"They were following their dream--to heal the world together. And now Mother's keeping that dream alive."
"But is it your dream?"
Paige rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. "I thought it was. Growing up, watching them care for people, no matter what the conditions were. I thought I wanted that life, too. That's why I became a doctor."
"And now?"
"I just don't know. But I have a couple of months to figure it out."
"You know you can stay with me as long as you need to, even when I'm back on my feet. I promised your father I'd look after you."
Paige opened her eyes and sat up straight. "And you've always done a good job. I wouldn't have gotten through med school without your moral support, let alone my residency after Daddy had his stroke..." Her voice caught. Although it had been five years, Paige still missed her dad deeply. But she considered herself lucky to have Doc.
She didn't speak about her feelings easily, maybe because of her upbringing. Showing someone how she felt had always been easier than talking about it. So she changed the subject. "What would you like for supper tonight? Curried chicken or baked haddock?"
Doc's gaze was sympathetic, as if he knew talking about her father was still painful. "I think the baked haddock would be easier on my stomach." He sat forward on the recliner and put his glasses on the end table. "So what are you going to do about Ben?"
Paige hopped to her feet and started toward the kitchen. "I'll make sure I keep an eye on him. I haven't given up on Clay Reynolds."
"Give him some time, child. Let him think about your idea. Maybe he'll come around. In fact...there's a square dance Saturday night at Phelps' place. I bet Clay will be there."
Paige stopped and turned around. "You think socializing with him will bring him around?"
"I think you should follow your instincts and see how set he is about keeping his life to himself. And remember that old proverb--you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."
Doc couldn't mean... "You're not suggesting I put on makeup and bat my eyelashes, are you?"
"A little makeup wouldn't hurt." At her affronted look, he chuckled. "Not that you need it. You're as pretty as one of my white irises. But it would do you good to dress up, be with people your own age, and have some fun."
She'd spent most of her life with adults, except for the years in boarding school. Competition in med school hadn't fostered friendships or relaxation. Could Doc know exactly how inexperienced she was with men? No. She'd never talked to him about that, or to her mother, either, for that matter.
She'd come to Langley to get perspective on her life and make decisions about her future. Maybe a little fun could help her along.
****
Paige sat beside Doc at a picnic table in the Phelps' barn. "Are you okay sitting here? We could bring in a lawn chair from the car."
"I'm fine. We'll stay an hour or so, then head home. I still get tired so damn fast. Oh, and I want to warn you that Ron Murphy will be seeking you out tonight. He's looking for volunteers for--"
Paige didn't hear the rest of what Doc said because Clay Reynolds strode through the door. He wore a gray and black plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled above his forearms. His arms were as tanned as his face and spoke of many hours outdoors. He moved like an athlete, with purpose and fluidity. She remembered the sight of his solid chest, the curling black hair.... Her heart raced.
She watched him closely, trying to learn more about him. He seemed to know everyone. She supposed most of the people he talked to were his customers. Doc had told her Clay owned a store that sold mowers, garden equipment, and supplies.
But then again, he sure knew a lot of women. That easy grin. Even from here she could tell his green eyes sparkled with friendliness. Maybe more than friendliness, she thought, as he dropped his arm around a blonde's shoulders and gave her a quick hug. Was he involved with someone? She frowned. Why should she care if he was?
Doc leaned over. "Clay coached Little League the past couple of years. She's one of the boys' mothers."
Heat rushed to Paige's cheeks because Doc had caught her looking. "I'm just trying to find out what kind of man he is."
"You might have to strike up a conversation for that." Doc pointed to the wooden platform at the rear of the barn where musicians had gathered. "They're startin' up."
Paige couldn't see over the heads at the tables, but she heard a bow dance across a fiddle, a pick strum a guitar, and the resounding vibrations of a bass viol. Her foot tapped to the beat.
Doc nudged her arm. "Go on. Go have fun."
She hesitated. "I don't know how to square dance."
"That's something we'll have to fix," a low voice said behind her.
Recognizing the voice, she looked over her shoulder. Suddenly she was tongue-tied. She'd thought Clay would avoid her if he saw her, not seek her out. Then again, maybe he'd just come over to say hi to Doc.
Clay smiled. "Is this your first square dance?"
She flipped her leg over the bench, straddling it. "Yes. I've never even watched square dancing, let alone tried it."
"I'll partner you if you'd like to try. Joe starts out slow for the beginners," Clay encouraged. "He'll tell you what to do and how to do it. You'll catch on in no time."
"I won't make a fool of myself?"
Clay's brows lifted wickedly. "Not if I'm your partner."
She laughed and it felt good. She couldn't remove her gaze from Clay's, and her heart jumped.
He held out his hand, his smile giving her the confidence she needed to do something new in the midst of strangers in an unfamiliar place. Her parents and her skills had given her that confidence in the past. A man's smile never had.
She took his hand and walked beside him to the cleared floor.
Clay stood beside her as the caller requested one large circle. His elbow was at least two inches from her upper arm, but she was aware of his broad shoulders, his lean waist, his long legs encased in the black denims. The jeans were snug across his thighs and she imagined the muscles underneath were taut and powerful. How had he been injured in the accident? What had he recovered from?
The caller asked them to position themselves boy-girl, boy-girl, and described a few basic moves--do-si-do, allemande, bow to your partner. Then he tapped his foot and took the microphone from its holder.
The music started and Paige took a deep breath.
Clay leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. "If you get lost, watch everybody else. We'll all be doing the same thing at the same time. Just relax and enjoy yourself."
To her surprise, she did. Listening to the caller, she watched Clay for signals. He was a good partner, grabbing her hand, nudging her shoulder to turn her in the right direction, guiding her with his eyes. She found herself smiling and finally laughing with the sheer joy of the physical activity, the appreciation of friendly neighbors having a good time together, the earthy feeling of the wooden barn with its lingering scent of hay.
Paige didn't have a problem following the caller until he sang for the women to form a circle on the inside, the men a circle on the outside.
Allemande took on new meaning. Clay skillfully clasped her arm. Her fingers met his hot skin, the wavy black hairs on his forearm. His touch on her, her touch on him seemed personal and intimate, and she felt as though she was standing still although her feet were moving.
He passed by her once, making his way around the circle. He passed by her twice. Each lap around intensified her sensitivity to him. She didn't notice any of the other men. But when she clasped Clay's arm, when he held her, she felt startled and breathless.
After the fourth lap, he pulled her to his side. His body was hot and hard.
"What are you--?"
"We're supposed to promenade. Just let me lead."
She must have missed the call. Held beside Clay, with him setting the rhythm, her hands enclosed in his, she realized why her attention wasn't on the caller. There was chemis
try between her and Clay, chemistry she'd always read about but had never experienced.
At the end of the song, she felt dizzy, and not from dancing in a circle. Clay guided her toward the punch bowl and filled two cups. He handed her one.
His brows arched. "Well? Did you like it?"
"The dancing?"
His lips twitched up. "Yes."
She felt her cheeks flush. "It was fun. Do they have these dances often?"
Clay took a few swallows of punch. "Not on this large a scale. There are square-dancing clubs across the county."
Paige brushed her bangs across her forehead and wondered if she looked as hot as she felt. Watching Clay's lips as he talked made her feel hotter. "Do you belong to any? You seem to know what you're doing."
"I don't have the time."
She wondered what he did with his time, how he spent it, whom he spent it with. "Because of the store?"
"Mostly."
He obviously wasn't going to say more. She had a feeling getting personal information from Clay would be much more difficult than learning to square dance. But she wanted more information. For Ben's benefit, of course. Draining her punch cup, she set it down. Since Clay had approached her, maybe he'd had a change of heart about Ben. Doc had advised her to give Clay time, but....
"Have you given any consideration to my request?"
Clay's eyes grew darker. "I gave you my answer when you asked."
"You haven't thought about changing it?"
"I've thought about it."
"And?"
Clay's voice was firm, low, and sure. "I think someone else can do the boy more good than I can."
"Maybe you're underestimating your ability to help."
Clay felt a weight settle on his heart. He'd experienced the rebirth he'd mentioned to Paige; every minute of that rebirth had been painful. No one but his family knew how painful. He couldn't stir it up and escape unscathed. He'd approached Paige tonight against his better judgment. The tilt of her head and the wealth of emotions flittering across her face as she'd spoken with Doc, had drawn him to her step by step. But that wouldn't change the way he felt about her request.
"Ben will do better with a professional who knows about--"
"Clay. Just the man I want to see." Ron Murphy clapped Clay on the shoulder. "And Dr. Conrad. I've been looking for you, too. How would you two like to work on the Fourth of July Celebration committee? We're late getting started this year and can use all the help we can get."
CHAPTER TWO
Clay swerved his gaze from Paige to Ron. The people of Langley had been good to him--friendly, accepting, respectful of his privacy because he kept a tight lid on what he said and whom he said it to. So he liked to give back to the community any way he could. "What does the committee do exactly?"
Ron nudged his black Stetson farther back on his head. "Runs the day. Makes sure everything's where it's supposed to be, when it's supposed to be there. I need to get enough volunteers so no one person has to do too much. Everyone's busy. What do you say Clay? Will you at least come to the meeting next week?"
Since he wasn't coaching Little League this year, he had some time. "Sure, I'll come. If there's any way I can help out, I'll be glad to. Fourth of July last year was a great success, wasn't it?"
"Darn tootin', it was. And we'll do even better this year. How about you, Dr. Conrad? Will you help out?"
Clay saw the doubts on her face and wondered where they came from and why they were there. "It'll be a great chance for you to get to know more people in Langley."
"I don't know if I have the time to spare."
Clay didn't believe time was the problem. He suspected she had an underlying reason for being hesitant to join in, but he wasn't willing to pry. "It's your call."
Ron Murphy was looking at her expectantly.
Reluctantly, she agreed. "All right. I'll come to the meeting and see what's involved."
Ron thanked both of them, told them he'd be in touch, and moved on to another group of neighbors. Paige picked up her cup from the table and filled it again.
"Did we back you into a corner?" Clay asked.
She smiled. "No. I would like to get more involved in the community. It's just..."
He arched a brow but didn't push.
"It will make it that much harder to leave if I do."
Now he understood. If she got attached, it would be more difficult to break away. "How long will you be here?"
"Two more months, maybe. Until Doc can take over again."
"And then what?"
"I'll probably go back to Africa."
The idea of her leaving caused a ripple of consternation Clay didn't understand. Just as he didn't understand why he'd encouraged her to join the committee. Why should he care? Because she obviously cared about so many things--Doc and Ben Hockensmith being at the top of her list.
There was a determination about Paige, but there was a fragility, too. Gut feeling told him it had more to do with innocence than weakness. Innocence in a woman of twenty-eight...thirty?
The music was going strong again, new squares were forming. "Are you going to join in?"
Paige looked toward Doc. "No. Doc's probably ready to go."
Clay nodded. It was best she wasn't staying. Their dancing had made him feel alive, filled with an energy he couldn't remember feeling as far back as he could remember. But he knew that feeling could cause trouble. "Tell Doc I'll be out Thursday evening to trim the hedge instead of Wednesday. My assistant manager will be gone all day and I'll be at the store late."
Paige gave him a smile that brought out the dimple in her right cheek as she lightly touched his arm. "Thanks for the dancing lessons. You are a good partner."
She was a woman who liked to touch. He remembered the way she'd willingly taken his hands at the car, the way she'd run her hand over his oak chair. He supposed touching was natural in a nurturing profession, but when she touched him... "You were an easy student to teach. I'm glad you had fun."
She removed her hand from his arm. "I might see you Thursday."
He nodded, knowing it was better if he didn't see her at all.
Paige turned away and crossed to Doc's table.
Clay mowed his fingers through his hair. She was a sweet, caring woman and he was too attracted to her. Attraction hadn't been a problem the past few years. He'd acted on it, within limits, and received satisfaction. But in this instance, attraction could only lead to complications. His aim in life now was to keep it simple. And he would.
****
Tuesday evening after Clay had locked his store for the day, he watched his sister sitting at the desk in his office. It was hard to believe he used to be as fascinated by numbers as she was.
Trish switched off his computer and turned the swivel chair toward him. "As usual, everything looks fine. Your business is booming. The way you've taken to management is amazing. What kind of ads are you running?"
"Eye-catching ones. Coupons, too."
"There's more to it than that."
"Service. My customers like knowing the owner, coming to me if they have a problem. And if they know I've worked on the equipment...they feel like I'm one of them, not some corporate owner or teenage clerk who doesn't give two hoots about service, just the products he sells."
"Sure you don't want to go into public-relations work? We could use you in the marketing department."
"Ah, Trish. What am I going to do with you? Can't you believe I'm happy here, either?"
She pushed her blond waves away from her face. "I believe it."
Trish had been Clay's ballast during his recovery. His mother had unceasingly cared for him and retaught him. But she had a tendency to overprotect. His dad had kept a cool distance. But Trish had taught him how to be a person again. He'd felt love for his sister before he'd felt it for anyone else.
He asked, "How's work?"
"You mean how's Dad, don't you?"
"Do I?"
"Gee, I've taught you how
to fence well."
Clay couldn't suppress his smile. "You think you know me."
"Of course, I know you. I helped develop your personality. That's why you're the fun guy you are today."
Trish teased him, but there was always an element of truth hanging in their sparring. "And Dad wishes that was different. He'll never understand I'm not the same person I was ten years ago and I never will be."
Trish frowned. "I think he still hopes you'll come back into the business."
"I can't."
"I know. I've told him over and over that your mind works differently now, that you don't enjoy designing high-tech heating systems."
"He feels he paid for me to become an electrical engineer and that's what I should be. I guess the way he sees it, his investment went down the tubes." Clay crossed to the small window in his office and looked out. "I can't explain the satisfaction that working with my hands gives me. Whether it's tearing down and rebuilding a mower or chopping wood for the fireplace. Dad sees me in work clothes and shudders. His idea of heaven is seeing everybody wearing three-piece suits."
Trish's voice was hesitant. "Does it bother you that I work with Dad and you don't?"
Clay faced his sister. He'd analyzed himself from here to next year and had faced up to the problems with his father. "You're an accountant and doing what you like, what you were trained to do. You're also doing what Dad wants, so he leaves the rest of your life alone."
"He always hated your rock climbing because of the danger involved, but he respected it because you pursued it with the same intensity you pursued anything. But when you told him you were moving to Langley and setting up your own business, it shot his plans to smithereens."
Clay's father had a problem with not being in control of his son's life. "You're the only one who understands why I had to get away from Reisterstown."
"Yes, I do. But you didn't answer my question. Does seeing me work for Dad bother you?"
He'd been honest with Trish in everything up to this point. "No, his lack of understanding bothers me. If you decided to put your accounting degree aside to become a chef, you'd have the same problems with him that I have."
"Maybe. But it's worse for you because you're his son, the male he presumed would carry on his business and his name."
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