Family Matters (The Travers Brothers Series): The Travers Brothers Series

by Rita Hestand

  He wouldn't think of her leaving. Only of what a wonderful time he aimed to show her tonight, and he'd be such a perfect gentleman she wouldn't know what hit him.

  Emma had spent so much time with him over the past few days teaching him how to dance, how to talk to a woman, how to act. He wasn't to touch Abby except to dance. He was to be the perfect gentleman. He was to woo her in every way, but the physical. God, Emma had no idea how hard this was going to be. Or did she?

  "Mommy, you look prettiful," Clay said, as Abby came out of the bedroom.

  Abby picked him up, gave him a hug and a kiss, and set him down. "Why, thank you."

  "Are you Cinderella, mommy?" Clay asked. Abby couldn't stop the laughter. "Not hardly, honey."

  "But you look just like her picture."

  Clint stood up and stared as though she were something brand new.

  He held out the flowers, and didn't take his eyes off her. He'd brought roses, red ones, and they were lovely. But not as lovely as she was. What had happened to his sweet Abby? She was transformed, and he didn't know this woman. She wore her hair just like the girl in Clay's book of Cinderella, and he had to admit, she did favor her.

  Especially with that black velvet choker around her neck, and the small cameo that hung in the hollow of her neck. God, how he wanted to touch that. He'd never seen her like this. His breath hung in his lungs too long, and he could hardly speak.

  "You look— wonderful."

  "Thank you," she murmured, as though captured in the same spell.

  "I think mommy looks like Cinderella, don't you, Uncle Clint?" Clay said, moving between them.

  Clint bent to shake Clay's hand. "She sure does."

  "Are you Prince Charming?" Clay asked.

  "I don't know. Let's hope so," he nearly whispered in Clay's ear.

  "You two have a good time," Judy said, and, fetching her daughter's wrap, waved them off as she took Clay by the hand and explained they were about to watch Miracle on 34th Street, together.

  "Okay, mom, and don't stay up too late, honey," Abby told Clay.

  "Okay, mommy." Clay waved at them as they left. But as soon as they were in the truck, Clint tensed. "Where'd you get that dress?" He fumbled at his tie as he headed for the highway.

  "Mother made it," she replied. "It's a little much, but I had to wear it; she'd have been disappointed. She made it for my prom. Only I never went."

  When he didn't say anything, she looked at him. His face was a puzzle tonight, not happy, not unhappy, just puzzling.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No, no nothing's wrong."

  "You act as though there is," Abby insisted. "One of your old girlfriends come home or something?" Dammit, he done such a fine job of covering up his love for her that he had her convinced he was the town Romeo, when all he really wanted was her—and Clay.

  He shot her a frown.

  "No, no old girlfriends, Abby."

  "Wanta turn this thing around and go home?" She tried to giggle, but it didn't come out like one. It came out strangled.

  He looked at her, and threw the truck into park on the side of the road. He took several long breaths, and then looked at her again.

  "There are no other girls, Abby. There haven't been since you and I—"

  He stopped, and looked away. Abby froze. She was stunned. No other girls, no one for Clint. Had he suffered some kind of guilt all this time about touching her, and held it in? It seemed unlikely, but his words and actions tonight spoke differently. But all things considered, Clint was a decent man. Since he hadn't been in love with her, and had been using her, he had to have felt guilty. She hated him feeling guilty. They were only human, and she had known what she was doing when she let him touch her.

  He looked at her, and his mouth formed a beautiful, almost sad, smile. "You are so beautiful, Abby. You always were. Beautiful and untouchable at the same time. We were such good friends."

  "Clint, you don't have to do this." Abby put her hand on his and tried to stop him.

  "Yes, yes, I do. You are a beautiful, intelligent, warm woman, and a fine mother. You look like Clay said: Cinderella. And I've never wanted you more in my life than I do right now, Abby. But I won't touch you. And I'll probably kill the first man that tries. Does that satisfy your curiosity as to what's wrong with me?"

  Abby didn't understand what was wrong, unless—no, she couldn't have actually turned him on? Could she?

  "I'm trying to understand all this, but I don't."

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Clint muttered, and started the truck again.

  "Let's just go have a nice time, okay?"

  "Okay!" Abby sounded mad now.

  The dance hall was decorated with all kinds of Christmas decorations. There was a huge tree in the entry hall, and the lights were dim. Music played in the background, and one of the local girls from a nearby ranch sang several songs.

  At the dance, Abby was the belle of the ball, just like Clint knew she would be. He wanted her in his arms, all night long, but knew that would never happen. And quite suddenly he wanted her to want to be in his arms. He wanted her love, her affection, her attention—

  Abby floated about the room in that tempting dress, and the men crowded around her as though she was a new invention. Clint tried to grin and bear it. Emma being there helped, but Deke and Rusty kept trying to nudge him to do something about all the men cutting in on him.

  "It wouldn't be polite," Clint answered, glancing at Emma.

  Emma nodded.

  "Polite? You brought her, didn't you?" Deke frowned at his wife and brother as though they’d lost their minds.

  "I'm not so sure." Clint glanced at Abby as she was whirled about the floor with another dance partner. She smiled and danced like a fairy princess all night, and only two dances with him the entire evening. It was not exactly how he'd planned on spending the night, but the last dance, he pulled her closer, felt her body against his, and everything seemed to fade into the distance. This is where she belonged, with him, in his arms. Why didn't she see this?

  "Having a good time, Abby?" he asked, halfway through the dance.

  "Very," Abby said with a long sigh, relaxing in his arms. "But I'm exhausted. I haven't danced this much in a long time."

  "Don't you and John go dancing?"

  "John doesn't dance."

  "I didn't know you were such a great dancer," he murmured near her ear.

  "Neither did I," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

  God, she smelled like lilacs in the spring, her hair shone, her dress swished when they turned. He didn't notice any other woman in the room. Only Abby. In his arms, where she needed to be.

  "I'm glad you came with me, Abby," he said quietly.

  "Me, too," she barely uttered.

  "Have I told you what a great job you've done raising Clay?"

  She raised her head from his shoulder, her eyes clouded with tears.

  "Thank you." That statement meant a lot to Abby, and she choked up. She couldn't talk, so she laid her head on his shoulder and drifted across the room with him.

  The music had stopped minutes ago, and they were still clutched in each other’s arms, unmindful – until a hush came over the room. They turned around to see everyone staring at them. Someone giggled, and Abby ran from the room.

  Clint ran after her. "Abby, wait!"

  "Take me home, please." Abby was crying. "Don't cry, honey. Please don't cry," Clint was saying, as he dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief from his coat pocket.

  She took the handkerchief from him, and ran toward the truck.

  "They were staring at us. Like we were a couple of idiots." She said, choking on her words.

  "No, they weren't. They were staring at us like we were a couple of kids in love," Clint reaffirmed.

  Abby shot him a look of disdain. "Well, they're wrong."

  "Are they?" He had had enough. Without thinking, he grabbed her by the upper arms, and pulled her into his arms. "Pr
ove it," he murmured, as his lips bore down on hers in a white-hot kiss that sent them into another world, another dimension.

  His lips sought hers over and over as his tongue flicked against lips until she opened for him. He moaned softly and pulled her closer. He felt the softness of her breast boring into his chest; he felt her body melting into his, and he heard her whimper when his mouth took hers in a kiss that neither of them denied.

  When he set her free, she stared at him with tears in her eyes.

  "All of this is only physical, Clint, love is so much more-—"

  She ran to the other side of the truck, and got in. "Maybe it is—but you've got to get through the first part of courting before you can advance to the second. First, it's the physical side with a woman. Then, you get to know her. But dammit, Abby, I know you. Like the back of my hand." He opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it and got in on his side. He didn't look at her or try to dissuade her. He started the truck and drove her toward her home. Not a word passed between them, only emotions too raw to explain.

  But this was one night they were going to talk. To lay it all out there.

  He pulled off the road and drove down an old dirt road. It was bumpy, and they both bounced back and forth.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Somewhere where we can talk."

  "No, let's just go home."

  He jerked the truck into park, and turned to look at her. "I'm not going to lie and say I don't want you with every breath I take. I do."

  "Clint, don't do this." She closed her eyes.

  "What?" He whispered, moving closer, and pulling her chin up to meet his inviting kiss. "Don't do this?" he whispered as his lips tantalized hers. His eyes shone into hers, as moonlight flickered in their depths.

  "Or maybe this?" he whispered against her ear, his breath fanning her, sending goose bumps over her skin.

  He sighed and pulled her into his arms. For some reason, she wasn't resisting and that was all the encouragement he needed.

  His head bent and his lips grazed the neckline of her dress, as warm lips stole kiss upon kiss.

  Just as she was about to protest, his lips found the tip of her breast, and he took her into his mouth. She threw back her head, and moaned as her body rose up to meet his questing lips.

  "We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, her eyes still closed, her breath catching on her words.

  "Yes," he said against the tip of her breast, his warm breath caressing her, "we should. We've been headed for this moment since I first set eyes on you looking at that damn Christmas tree in the mall. Dammit, Abby, some things you can't ignore." He said, as he pushed the satin of her dress away from her. The windows steamed, and the music of a country and western song seemed to add a gentle fire to their lovemaking.

  His hands went under her dress, eager to find her love nest and take what she so generously offered. His fingers slid against her eager body, and she moaned aloud this time. "God, I want you," he whispered, knowing she was as ready for him as he was for her.

  She unsnapped his shirt with one long thrust, and her hands eagerly sought him. He groaned when her lips searched and found his.

  Somehow they were laying in the seat, clothes half on, half off, when suddenly he raised her skirt, pushed her beautiful underwear down. His lips dove down against the very core of her; first, like a feather caressing her, then, with eager thrusting of the tongue. Abby's body moved against him like a lazy feline cat, letting him lap at her.

  She groaned, and her fingernails dug into his ribs as her body rocked with the intensity of his movements. He was gentle, thorough, and oh-so-loving, and Abby was in a fit. She suddenly reached a plateau from his touch that sent her over the rim of reality and into a wondered space. She moaned and realized he had just given her something very precious, and she didn't know what to say or do.

  As reality crashed upon her, she stiffened in his arms, and pulled away, almost as though ashamed of her actions.

  Clint sighed, unable to talk at the moment, so happy, and yet wondering if it would be enough to convince her of his feelings for her.

  Abby didn't say a word, just sat up, straightened her clothes, and looked forlornly out the window as though she had done something unthinkably stupid.

  Clint moved away, feeling the loss of her warmth, and her love. How could he have loved her so totally, and she not felt anything in return? God! Abby didn't love him! If loving her as he had just done didn't prove anything to her, what would? It was hopeless.

  As he pulled up in the drive, there was another car there.

  "It's John!" she shrieked. Without hesitation, she jumped out of the truck, and ran in the house.

  Clint stared after her, as though she were a mere illusion; as though the last few minutes had never happened. He felt the loss, and his heart was about to break into a million pieces all over again.

  ***

  "Well, it's over, Emma," Clint said, as Emma and Deke came into the kitchen later that night.

  "Over?" Emma took her wrap off, and went to pour them all some milk. "How can it be over? I thought things were going so well. I mean, at the dance it was obvious she only had eyes for you."

  "Yeah," Clint laughed harshly, "she danced with everyone else all night."

  "She was trying to get your attention."

  "Well, she got it." Clint gulped the milk like a fine whiskey.

  "What happened?" Emma encouraged. Deke sat down too, a big frown on his face.

  "Nothing, she asked me to take her home, I did. And John was there. She got out of the truck and ran into the house as though I wasn't even there."

  "Without so much as a goodnight?" Deke asked.

  "That's right, bro. Guess that pretty well tells me where I stand, doesn't it? She said what we have is purely physical."

  "So, you're just giving up, just like that?" Emma questioned.

  Deke put his hand on Emma's shoulder, and looked at her.

  "I got the message, loud and clear. She'll be leaving soon, so that's that."

  "But if you love her, Clint," Emma began, and Deke shook his head not to continue.

  "If I love her? What does a man have to do to prove he loves a woman? No—" Clint stood up and looked at them both. They couldn't know what had happened. He couldn't tell them. But her rejection was as clear as daylight. "I'll leave her alone, and let her be happy."

  Then he walked off. He went to bed after a good hot shower, and he tossed and turned. He didn't go to sleep. He doubted he could go to sleep ever again, because he suddenly knew that the one thing he wanted more than life itself was to be with Abby and Clay. And he knew just as certainly that he had lost them both.

  Again, he'd tried to convince her how much he loved her, and all he accomplished was showing how much he wanted her. There was a difference and they both knew it.

  Chapter Eight

  For several days, Clint kept to himself, working around Abby, but never with her. Abby felt his distance, and silently agreed it was best this way, even though something deep within her told her she missed their simple horse-play. She'd missed more than that. Everything she knew and loved about Clint was still there, buried deep in her heart, and she knew it.

  She'd been so rude the night of the dance that she could barely stand his cold shoulder, but knew she deserved it. He'd loved her in a way no man had ever touched her, and she had been so frightened of telling him just how much she loved him that she had run. Her father had told her it was a physical thing with Clint; that was all. Men were that way.

  She'd never forget the way he touched her. She knew she loved Clint, more than she cared to admit. Her relationship with Clint was changing, and she didn't know how to handle that change. She'd run from that truck, because if she had stayed, there might have been another night of mistakes. And she would have lost John, for sure.

  John was the man she needed. Not Clint. John loved her as a person, as a human being. And he'd make a good home for them, too. His love was the kind th
at lasted and made a good marriage. She had to remember that.

  So why did she keep feeling so bad about Clint?

  "Well, I must say dear, I like your John." Judy was saying the next evening. "I think you'll make a wonderful family together."

  "You do?" Abby's brow quirked in question. "Yes, he has a wonderful job, makes plenty of money, and he adores you." Judy nodded.

  "Clay doesn't seem to respond to him like I'd hoped." Abby fretted. "I mean, he likes him, but it's not the relationship I'd hoped for. It's like Clay is holding back, for some reason."

  "Perhaps that's because John hasn't been around much. Given time, children usually come around." Judy insisted.

  "I hope so." Abby sighed and let the point go. After all, her mother was finally coming around, and that's what she wanted. Wasn't it?

  The restlessness inside Abby made her on edge all the time, even with John.

  "We've set a date," Abby said with a shy smile, while John went into another room to call his mother.

  "That's wonderful! When?" Judy asked, continuing with her sewing.

  "Next spring."

  "Why are you waiting so long, dear?" Judy looked up at her, and frowned.

  "I set the date, mom. His mother still needs constant attention, and we want to find a house, and oh, there are so

  many things to plan."

  "Will you be married here, at the church?" Judy questioned.

  "Uh-no."

  "And why not? You know how Reverend Miller will want to perform the ceremony. What are you going to do, go before a justice of the peace?" Judy's face held many emotions that Abby couldn't put a word to.

  "I know-I know. But John isn't Baptist, mother. He's Catholic. And I'm not, and I'm not willing to change. We both thought it would be better to have a civil ceremony, and be done with it."

  "But Abby, just because John has been married once, and he's Catholic, is that any reason to give up a wedding I've looked forward to all your life?"

  Abby felt guilty of not giving her mother that pleasure. She'd dreamed of being married here, in her church, with her friends. She'd dreamed of it with Clint, though. And that was not happening. Oh, why couldn't she put Clint out of her mind and heart? It had been four long years since that night, and she still remembered every moment of it. The way he'd kissed her like no one else had. The way he took her, so gently as though he had wanted to make it special for her. Just remembering brought a blush to her face.