Heart of Clay

by Shanna Hatfield

  Troubled by her memories, Callan stared at the wrinkled paper in her hand. The holidays must be making her sentimental, or at the very least mental. I don’t have time for these trips down memory lane.

  She folded the note and started to toss it into the garbage can, but instead stuffed it into a pocket of her purse. Digging deeper in her desk drawer, she finally fished out her pen. The only reason it meant so much to her was that it was a gift from Clay. The pen was beautiful and expensive, and he’d gone to the trouble of having her name etched on it in a lovely script.

  Since Arty had joined the staff the convention center, he’d walked off with it a dozen times. It never failed to infuriate Callan to retrieve it from him.

  Determined to set aside her thoughts of the past, she got back to work.

  When Callan finally started for home, snow covered the roads and fell with unrelenting force. Carefully maneuvering on the slick roads, she wondered what caused Mother Nature to decide they needed weeks of a winter wonderland in Tenacity. They rarely had more than an inch or two of snow the entire season, but this year looked like it would be a record-setting snowfall.

  When she turned off the main road, the car slid several feet before she got it under control and headed straight again. She hated driving on slick roads and pulled into the driveway with a tense neck and white knuckles from gripping the steering wheel in a tight grip.

  At least Clay left the yard light on and shoveled the walk. She appreciated his consideration. Even if they didn’t see eye to eye these days, she felt like they still respected each other, at least most of the time. An unspoken pact existed that neither one of them would air their dirty laundry anywhere except at home, with each other. The problem seemed to be that instead of airing it, they packed it away and all the baggage grew unmanageable.

  Near the front door, Callan slipped on a patch of ice and her backside hit the pavement before she even had time to blink. Caught by surprise, she let out a gasp as Clay stuck his head out the door.

  With the roads growing steadily worse, he'd been watching for her and thought he saw her lights in the driveway.

  “Callan, are you okay?” he asked with real concern in his voice. He hurried out to where she tried unsuccessfully to stand. Her long coat and skirt hampered her attempts to gain footing.

  “Give me your hands.” Clay bent over to help her rise. He grasped both her hands and pulled her to her feet then, with an arm around her, led her inside the door.

  “Thank you.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked down at her hands. Clay glanced down and saw her palms were scratched and raw. A cut near her thumb bled. He wondered why she wasn’t wearing her gloves or her snow boots. Knowing Callan, she’d probably been too absorbed in her work to bother with putting them on before she left her office.

  “You hit the sidewalk pretty hard, didn’t you?” Clay gently removed her coat, throwing it across the couch. He put his arm around her and led her to their bathroom where he rinsed her hands under a stream of warm water, poured disinfectant on her cut, and finished it off with a bandage.

  Callan remained mute while he worked, keeping her head down. The sensations he stirred with his closeness left her unsettled while the scent of his aftershave teased her nose.

  “All better.” He’d missed the feel of her soft skin against his work-roughened palm and wanted to keep the contact as long as possible. He offered her a teasing grin. “If you were so tired you couldn’t make it into the house, you could have called on your cell and let me know you needed help. You didn’t need to just plop down on the sidewalk.”

  Callan tried her best to keep from getting emotional, but she released a choppy laugh and gave Clay the first real smile he’d seen in a while.

  “That patch of icy, cold sidewalk looked so comfy and inviting, I just couldn’t resist.” She offered him a sassy grin of her own.

  Clay ran his hands up her arms and looked her in the eye, attempting to ensure she wasn’t just pretending to be fine. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “I’ll be fine. I think my pride received the most damage. Good thing it was dark out or I would have provided quite a show for the neighbors.”

  “If you give a repeat performance, let me know. I’d like a front row seat.” Clay winked and hugged her lightly. “Have you had any dinner?”

  “I had some crackers and an apple.” Callan stepped away from him, moving into the bedroom and kicking off her shoes. “I think I’m ready for bed. I’ll just get a glass of water and turn in.”

  “Okay.” Clay wished she hadn’t pulled away so quickly. He walked through the house, turning off lights and locking doors.

  Callan shuffled stiffly into the kitchen, partly because of her still smarting backside and partly because she dreaded seeing the pile of dishes in the sink. To her surprise, the dishes were gone, and the sink and counters had been scrubbed.

  She removed a clean glass from the cupboard and looked around in shock, smiling. After admiring the clean kitchen, she carried the glass of water to the bathroom. She took some pain reliever, changed into her nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and quickly braided her long hair before slowly climbing into bed.

  Clay was already sprawled across his side of their king-sized bed. His idea of sharing was to give her one-third to his two-thirds of space. He had operated on the same space-sharing theory when they had a queen-sized mattress. Unintentionally, he’d pushed Callan out of bed more than once. The last time she awoke as she hit the floor was when she decided they had to get a bigger bed. She wondered how they would have managed their current state of cold-shoulder if there wasn’t such a wasteland of sleeping space between them.

  As she slid between the cold sheets, she couldn’t suppress a shiver. Clay was always warm at night and liked to sleep in a cool room. She was always cold and slept with an extra blanket on her side of the bed.

  Inexplicably chilled, Callan worried her teeth would chatter if she didn’t get warm soon. She contemplated getting up to put on a pair of sweats and socks when Clay rolled over and gently pulled her up against him, sharing his body heat.

  In recent months when he attempted to draw near to her, she’d stiffened and moved away. Tonight, she reveled in the feel of his arms wrapped around her. Sinking into the security and warmth he offered, she released a tired yet contented sigh, eager to rest in the haven he provided.

  For the first time in a long while, she drifted into a deep sleep.