Country Brides (5 page)

“It's been quite a night, hasn't it?” she murmured, adding cream and sugar to the mug he'd poured for her.

A certain tension hung in the air, and Rorie couldn't explain or understand it. Only ten minutes earlier, they'd walked across the yard, spellbound by the stars, and Clay had laid his arm across her shoulders. He'd smiled down on her so tenderly. Now he looked as if he couldn't wait to get away from her.

“Have I done anything wrong?” she asked outright.

“Rorie, no.” He set his mug aside and gripped her shoulders with both hands. “There 's something so intimate and…earthy in what we shared.” His eyes were intense, strangely darker. “Wanting you this way isn't right.”

Rorie felt a tremor work through him as he lifted his hands to her face. His callused thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks.

“I feel like I've known you all my life,” he whispered hoarsely, his expression uncertain.

“It's…been the same for me, from the moment you stepped out of the truck.”

Clay smiled, and Rorie thought her knees would melt. She put her coffee down and as soon as she did Clay eased her into his arms, his hands on her shoulders. Her heart stopped, then jolted back to frenzied life.

“I'm going to kiss you….”

He made the statement almost a question. “Yes,” she whispered, letting him know she'd welcome his touch. Her stomach fluttered as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

Rorie had never wanted a man's kiss more. His moist lips glided over hers in a series of gentle explorations. He drew her closer until their bodies were pressed tight.

“Oh, Rorie,” he breathed, dragging his mouth from hers. “You taste so good…I was afraid of that.” His mouth found the pulse in her throat and lingered there.

“This afternoon I thought I'd cry when the car broke down and now…now I'm glad…so glad,” she said.

He kissed her again, nibbling on her lower lip, gently drawing it between his teeth. Rorie could hardly breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She slumped against him, delighting in the rise and fall of his broad chest. His hands moved down her back with slow restraint, but paused when he reached the curve of her hips.

He tensed. “I think we should say goodnight.”

A protest sprang to her lips, but before she could voice it, Clay said, “Now.”

She looked at him, dazed. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him. “What about my coffee?”

“That was just an excuse and we both know it.”

Rorie said nothing.

The silence between them seemed to throb for endless minutes.

“Good night, Clay,” she finally whispered. She broke away, but his hand caught her fingers, and with a groan he pulled her back into his arms.

“What the hell,” he muttered fiercely, “sending you upstairs isn't going to help. Nothing's going to change.”

His words brought confusion, but Rorie didn't question him, didn't want to. What she longed for was the warmth and security she'd discovered in his arms.

“Come on,” he whispered, after he'd kissed her once more. He led her through the living room and outside to the porch, where the swing moved gently in the night breeze.

Rorie sat beside him and he wrapped his arm around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder, savoring these precious moments.

“I'll never forget this night.”

“Neither will I,” Clay promised, kissing her again.

Rorie awoke when the sun settled on her face and refused to leave her alone. Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled contentedly, basking in the memory of her night with Clay. They'd sat on the swing and talked for hours. Talked and kissed and laughed and touched…

Sitting up, Rorie raised her hands high above her head and stretched, arching her spine. She looked at her watch on the nightstand and was shocked to see that it was after eleven. By the time she'd climbed the stairs for bed the sky had been dappled with faint shreds of light. She suspected Clay hadn't even bothered to sleep.

Tossing aside the blankets, Rorie slid to the floor, anxious to shower and dress. Anxious to see him again. Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way down the stairs.

Mary, who was dusting in the living room, nodded when she saw Rorie. Then the housekeeper resumed her task, but not before she'd muttered something about how city folks were prone to sleeping their lives away.

“Good morning, Mary,” Rorie greeted her cheerfully.

“'Mornin'.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Where they ought to be this time of day. Working.”

“Yes, I know, but where?”

“Outside.”

Rorie had trouble hiding her smile.

“I heard about you helping last night,” Mary added gruffly. “Seems you did all right for a city girl.”

“Thank you, Mary. You don't do half bad for a country girl, either.”

The housekeeper seemed uncomfortable with the praise, despite the lightness of Rorie's tone. “I suppose you want me to cook you some fancy breakfast.”

“Good heavens, no, you're busy. I'll just make myself some toast.”

“That's hardly enough to fill a growing girl,” Mary complained.

“It'll suit me fine.”

Once her toast was ready, Rorie carried it outside. If she couldn't find Clay, she wanted to check on Nightsong.

“Rorie.”

She turned to discover Skip walking toward her, in animated conversation with a blonde. His girlfriend, she guessed. He waved and Rorie returned the gesture, smiling. The sun was glorious and the day held marvelous promise.

“I didn't think you were ever going to wake up,” Skip said.

“I'm sorry—I don't usually sleep this late.”

“Clay told me how you helped him deliver Star Bright's filly. You could've knocked me over with a feather when I heard.”

Rorie nodded, her heart warming with the memory. “Well, I tried to get you up. It would've been easier to wake a dead man than to get you out of bed last night.”

Skip looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry about that, but I generally don't wake up too easily once I'm asleep.” As he spoke, he slipped his arm around the blond girl's shoulders. “Rorie, I want you to meet Kate Logan.”

“Hello, Kate.” Rorie held out a hand and Kate shook it politely.

“Hello, Rorie,” she said. “Clay and Skip told me about your car troubles. I hope everything turns out all right for you.”

“I'm sure it will. Do you live around here?” Rorie already knew she was going to like her. At a closer glance, she saw that Kate was older than she'd first assumed. Maybe her own age, which gave credence to Skip's comment about liking older, more mature women.

“I don't live far,” Kate said. “The Circle L is down the road, only a few miles from here.”

“She's going to be living
with
us in the near future,” Skip put in, gazing fondly at Kate.

The young woman's cheeks reddened and she smiled shyly.

“Oh?” Skip couldn't possibly mean he planned to marry her, Rorie thought. Good heavens, he was still in high school.

He must have seen Rorie's puzzled frown, and hurried to explain. “Not me,” he said with a short laugh. “Kate is Clay's fiancée.”

“Y
ou and Clay are…engaged,” Rorie murmured as shock waves coursed through her blood. They stopped with a thud at her heart and spread out in ripples of dismay.

Somehow Rorie managed a smile, her outward composure unbroken. She was even able to offer her congratulations. To all appearances, nothing was wrong. No one would've known that those few simple words had destroyed a night she'd planned to treasure all her life.

“I hope you and Clay will be very happy,” Rorie said—and she meant it. She'd just been introduced to Kate Logan, but already Rorie knew that this sweet friendly woman was exactly the kind of wife a man like Clay would need.

“Skip's rushing things a little,” Kate pointed out, but the glint of love in her eyes contradicted her words. “Clay hasn't even given me an engagement ring yet.”

“But you and Clay have been talking about getting married, haven't you?” Skip pressed. “And you're crazy about him.”

Kate blushed prettily. “I 've loved Clay from the time I was in fifth grade. I wrote his name all over my books. Of course, Clay wouldn't have anything to do with me, not when he was a big important high-schooler and I was just the pesky little girl next door. It took a while for him to notice me—like ten years.” She gave a small laugh. “We've been dating steadily for the past two.”

“But you and Clay
are
going to get married, right?” Skip continued, clearly wanting to prove his point.

“Eventually, but we haven't set a date, although I'm sure it'll be soon,” Kate answered, casting a sharp look at Rorie.

The tightness that had gripped Rorie's throat eased and she struggled to keep her smile intact. It was impossible not to like Kate, but that didn't lessen the ache in Rorie's heart.

“The wedding's inevitable,” Skip said offhandedly, “so I wasn't exaggerating when I said you were Clay's fiancée, now was I?”

Kate smiled. “I suppose not. We love each other, and have for years. We're just waiting for the right time.” Her eyes held Rorie's, assessing her, but she didn't seem worried about competition.

Rorie supposed she should be pleased about that, at least.

“I was taking Kate over to see Nightsong,” Skip explained to Rorie.

“I actually came to Elk Run to meet you,” the other woman said. “Clay stopped by last night and told me about your car. I felt terrible for you. Your whole vacation's been ruined. You must be awfully upset.”

“These things happen,” Rorie said with a shrug. “Being upset isn't going to ship that part any faster. All I can do is accept the facts.”

Kate nodded sympathetically. “Skip was about to show me the filly. You'll come with us, won't you?”

Rorie nodded, unable to excuse herself without sounding rude. If there'd been a way, she would have retreated, wanting only to lick her wounds in private. Instead, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt, she mumbled, “I was headed in that direction myself.”

Skip led the way to the barn, which was alive with activity. Clay had explained that Elk Run employed five men full-time, none of whom lived on the premises. Two men mucking out stalls paused when Skip and the women entered the building. Skip introduced Rorie and they touched the tips of their hats in greeting.

“I don't understand Clay,” Skip said as they approached the mare's stall. “When we bought Star Bright a few years back, all Clay could do was complain about that silly name. He even talked about getting her registration changed.”

“Star Bright's a perfectly good name,” Kate insisted, her sunny blue eyes intent on the newborn foal.

Nightsong was standing now on knobby, skinny legs that threatened to buckle, greedily feasting from her mother.

“Oh, she really is lovely, isn't she?” Kate whispered.

Rorie hadn't been able to stop looking at the filly from the moment they'd reached the stall. Finished with her breakfast, Nightsong gazed around, fascinated by everything she surveyed. She returned Rorie's look, not vacantly, but as though she recognized the woman who'd been there at her birth.

Rorie couldn't even identify all the emotions she suddenly felt. Some of these feelings were so new she couldn't put a name to them, but they gripped her heart and squeezed tight.

“What I can't understand,” Skip muttered, “is why Clay would go and call her Nightsong when he hates the name Star Bright. It doesn't sound like anything he'd ever come up with on his own, yet he says he did.”

“I know,” Kate agreed, “but I'm glad, because the name suits her.” She sighed. “Clay 's always been so practical when it comes to names for his horses, but Nightsong has such a romantic flavor, don't you think?”

Skip chuckled. “You know what Clay thinks about romance, and that makes it even more confusing. But Nightsong she is, and she's bound to bring us a pretty penny in a year or two. Her father was a Polish Arabian, and with Star Bright's bloodlines Nightsong will command big bucks as a National Show Horse.”

“Skip.” Clay's curt voice interrupted them. He strode from the arena leading a bay mare. The horse's coat gleamed with sweat, turning its color the shade of an oak leaf in autumn. One of the stablemen approached to take the reins. Then Clay removed his hat, wiping his brow with his forearm, and Rorie noticed the now-grimy bandage she'd applied last night. No, this morning.

She stared hungrily at his sun-bronzed face, a face that revealed more than a hint of impatience. The lines around his mouth were etched deep with poorly disguised regrets. Rorie recognized them, even if the others didn't.

Clay stopped short when he saw Kate, his eyes narrowing.

“'Morning, Kate.”

“Hello, Clay.”

Then his gaze moved, slowly and reluctantly, to Rorie. The remorse she'd already sensed in him seemed unmistakable.

“I hope you slept well,” was all he said to her.

“Fine.” She detected a tautness along his jaw line and decided he was probably concerned that she'd say or do something to embarrass him in front of his fiancée. Rorie wouldn't, but not because she was worried about him. Her sense of fair play wouldn't allow her to hurt Kate, who so obviously adored this man.

“We're just admiring Nightsong,” Kate explained, her expression tender as she smiled up at him.

“I can't understand why you'd name her that,” Skip said, his mouth twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “You always pick names like Brutus and Firepower, but Nightsong? I think you're going soft on us.” Considering himself particularly funny, Skip chuckled and added, “I suppose that's what love does to a man.”

Kate's lashes brushed against the high arch of her cheek and she smiled, her pleasure so keen it was like a physical touch.

“Didn't I ask you to water the horses several hours ago?” Clay asked in a tone that could have chipped rock.

“Yes, but—”

“Then kindly see to it. The farrier will be here any minute.”

The humor left Skip's eyes; he was clearly upset by Clay's anger. He looked from his brother to the two women and then back at Clay again. Hot color rose into his neck and invaded his face. “All right,” he muttered. “Excuse me for living.” Then he stormed out of the barn, slapping his hat against his thigh in an outburst of anger.

Kate waited until Skip was out of the barn. “Clay, what's wrong?”

“He should've done what I told him long before now. Those horses in the pasture are thirsty because of his neglect.”

“I'm the one you should be angry with, not Skip.” Kate's voice was contrite. “I should never have stopped in without calling first, but I…wanted to meet Rorie.”

“You've only been here a few minutes,” Clay insisted, his anger in check now. “Skip had plenty of time to complete his chores before you arrived.”

Rorie tossed invisible daggers at Clay, annoyed with him for taking his irritation out on his younger brother. Skip had introduced her to Clay's fiancée.
That
was what really bothered him if he'd been willing to admit it—which he clearly wasn't.

“We came here to see Nightsong,” Kate said again. “I'm glad you named her that, no matter what Skip thinks.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and rested her head against his broad chest. “He was just teasing you and you know how he loves to do that.”

Clay gave her an absent smile, but his gaze settled with disturbing ease on Rorie. She met his eyes boldly, denying the emotions churning furiously inside her. The plea for patience and understanding he sent her was so obvious that Rorie wondered how anyone seeing it wouldn't know what was happening.

As though she'd suddenly remembered something, Kate dropped her arm and glanced hurriedly at her watch. She groaned. “I promised Dad I'd meet him for lunch today. He's getting together with the other Town Council members in one of those horribly boring meetings. He needs me as an excuse to get away.” She stopped abruptly, a chagrined expression on her face. “I guess that tells you how informal everything is in Nightingale, doesn't it, Rorie?”

“The town seems to be doing very well.” She didn't know if that was true or not, but it sounded polite.

“He just hates these things, but he likes the prestige of being a Council member—something I tease him about.”

“I'll walk you to your car,” Clay offered.

“Oh, there's no need. You're busy. Besides, I wanted to talk to Rorie and arrange to meet her tomorrow and show her around town. I certainly hope you remembered to invite her to the Grange dance tomorrow night. I'm sure Luke would be willing to escort her.”

“Oh, I couldn't possibly intrude,” Rorie blurted.

“Nonsense, you'd be more than welcome. And don't worry about having the right kind of clothes for a square dance, either, because I've got more outfits than I know what to do with. We're about the same size,” Kate said, eyeing her. “Perhaps you're a little taller, but not so much that you couldn't wear my skirts.”

Rorie smiled blandly, realising it wouldn't do any good to decline the invitation. But good heavens, square dancing? Her?

“Knowing you and Skip,” Kate chastised Clay, “poor Rorie will be stuck on Elk Run for the next four days bored out of her mind. The least I can do is see that she's entertained.”

“That's thoughtful of you,” Rorie said. The sooner she got back on the road, the safer her heart would be, and if Kate Logan was willing to help her kill time, then all the better.

“I thought I'd give you a tour of our little town in the morning,” Kate went on. “It 's small, but the people are friendly.”

“I'd love to see Nightingale.”

“Clay.” The brusque voice of a farmhand interrupted them. “Could you come here a minute?”

Clay turned to the man and nodded. “I have to find out what Don needs,” he said quietly. As he met Rorie's eyes, a speculative look flashed into his own.

She nearly flinched, wondering what emotion her face had betrayed. From the minute Clay had walked into the barn, she'd been careful to school her expression, not wanting him to read anything into her words or actions. She'd tried to look cool and unconcerned, as if the night they'd shared had never happened.

“You two will have to excuse me.” Weary amusement turned up the corners of his mouth and Rorie realized he'd readily seen through her guise.

“Of course,” Kate said. “I'll see you later, sweetheart.”

Clay nodded abruptly and departed with firm purposeful strides.

Kate started walking toward the yard. Rorie followed, eager to escape the barn and all the memories associated with it.

“Clay told us you're a librarian,” Kate said when she reached the Ford parked in the curving driveway. “If you want, I can take you to our library. We built a new one last year and we're rather proud of it. I know it's small compared to where you probably work, but I think you'll like what we've done.”

“I'd love to see it.” Libraries were often the heart of a community, and if the citizens of Nightingale had seen fit to upgrade theirs, it was apparent they shared Rorie's love of books.

“I'll pick you up around ten tomorrow, if that's convenient?”

“That'd be fine.”

“Plan on spending the afternoon with me and we'll meet Clay and Skip at the dance later.”

Rorie agreed, although her enthusiasm was decidedly low. The last thing she wanted was to be at some social event with Clay. Never mind how Dan would tease her if he ever discovered she'd spent part of her vacation square dancing with the folks at the Grange.

“Bye for now,” Kate said.

“Bye,” Rorie murmured, waving. She stood in the yard until Kate's car was out of sight. Not sure what else to do, she wandered back into the house, where Mary was busy with preparations for lunch.

“Can I help?” she asked.