“Can I give you a tour?” Clay gestured toward the field of trees.
“I don’t want to take up your time. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Nothing is more important than spending time with a potential customer. I mean, you have two kids. That’s got to equal at least two trees come Christmastime. Come on,” he coaxed, a winning smile decorating his lips. “Let me show you the place.”
Crap! As irritating as he’d been the previous times they’d met, she’d rather hear that he had nothing more important to do than spend time with her—the woman—not the potential customer. Clay hadn’t hidden his interest in her, and God knew she found him fascinating. But honestly, could they have anything more than something casual? Did she even want that? This was the most attracted, and confused, she’d been since Mark had died.
She shrugged. “Lead the way.”
Clay placed his hand on the small of her back, igniting the jolt of electricity she wasn’t sure she’d ever become accustomed to. Sparks speared from the spot he touched directly to her spine. He led her toward a rolling hill covered in pine trees, carrying on a running commentary as they walked.
“The farm is Mom’s, but I’ve come every year since her husband died to help out during the season. Scott maintains the farm, but he isn’t a fan of anything to do with accounting or the shop. He doesn’t like to deal with the public. This year I moved in earlier, because of Mom’s stroke.” A shadow flickered across Clay’s face. “When the doctor said her rehab could take months, she was more concerned about how the farm would run than how soon she would get better.”
“Where do you usually live?” The question popped out before she realized she’d uttered it. She shouldn’t be asking her client’s son personal questions.
“Don’t laugh, okay? I have a houseboat near Alexandria, Virginia, on the Potomac River. It’s just me, so I don’t require much. Just space to sleep, a power supply for my laptop and an internet connection.”
“No kidding? You live on a houseboat? What kind of work do you do? Fishing guide?”
“I hate to fish.” Clay’s rich, sexy baritone chuckle sent tingles coursing through her. “I’m a military consultant, so proximity to Washington DC and the Pentagon is important. After I got out of the Army, I took up writing. Mostly I make up Ranger war stories. I guess it’s true, you write what you know.”
“Really. What have you published?”
“I’m sure nothing you’ve read. My audience tends to be military strategists. I have a fiction series published under the name of Clay Celestine. You know, for my mom.”
She stopped walking and stared at him, just a little awed. “You’re Clay Celestine? My husband, Mark, read your books all the time. I actually have them boxed in the attic, to give to Mason when he’s older. Were those based on your experiences in the Army?”
“That and current events,” Clay said, taking her arm as they resumed walking along the fencerow to the top of the hill. “I average two novels a year, but this year I’ll be lucky to finish one. Good news is that I can write anywhere, so I make this work.”
They crested the hill and Pippa caught her breath at the size of the field rolling through the valley in front of her. There had to be thousands of trees standing in the late afternoon sunlight. The intoxicating smell of pine and pungent scent of burning wood reminded her of Christmases past. A smoke trail rose in the distance.
“This is… Holy cow! It’s stunning. No wonder the kids were excited about coming today. I can see why Seeley is eager to get back here.”
“I meant to ask you about that earlier. How long do you think it will take? ’Til Mom’s well enough to come home.”
She dragged her gaze away from the field and turned to face Clay. “Honestly, I don’t know. Some patients recover quickly and lead nearly normal lives. Others never get their lives back.” Seeing the quick flash of grief in his eyes, she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m not saying your mom won’t recover. She’s strong and age is in her favor. “
“How long will she have to stay at Elder Pointe? I imagine she’d be happier here surrounded by the things she loves.” Clay gestured at the rows and rows of pine trees.
She looked at the scenery in front of her, seeing truth in his statement. This was exactly where Pippa would want to recuperate if necessary. “I believe she would be too. When her doctor thinks she’s strong enough, he’ll release her.” She knew from experience that doctors were more eager to send a patient home when family was there to help.
“I’ve been thinking I could make some changes to make getting around easier for her. Like handicap rails in the bath, and moving her bed to the room behind the kitchen. It used to be maids’ quarters, but it’s spacious and has its own bath. And I wouldn’t have to worry about her on the stairs.”
Pippa looked down as he slid a hand over hers and laced their fingers together. He was a frustrating man with a hard shell created, she was sure, by his military training. But the echo of hope and love in his voice as he talked about his mom revealed the soft center he worked so hard to hide. She ached to wrap her arms around him and assure him everything would work out—Seeley would make a miraculous recovery and move home next week. Her professional training kept her from making a promise to her client’s son she had no way of keeping.
It also made her tug her hand out of his and take a small step away from him. This was her client’s son. Allowing, or prolonging, the touch between them could be considered unethical by her colleagues.
“If she keeps progressing at today’s pace, the physical therapist can speed up her sessions. But she has to be ready, physically and mentally, to leave Elder Pointe.”
“I know. I’m being impatient. I really hate seeing her in that damn wheelchair. She hurt herself in a water-skiing accident, for Christ’s sake. She’s too young to have a stroke.”
She sympathized with the frustration and bitterness in Clay’s voice. “She is young, but I know women in their twenties who’ve had strokes. The type of injury your mom suffered is more common than you’d think, at every age. But Clay, her prospects for recovery are really good.”
“Would you keep working with her? When she’s released?”
“That depends on her doctors. She has to have orders for music therapy.”
“What if they don’t require it? Do you freelance? I could pay you.”
“In pine trees and chickens? Not sure I could make a mortgage payment on that salary.” Pip laughed.
“If you lose the house, you can move in here. Plenty of room in my…home.”
The naked hunger in Clay’s eyes rocked her back on her heels. Hot desire rolled off him like the clarinet glissando from Rhapsody in Blue, steamy and seductive. Her body tingled in response. He reached for her hand again and stepped forward. She jumped as he put his other hand on her hip, guiding her closer. When pressed together, breast to chest, he dipped his head. “I have to kiss you, right now,” he whispered softly, tickling her ear with his breath.
“Clay, I’m not so—”
“Mommy? Mom! Scott let us feed the chickens with our hands.”
Clay groaned as Mason’s excited voice rose over the hill just before the boy’s head did.
Pippa jumped backward, stumbling a bit on the loose mulch underfoot.
Clay grabbed her arm to steady her body while she took a deep, shaky breath to steady her mind.
“That’s great. I hope they didn’t peck your fingers.” She laughed, self-consciously patting warm cheeks.
Oh God! She would have let him kiss her, right where the kids could find them. As appealing as the idea of kissing this gorgeous man was, she wasn’t ready for her kids to discover their mom lip-locked with him. Not to mention the whole therapist-client issue. She looked at Clay, who scowled at her son and daughter.
And that swung her mood from turned-on to ticked-off like the boom of a timpani.
Hoping her cold fury translated into her voice, she said, “It’s getting
late, kids. What do you say we get your tree and leave Mr. Clay alone?” Ha, success! Even she’d heard the frost covering her words.
Clay looked up, clearly surprised by the sharpness of her tone. He was confused, but she didn’t feel like explaining that she was the only person allowed to scowl at her kids.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to leave yet.”
“Yes, we do.” She kept all inflection out of her voice and turned toward the barn.
“Dammit, Pippa.”
“Language.” All three Sanders admonished in unison.
Scott’s barking laughter rang out while Clay stared at her.
“Pippa, wait. Scott can take them to get the damn tree. Oh, hell!” He sputtered to a stop when she glared at him. “Fine, but you have to promise to plant the trees tonight. It’s perfect planting weather.”
“We don’t have time tonight.”
“You can’t have them unless you agree to plant them tonight.”
“Are you serious?”
The look on his face bordered on belligerent. He turned an earnest gaze on her children. “The moon is full tonight. That’s best time. They grow faster, like magic, if you plant by the light of the moon.”
“That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard.” She looked at him skeptically.
“Well, that’s my condition. Plant them today or you don’t get them.”
“You insufferable—” She bit back her protest and nodded. Agreeing with him seemed like the fastest way to get out of there. She wondered what the heck Clay was up to as she herded the kids toward the barn.
Scott scooped Mason onto his shoulder to give him a ride, leaving Mia pouting. Clay caught up with them halfway down the hill and Mia squealed delightedly when he grabbed her up for a piggyback ride, then sprinted after Scott and Mason, racing them to the bottom.
Pippa followed more slowly, collecting her emotions, settling herself down. How dare he frown at her kids for just being children? It wasn’t their fault he’d decided to try to sneak a kiss. A kiss she would have let him steal. Her stomach still tingled the way it had when Clay slipped an arm around her to pull her closer, before the children demonstrated their impeccable timing. She had been so aroused by his almost-kiss, she would have let him take her to the ground right there. Something that hadn’t happened since the last time Mark had been home on leave, when she’d gotten pregnant with the twins. Her cheeks flamed again when she thought about how good Clay’s hard body had felt pressed against hers in all the right places. She was heading for another sleepless night, brought about by fantasies of being in Clay’s arms.
By the time she arrived at the car, Scott had already strapped the kids into their seats and Clay had provided the trees. A deep sigh welled up from her toes when Clay made the kids promise again to plant them that evening. Would this day ever end? She nodded and murmured her thanks toward both men and reversed out of the parking space.
In her rearview mirror, she saw Clay watch her all the way down the rutted lane.
8
Pippa nestled deeper into the corner of the sofa, staring blankly at the medical journal in her lap. This was her fifth time through and she still couldn’t comprehend the words. It would certainly help if she could focus solely on the content, but her mind wandered to the events of the afternoon, culminating with the trip to Sleepy T Farms.
The kids had chattered all the way home about the trees, the chickens, the valley, Mr. Scott and Mr. Clay. As soon as she’d parked in the drive, they’d dragged her to the back yard to dig holes for their trees. She’d tried to put them off until the weekend, claiming they’d have more time to do it right. But the twins wouldn’t be stalled. Mia teared up, begging to plant the saplings. Mr. Clay had made them promise, she argued, and it wasn’t good to break one of those. The tears would have been easy enough to deal with, but when Mason hugged his sister to ease the distress, her resolve cratered. Seeing her children unhappy always carved a divot in her soul.
They’d dug two small holes, planted and watered the seedlings. Then Pip fixed breakfast for dinner, helped the twins finish homework, read a story and tucked them in.
And for the past thirty minutes, she’d been nursing a cup of tea while she stared at the first page of an article she wanted to read. Attempting to ignore thoughts of long waving hair, lean hips and a hard-in-all-the-right-places body. The words on the page couldn’t compete with the picture in her mind.
God, where had this ridiculous attraction to the frustrating man come from? Something so undeniably wrong shouldn’t feel so sinfully right. He was the son of a patient. And when Seeley recovered enough to live on her own again, he’d be like dust in the wind. If Seeley continued to improve the way she’d demonstrated today, the time until Clay hit the road could be measured in months, if not weeks.
Even if she could justify having a fling with Clay, she shouldn’t risk getting involved with him. Any entanglement with him would be short-lived and most likely hurtful when it ended. Not to mention her fear that her kids could get attached to someone who’d leave. Years of practice putting their welfare above hers couldn’t be discarded, no matter how strong the attraction between them. That’s the way it should be. There’d be time enough for physical relationships when they went away to college. Twelve years from now.
She tossed the magazine aside with a disgusted sigh. Time to give it up for the night. She walked to the kitchen, rinsed out her cup and set it in the sink.
A thud in the backyard set her heart to racing.
She peered through the window over the sink, trying to see into the darkness. Those stupid raccoons must be back. The critters had figured out how to open her trash bins, looking for food. She jumped when she heard the sound again.
But what if it wasn’t, her mom mind argued. It could be a peeping Tom and here she stood, illuminated by the light over the sink. She took a hasty step backward, then lunged forward again, snapping off the light. A glance at the door that opened to the backyard calmed her a little. She’d shut it earlier when the temperature had dropped and it was still firmly closed and locked. Granite Pointe might be a small town, but she scrupulously locked the door each night. A woman living alone with small children couldn’t be too careful.
Walking over to the door, she flipped on the outdoor floodlights, illuminating all but the farthest corners of the yard. The shovel Mason had leaned up against the garage wall, instead of putting it away as he’d been told, lay on its side. Other than that, nothing was disturbed and no one stared back at her through the windows. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned the lights off and went to bed.
To dream, she was afraid, of the raw hunger on Clay Mathers’ face as he lowered his lips to hers.
* * * *
Snick, shussh, swish.
Pippa rolled over and squinted at the glowing face of the bedside clock. Was it really midnight? After tossing and turning for hours, she felt as if she’d been asleep only moments before something had awakened her. Lying there, drowsy and disoriented, she waited for the sound again.
Snick, swish.
That was more than the breeze shifting through the trees, rattling dying leaves to create the music of fall. It could be raccoons, returning with friends. But she knew there’d be no more sleep for her until the rhythmic sound had been identified. Not bothering to stifle a huge yawn, Pippa pushed the quilt back, swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
Sharp cold stung the soles of her feet and she hurried to pull on slippers. Grabbing a sweatshirt, she shrugged the heavy fleece over the thin t-shirt she’d worn to bed as she walked down the dark hallway toward the kitchen.
Snick, shussh swish.
Nearing the kitchen, the sounds remained quiet, but took on a more defined rhythm. Definitely less invading animal-esque…almost mechanical. She padded toward the back door. Through the large pane of glass, movement near the garage drew her attention. Grabbing the baseball bat Mason had left behind the door after being told to
pick it up, she flipped the switch and flooded the yard with light.
Clay Mathers stood next to a pile of dirt, shovel in hand and wearing a surprised look.
He ran an arm across his forehead, then cupped his hand over his brow, squinting at the house.
She leaned the bat against the wall, unlocked and opened the door, and stepped out on to the patio.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, pitching her voice low.
“Aw, shit,” he said. “I wanted to do this without waking you.”
“Well, aw shoot, that’s a fail,” she muttered, striding across the yard, angry, but oddly aroused as she approached the subject of her dreams. “You’re digging holes in my yard, in the middle of the night, and the only thing you’re worried about is waking me?”
“I have a plan. This is why I needed you to plant the trees tonight.” He gestured to the hole where they’d planted a seedling earlier.
Except now, instead of the small sprout they’d tucked into the earth before bedtime, a miniature Christmas tree rose out of the ground.
Her mouth worked, but no words came out as she took in the five-foot-tall tree. She stared at it, then turned her gaze to Clay. Who leaned on his shovel, grinning. Her head swiveled from the hole to the man and laughter bubble up from the bottom of her belly. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound once Clay’s plan became clear to her.
“Oh my God, that’s brilliant.”
“I wanted to replace the small trees with these magically taller ones. I thought Mason and Mia would get a charge out of it.” Clay kept his voice low, stepping closer to her. “And you too. I figured you’d guess what happened, but I thought the initial surprise would be fun.”
She grinned and whispered back, “This is just…inspired. Where in the world did you get this idea?”
“My dad did it for me right after I turned six. It was the most awesome surprise ever. He snuck out of the house one night and replaced a sapling I’d gotten for Earth Day with a much larger tree. I was over the moon when I looked out the window the next morning.”
Hearts in Harmony Page 7