Where the Heart Lies (8 page)

He tried to focus on Alice, her eyes glittering with reflected candlelight as her mother set the cake on the coffee table in front of her. As the girls gathered around, she leaned in and extinguished the candles in a single breath.

“Everyone come and get in the picture,” Lorraine instructed, brandishing a camera. She motioned for Clay’s brother-in-law, Dean, who had come into the house through the patio doors when the singing started, to join his wife and the girls around the cake.

“You, too, Clay and Jordan,” Lorraine directed.

“Oh, no, let me take the picture so you can be in it,” Jordan offered, setting her glass on an end table. “We can’t have a picture of Alice’s party without her grandmother in it.”

“All right then,” Lorraine agreed, handing her the camera. “Thanks.”

Clay saw the relief in Jordan’s face as she took the camera; the idea of being included in the family photo obviously made her uncomfortable.

Once the picture had been taken, and the camera returned to Lorraine, Jordan went back to stand in her corner, where she continued drinking her wine in rapid sips as she watched Sheryl cut the cake into slices.

“Is that your old flame?” Dean whispered, nudging Clay’s elbow. “How’d you let that one get away?”

Clay shrugged, not answering. The question was a good one. He studied Jordan for a moment, appreciating her elegant bearing, the delicate structure of her face, and the sensuous form of her lips as she sipped from her glass.

It was her soft, natural beauty that had caught his attention the evening they met back in university. A girl he’d been dating casually dragged him to a UBC Poetry Club meeting. It was the young woman who happened to be seated on the other side of him, however, who piqued his interest. Jordan Lewis, an English major, he would later find out. At first she didn’t seem to notice him at all; her attention was entirely caught up in the poetry that another student was reading aloud for the group. It was a work by the likes of Wordsworth, or maybe Coleridge—one of the Romantic poets—recited in ponderously earnest tones. Clay couldn’t remember any of the lines, but he remembered the face of the intriguing blonde next to him; she looked entranced, her eyes brimming with emotion. She had a poetry book open on her lap, dog-eared with notes scribbled all around the margins, and now and again she glanced down to read along silently. She was holding a pencil in her hand, and at one point she scrawled on the page, in large letters, “WOW.” Clay was captivated. Hers was a reaction of the heart, straightforward and unaffected. It struck an unexpected chord in him.

After the reading he introduced himself to the blonde and spoke to her only briefly, muzzled by the glaring eyes of his jealous date. The relationship with that girl, whose name he couldn’t even bring to mind now, had fizzled out quickly. After that night, he couldn’t get Jordan Lewis out of his mind. He quickly found her name in the student directory and called to invite her out for coffee. For Clay, being with a woman so unlike himself was both fascinating and intoxicating. She was joyful, spirited and idealistic. She saw the good in everything and everyone, responding to cruelty and unfairness with surprise and hurt. Her naiveté sometimes worried Clay, but it endeared her to him.

At the same time Jordan was the most disorganized and impractical person he knew, a foil to his headstrong practicality. Studying for tests and writing papers were invariably last-minute tasks for Jordan, yet she always achieved high marks. On school nights, she stayed up way too late to watch old movies on TV. She was easily distracted, losing track of time, and late for everything—classes, parties, dinner. Jordan was always in a rush, but never concerned about it. Things had a way of working out for her. Clay was surprised to hear she was running her own business now. Back when he knew her, she’d had her head too far in the clouds. But then, he knew people could change a great deal in a decade, as he had.

Above all else, Jordan had been the warmest, most open person he knew. He had loved her with his whole heart, and nothing in his life—not even his divorce from Kathryn—had hurt him as much as losing her had.

So why
had
he let her get away? Leaving her behind eleven years ago had meant a brilliant career for him. Had it been worth it? In this moment, he couldn’t manage to find a single shred of meaning in those intervening years.

So she wasn’t ready to get involved right now, so soon after her divorce. He understood that; still, there’d been no mistaking her urgent response to his kiss, or the fierce way she’d clung to him for those few intense moments. She’d been spooked, that was all—he hoped.

If any small part of her still burned for him, he would do his best to stoke those embers into full flame.

Jordan woke early Saturday morning to the exuberant twittering of birds outside her window. Unable to get back to sleep, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her pale blue sundress, then peeked out the door of her room to listen for activity in the house. Met by silence, she crept down the stairs as quietly as she could. She realized someone else was up, however, once she reached the living room and breathed in the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Following the aroma to the kitchen, she found Clay seated at the table, sipping from a mug with a newspaper spread out before him.

“Oh, good morning,” he said cheerfully when he saw her.

“Morning,” Jordan muttered, blinking at him in surprise. Even in her bleary morning state, it would’ve been hard not to notice that he was bare-chested, wearing only his pajama bottoms. It was also quite apparent that the physical demands of Clay’s former job had resulted in an athletic
physique, with muscles that were much enhanced from the ones she remembered. By the time she realized she was staring, and raised her eyes to his, it was too late to pretend she hadn’t been gawking. Feeling her face redden, she wished she could scurry back up to bed and start the morning over again.

“Coffee?” Clay offered, an amused smile playing on his lips as he moved to stand up.

“Thank you, I’ll get it.” Jordan nearly sprinted to the counter to grab the coffee pot. Her back to him, she took a mug from the drying rack and poured coffee into it, silently willing her colour to return to normal before she turned around.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Clay asked. “Cereal? Toast? Eggs?”

“Toast would be fine. I can get it.” Spotting a loaf of bread and a toaster on the counter, she quickly set to work, her uncooperative fingers struggling to get the sliding knob on the toaster to stay down.

“Is everyone else still asleep?” she asked, finally persuading the knob to stay.

“I think so. The kids seem to be. They were up pretty late, gabbing in their tents.”

Jordan turned to face him, keeping her gaze firmly locked on his to keep it from drifting downward. “Molly is having a blast.”

“Are you glad you came?” Clay asked.

“It’s been interesting so far. Apparently you’re taking the kids kayaking and to see some prehistoric dump site.”

“If there’s time. But this morning, they are going horseback riding, and I’m taking you to the McGovern estate sale.”

“You don’t have to take me,” Jordan said quickly. “I can find it on my own.”

“I know, but I’d be interested in seeing the place myself,” Clay said evenly. “Stan McGovern was almost a hundred years old when he passed on. He was a man of impeccable taste, and he had no children to take possession of his things. I’m intrigued to see what might be squirreled away in his house.”

“All right, then,” Jordan agreed, seeing no way out of it, just as her toast popped up, slightly burned on the edges. She reached into the cupboard over the sink for a plate, but stopped short, her eye caught by three deer outside on the lawn. They were standing not far from the window, their heads bent low to the ground as they grazed silently on the long grass.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she breathed, captivated by the slender, graceful animals so close by.

“Aren’t they?” Clay’s voice intoned from right behind her shoulder, startling her. She hadn’t noticed him approaching from behind, and now he was inches from her, peering over her shoulder. She kept her gaze on the deer, though her focus was blurring. She could feel the heat from Clay’s body now, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck bristled, making her shudder. Not daring to turn and look at him, she stayed where she was, hugging her own arms, quite astounded by her intense reaction to him.

“Well I’m off to the shower,” he announced. “I’ll meet you outside by my car in half an hour, all right?”

Jordan didn’t turn around. “I’ll be ready,” she said brightly, and sighed with relief when he left the kitchen to head upstairs.

She took her coffee and plate to the table and plopped into a chair, nibbling at her toast disinterestedly as she glanced at the paper. As she listened to the shower running upstairs, she tried in earnest not to picture Clay in the water and steam, his taut frame slathered with soap suds.

After she finished her coffee and toast, Jordan used the downstairs bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair, having already showered the night before. Then she grabbed a cardigan and headed outside to wait for Clay. To her disappointment, the deer had disappeared by then. She settled into one of the Adirondack chairs by the garden while she waited.

Before long Clay strolled out of the house, fully clothed now in jeans and a gray golf shirt that matched his eyes. He favoured her with a half-smile, causing a sudden spike in her pulse. She realized with dismay that even with his clothes on Clay McAdam was a hard man to ignore.

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the black Lexus parked next to Jordan’s blue Honda.

Should’ve known
, she said to herself, smothering a grin. Clay was surely a wealthy man after the successful run of his television show. He’d bought his mother a pricey piece of property, after all. He wasn’t ostentatious, but he’d always wanted to own a fine car. And a beautiful car it was, kept in pristine condition, with a luxurious black leather interior.

He opened the passenger door for Jordan. Unlike her car, there wasn’t a single gum wrapper or crushed potato chip to be found on the seats or carpeting. She sank happily onto the plush leather, as Clay strode around to the driver’s side and got in.

As a passenger, Jordan was able to observe the scenery more closely than she had while driving up to the house with Molly. The area was heavily wooded, the road framed on either side with lush stands of arbutus, cedar, bracken and oak trees.

“It really is beautiful here,” she remarked.

Clay nodded. “I’ve been to every exotic place you can imagine, but I have to say, this island is the one true paradise I’ve found. I’m sure I’ll be here most weekends.”

“So you’re really hanging up your fedora?” she asked. “No more adventures?”

Clay’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. “I can’t say I won’t travel now and again. But I’ve done all that. There’s not much else out there I’m itching to see.” He glanced at her, his sensuous mouth curving into another smile. “What I’m really looking forward to is instilling some of that passion for discovery into my students—seeing them pick up where I left off.”

“You really have changed, Clay McAdam,” Jordan remarked. The passionate nature of the young man she’d known had been part of his appeal, but at the same time he’d been rigid and uncompromising, at times unbearably intense and even arrogant. She saw none of that in the man next to her now.

She took a moment to study his face across the car; it was a strong and appealing profile, and definitely a more relaxed one than she remembered. Jordan found she felt peculiarly content next to him. At the same time, his nearness sparked a feminine awareness in her that was at once familiar and brand new. She felt like a teenager on her first date, her nerves abuzz as her heart beat a quick, steady rhythm. She could blame it on the sports car, winding its way along the curved roads with exhilarating speed, but it was more than that. Could it be simple sentimentality affecting her? Or the fact that it was the first time in years that she’d been single and on an outing with an attractive man? She wasn’t sure, but did know she hadn’t felt so alive since ... well, since letting Clay McAdam walk out of her life eleven years ago.

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow as he glanced at her.

It took Jordan a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. “Definitely,” she said, then added quickly, “Not that you needed fixing—”

Clay’s smile broadened as he kept his gaze on the road. “You don’t need to say that. The truth is I did need fixing. You know, I have to wonder about those years I spent running around the globe, digging up the past. Was I really running away from my own past?”

“What do you mean?”

“One thing I’ve figured out,” Clay went on, “is that part of my resistance to being tied down had to do with the fact that I didn’t really know how to be a husband and father.”

Surprised by his words, Jordan listened in fascination; it wasn’t like Clay to be self-analytical. Back when they were together, she’d tried many times to break through to his deeper feelings, only to be met with steely reticence.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“I never really got to know my father. The only father I had growing up was my stepdad, that drunken bastard Adrian, who brought nothing but chaos into our family for three years before Mom finally threw him out.” He paused a moment, slowing the car to negotiate a sharp bend in the road. “I wanted to be a good husband to you, and a father to our children, but I had no example of what that should be and I didn’t think I was capable of it. I think I was afraid I’d muck it up if I tried.”