The Divine Creek Ranch Collection Volume 4

by Heather Rainier

  The wind buffeted the leaves around the yard as he helped her from the truck. His gentlemanly conduct shouldn’t have taken her by surprise. Clay and Del’s parents had taught them good manners. Twelve years of disregard by her husband was going to take a while to undo. As they approached the house, she stopped to take in the burnished bronze sculpture on the porch. It was a fanciful rendition of a mythical phoenix bird, rising from a fiery nest of flames.

  “Wow.”

  “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Actually, I would’ve expected a Western sculpture of a cowboy or horse or something more…”

  “Masculine?” he asked with a guarded tone.

  She swung her head sharply to look at him, arching an eyebrow. “That’s so not the word I was looking for. There’s nothing remotely ‘girly’ about this creation. I meant something more in keeping with the surroundings. Texan. Western.” At his nod she continued. “That is a decidedly triumphant portrayal.”

  The words surprised her as they came from her mouth. She hadn’t given any thought to art, sculpture, or visually pleasing objects in…forever. In college, she’d studied art and had a budding portrait photography business that had kept her in spending money and taken some of the burden off her parents. It had never gone anywhere, but she’d always enjoyed working with subjects and composing pictures. This statue was a work of art, and she almost couldn’t believe he’d left it on his porch.

  Caressing the hip-high statue she asked, “Is this bronze?”

  “Yes,” he replied as he unlocked the front door. He looked back at her and seemed focused on the way she stroked the statue, some indefinable emotion in his eyes before he lowered his lids and turned away. His gaze made her insides warm up and she was reminded that when she crossed that threshold she was officially the roommate of a desirable, creative, very masculine man.

  “Why is it on your front porch? It’s magnificent. Where did you get it?”

  A crooked, but obviously pleased, smile crossed his lips as he hung his keys on the hook by the door. “I sculpted it. It’s one I did a couple of years ago. It seems to fit out here and the thing is so damned heavy nobody would want to steal it. If you like it that much I’ll move it inside. You can even have it, for your new home if you want it.”

  She couldn’t help but gawk at him as she stepped over the threshold. “Really? I can?”

  “Sure. Consider it your housewarming gift.”

  “But it must’ve taken a long time to create. It’s probably very valuable. I don’t want to…”

  Clay shrugged. “I can see that you really like it, so as it turns out, I made it for you. I always wondered why I created such a fantasy-oriented piece. It was for you, no strings attached.” The satisfied look on his face told her that he’d made up his mind about it.

  No strings attached. When was the last time Lily had received a kindness from anyone but her father with no strings attached? She pressed her lips together and put her hand over her mouth, resisting the urge to cry as he held out his arms, a soft, commiserating smile on his face. The look in his eyes changed to gentle concern as she went into his embrace.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured against her hair as she struggled with her emotions. His deep, comforting voice made her want to stay in his arms for…a year.

  She’d already cried all over him several times in the last few days and was determined to get beyond this stage in her recovery. He undermined her attempts at sucking it up with that gentle look in his eyes and his stealthy flirtatious ways. Lily imagined that any woman would be putty in his hands. That thought brought the tattoo to mind, and he allowed it when she drew away from him.

  “Your things are all in the spare bedroom. Let me show you your room.” Clay led the way through the open, spacious living room, decorated in dark, masculine shades of red and brown. The leather couches and loveseat looked comfortable, as did the big, overstuffed rocker recliner in the corner by the fireplace. She would probably feel as small as a child sinking down into that thing.

  Down a hallway he pointed out the bathroom and linen closet. “Unfortunately, we’ll be sharing a bathroom. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine with me. Just let me know if you ever have any overnight…um…you know.”

  Clay gave her a confused smile. “What?”

  Lily averted her eyes and cursed the heat she felt climbing up her throat to her cheeks. “You know. Any overnight guests. I don’t want to intrude on your…social life.”

  Clay snorted. “Lily, I’m not dating anyone right now. Not really much of a social butterfly. My overnight dates usually involve the stereo and a big lump of wet clay.” He flicked on a light switch so she could see into the room he gestured to.

  “Oh! Is this your sculpting studio?” The room was located in the corner of the house and had large windows on two walls. It would be the perfect place to work in the morning hours.

  “Yeah, the lighting is great on this side of the house.”

  “What’s this?” She lifted the edge on the muslin cloth tentatively. He removed the drape and revealed the lump of clay beneath it, which resembled the basic shape of a head and shoulders of a woman.

  “Eventually it’ll be a life-size representation of the soon-to-be fiancée of some good friends of mine. Her name is Lydia Webster. If Chance and Clayton Carlisle have their way, her name is going to change to Carlisle, too.”

  “Nuh-uh! Really?” The look on her face must’ve been priceless.

  “Yeah, that’s one of those things about Divine that’s—”

  She didn’t hear any more of what he said as her gaze landed on a piece of sketch paper on a nearby table. “What’s this?” she said, cutting him off as she lifted the drawing. It was an uncanny rendering of her about the time she’d moved away from Divine, but there was a trace of sadness that was hard to pinpoint.

  Clay stuck his hands in his pockets as he approached where she stood in front of the window looking at the charcoal drawing. “It’s a drawing of you.”

  “When did you do this?”

  “The night of the accident.”

  “Why?”

  Clay looked down at the image, so his eyes were shuttered. “I was working on something else and I guess that just needed an outlet. I don’t remember you sad like that. I don’t know why I drew it that way. You slipped away from us years ago and memories of you came back to me. I didn’t know if you were just passing through or staying and I just…needed to draw you. You know how us flaky, artsy-fartsy types are,” he added with a shrug and a chuckle.

  Lily scoffed and rolled her eyes. “When I look at you, Clay, the last thing I see is a flaky, artsy-fartsy type, trust me.”

  “You can have it.”

  “No, I want you to keep it. You’ve given me the statue and that’s enough. And I’m in Divine to stay, Clay.”

  “Good enough. Maybe I’ll frame it. Lily, seriously, you don’t have to worry about women coming around. Grace Warner, a matchmaking friend of mine, gets peeved at me because I don’t date more, but between business and this.” He gestured to the clay form on a small wooden table. “I feel pretty fulfilled. Women just add unnecessary drama to my life.” He slammed his lips shut, frowned, and then added, “That did not come out the way I meant it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you, not at all. The last woman I dated was a bit of a drama queen. A spoiled little rich girl. The black rubber marks you probably saw on my driveway were her parting gift a few months ago.”

  Lily patted his bicep, noting its firmness. “And now I’ve come along and added even more drama to your life. I know you didn’t mean me in particular, Clay. But I am sorry about the incident at the hospital the other day. So…you have a vindictive ex-girlfriend running around Divine?”

  Clay curled his lip. “Presley Ann Woodworth. Her daddy owns Stigall’s and a few other retail stores in the area.”

  “Were you not compatible?” Duh, Miss Obvious!

  “More like she didn’t get show
ered with the gold and jeweled trinkets she evidently thought were her due.”

  “Really?”

  Clay shrugged. “She didn’t like my hours, and she talked an awful lot, too. She moved on after her parting gift.” He gestured to the window in the direction of the driveway where there had indeed still been black tire marks marring the concrete surface when they’d arrived.

  Clay directed her into his spare bedroom. The drapes and sheer curtains had been parted to let in light, which shone brightly on the old pine floorboards.

  “It’s wonderful, Clay.” She felt like she’d been shown into a romantic bedroom in a bed-and-breakfast. He’d obviously spent time cleaning and sprucing up. There were dark-green rugs located on either side of the queen-size wrought iron bed. A fresh blue, white, and green patchwork quilt adorned the bed and created the focal point for accents around the room, on the antique washstand and dresser and a chest of drawers in the corner.

  “All those drawers are empty and ready for you to put away your belongings and there are plenty of hangers in the closet. I thought about hanging everything for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled but didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

  Lily grinned and said, “Trust me, there are no corsets, garters, or bustiers tucked in those suitcases, Clay. It’s all just basic stuff.” So boring, in fact, she hated the idea of wearing any of it. There was no money for shopping for a new wardrobe, though, so she’d have to suck that up, too.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to get situated. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Lily returned his smile as he left the room. The clothing, mostly floppy polo shirts, T-shirts, and old blue jeans, was put away in a matter of minutes. She then set to unpacking the items in the boxes.

  Her small jewelry box and a keepsake box from a friend occupied a spot on the dresser, and what few books she had took up less than half a shelf on the bookcase. JT had never been a reader and had criticized her for being a book lover, so there had seldom been money in the budget to afford them. Over the years her collection had gotten damaged or simply disappeared. She found the container of old photographs in a box her father had packed for her. He’d kept the mementos her mother had saved from her growing-up years with the intent of passing them on to her. Thinking she needed to check in with him again, she pulled her phone from her purse and discovered the battery was dead. She plugged her cell phone charger in, wondering if JT had cancelled her from their account yet.

  She was tempted to open the box of photos but decided against it. Her emotions were so volatile right now, and she didn’t want to waste any more time crying about the past and things she couldn’t change. The steady throb from the incision site intensified. She’d been ignoring it since they’d left the shambles of her house because she was used to pushing herself under stressful circumstances, but now she grimaced at the fresh dart of pain.

  After retrieving the pain medication from her handbag, Lily retraced her steps to the kitchen where she found Clay starting the meal prep for supper.

  “From now on I’ll help you with the chores and meals.”

  “That would be great but I don’t mind. I usually keep it pretty simple. I hope you like stir-fry. You relax and let me do the cooking for now. What can I get you?” There was genuine inquiry in his warm green-gold eyes. It was odd the things that were taking her by surprise. JT had never asked what he could get for her.

  “Just a glass of water. I forgot to take these earlier.”

  He filled a glass and brought it around the counter to her instead of just reaching across. He looked closely at her face, making her feel a little self-conscious. “Are you in pain?”

  “A little. I should’ve taken one earlier when the pain started.”

  “I would’ve stopped for a bottle of water for you, Lily. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Because I’m not used to being around a considerate man.

  Lily was unsure how to answer. She hated to keep reminding him of her ex-husband, so she simply said, “I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble, Lily. Hey,” he murmured, stopping her when she would’ve pulled away from him. His hands were gentle on her shoulders as she crossed her arms in front of her. “What is it?” His eyes told her he wanted the truth, and she realized she wanted to give it.

  “I’ve learned to ignore pain.” He wrapped her in a hug, and she couldn’t help it when she leaned into him. Briefly, she pressed her cheek into his firmly muscled chest, and his clean, manly scent filled her nostrils, relaxing her. “If I stopped every time I had pain over the years, I would’ve been in much worse straits. JT hated weakness. The only reason I made it here the other day was because I have a high tolerance and could ignore it.”

  “Yeah, until it was almost too late,” he growled, sounding irate.

  She looked up at him, trying to understand the emotion in his words. “It was just easier for me to ignore the pain over the years. I had to keep going, keep doing, moving forward otherwise I would’ve collapsed under all the pressure. I feel…”

  Clay’s strong, muscular arms wrapped around her snugly, but he was careful to not squeeze too hard, which would increase her pain. “You feel what?”

  “After all these years of treading water, of staying ahead of the tidal wave…I feel so weak. Helpless. I feel like I’m made of water myself, like there’s no strength or support for my muscles or bones. The least little thing would flatten me right now, and I’d just run through the cracks. Useless.”

  The vibration of a soft growl rumbled through his chest, and her heartbeat sped up at the masculine sound, but not because it scared her. “Never useless, Lily. You’re hurt. You need time to heal. Take your meds. You can lie down if you want to. It’ll be a little while before supper is ready.”

  Lily shook her head. “No. If I nap now I’ll have trouble falling asleep tonight. I didn’t get much rest in the hospital so I’m exhausted but I don’t want to be awake at three in the morning, either. Can I set the table?”

  “Sure. Look around and make yourself at home.” He went to the entertainment center, turned it on, and slid a CD into the player. An old Keith Whitley song began playing.

  Clay did indeed make an excellent stir-fry. She watched a man cook for the first time in many years, delighted by the enjoyment he took from the process as he diced vegetables, peppers, deveined gulf shrimp, and heated the peanut oil. He gave her a crooked grin because her stomach growled embarrassingly when the vegetables, garlic, and rice hit the hot oil and filled the house with a mouthwatering aroma. She gawked in shock when he threw a large pat of butter into the skillet and then smirked at her reaction.

  “I’m going to get even fatter. I can feel the pounds packing on as I watch you.”

  Stirring constantly over the high heat, Clay lifted his gaze to hers. “Lily, you’re not fat.” His tone was muted, but so forceful, any reply evaded her. She looked away self-consciously when his eyes lingered on her breasts.

  Whatever. She poked the pudgy flesh at her hip. “I’ve always been fat, even when we were little. And no matter how much I worry, struggle, diet or exercise, it’s never enough. I have good intentions, make myself the promise that this time is going to be different, and then the least little thing makes me go off the wagon.”

  Clay waited until she met his eyes again before speaking. The gold specks in the mossy-green depths of his eyes sparkled with intensity as he murmured, “Lily. I said you’re not fat. You’ve bought into the stereotypes.” He removed the wok from the fire and kept stirring. “You were always so hard on yourself. If you’ll forgive me, your mom didn’t help much, either, with the things she used to say to you.”

  Her mom’s words had echoed in her memories throughout the years. “Lily, is that really what you should be eating? Lily, that is quite enough. Lily, I was never that large when I was your age. Lily, perhaps if you ate less, clothes shopping would be more fun.”

  “Mom meant w
ell. She said she worried about me.”

  “She probably did, but I think she may also have worried what other people thought. No, you were never stick thin, but no one in your family was. Even your mom was curvy.” Clay cringed and shuddered. “I can’t believe I just said that, but it is true. So it should come as no surprise that she’d have a daughter that was also curvy and voluptuous.” The honest and straightforward way he said it and the way he kept looking at her made her feel jumpy inside, but she wanted to believe him.

  Setting the wok aside, he crooked his finger, and she followed him to the living room. She sat carefully to avoid jostling her incision, and he reached for a book and a magazine on his coffee table. He opened the magazine, which was a celebrity news and fashion weekly.

  “I bought this for a recipe it had in the back. I don’t want you to think I’m getting in touch with my girly side or anything.”

  Lily laughed, thinking there was absolutely nothing “girly” about the utterly masculine man sitting next to her. He turned to a photo spread of a fashion show and gestured to the models going through their paces on the catwalk. Next, he opened the book and laid it next to the open magazine. It was a compilation of the art of a famous pinup-girl artist. The scenes on the pages featured voluptuous, leggy, busty women. Several were partially or thinly veiled nudes in seasonal themes, obviously intended for a calendar from some bygone year. Several even had pale pink nipples visible.

  Clay caressed her shoulder as he looked at her and then pointed at a catwalk model who undoubtedly suffered from anorexia judging by the hollows under her cheekbones, slightly sunken chest, and protruding joints.

  “Can you tell me why this is now considered sexy, and this,” he pointed at one of the curvy pinup girls, “is considered overweight? Because I don’t get it.” He turned a page in the magazine and pointed to an ad for a metabolic weight loss energy shake program, one that she’d considered trying. “This is a multibillion dollar industry bent on telling you that you’re not good enough the way you are. And you’re worried because I cooked with butter and oil tonight. It’ll taste good and you’ll be satisfied by it. We won’t be going through a stick of butter a day, so you have no reason to worry. For my part, Lily, I’m more worried about why you see yourself as fat than anything else.”