“Oh, Clayton,” Rena cried softly. “I can’t imagine anyone treating a child so cruelly.”
He snorted and glanced down at her. “By that time I was used to it. Didn’t know any other way.” He turned his face back to the sky. “He had a son. Bobby. A year or so older than me, I guess. Uncle Frank loved football. He’d sit in this big recliner and drink beer, watching it on TV for hours. Sometimes Bobby would climb up on his lap and Uncle Frank would wrap an arm around his waist and haul him up against his chest and they’d watch TV together. Seems ridiculous to think about it now, seeing as how bad Uncle Frank treated me, but I always wanted to sit up there, too. Tried to a time or two. Got the hell knocked out of me every damn time.”
“Oh, Clayton,” she moaned tearfully. “I had no idea.”
“And why would you? I’ve never told anybody any of that stuff. Not even Pete and Troy.” He angled his head to the side to look down at her and drew in a deep breath. “But you wanted to know why I can’t tell the kids that I love ’em. Well, there’s your answer. I don’t know how. Scared that if I try, I’ll screw it up, just like I did with my uncle Frank.”
Rena laid a hand against his cheek. “But you want to tell them. I know you do. I’ve seen the way you look at them. The words are there in your throat, almost choking you. You just never let them out.” Feeling the emotion clotting in her own throat, she drew her fingers to his lips. “You don’t have to hold back with Brittany and Brandon, Clayton. They love you. They would never intentionally hurt you.”
“Any guarantees come with that?”
Rena stared at him, knowing that she couldn’t make promises that weren’t hers to make. “Give them a chance, Clayton. Don’t hold back anymore. If you feel like doing something or saying something, then do it.”
When he straightened and turned to face her fully, she drew back, startled by the intensity with which he looked at her. “What?” she asked uneasily.
But he offered no reply, no explanation. He merely caught her hand in his and drew her to him.
Frightened, she braced a hand against his chest. “Clayton! What are you—”
But before she could finish the question, he’d wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off the ground and closed his mouth over hers. He drained the fear from her with lips moist and demanding, then filled her with heat with a tongue that speared between her lips and plundered, leaving her weak and needy. Helpless to do anything else, she looped her arms around his neck and clung as his lips softened to brush across hers. She almost wept as his taste filled her, a taste she knew she would never forget, feared that she would always yearn for.
He loosened his arms around her and let her slide down his body, never once breaking contact with her mouth. Her feet touched the ground, and he eased his arms from around her to cup his hands at her waist and slowly pulled his mouth from hers.
Dazed, she inhaled deeply, savoring the kiss, then slowly opened her eyes to meet his gaze. “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.
“You told me if I felt like saying something or doing something, I should just do it.” He lifted his shoulder in a self-conscious shrug. “I felt like kissing my wife.”
“Oh,” she murmured, surprised that he’d followed her advice. “Oh-h-h,” she said more slowly, realizing that Brittany and Brandon might not be the only ones affected by their father’s past.
He drew his hands from her waist and stepped back, stuffing his hands deeply into his pockets. “I guess we’d better head back in,” he said, gesturing toward the house with his chin. “Something tells me we’re going to have our hands full tomorrow.”
Seven
Rena tried to suppress the disappointment she’d felt when Clayton had released her and stuffed his hands into his pockets before walking with her back to the house…but failed miserably. She’d foolishly hoped that after their discussion everything would miraculously change, that Clayton would suddenly be freer with his emotions, more demonstrative with the children. And with her. But he wasn’t. Granted, he had shared with her parts of his past that he’d never shared before and had acted on impulse by kissing her. But then he’d stepped away, stuffing his hands in his pockets…and, it seemed, his emotions right along with them.
Stifling a sigh, she glanced up from the order forms she was completing to look at Clayton, who sat across the room, a spool of hemp caught between his boots, slowly plaiting the strands into what looked to be a halter. Brandon lay on the floor not far from him, engrossed in a TV program.
Sighing again, Rena put her pen back to paper.
“Daddy? Will you read me a story?”
Rena glanced up again at Brittany’s request to find her daughter leaning against Clayton’s knee. She continued to watch, curious to see how Clayton would respond. She saw his hesitation, nearly wept over it, then quickly dropped her gaze back to her work, when he cut a glance her way. Praying that he wouldn’t refuse Brittany, that he would take advantage of the opportunity their daughter was offering him, she held her breath.
She heard a rustle of movement and peeked over to see Clayton setting aside his rope and creating a space on his lap for Brittany. With tears burning in her eyes, she watched Brittany climb onto her daddy’s lap, then twist around, plop down and push a book into Clayton’s hand.
Clayton took the book from her, hesitated a moment, then wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her back against his chest. Rena saw the flush of color on his cheeks, the tension in his body, and knew how difficult even that small display of affection must be for him.
Clearing his throat, he opened the book and began to read. “Once upon a time—”
“Skip that page,” Brittany said and took the book from him, flipping pages, “and get to the good part.”
Clayton glanced toward Rena, caught her watching, then shook his head, chuckling as he took the book from Brittany again and began to read.
“The mean stepmother didn’t like—” He stopped again when a small hand settled on his thigh. He glanced down to find Brandon standing beside the chair, looking up at him. Shifting Brittany to one side, Clayton patted his thigh. “Climb on up, cowboy. There’s room for you up here, too.”
Smiling through her tears, Rena took up her pen again, telling herself that the little scene she’d just witnessed was a major breakthrough, and that she’d been foolish to expect a miraculous, overnight change in Clayton’s behavior. After all, a lifetime of suppression couldn’t be altered in a single day. It would take time.
At the thought she glanced up again to peer at Clayton, panic niggling at her earlier confidence. But would he have the time? How much longer would he be able to stay before he was forced to return to the rodeo circuit in order to maintain his place in the rankings and his chance to win another world championship?
Four days after Brandon broke out with the chicken pox, Brittany succumbed to the disease. Where Brandon had only developed a handful of spots, Brittany was almost immediately covered from head to toe…and nearly impossible to deal with. She whined, complained, cried and scratched, until Rena’s nerves were raw from trying to keep her daughter happy and medicated.
Exhausted after only the first frustrating day following Brittany’s breakout, Rena accepted Clayton’s offer to rock their daughter to sleep. She collapsed onto her own bed, rolled to her side and was instantly asleep. Four hours later she awoke and sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes and wondering if it had been a noise that had disturbed her. Hearing nothing, she slipped from her bed and tiptoed down the hall, needing assurance that it wasn’t a cry from Brittany that had awakened her.
She stopped in the doorway of the twins’ room, her heart melting at the sight that greeted her. Moonlight spilled through the bedroom window. In its beam sat Clayton, still in the rocker, with Brittany curled against his chest. His head was tipped back and he was sleeping with one arm wrapped loosely around Brittany’s waist.
Her heart squeezing at the tender scene, Rena crossed the room and, unable
to resist, swept the hair back from Clayton’s forehead and pressed a kiss there. His eyes opened at her touch, his gaze shooting to hers. She smiled tenderly and let her hand drift to cup his cheek. “You need to go to bed,” she whispered softly.
His eyelids drifted closed and he sighed, pressing his cheek against her palm as she stroked a thumb along the dark circle beneath one eye. Then, with another heavier sigh, he opened them again. “Just let me put her to bed.”
“Here,” Rena offered, “give her to me. I’ll tuck her in. You’re exhausted.” After shifting Brittany into Rena’s arms, Clayton mumbled a good-night and headed for the door. Rena watched him until he disappeared into the dark hallway, then, with a sigh, settled Brittany in her bed, waiting for a moment, until she was sure that her daughter didn’t awaken.
As she walked back down the hall to her room, she paused at the door to Clayton’s. Though dark inside, there was enough moonlight spilling through the window to illuminate his long form stretched out on the sleeping bag.
As she looked at him, she thought of all the things that he’d done to help keep the children entertained over the past few days, the easiness with which he had begun to respond to them. She envisioned him as she’d found him earlier, sitting in the rocker with Brittany curled against his chest, and she wondered about his own childhood, curious if anyone had ever rocked him when he was sick, if anyone had ever soothed his hurts.
Tears stung her throat as she realized the answer, and she crossed the room to kneel down beside him. Though she’d kept her footsteps light, had made no noise that would have alerted him of her presence, he must have somehow sensed her nearness. He lifted his arm from over his eyes and peered up at her. Long seconds passed as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, then he lifted the sheet from his chest, inviting her to join him.
Knowing full well what all she was gambling, Rena slipped beneath the covers and curled her body against his. With her head resting on his shoulder, her hand over his heart, she closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. “I love you, Clayton,” she whispered.
She felt him raise his head, and lifted her own to meet his gaze. She saw the surprise in the blue depths, the emotion, and didn’t wait for an answering response from him. She no longer needed one. He’d proved his love a thousand times over the past few weeks. She didn’t need to hear the words.
Seeing his hesitation and understanding it, after all the pushing away she’d done, she braced her hand against his chest and shifted higher, placing her face opposite his. She caught his lower lip between her teeth, then opened her mouth over his, welcoming him in as freely as he’d welcomed her into his bed.
On a low groan he closed his arms around her and drew her over his chest, matching her length to his. With a hand cupped at the back of her neck, he took over ownership of the kiss and swept his tongue lightly across her lips, then crushed his mouth over hers.
Rena had known passion with Clayton, but she’d never tasted, never experienced anything like this. He seemed desperate to devour her, consume her. His hands swept over her back, down her legs, then back up, tugging her nightgown to her waist, baring her bottom. He filled his hands with the soft flesh of her buttocks and pressed her to him, grinding his already-hardening arousal against her.
When that closeness seemed only to frustrate him, he caught her nightgown in his hands and yanked it up, breaking their kiss only long enough to rip the gown over her head. Then his lips were on hers again, crushing, demanding, ravaging, and he was rolling her to her back and pressing his body over hers. His hands found her breasts and closed around them, squeezing, and her breath caught in her lungs and burned, as fire shot to her middle and pooled there. Before she could release the breath, he drew his hands to the very tips of her breasts, catching her nipples between his thumb and finger and lengthening them. She bucked beneath him, gasping, aching for the feel of his mouth there.
As if he’d read her mind, knew her thoughts, her needs, he dragged his lips from her mouth and down the column of her throat, shifting his body lower over hers. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, then captured her breasts between his hands and drew them together. With his gaze fixed on hers, searing her, he flicked his tongue over first one nipple, then the next, then closed his eyes on a low moan and opened his mouth fully, drawing her deeply inside.
Nearly wild with need, Rena fisted her hands in his hair and held him to her, thrusting her hips against his in a desperate search for satisfaction. When she was sure that she’d go mad from the passion clawing its way through her, he slipped a hand between her legs and found her center.
She bucked, gasping, and thrust her hips high…and almost wept in frustration when his fingers merely stroked the length of her and back up again, teasing her.
“Clayton. Please!” she cried. “I need you. Now. Please. Now.”
With an agonizing slowness that she was sure was meant to drive her crazy, he pulled his mouth from her breast, then dipped his head to lap at the throbbing peak as he rose to brace himself above her. Shifting his gaze to hers, he positioned himself between her legs, then slipped a hand beneath her hips and guided her to him.
She arched, sobbing at the first contact, then gasped again as he plunged deeply inside her, shooting her high and over the edge. She grabbed his arms, curling her fingers around his corded biceps, digging her nails into his taut skin, clinging to him as pleasure washed over her in wave after wave after wave that threatened to drag her under.
He held her hips against his while her feminine walls throbbed around his length, then slowly withdrew, only to thrust again, harder and higher. Certain that she had experienced the ultimate climax, she clamped her eyes shut, crying out, as the waves rose higher, sweeping over her again, this time drawing her under. Each thrust of his hips against hers pushed her deeper and deeper into the darkness until she could no longer breathe, only cling.
“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice raw with his own need.
Unable to speak, unable to form the words needed to tell him that she was too weak, too sated to move, she rolled her head against his pillow.
“Now, Rena,” he whispered and thrust one last time, holding her against him. She dug her fingers deeper into his flesh as an explosion like nothing she’d ever experienced ripped through her. She felt the muscles in his arms grow rigid beneath her fingers, felt the strain of his body pushing against hers, heard the low groan that rose from deep inside him, then the delicious, pulsing heat of his climax as he filled her with his seed.
Sobbing, she lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck, and drew him down to her. His chest hammered against hers as he struggled to breathe, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, pressing a wide hand against her cheek to hold her face against his. “Rena,” he whispered, warming her flesh with his breath. “My Rena,” he said on a sigh.
Rena didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to lose the warmth of the body curled around hers, the memory of a night of wild mating. But a voice kept punching at her, refusing to let her cling to the delicious memories.
“Mommy! I’m hungry!”
She flipped open her eyes, just as Clayton lifted his head from the curve of her neck, his eyes reflecting the same horror that she knew must be mirrored in hers as he looked down at her.
She gulped. Swallowed. Then cleared her voice. “Okay, Brittany,” she said, trying to sound natural, calm, when she felt anything but. “Why don’t you and Brandon go downstairs and turn on the TV.”
“Okay,” Brittany said from the doorway, sulking. “But hurry. Me and Brandon are starving.”
Rena closed her eyes, slowly counted to ten, then opened them again to meet Clayton’s gaze. “Do you think they’re gone?” she whispered. “Do you think they saw anything?”
He dropped his face to her neck again, to smother a laugh. “Yes, they’re gone. And, no, I don’t think they saw anything.”
Rena shoved furiously at his head. “This isn’t funny. I’m na
ked. And so are you, for that matter. What if they’d seen us? What would they think?”
Still chuckling, Clayton lifted his head and propped his cheek on his hand as he looked down at her. “They’re only four. I doubt they’d think anything. Although now that I think about it,” he said, sobering, as he shifted his gaze to a breast he’d exposed when he’d moved. “They might have nightmares.” He slipped a hand over the breast, then cupped it. “Imagine the horror of seeing your mother naked. Naked,” he repeated and dipped his head to lap at the rosy center, then shuddered. “It’d be enough to give any kid nightmares for weeks.”
In spite of her embarrassment, Rena found herself closing her eyes on a sigh as he shaped his lips around her. “Don’t,” she whispered, weakened by the feel of his lips tugging at her nipple. “We’ve got to dress and get downstairs before Brittany comes looking for us again.”
He groaned and drew her deeper inside his mouth. “You don’t think we have time for just a little—”
“Mommy! We’re starving!”
She opened her eyes at Brittany’s impatient shout, meeting Clayton’s startled gaze. “What do you think?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Don’t scratch, Brittany,” Rena ordered.
“But it itches,” Brittany complained.
Hearing the frustration in both of their voices, Clayton pulled another pair of socks from Brittany’s drawer and carried them to the bathroom along with a change of clothes for Brittany.
Fresh from an oatmeal bath, Brittany stood on the bath mat while Rena dried her. “Here,” he said, and nudged the pair of socks against Rena’s arm. “Put these on her hands. If she scratches, she can’t do as much damage.”
Rena looked up at Clayton in surprise as she accepted the socks. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said, then turned to Brittany and smiled. “Look what daddy brought you,” she said, tugging the socks over her daughter’s hands. “Mittens to wear so that you won’t make sores when you scratch.”
Slow Waltz Across Texas Page 11