by Ann Roth
“Taking care of your dying mother couldn’t have been easy.”
“No, but someone had to, and I was her only family. Dutiful daughter that I was.”
“You sound bitter.”
“I am. Not because I took care of her, because she never told me that I was adopted.”
He looked taken aback.
“She never said one word,” Sarah said. “I found out when I discovered my birth certificate in her safe-deposit box.” But she didn’t want to talk about that, didn’t want to stir up the anger and pain. “You went to the auction today, right?” she asked before returning to her meal.
Clay eyed her with a slight frown, but to her relief, let her change the subject.
“That’s right, and I learned more than I ever thought I would about cattle weight, breeding and health issues.”
He shared some of what he’d learned.
“You know a lot,” she said, impressed.
“My foreman, Burl Mattson, gets most of the credit for that. Without his help, I wouldn’t have known what to look for. Thanks to him, I now own rodeo stock. They’re at the ranch now, settling in. My crew are keeping a careful eye on them.”
“You move fast, cowboy.”
“In some ways.” His eyelids lowered a fraction, his hooded gaze all but screaming sexual attraction.
Sarah reacted viscerally, her body launching into chaos mode. The familiar longing she’d harbored and fought for so long swept through her.
No longer hungry, she pushed what was left of her meal around her plate and questioned her sanity for having dinner alone with Clay.
She would tell him about the phone call. Then he’d leave and she’d feel safe again. “You asked about the call I got from Beckers,” she reminded him.
Clay’s expression cooled considerably. “What did they say, and what did you say?” he asked with the keen interest he displayed whenever the subject came up.
“I only spoke with Bob.” Referring to him as Grandpa didn’t feel right or comfortable. “He was a lot friendlier. He explained that he and Judy were still in shock, and I apologized for not calling first. Then he invited me over tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’re going, right?”
“Definitely.”
“You’re turning that paper napkin into a shredded mess.”
Sarah crumpled the pieces in her hand. “To tell you the truth, I’m nervous about seeing them again. Even more scared than I was before.”
“If you want company...”
She shook her head. “I need to do this alone.” Clay’s plate and all the food containers were empty. Sarah slid her plate toward him. “If you’re still hungry, finish this.”
“You sure?”
“Believe me, I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I want to know what happens tomorrow,” he said, making short work of the remaining food. “I’ll be at the ranch, but I’ll have my phone with me, so call—anytime.”
It was a command, not a suggestion. Sarah saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Busy scraping the last crumb from her plate, he looked up and grinned. A wide, heart-stopping grin.
“Feel better now?” she asked, when he set his napkin aside and sat back.
“Much, but I could use some dessert. Mrs. Yancy mentioned brownies.”
“I’m sure they’re delicious. Do you want coffee to go with them?”
“I’d rather have a glass of milk.”
That made her smile. “Brownies and milk—I haven’t tried that since I was little. You pour the milk and I’ll get the brownies.”
When they were both seated at the table again, Clay raised his glass. “To tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
He bit into his dessert and made a sound of sheer pleasure. “No wonder you put up with Mrs. Yancy’s chatter. These are fantastic.”
“You should see what I get for breakfast. Between the muffins, rolls, quiche and coffee cake, I swear I’ve gained five pounds.”
“You look great to me.”
Clay’s long, appreciative gaze rekindled the heat inside her.
He helped himself to a second brownie. “You look like you want another, too.”
Not if she wanted to be able to button her jeans. She shook her head. “Better not.”
“One more little bite won’t hurt.” He broke off a chunk of his brownie and offered it to her.
Acutely aware of his warm, masculine fingers so close to her lips, Sarah quickly accepted the treat and sat back, out of reach.
Clay polished off the rest and drained his glass. “What are you smiling at?” he asked, wiping his mouth.
“You, enjoying your dessert.”
“What can I say? I’m a lover of all things sweet.” His gaze settled on her mouth.
Something made her catch her bottom lip between her teeth in the way she knew drove him wild. Clay’s eyes darkened, and her heart rate accelerated.
“Sarah?” He turned her name into a question.
She couldn’t look away.
Clay stood and reached for her hands. She could no more deny him than stop breathing. He pulled her up and brushed her bangs back with his thumbs, making her want things guaranteed to cause trouble.
She told herself to back away, but her legs refused to cooperate. He traced the lines of her face with his finger. Warmth spread through her, and she shifted closer—she simply couldn’t help herself.
“Unless you stop me now, I’m going to kiss you,” he said in a husky voice she’d never heard.
The last of her willpower waved a white flag of surrender, and she rose to meet him.
* * *
HOME, CLAY THOUGHT. Holding Sarah, he was home. He slid his hand under her hair and kissed her the way he’d wanted to since he’d walked through the door tonight. Deeply and passionately, holding nothing back.
Her lips were warm, soft and welcoming. She twined her arms round his neck. Hard and throbbing, he cupped her sweet behind, anchoring her against his groin.
Hooking her foot around his calf, she angled in closer.
Wow. He palmed her breasts and heard her breath hitch.
She slid her hands under his shirt and restlessly up his back. Blood roared in his head. The sofa was only a room away. Still kissing her, he backed her out of the kitchen. They sank together onto the cushions.
Her lips burned and branded him, erasing his thoughts, making him crazy. Breathing hard, he pulled away to unbutton her blouse.
The pink bra, a piece of lace that jailed her erect nipples, was both sweet and sexy at the same time. Swallowing, Clay again traced one nipple with his finger. Sarah shivered with pleasure. He barely touched the other breast when she pulled back.
Locking her gaze to his, she slipped out of the blouse, undid the bra and dropped it. Her breasts were small but perfect, and flushed with arousal.
She cupped her own breasts and offered them to him. “Touch me again, Clay.”
Placing his hands around hers, he reverently licked one rosebud peak.
Her unfettered sounds of need and pleasure drove him wild, and he took his time tasting and enjoying both breasts. She was squirming now, and he moved lower, freeing the button of her slacks. A tug at her zipper brought it down, and she raised her hips so that he could remove them.
She wore tiny little panties the same color as the bra, panties barely big enough to cover her thatch. So damn sexy. His desire ramping up, Clay slid his hand inside the silky fabric.
She was wet between her legs. He touched her most sensitive place and entered her with his fingers. His erection jerked. He was on the verge of losing control, but he couldn’t stop now. Not while Sarah was writhing against his hand. Before long, she moaned and climaxed.
His own bo
dy demanded the same release, but he wasn’t about to make love with her on her landlady’s sofa. As hard and aching as he was, in a strange way he felt satisfied, just knowing he’d pleasured her.
He kissed her mouth, then pulled away. “I enjoyed that.”
“It was really good.” Her gaze went straight to the strained fly of his jeans. “What about you?”
There was only one way to get the kind of relief he craved, and it wasn’t happening tonight. He managed a wry smile. “I’ll survive.”
He retrieved Sarah’s blouse and bra from the floor. She slipped into the blouse, but left the bra off. When she faced him again, he could easily make out her nipples. Her usually sleek hair was tousled and wild, her lips red and slightly swollen and her face flushed with desire.
He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He bit back a groan. “I’d better go,” he said. While he still could.
Looking dazed, she nodded.
He thought about asking her to stop by his place tomorrow night instead of calling to update him about her grandparents, but next time he kissed her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said at the door.
She stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light, until he slid into the pickup and drove away.
* * *
IN THE LIVING room, Sarah flipped on Mrs. Yancy’s TV. She couldn’t have said what program was on. She was too distracted by what had happened tonight, too uneasy.
Make that afraid. Her strong feelings for Clay scared her.
Clasping a sofa pillow to her chest, she closed her eyes and relived his kisses and caresses. When he touched her and looked at her as if she was someone precious, someone he couldn’t live without, he was irresistible.
Even if he was only interested in the sex.
But if that were true, why had he given her pleasure tonight without taking any himself? Surely that meant he cared.
Don’t be a fool. He seemed interested now, maybe even thought he cared, but only a few days ago, he’d come right out and admitted that he didn’t do serious.
Which was fine with Sarah. She certainly didn’t want serious. Not now, and not with Clay.
Liar.
And that was the trouble. She cared a little too much, just as she had three years ago. Even more, now that she knew him better. She also knew better than to think he might feel the same way or want more than sex.
Clay was a great guy, but she’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Besides, she had other things to focus on—finding Tammy and writing the article. Getting to know her grandparents was right up there, too. She didn’t have time for anything else.
Feeling better, she flipped off the TV and headed upstairs.
Chapter Twelve
“Hell of an afternoon,” Mattson said as hail the size of marbles pummeled the barn roof. “Didn’t that waitress yesterday say something about our good weather holding?”
Clay and the entire crew had spent the past hour herding the cattle toward the sheltering pens. Everyone but Clay and Mattson had left to change into dry clothes.
Clay’s leg was killing him, and he was soaked and bruised from where the angry hail had pelted him. At least the stock were safe. After drying his face and hair with an old towel, he grabbed one of the rickety chairs the previous owner had left behind and sat down. He propped his boots on the knotty pine table and poured himself a cup of hot coffee from the thermos he’d brought with him.
Mattson was also toweling off.
“Don’t you want to change clothes?” Clay asked over the deafening noise.
“I don’t see the point. When the hail lets up, it’ll still be pouring rain and I’ll be going out there again to open those sheltering pens back up.” Mattson pulled over another chair, sat down and unscrewed his own thermos.
Lapsing into silence, he sipped his coffee, leaving Clay with his own thoughts. He checked his watch, surprised that it was after two. By now, Sarah would be at her grandparents’. He hoped like hell that this meeting went better than the last one.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, about last night. Her soft, flushed skin, the way her jagged breath caught and rushed, the shudder that had shaken her at her climax.
Predictably, his body revved up in what was starting to get really old. The thundering noise lessened, the hail slowing. Not wanting Mattson to catch sight of his hard-on, Clay removed his feet from the table, stood and wandered toward the open barn door.
By the time he reached it, the hail had stopped altogether, replaced by the driving rain Mattson had predicted.
“I’ll open the doors to those sheltering pens,” he said. “You go on to your cabin and change.”
“You don’t have to do that, boss. That’s what you hired me for.”
Clay welcomed the wet and cold as a chance to cool down. “Go on home and change, Burl. I’ll take care of the doors, and then I’m heading out.”
* * *
REGRETTING THAT SHE hadn’t taken up Clay’s offer and let him come with her, Sarah stepped off the elevator on the Beckers’ floor. The hail and rain had made a shambles of her appearance, which only added to her bad case of nerves. She’d stopped in the ladies’ room off the lobby to comb her hair and refresh her makeup, but no amount of grooming could chase away the butterflies in her stomach.
Coming toward her, an elderly man on his way someplace stopped. “You look like you’re lost.”
In a sense, she was. “I think I can find my way,” she replied, forcing a smile.
She reached the door and raised her arm toward the doorbell. Dropped it and stood there, shaking in her ankle boots. “Breathe,” she whispered to herself, just as Clay would have if he were with her.
After pulling in several deep breaths, she felt calmer. Yet seconds passed before she summoned the courage to ring the doorbell.
In a blink the doorknob turned, as if the person behind the door was standing there, waiting for her.
Bob Becker opened the door. This time, he almost smiled. “Come in, Sarah.”
He led her to the fussy living room, where pleated linen drapes were closed against the ugly weather.
“Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing at a plastic-covered arm chair.
Sarah perched on the edge of the crisp seat, her weight causing a faint crackling sound. “Thank you for inviting me over today, Mr.—um, what should I call you?”
“Mr. Becker or Bob—either one is fine.”
At least he hadn’t asked her to call him Grandpa. That would’ve felt way too awkward.
“My wife is the kitchen, fixing a snack tray. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
As soon as he disappeared from the room, Sarah glanced around. Someone had set Tammy’s yearbook and journal on one side of the otherwise empty coffee table. Straight-ahead, a cross and picture of Jesus hung on the off-white wall, and in the corner stood a bookcase containing figurines and a vase of artificial flowers that matched the ones outside the door. Aside from a Bible that appeared well used on a side table, there were no other books. The mantle over the fireplace held several photos of Mr. and Mrs. Becker, either just the two of them or with other couples, but Sarah saw none of a female Tammy’s age.
She barely had time to wonder about that before Mrs. Becker entered the room with a coffeepot. Behind her, Bob carried a tray that looked heavy.
The older woman’s smile wasn’t quite as welcoming as her husband’s. “Hello, Sarah.”
The armchair crackled as Sarah shifted her weight. More uncomfortable than ever, she forced a smile of her own. “Hello, Mrs. Becker.”
The couple sat down on the sofa across the coffee table. Crackle.
“My husband and I always enjoy a cup of coffee a
bout now,” Mrs. Becker said. “Would you care to join us?”
Just what Sarah needed to calm her nerves—caffeine. Stifling the urge to laugh hysterically, she instead nodded. “That would be lovely.”
Lovely? Not a word she normally used. She sounded like Ellen.
Mrs. Becker arranged three porcelain cups and saucers on the coffee table in front of her. She filled each and then nudged one toward Sarah, along with a spoon. “Help yourself to the sugar and milk.”
Sarah had barely tried a sip before the older woman held out a plate. “How about something to eat?”
The store-bought, cream-filled sandwich cookies didn’t appeal to Sarah, especially with her stomach tied in knots. Still, she accepted one.
Mrs. Becker offered her husband the plate. After he piled a few on his saucer, she took some for herself and settled back. The two of them sipped their coffee and nibbled their cookies without any show of joy or interest.
Moments of awkward silence passed. Biting into her cookie just for something to do, Sarah wracked her brain for a topic of conversation.
“Did you—”
“We read through—”
She and Mrs. Becker said at the same time.
Sarah dipped her head. “Go ahead.”
“When I saw you the other day, I felt as if I’d stepped back in time.” The saucer in the older woman’s hands trembled slightly, whether from nerves or some health issue, Sarah couldn’t guess. “You look so much like her.”
Sarah knew she meant Tammy. She nodded. “I noticed that when I saw her yearbook picture.”
“Looking through the yearbook and reading her diary brought back so many memories,” Bob said, his voice laden with feeling. “We had no idea any of Tammy’s things were still in Saddlers Prairie.”
“Clay found a whole trunk of hers in his attic. I’m guessing she’d like it back.” Mrs. Becker paled, which puzzled Sarah. “If you think she’d be upset that I’ve found you, you don’t have to tell her where you got them,” she said.
“It isn’t that. It’s—” The woman broke off, set her coffee cup on the coffee table and gave her husband a helpless look.
He cleared his throat. “The truth is, we have no idea where our daughter is.”