”

  Ducking to avoid meeting his eye, Tobie took a sip of the heady beverage. Oh gosh, she was feeling so many things and had no idea how to process them all.

  “A toast?” He held up his glass.

  Scooting closer, she rested the rim of her glass against his.

  “To Dr. Tobie Avery. The woman who was there when I needed her most.” His voice held a note of pure admiration.

  She swallowed hard, fought back a fierce blush. “I can’t take any credit.”

  “You’ve been a godsend with Molly,” he said firmly. “Here’s to many more things shared.” He clinked his glass against hers again.

  What was he saying? An odd sensation twisted her chest. Goodness, she wanted that, too!

  “Yep, we hope Dr. Tobie stays around for a long time, isn’t that right, Miss Molly?”

  The baby, happily chewing on a teething biscuit, grinned.

  They sipped champagne and nibbled on egg salad and chocolate croissants. Tobie’s thoughts whirled, as crazy as the champagne bubbles tingling her nose. She was so attracted to Clay, and yet she feared it too.

  “This is the best celebration I ever had,” Clay said.

  “Really?” Tobie teased.

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “You should have seen the wingding my parents threw when I patented the No-Drip Faucet. They invited the most prominent...” His voice trailed off.

  “What?” Tobie prompted. “I want to hear. If egg salad and croissants with me and Molly is the best celebration you ever had, I want to know about all the others.”

  Oops. He’d almost spilled the beans about his parents.

  “My folks invited all their friends, and we barbecued in the backyard.” What Clay couldn’t tell her was that a United States senator had been among the guests, as well as a movie star, two NBA stars, and a world-famous legal eagle. Or that the catered affair had cost six thousand dollars.

  Despite the hoopla and exclusive guest list, he’d meant every word when he said this private celebration with Molly and her meant more to him than the showiest extravagance his parents could conjure.

  Eventually, he knew he would have to tell Tobie the truth about his identity, but not now. The time wasn’t right.

  The dry, sweet taste of champagne clung to his tongue as he tucked their empty glasses and napkins into the picnic basket. Stretching out, he laced his fingers together and cradled the back of his head in his palms.

  Songbirds sang in the willow branches. A squirrel raced across the lawn, his tail bouncing as he ran. Clay glanced over and caught Tobie watching him from the corner of her eye.

  “C’mere,” he invited, holding out an arm to her.

  She hesitated only a moment before allowing him to tuck her into the warm curve of his body. They lay nestled together, watching Molly crawl about on the blanket.

  At that moment, with Tobie’s violet-scented hair teasing his nostrils and the sound of his niece’s laughter floating on the breeze, Clay felt content. On Tuesday, after Anne picked up Molly on Monday afternoon, he would travel to Houston to see a patent attorney with his invention in tow.

  He was whisper-close to achieving his dreams. A recycler in every home.

  A soft happy sigh escaped Tobie.

  Rising up on one elbow, he looked down at her.

  She blushed like a bride: shy, hopeful.

  He dipped his head and claimed her lips, remembering the intensity of the night before when it had been all he could do to keep from taking her to bed. But she hadn’t been ready, and now he was glad. Tobie was a special lady, and he wanted their first time together to be something special.

  The kiss was light, feathery, undemanding. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide.

  One drink from her lips was hardly enough, but it had to do for now.

  He settled back down on the blanket and drew her closer. “Look at the clouds,” he whispered. “I see a cowboy riding a horse.”

  “This is a dreamer’s game,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dad used to play it with me. He saw lions and castles and dragons. I saw nothing but clouds.”

  “Aw, come on, squint your eyes and try really hard.” He pointed at the sky. “Doesn’t that look like a horse? See the proud head? The galloping hooves?”

  “No. Sorry, Clay, I’m just not the whimsical type.”

  “That’s okay,” he whispered. “Somebody has to have their feet on the ground.”

  With her head resting in the curve of his arm, Clay admitted he was feeling all kinds of good feelings for her.

  What did she feel for him?

  The question caught in his throat. She wanted him. He knew that much. But beyond physical attraction, he couldn’t say. But she was here with him and not Edward. Clay tried to imagine the stuffy plastic surgeon lying on a blanket, baby drool on his shirt, and almost laughed out loud. He couldn’t imagine it, and he was the one with the big imagination.

  Still, it worried him that Edward had shown up at his house attempting to woo her back right from underneath Clay’s nose. Would he try again? Did Tobie still have strong feelings for her ex?

  “This has been a really nice brunch, Clay, but I really do have to go buy a car before Monday,” she said, breaking the spell the morning had woven. Sitting up, she brushed bread crumbs from her clothes.

  He got to his feet and gathered up the picnic supplies. Tobie stood up. Their eyes met, and his heart tripped. She was so beautiful it took his breath away.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your company,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, but she didn’t say what he longed to hear her say. That she enjoyed being with him too.

  “I don’t know what Molly and I would have done without you.”

  “You’d have called a nanny.” She laughed.

  Gosh, the sound of her laugh did the most amazing things to him. He almost said, You’re probably right, but then realized he was pretending to be a poor cowboy. “I couldn’t afford a nanny.”

  The minute the words were out of his mouth though, he wished he hadn’t said them. Icing the lie would not make it any easier to tell her the truth. He wished he’d never started the whole charade with her.

  He tried to imagine how he’d feel if he learned Tobie had been lying to him, and he didn’t like it.

  “Tobie.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “Yes?” She gazed deeply into his eyes.

  Clay gulped. If he told her now, she most likely would not stay at his place for the rest of the weekend, and he wasn’t kidding when he said he needed her. But th
is wasn’t just about the baby. It was about the way she made him feel. As if he could surmount any and all obstacles in his path, as long as she was by his side.

  Her eyes widened. “What is it, Clay?”

  “I… um…” He placed a palm to his nape and ducked his head. Inwardly, he cringed at the thought of the disappointment that would cross her face when she realized he’d been lying to her. Would she think he’d been intentionally taking advantage of her good nature? Most likely.

  Abort the honesty. You can tell her later. After Anne gets Molly. After the patent attorney.

  “What’s wrong?” She sounded so kind, looked so concerned.

  It was a knife to his gut. Sweat beaded his brow, and the sun seemed suddenly unbearably hot. “I… I…”

  “Yes?” She bobbed her head, encouraging him to go on.

  “I’m not…” The words wouldn’t come. They kept getting jammed up in his throat, and all he could think was, She’s gonna leave me flat when she finds out I’m a big fat liar.

  “I don’t bite, Clay. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Um… I think Molly needs changing.”

  As if she knew they were talking about her, Molly squealed and plucked a handful of grass. She opened her mouth, but Tobie bent down before she could eat it.

  “Shoo, shoo, darling. We don’t want to eat that,” she said in a gentle voice.

  “See,” Clay said. “With a nine-month-old, you can never have too many hands. You’re our hero, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Tobie scooped Molly into her arms, then straightened to face him again, her eyes narrowed, the smile she’d given the baby gone from her face. “I’m going to let this go for now, Mr. Barton, but after we get back from buying me a new car, you and I are going to talk.”

  He gulped again. Twice. “About what?”

  “Whatever secret it is you’ve been keeping from me.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “Deal?”

  “Deal,” he mumbled.

  “All right then.” With Molly in her arms, she turned and started walking back to the cabin.

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