He'd had about all he could take. "Soon finished?"
She capped the tube and took bandages from her bag. "Soon."
She picked up his hand again to examine it, but this time his fingers curled around hers. "You have a healing touch."
He could feel the same increase in the pulse at her wrist as he could feel at his temples. He stroked her pulse point with his index finger.
Her eyes were as dark blue as a deep sea. She pulled her hand away and in a husky voice said, "I have to apply the bandages." She did, her professional mode taking over. "Keep these on until you go to bed. Then apply more cream. Apply it three times a day. If the cuts bother you tomorrow, bandage them again. If you see any redness around them or swelling, come into the office immediately."
Clay respected the doctor in her. Although he knew he was playing with fire, he wanted the woman back instead. "Are you ready for that canoe ride?"
She put away the supplies and clicked the bag shut, looking indecisive. Finally, she answered, "I'd like that. But what about the games?"
Clay flipped the tablet toward him and skimmed down the list. "It looks good to me. We can worry about logistics and supplies closer to the time."
Canoeing on the lake an hour later, Paige thought about Clay's words "closer to the time." She'd probably be leaving a few weeks after the celebration. The thought created a melancholy she didn't understand. She also didn't understand all the feelings that had surged through her when she was caring for Clay's hand. She touched her patients automatically to give comfort...because she didn't know the language or because often she couldn't find the words. But with Clay...
He'd become much more than a patient. That's why she'd hesitated about the canoe ride. If she was going to be leaving in July, she shouldn't get involved. Should she?
Clay tapped her shoulder with the tip of his oar. "You're supposed to be relaxing, not thinking."
A few sprinkles of water dribbled down her arm. "I am."
"Don't fib to me, Dr. Conrad. You haven't pushed with that paddle in at least five minutes."
She swung her legs around until she sat facing him. He looked at home here. Big and strong, his muscles rippling under his green knit shirt as he rowed. His jeans stretched across his thighs as he braced his feet in the bottom of the canoe. The sun cast blue highlights in his black hair and a few strands of gray glimmered.
If they'd been sitting the opposite way with him leading, she could have watched him.
"You did that like a pro," he commented.
"I've been in canoes before. And on rubber rafts. That's how we traveled around some of the settlements."
He grinned. "And you're afraid to take a balloon ride?"
She smiled back. "Something about water seems safer than air."
Clay's gaze said her logic escaped him. He gestured at the blue lake water, the maples, evergreen and poplars rising from the shore to the brilliant turquoise sky. The sun cast its rays, making diamonds dance on the water. "I think this is the most beautiful country I've ever seen. How does what you've seen compare?"
She laid her oar along side of her leg and studied her surroundings. "This has a...civilized look. Maybe because I know just beyond are highways and developments and hospitals. The country I've seen is more primitive, not defined by man's hand. Except in the well-populated areas."
"No man-made lakes?"
"Only where the people were taught how to build reservoirs and irrigate the land. The problem is there aren't enough teachers and there's too much government red tape." She sighed, took a deep breath of air fragrant with pine and smiled. "But I don't want to think about that now. This is so peaceful. It's just what I needed."
Clay laid his oar across his knees and pointed along the shore. "Look."
A mother duck and three ducklings swam close to the land. Every so often, one would plunge its head into the water, then look up, shaking off the excess. Paige laughed. "They make you want to go swimming."
"The lake water's still cold. Mid July it warms up."
Her humor faded. She might be gone by then.
Clay dug into his back pocket and pulled out two small packets. "Peanuts. Want a pack?"
When she nodded, he tossed one to her. She caught the packet with both hands and placed it on her thigh unopened. "There's something I need to talk to you about." She hated to interfere with the pleasantness of their surroundings, the lovely time she'd had today. But she had to talk to Clay about Ben. Maybe she was being so persistent because she sensed Clay needed to talk to the teenager as much as the teenager needed to talk to him. As cautious as Clay was, she guessed deep pain was involved in what had happened to him--emotional and physical pain. The best way to deal with pain was to get it out in the open.
Clay opened his peanuts and popped a few into his mouth. "About our plans for the Fourth?"
"No. About Ben Hockensmith."
Clay poured out a few more peanuts then transferred them to his mouth. After he chewed and swallowed, he said, "I thought that was settled."
"I was afraid it wasn't. And I was right. Ben's session with the counselor didn't go well."
Clay carefully folded over the top of the packet and stuffed them back in his pocket. "I hope you're not basing the success or failure of his therapy on one session."
Paige restlessly moved her feet and the canoe rocked. "Ben has had therapy before. The month he was in the rehab hospital, he saw a counselor every day. He's sick of it. Right now, he doesn't need talk therapy. He needs a role model, someone to give him direction, someone to show him there's a reason to wake up tomorrow."
"That's one big responsibility you want to heap on someone's shoulders."
"I just need someone to get him started. Clay, he's hurting." As soon as she said it, she felt Clay withdraw.
"I'm not the only person on the planet who can help this boy."
"You're the only one I know about."
The nerve worked in his jaw. "You don't even know what happened to me. You have no idea--"
"Tell me."
Her gentle request seemed to bring him pain. The lines on his face, the deep green of his eyes told her better than words. His words tore at her heart. "I'd like to."
She waited.
"But there's more involved than simply talking about my recovery."
"A few hours with Ben could make a difference to both of you."
Clay raked his hand through his hair in frustration and looked out over the lake. Paige was right. A few hours could make a difference. Then again, they might not. In the meantime, his life would get turned inside out.
"Can you promise me something?" Paige asked quietly.
He didn't look at her. "What?"
"That you'll give it serious thought."
Clay picked up his paddle and pushed it into the water.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clay opened the closet in his living room Tuesday night, reaching to the shelf above his coats to pull out a stack of books he'd bought but never read. Maybe he could concentrate on a spy thriller. He couldn't seem to concentrate on much else. He needed to forget the blue of Paige's eyes, her soft touch, her compassion for one of her patients.
A glint of gold far back on the shelf caught Clay's eye. He pulled the carton around the books and lifted it down. The trophies. He'd forgotten they were up there. Purposely?
His father had delivered them soon after Clay moved in, when the floors were still unfinished, a bed, a stereo, and a chair his only furniture. His dad had asked him not to sign the final papers on the store, to use his insurance settlement for something other than the "ramshackle" house and a "bankrupt" business. He'd tried to convince Clay again that he should stay in Reisterstown and become his partner.
But Clay had known deep in his soul that he needed a fresh start without someone else's expectations driving him. From what he'd understood from his mother and Trish, the old Clay had won those trophies more for his father than for himself.
Clay cut off the thoug
hts, unwilling to dig up emotions that he'd put to rest. He had no desire to bring back the nightmares that had stopped only last year. But he couldn't stop wondering if Ben Hockensmith was having the same difficulty with his father that Clay had experienced. Ben had been a football star. Had his father pinned his hopes and dreams on him? Was Ben feeling the pressure to fulfill everybody else's expectations without having the chance to decide what he wanted?
Had his friends stuck by him? Why wouldn't they? Ben remembered who they were. Yet if his rehabilitation had slowed him down, taken him out of the mainstream, he might have been moving too slow for friends to want to stick around.
Clay examined a trophy carefully, as always seeking a sign of recognition, a sign that all the doctors and experts were wrong. But reality stepped in. The trophy in his hands had been earned by a boy, a young man Clay didn't know. There was nothing he could do about that.
But there was something he could do about Ben. He could give the boy a pep talk. He wouldn't have to reveal anything about the amnesia. If necessary, he could tell Ben about the rehabilitation he'd had to go through with his shoulder. Nothing intense. Nothing wrenching. Nothing that might bring the nightmares back.
He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before. Maybe because the recovery from his shoulder injury had been so much simpler than the rest of his recovery. But it might work. ****
Later that evening, Clay answered a knock at his front door and couldn't have been more surprised. Paige stood there, smiling hesitantly.
Her pretty blue eyes, simply styled hair, and uncertain expression twisted something inside him that was deep and hungry. "A little late for house calls, isn't it?" he teased.
"I had a few late late appointments. I wanted to stop by to apologize."
"For what?"
"For trying to make you do something that might not be right for you. May I come in?"
Clay stepped back and with a quick glance made sure the closet door was shut. It was.
Paige walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. He tried to ignore the way she looked so at home in his surroundings. Her questions, her curiosity, her caring were as natural to her as her blue eyes. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I made a pot a little while ago."
"Sure." She started to get up.
"No. Stay there. I'll bring it in."
Paige studied Clay as he walked into the kitchen. His legs were so long, his shoulders so broad. And her stomach still fluttered every time he smiled. It was his quiet strength she admired most; she could feel it whenever she was around him.
Looking around the room, she tried to find out more about the man. He liked restful colors--blue and earth tones. He appreciated texture--tweed, wood, hand-thrown pottery, rough plaster. Apparently he didn't like clutter. A Native American sculpture, stoneware lamps, and copper ship bookends holding David Copperfield, The Prophet, and Wildlife of Northern America were the only items decorating the furniture.
What she didn't find struck her as much as what she did. There were no photographs. Nothing...personal. Her most precious possessions were the photograph of her parents and a small ceramic clown her best friend in boarding school had given her. As much as she traveled, wherever she traveled, those two mementos went with her.
Clay returned to the living room and handed her a mug of coffee. He took his to the chair instead of sitting on the sofa beside her. In a way, she was glad. When he was too close, she had problems thinking straight.
"Did you decorate the house yourself?"
"For the most part. Trish made a few suggestions."
Clay's voice always softened when he spoke of his sister. Obviously, she was special to him. "Do you have a picture of her?"
Clay didn't even glance around as if one might be located somewhere else. "No."
"Your family isn't big on pictures?"
He took a sip of coffee from his mug and gazed at her over its rim. "I don't need pictures sitting around. The ones I need are in my head."
That was an unusual answer. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what those pictures were until Clay asked a question she hadn't expected.
"What's Ben Hockensmith's biggest problem?"
Apparently Clay had done some serious thinking. "His frustration and anger that he can't play football. He doesn't want to change his dreams."
Clay set his mug on the hearth in front of the fireplace. "And you really believe if I speak with him, it will help?"
Her heart sped up. "Yes."
The silence in the room was an anticipatory hush.
Clay's green eyes were as serious as Paige had ever seen them. "All right," he said, "I'll talk to him. But I'd like it to be on a casual basis. I don't want him to feel trapped with me."
Paige couldn't imagine anyone feeling trapped with Clay. "We could go to the lake on Sunday for a picnic and a swim."
"You think Ben will go for that?"
She took a few sips of coffee as she considered his question. "He's been cooped up too long. I can't see him turning down sunshine, fresh air, and..." She smiled. "Good company." She paused for a moment. "What changed your mind?"
Clay shrugged. "I found something that reminded me--" He picked up his coffee mug. "It doesn't matter."
"Thank you."
He seemed embarrassed. "No thanks necessary." He nodded to her mug. "More coffee?"
She enjoyed sitting here with Clay, but she also knew she shouldn't stay. She'd be flying away in a couple of months. "No. I'd better go. Doc will worry. I didn't tell him I was going to stop by."
Clay stood, too. "I guess he might."
They both knew it was a poor excuse. But Clay had his reasons for keeping his distance; she had hers.
He walked her to the door. When she glanced up at him to say good-bye, the words wouldn't come and she couldn't look away.
He raised his hand and gently smoothed his thumb along her cheek. "What makes you care so much?"
"My background, I guess."
He searched her face, the depths of her eyes, and then shook his head. His hand lightly tapped her heart. "No, I think it's what's in here."
She could feel the lingering warmth of his fingers where he'd touched her. She'd never wanted to feel a man's hand on her breast before. The boldness of her thoughts should have shocked her, but it didn't. Because Clay was awakening something wonderful inside her and she wanted to feel his touch. The longing was such an ache, her eyes pricked.
She still couldn't say good-bye, but she managed, "Good night, Clay. I'll call after I talk to Ben."
He nodded and she opened the door. Walking into the evening, she took in a cool breath of air, waiting for it to blow out fires that both frightened and excited her.
****
Clay glanced at Paige beside him as he drove to the teenager's house. For Paige and Ben's sake, Clay hoped the outing would go well. He reminded himself he was going to watch his step today. He'd been incredibly stupid the other night, touching her like that. He'd only meant to...Hell, it didn't matter what he'd meant. He'd seen the surprise passion flare in her eyes, and he'd experienced his own body respond all too vehemently.
His aim today was to give Ben Hockensmith a pep talk and stay unaffected by Paige. As easy as paddling a canoe...he hoped. He took another look at Paige. She wore red shorts and her legs were every bit as lovely as the rest of her--tanned, smooth, curvy, and long. He could see the outline of her swimsuit's scooped neck under her navy top. He wondered what the rest of it looked like. What the rest of her looked like....
He shut off the thought and asked, "How's Ben's family reacting to the accident?"
"Better than Ben. His dad says he'll take a second mortgage on the house and send him to college anywhere he wants to go. His mom makes sure he does his exercises and encourages him to get out. He's an only child, so he has all their attention."
"Is his dad having a problem now that football is out of the picture?"
"I don't think so. He wants Ben to get on with his life.
"
Clay wished his own father had wanted that for him. But his situation and Ben's were entirely different. Ben's father didn't feel as if he'd lost a son.
Ben was waiting outside along the curb. Paige could see his mother standing inside the screen door. She waved as Ben made his way to Clay's SUV.
Ben was quiet as they drove to the lake. Paige tried to draw him out, but his answers were monosyllabic. Clay could feel the teenager staring at him and probably wondering about him. Paige had told Ben that Clay had been in an accident too.
They found a weather-worn table in a grove of trees. Clay carried the picnic basket to the table. With his cane, Ben's carrying ability was limited, but he managed the jug of lemonade and his rolled towel. Paige brought her duffel bag and Clay's and the blanket for the grassy beach. They left the cooler in the SUV for the time being.
The late afternoon sun shone in the cloudless azure sky. "How about a swim first?" Paige asked cheerfully.
Clay said, "It's up to Ben. That water's still cold."
"I'm not afraid of cold water," the teenager muttered.
That might be true, but Clay knew he was afraid of other things. He watched Ben's eyes dart around the swimmers on the grassy shore. Then Ben looked down at his leg still encased in his jeans. Clay imagined what the teenager was thinking.
Clay took the blanket from the picnic bench. "Let's go sun on the beach. We can play a card game until we decide if we want to get wet."
Ben seemed thankful for the reprieve.
Paige exchanged a look with Clay that said she appreciated his thoughtfulness. He didn't want her appreciation. He didn't want anything from her that would increase the attraction between them. Because it couldn't go anywhere.
They settled on the blanket. To combat the awkwardness of strangers getting to know each other, they concentrated on a game of gin rummy.
After three rounds, Clay wiped his brow. "I don't know about you two, but it's too hot to sit here with clothes on. Ready for that swim?"
When neither Ben nor Paige answered, Clay lifted his shirt over his head.
Love In Bloom Page 5