by Gayle Roper
“Hope you feel better soon,” the man called after them.
Leigh waved acknowledgment and laid her head back on Clay’s chest.
“Does it hurt much?” he asked as he rested his cheek against her hair.
“Feels sort of good,” she said dreamily. Then she stiffened as she heard herself. “I mean it throbs some, but I’ll live.”
He smiled to himself and kissed the top of her head. “You’d better. We’re not finished with our talking yet.”
She sighed. “I was afraid of that.” She cuddled closer, wrapping an arm about his waist. “I should have known. You haven’t won yet.” Her voice was laden with sorrow.
“What?” He stopped midstride and stared down at her. Surely she didn’t think he was the kind of man who was only happy when he had total control. Well, he was, sort of, but he’d been working on it. And he certainly knew better than to expect to dominate her. If there was one thing he’d learned since his return, it was that Leigh had a mind of her own.
She grinned up at him, pointing her index finger like a smoking gun. “Gotcha.”
He didn’t know about Leigh, but he was smiling broadly when they reached the backyard. If she could tease him that blatantly, things between them were definitely looking up, to say nothing of the fact that her ankle couldn’t be hurting too badly.
“Just what do you think you’re doing with her?” an ice-cold voice demanded.
Clay felt Leigh’s jolt of surprise as he spun toward the sound.
Bill stood just outside the door to the apartment, his hands in fists on his hips, his jaw clenched. “I think you’d better put her down. Now.”
Clay looked at the fierce emotion on Bill’s face and slowly lowered Leigh to the ground. He kept his arm about her waist to help support her. She leaned heavily against him, an arm clutching him for balance. She held her injured foot off the ground.
“Get away from her,” Bill ordered. “Stand over there.” He pointed halfway across the yard.
Clay felt Leigh tighten her grip on him. He didn’t move.
“I said get away from her.” Bill took a step toward them, his angry eyes fixed on Clay.
Clay looked at his son with a combination of pride and amusement, though he was careful not to let the amusement show. The lion cub protecting his pack.
“Don’t worry, Bill.” His voice serious and respectful. “She’s not hurt badly.”
Bill looked his mother up and down. “She doesn’t look hurt at all to me.”
“Sprained ankle,” Clay said, and Leigh held out the offending leg. “She stepped in one of Clooney’s spade holes.”
“Yeah. Right,” Bill said, absolutely unconvinced. “I want you to leave her alone and go back to where you came from.” His eyes shot sparks. “You’ve hurt her enough already. I won’t let you hurt her again.”
“I assure you, Bill, that I have no intentions of hurting your mom.”
Bill just stared, lips compressed, jaw set.
“In fact, all my intentions are honorable.” He found himself hugging Leigh, pulling her even closer.
“What if I say I don’t want you to have any intentions toward her? We’ve done fine for all these years without you. We don’t need you, and we don’t want you. Just leave us alone!” Each word was clipped and vibrated with emotion.
For the first time, Leigh stirred. She straightened away from Clay and said, “Billy, watch yourself.” The finger she had just shot Clay with was pointed at Bill, but there was no humor lurking in her eyes this time. “Clay hasn’t done anything wrong. I did sprain my ankle, and he carried me home because I can’t walk. I think you owe him an apology.”
“Bill! It’s Bill,” he yelled. “And don’t you tell me to apologize! I won’t do it! I won’t. He’s just going to dump us all over again, and you’ll cry and cry.”
Leigh started. “What?”
“You think I don’t hear you crying at night? I hear. And I know the tears are his fault.” He looked at Clay with utter disgust.
Clay blinked. She cried over him at night? He wasn’t the only one who suffered sleepless sorrow? He beamed down at her.
She popped him gently in the stomach. “Don’t go getting a big head. It’s only been this week. Before that I was over you completely.”
“Um. If you say so.”
“Mom, get a grip! He’s going to bolt again. We can’t trust him.”
Clay studied his son, telling himself that he shouldn’t be hurt by Bill’s continuing tirade, but he was. This was the boy who had bragged about him to Mike, the boy who had worked beside him all week at the old Spenser place, the boy who had laughed with him. Where had this spitting defender of single moms come from? And how had he become the enemy?
“You keep letting him hold you like that, Mom, and boom! Tears again.” Bill pointed a bony finger at Clay. “Let her alone!”
Slowly, Clay lowered his arm from Leigh’s waist and stepped away. She yipped softly when her injured ankle took some of her weight as she tried to keep her balance. Clay grabbed her elbow and helped her as she sank to Julia’s bench.
“Mom! You are hurt.” Bill rushed over to her.
“I’ll go get some ice,” Clay said. “Put that foot up.” He lifted her leg as she turned sideways on the bench.
“Get your hands off her,” Bill said, his voice low and mean. “I’ll take care of her. I’ll get her ice.”
“Billy—Bill—that’s enough of that.” Leigh’s voice was clipped. “Clay’s just being kind. I appreciate his help. I’m glad he was there to help me when I fell and that I didn’t have to walk back on a sore ankle. I’m glad he carried me.”
Bill looked at her incredulously. “You actually want him to touch you?”
Inadvertently, Bill had asked a loaded question. Clay waited, frozen, for her answer. Slowly she lifted her head to him.
“I want him to,” she whispered.
Clay saw everything in her eyes: her love, her fear, her hesitant trust.
“You’re crazy!” Bill ran past her toward the beach. “I hope you break your other ankle, and when you do, don’t ask me to help after he’s gone!”
“Billy! Come back here,” Leigh called.
He ignored her and kept running. She tried to rise, to chase him, but she staggered as her weight hit her bad ankle.
“Sit,” Clay ordered as he grabbed her and pushed her down. “I’ll go after him.”
He jogged through the dunes and returned almost immediately. “He’s running down the beach. I’ll chase him if you want me to.”
She thought for a minute. “Maybe we should let him run off his mad before we try to talk to him.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I wish there were some absolutes in this parenting business.”
He looked over his shoulder toward the beach, as uncertain as she. “I don’t ever want to come between you and Bill.”
She smiled and held out her hand. “You haven’t come between us. Nothing could. He’s just afraid that you might.”
“Leigh.” He moved to her and grasped her hand tightly in his.
“Of course, you will change the balance of power, won’t you?”
He bent to kiss her. “I guess I will.”
“Ice,” she reminded. “Then we’ll talk.”
“You’ll wait for me here?” He hated letting her out of his sight with things still unsettled between them.
She looked ruefully at her ankle. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Clay hurried into the kitchen and dumped what ice was left in the icemaker into a sealable plastic bag. He grabbed a dishtowel to wrap it in and rushed back to Leigh.
She half sat, half lay on the bench, the sun dancing on her shining hair. She was looking through the dunes to the sea with a worried expression until she heard the door slam behind him. Then she turned to him, and a slow smile slid over her face. Very deliberately she winked. “Hey, sailor.”
His breath checked in his throat and his heart skipped a beat.
Oh, Lord, I want to spend the rest of my life rushing back to her. And Bill. Help us figure out how to make it all work.
When he reached her, he stood looking down at her lovely face, savoring it, wondering how he could have been fool enough to wait all these years to come back to her, why he had been fool enough to let her get away to begin with.
“I’m getting a kink in my neck,” she finally said, matching him stare for stare. “You forget how tall you are, especially when I’m sitting.”
“Oh.” He dropped to the bench beside her and pulled her close so her back rested against his side.
“The ice?” she whispered.
“Oh. Right.” He held out the sweating bag. She took it and wrapped it in the towel. She reached forward and placed it on her ankle. Then she leaned back against him again. He liked the feel of her against him, but with her legs stretched out in front of her, all he saw was the back of her head.
“We can do better than this.” He took her by the waist and lifted her onto his lap. Immediately she snuggled close, tucking her head beneath his chin.
“What should we do about Bill?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Give him time to cool down and then talk with him.”
“I thought he liked me.”
“He does. He idolizes you. You’re all he talks about. In fact, it’s been driving me crazy, all this praise.”
“Yeah? Jealous, are you?” he asked, amazed at the surge of pleasure that washed through him at the news that Bill liked him.
“I’m not jealous, but he is, I think. Jealous and threatened and fearful of change, sort of the way you feel about your mother and David.”
He pulled back and looked down at her, aghast. “I do not feel that way.”
“Ha!” She raised her eyebrow in challenge. “Like father, like son.”
Like father, like son? What an extraordinary thought, even if it weren’t so. He shook his head, denying her opinion of him.
She nodded in answer. “Absolutely.”
He groaned. If he was going to be totally honest with himself, she was probably right. “How embarrassing.”
“Only if you continue.” She patted him comfortingly on the chest. “But I know you’ll set the right example for Billy.”
“Bill,” he mumbled automatically as he wrestled with the idea of setting examples. What kind of an example was a failure like him?
“You’ll do fine,” she said with more assurance than he felt.
“Reading my mind, are you?” An interesting and strangely intimate thought. He lifted the hand resting in her lap and kissed her knuckles.
She looked away and didn’t answer. Apparently she felt the unspoken closeness too, and it unnerved her.
“I won’t leave you, you know.”
She turned and looked at him for a long moment. “I want to believe that with all my heart. So does Bill.”
“But there’s a history.”
She nodded.
“And that’s why I scare you.”
She nodded again. “You left the last time I loved you.”
He didn’t deny it or try to justify himself. “I love you, Leigh. I don’t know; maybe I’ve loved you all these years. I’ve certainly never found anyone other than you who’s interested me in the least.”
“Not even the woman who gave you Terror?”
“Definitely not Emilie.” They sat quietly for a moment.
“You love me,” he finally said. “I know you do.”
She didn’t deny it. Instead she dropped a small kiss on his jaw.
He took a deep breath and asked the question of questions. “Do you think you can learn to trust me?”
“There’s nothing I want more in the world.”
He felt himself relax.
“And, like I said, there’s nothing that scares me more.”
Tension roared back. “I’m not eighteen anymore, love.” He placed their clasped hands over his heart. “I’m a man. I know what I’m asking of you when I ask for your trust, and before God, I will be worthy of it.”
She looked into his eyes, studying, searching for he didn’t know what.
He looked steadily back. Oh, God, help me look reliable and trustworthy!
She gave a small nod and settled back against him, tucking her head under his chin. He frowned. Did that nod mean she was willing to take the risk of trusting him? Or did it mean she had been right all along, and he wasn’t worthy? Uncertainty gnawed at his gut.
But she was still cuddling. Surely that was a good sign.
When he could stand his doubts no more, he blurted, “Marry me, Leigh. Please.”
She froze. She didn’t even seem to breathe. “Marry you?” she whispered.
“Yes. On this Easter day that means Life, say you’ll be my life.”
Still motionless, she sat in his lap like a beautiful stone princess. Her head was turned from him, staring at her lap. Because he couldn’t see her eyes, he had no way to gauge the reason for her hesitation.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she finally asked, still looking at her lap. “You’re not asking because you feel you have to because of Billy?”
“I’m asking because I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” He held her away so he could turn her to look at him. She kept her eyes downcast, and he had to put his hand beneath her chin and gently force her head up until their eyes met. “Leigh, my one and only love, please marry me.”
“Oh, Clay.” Her voice broke, and she searched his eyes. Her own eyes swam with tears.
“What are you looking for?” he asked. “What do you want to see?” A thought struck him. “Or what are you afraid to see?”
She placed her hand against his cheek. A smile slowly spread across her face. “I was afraid I would see responsibility, a girding of the loins to do the right thing. You know—I wasn’t there for her before, so I’ll be there now. I don’t dislike her, so it won’t be too bad to marry her.” She rested her other hand against his heart. “I couldn’t have stood that.”
Tension eased from Clay’s shoulders as he said, “You didn’t see that, did you?”
She shook her head.
“What do you see?”
“I see the way David looks at Julia.”
“What?” He stared at her, nonplussed. “That wasn’t quite the response I expected.”
Her eyes turned dreamy. “I wanted you to look at me that way, you know. Like I was special. Like I held your heart. Because you certainly hold mine.”
He took her hand. “My heart sits right there, Leigh.” He lightly touched her palm. “It’s yours to hold forever.”
Slowly, gently she closed her fingers. “I’m not letting you go this time.”
“And I’m not leaving.” He gave her a quick, light kiss. “Marry me, love.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
He squeezed back. “Is that to be understood as a yes?” Please, God.
“Yes,” she said, leaning back so he could see her radiant face. “Oh yes!”
After he finished kissing her thoroughly and she rested quietly against his chest once more, he said, “What do you think Bill will say?”
She sat up and lifted the ice pack. She slid off his lap, turned, and let her feet fall to the ground. “Why don’t we go ask him?” She pushed herself upright and wobbled a bit.
He jumped up and grabbed her. “You shouldn’t be walking around on that ankle. Why don’t I go find Bill and bring him back here?”
She nodded. “He’s been alone too long as it is. I’m getting nervous now that I’m thinking again.”
“I interfered with your thought processes?” It made him feel good.
“Big time, bub. Big time.”
They grinned at each other, and he wanted to smother her with kisses. Instead he tore his eyes from her and looked toward the beach. “He’s okay. We haven’t seen any small men in glasses with hair combed from one ear over to the other.”
He turned back to her and watched as she went pale. “Yes, we have,” she said.
He looked at her, confused. Then the color drained from his face too. “The man on the beach.”
She nodded. “And Billy’s on the beach.”
Thirty-four
BILL COULDN’T remember ever being so angry! How could Mom be so stupid? How could she stand there and look at Clay with that dumb moony look? She was just asking for him to hurt her again when he left. And he always left.
Not that he blamed Clay for wanting to spend all his time with her while he was here. Guys always liked spending time with her, and it made him sort of proud that they liked her that much. She was so pretty and nice.
The problem, as far as Bill was concerned, was that if Clay spent all his time with her, he wouldn’t have time for him. What was the good of getting a dad if he never spent time with you? He wanted all Clay’s time before he left, but she was getting it.
He snarled at a passing seagull that screamed raucously back.
It had been so great to have a dad for a while. Playing ball, painting the front door at Pop-pop’s house, just talking. Even now he felt a heaviness in his chest at the thought of not having Clay around. It felt like the weight he’d been carrying at the thought of Uncle Ted dying. Well, it would be like Clay died. He’d go away, and they wouldn’t see him again for ten long years.
Bill blinked. He’d be twenty when Clay came to town next time. He’d be a man. He’d be in college. He wouldn’t need a father then. He frowned. Yeah, he would. He remembered how Clay missed his father, and he was twenty-nine! It seemed that if your dad wasn’t there, you always missed him, no matter how old you got.
Did girls miss their dads too, or was that a guy thing? He wasn’t sure since he’d never asked. Mom didn’t miss Pop-pop much, he didn’t think, but Pop-pop wasn’t a good example of a father anyway. He’d have to ask one of the girls at school. He shuddered. He could do it. He was strong. One question wouldn’t contaminate him, at least not too much.
He came to the jetty where he and Clay had sat and talked. His eyes burned, and he swallowed tears at the thought of that special time.
“Go ahead and cry,” Mom always said. “It’s okay. Boys can cry.”