“Do he and Pete know about…” Unable to complete the question, she dropped her gaze.
“About us?” Clayton asked. At her slow nod he scowled and tossed the pillow he’d picked up onto his bedroll. “Yeah. In fact, Pete’s at the ranch right now, keeping an eye on things for me.”
Rena snapped up her head, her eyes wide in alarm. “But Carol—”
Clayton nodded, his scowl deepening. “Yeah, I know. I asked him if her living right next door, and all, was going to cause him a problem, and he assured me it wouldn’t.”
But it might create a problem for Carol, Rena thought, thinking of the secret Carol had shared with her, the secret Carol had kept from Pete for two years. Not even Clayton was aware of the small grave on the hill behind Carol’s house.
She didn’t realize that she’d allowed her concerns for her friend to show on her face until Clayton said, “No need to worry, Rena. They’re both adults. They can take care of themselves.”
She forced a smile. “Of course they are,” she said, then frowned as another thought occurred to her. “But why did you ask Pete to stay at the ranch? Rubin can handle the work alone. He has for years.”
“He could if he wasn’t home in bed with the chicken pox,” Clayton replied wryly.
“Chicken pox!”
“Yep. Said he caught it from his kids.”
“Oh, no,” Rena moaned, sagging weakly.
Clayton was across the room in two long strides to catch her by the elbows, sure that she was going to faint. “Oh, no, what?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with tears. “Brittany and Brandon haven’t had the chicken pox.”
“So?” he said in confusion. “I’m sure there are a lot of childhood diseases they haven’t had yet.”
“But they’ve been exposed to the chicken pox,” she cried, frustrated that he didn’t understand. “They played with Rubin’s children the day before we left for Oklahoma.”
He tightened his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. “What’s the gestation period?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, sniffing. “Ten days, I think.”
“Ten days,” he repeated slowly, and mentally counted backward. He dropped his head back with a groan, having done the math.
“I know,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again. “They could break out anyday now.”
Hearing the fear in her voice, and knowing that he was only feeding it by revealing his own, Clayton forced a confidence to his voice as he shifted her to his side and slung an arm around her shoulders. “So what if they do? Chicken pox is part of growing up,” he reminded her as he walked with her down the hall to her own bedroom. “All kids get it, eventually.”
Rena stopped just outside her door and looked up at him. “Have you had them?”
“Well, uh— No,” he finally admitted.
Tears spurted to her eyes again. “What if you catch them from the twins? Chicken pox is much worse on adults, than it is on children.”
Not having thought of the danger of becoming infected himself, Clayton slowly absorbed that possibility. He hated being sick. Always had. But he couldn’t let Rena see his apprehension. She was scared enough as it was. Hoping to hide his own worries from her, he hooked an arm around her neck and drew her face to his chest. “Come on, now,” he said gruffly, smoothing a wide palm down her close-cropped hair. “I’m not going to get sick. Hell,” he said, hoping to tease her from her gloomy thoughts. “My hide’s too thick. There isn’t a germ around strong enough to penetrate it.”
He felt her shoulders hitch in a laugh beneath his arm, and he released a long breath, relieved that his teasing seemed to have worked.
She sighed and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. “I’m glad you’re here, Clayton,” she murmured. “If the twins should break out with chicken pox, I’m not sure that I could take care of them alone.”
Clayton stilled his hand’s movement on her hair as she relaxed against him, suddenly and painfully aware of the breasts pressed against his chest, the heat where her abdomen burned against his groin. Wondering if she was even conscious that she was in his arms, he closed his eyes and drew her closer, wanting to savor the moment.
He wasn’t sure how long he held her—a minute, maybe two, could’ve been ten, for all he knew—before she slowly lifted her head from his chest. He glanced down to find her face tipped up to his, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide and dark with the same burning awareness that hummed through his veins.
Before he could stop himself, he had lowered his face over hers and covered her mouth with his. He lost himself immediately in the sweetness…then was slowly dragged under by the fire that rose to engulf him. He lifted his hands to frame her cheeks, holding her face to his, though she seemed no more eager than he to break the kiss.
He angled his face to the side and took the kiss deeper, wanting, no, needing more of her. He felt the almost-desperate dig of her nails into his back, worried about it…then sighed inwardly as her grip on him eased. He felt the tremble in her hands as she smoothed them up his back, was humbled by it, then groaned when she curled those same trembling hands around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers.
A hunger surged to life within him, and he took that first bold step, backing her toward her bed. At its side he reached behind her and ripped back the downy comforter, scattering pillows, then stripped down the top sheet. He never once broke their kiss. Didn’t dare, fearing that if he did he might break whatever spell she seemed to be under, and she would demand that he stop.
Careful not to startle her, he placed a hand low on her back and leaned his body into hers, guiding her down and following to cover her body with his. Every curve beneath him was so heartbreakingly familiar, every swell so seductively sweet. Filling her mouth with a low groan, he shifted to wedge a knee between her legs.
And that’s all it took to break the magical spell.
The fingers at his neck tensed, her nails scraping against his skin, and her body, once soft and pliant, stiffened beneath his. A heartbeat later, her hands were no longer at his neck, but were wedged between them and pushing at his chest.
“No,” she moaned, tearing her mouth from his and turning her face away. “Don’t. Please.”
Bracing a hand on either side of her head, Clayton lifted his chest from hers to stare down at her. “Don’t?” he repeated in confusion.
She rolled her head from side to side, then squeezed her eyes shut…but not before he saw the tears there.
“Rena?” he said, stunned by them. Her breath hitched, and he rolled to her side, gathering her into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby,” he soothed, stroking a hand down her hair. “I thought you wanted—”
She shook her head again as she eased from his embrace and sat up, sniffing. “This is why I didn’t want you here,” she admitted tearfully.
“Why?” he asked, more confused than ever.
Groaning, she tipped her face to the ceiling and curled her hands into fists against her thighs. Thighs that, a moment ago, had lain beneath his.
“I don’t want just sex from you, Clayton,” she said angrily.
“Well, what exactly do you want?” he shouted, his anger rising to meet hers. “It’s not as if I forced myself on you. As I recall, you were right there with me, matching me beat for beat.”
She drew in a long breath and opened her palms against her thighs in a obvious struggle for calm. “Yes, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
He bolted from the bed. “Sorry?” he shouted, glaring down at her. “Sorry?” he said again, unable to believe she thought she could salve his wounded pride, mend his broken heart, with something as frivolous as an apology. “Well, I’m sorry, too,” he told her. “Sorry that I tried to offer you comfort. Sorry that I read your signals wrong. Sorry that I offered you sex, when you obviously don’t want it or anything else from me.” He drew in a deep breath, prepared to continue his list of things he was sorry about…but blew
it out in a frustrated huff of air, instead. “Just forget it,” he muttered and whirled for the door. “I won’t make the mistake of touching you again.”
Six
It took longer than usual for Rena to dress the next morning. Swollen eyes from a night spent crying were difficult to conceal.
She’d known from the moment that Clayton had suggested staying at her house that she was in trouble. Any woman who had experienced a sexual relationship as satisfying as hers had been with Clayton would find herself in the same predicament Rena now faced. Living under the same roof. Sharing the same space. Breathing the same air. The attraction seldom ended with the relationship. Rarely, if the woman still loved the man. Never, if the man happened to be Clayton.
And though she knew she could slip easily back into a physical relationship with Clayton, one that promised sexual satisfaction, the kind of relationship that he seemed content enough with, Rena wanted so much more. She wanted his love.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he’d offered.
Dreading facing him again, she walked downstairs and into the kitchen and found him already there, standing before the stove, his hair tousled, his feet bare. Dressed in only faded jeans that rode low on his hips, he sipped at a cup of coffee while he transferred crisp strips of bacon from a frying pan to a platter. With each lift of his hand, muscles rippled across the wide expanse of his bare back, drawing her gaze. She stopped, staring, her mouth drying up, her nerves sizzling right along with the bacon in the frying pan.
The temptation was there, just as she’d known it would be. Even feared. She knew how easy it would be, so natural, really, to cross the room and splay her hands over his back, feel the play of muscle beneath her palms. He would turn. Gather her into his arms. Their lips would meet. Tease. The heat—
Giving herself a shake, she pushed the image back and forced herself into motion. “Good morning, Clayton,” she said briskly as she headed for the coffeepot.
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, then returned his gaze to the stove. “’Mornin’.”
“I would’ve cooked breakfast,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “It wasn’t necessary for you to.”
“I don’t mind cooking.”
“Still…”
“I said I don’t mind,” he repeated, and wiped a hand across the back of his jeans before picking up the platter. “Should I wake the kids?”
Though she wished the children were awake, if only to serve as a barrier between Clayton and her, she shook her head. “No. Let them sleep. They didn’t have a nap yesterday, and I’m sure they’re tired.”
Glancing at her, he slid the platter onto the counter behind her, then shifted his gaze away to pull down two plates from the cupboard, frowning. “Was I supposed to put ’em down for a nap?”
“Yes—no.” Flustered by his closeness, she eased a step away before turning and watching him serve eggs onto a plate. “Yes, you were. But it isn’t your fault. I forgot to tell you.”
Still frowning, he speared a couple of slices of bacon and added them to the plate. “Anything else I need to know?”
Distracted by the swell of bicep, the play of tendons along his arm, she had to force herself to concentrate on his question. “Brittany likes to dress herself, though she has a tendency to choose her very best clothes. That’s fine, as long as she doesn’t play outside in them.”
“Okay. What else?” he asked, and began to fill the second plate with food.
“You’ll need to monitor the TV shows they watch. If the program’s at all scary, change the channel. If you don’t, Brandon is sure to have nightmares.”
He picked up both plates, turned, then stopped, eyeing the rickety card table with distaste. Making a quick detour for the back door, he beckoned with his chin for her to follow.
Once outside, he dropped down onto the stoop, waiting until she was seated beside him before passing her a plate.
Sure that she couldn’t swallow anything past the knot of yearning in her throat, Rena picked up her fork and pushed at her eggs. “If something comes up that you can’t handle, you can call me. I left the number for the shop on the pad by the phone.”
“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”
“There’s a first aid kit in the twins’ bathroom upstairs.”
“I doubt we’ll need it.”
“Well, if you should…”
“Then I’ll use it.”
Hearing the resentment in his voice, she sighed, knowing that she must sound like the world’s biggest worrywart to him. “I’ve never left them before,” she said softly as she set aside her plate.
“You did yesterday.”
“Yes,” she admitted, feeling the tears rising. “But for some reason it seems so much harder to do today.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe reality is setting in. I’m used to being at home with them. Picking up after them and cooking for them, settling their disputes when they fight.” She laughed, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “Imagine missing all of that.”
“You’ll get used to it. ’Fore long, you won’t even remember the way it was before.”
She turned to peer at him. “Did you?”
“What?” he asked, glancing her way.
“Forget what it was like to be at home with the twins?”
He stared at her a moment, then set his jaw and looked away. “No. I never forgot.”
“Are you mad at us, Daddy?”
Pulled from his contemplations of his conversation with Rena, Clayton angled his head to look at Brittany, where she sat perched on the tailgate of his truck alongside her brother, both watching him groom Easy. “No. Why do you ask?”
“You’re wearing a mean face.”
He snorted a laugh and went back to brushing Easy. “I’m not mad. Just thinkin’, is all.”
“What about?”
He angled his head to look at her again. “You writin’ a book?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to write yet.”
Chuckling, he tossed the brush into the tack box and untied the horse. The kid always had an answer—and it seemed a hay barn full of questions. “Y’all want to ride Easy back to the pasture?” he asked, hoping to distract Brittany from her questions.
Both twins scrambled to their feet. “Can we?”
He led Easy alongside the tailgate and tossed the end of the lead rope over the horse’s neck. “So long as you keep your feet still,” he warned and snagged an arm around Brittany’s waist. He swung her up onto Easy’s back, then turned for Brandon, but stopped when he noticed Brandon’s flushed cheeks. He placed a knuckle beneath the boy’s chin and tipped up his face. “You feeling okay?” he asked uneasily.
At Brandon’s slow nod, Clayton dropped his hand, telling himself he was getting as bad as Rena. The boy had probably just had a little too much sun, he told himself, then caught Brandon under the arms and swung him up behind Brittany. “Hang on to your sister,” he instructed, and pulled the lead rope from around Easy’s neck.
“Can we go fast?” Brittany asked, filling her hands with the horse’s mane.
“Not without me up there with you to see that you don’t fall off.”
“Oh, pooh,” Brittany scoffed. “We won’t fall off, will we, Brandon?”
Before Brandon could verify her claim, Clayton shook his head. “We’ll take a ride some other time. You kids have had enough sun for one day. Besides, it’s time for your nap.”
Clayton led the horse to the pasture, ignoring Brittany’s muttered complaints about not being tired and only babies needing naps. After helping the children down, he removed Easy’s halter and gave the horse a pat before herding the twins out the gate.
“Daddy?” Brittany asked as they walked back up to the house.
“What, shortcake?”
“Do you have a mommy and daddy?”
Clayton faltered a step at the question, but quickly rec
overed. “No.”
“Not ever?”
“Well, yeah. Everybody does. But mine died when I was little.”
“Did you have to go live in an orphanage when they died, like Little Orphan Annie did?”
“No,” Clayton said, shaking his head slowly, not wanting to think about those years. “I lived with relatives.”
“What relatives?”
“Well, with my grandparents, at first, until they got too sick to keep me. From there I went to live with my uncle Frank and his family. After a couple of years, they shipped me off to live with Aunt Margaret and her brood.”
“Did they put you in a box?”
“Box?” he repeated, stopping to peer down at Brittany in confusion.
“To ship you in,” she explained. “When Mommy ships stuff to Nonnie and Pawpaw, she always puts it in a big box.”
Chuckling, Clayton strode on to the house. “No, they didn’t put me in a box.”
“How come you lived with so many people?” she asked after a moment.
Clayton lifted a shoulder. “Nobody wanted to keep me on permanent, I guess.”
“Were you bad?”
“No. Not particularly. I reckon they just had too many kids of their own to want another one around.”
He felt a hand slip into his and glanced down to see Brittany looking up at him. “I’d keep you, Daddy,” she murmured sympathetically. “Even if you were bad.”
Not wanting to think about the memories Brittany’s questions had drawn, and needing something to do to fill the time while the twins napped, Clayton dug a screwdriver and hammer from the toolbox he kept in his truck, and set to work on the cockeyed shutters that framed the house’s front windows. He tightened the screws on one, after pulling it back into place, replaced a missing screw on another, then stepped back to examine his work. Pleased with the improvement he’d made, he worked his way around the first floor of the house, methodically righting all the shutters.
He’d just stepped back onto the front porch, when the screen door squeaked open and Brandon appeared.
“You already awake, son?” he asked in surprise.
Slow Waltz Across Texas Page 9