by Gina Wilkins
And, for the life of her, she didn't know what she was going to do about it.
He'd almost told her he loved her while they were in bed. It would have been so natural, so easy. And so true. God, how he'd wanted to tell her. But he couldn't. He didn't think she wanted to hear it. And, for the life of him, he didn't know what he'd have said afterward.
Clay kept his gaze on the plate in front of him and concentrated on his dinner. They were both unusually quiet while they ate.
* * *
Holding her pressed against Summer's front door, Clay kissed Spring good-night. He could never get enough of the taste of her, he decided, lingering over the embrace. No matter how many times he had her, he would never stop wanting her. "It's very late. Are you tired?" he murmured, stroking the faintest of violet shadows under her eyes. She'd kept her glasses in her purse on the way home, anticipating his kiss, he hoped.
"Mmm. Pleasantly so." She tilted her head back against his arm to smile at him in a way that brought an almost painful lump to his throat. He could almost imagine that she loved him when she smiled at him that way. It hurt, he discovered.
"I suppose I should let you go in." He made no attempt to mask his reluctance to release her.
"I suppose so." She sounded no more enthused about the idea.
"I've got things to do tomorrow at Halloran House, so I may not see you."
She bit her lip in visible dismay, then made an effort to sound only politely interested. "That's okay."
"I'll call you."
"Please do."
He kissed her again. "Tonight was..." He paused, laughed briefly and shook his shaggy blond head. "I don't know what tonight was. I have nothing to compare it to. Let's just say that it was the most exciting, miraculous, wonderful night of my life."
"Mine, too. I'll never forget it, Clay." She kissed his chin. "You've given me a lovely memory to take home with me."
He felt as if a fist had just slammed into his gut. He just managed not to grunt with the pain. How could she talk about leaving him after all they'd shared so recently? She couldn't, he decided, not if she loved him. He was suddenly glad that he hadn't voiced his own feelings. He'd dealt with enough rejection in his life. He didn't need to go looking for it.
"Yeah, well..." He inhaled deeply and forced himself to step back from her. "I'll call you tomorrow."
He drove home, walked straight to the rarely touched bar and poured himself a drink, hoping it would help him forget that the woman he loved was leaving him in four days.
Spring climbed wearily into her bed, grateful that her sister hadn't waited up for her this time, buried her face in her pillow and fell asleep. She woke the next morning with traces of tears on her cheeks, though she couldn't remember crying in her sleep.
* * *
"Are you going to tell me about it or not?" Summer demanded, her voice carrying clearly. "Did you go to bed with Clay?"
"Summer!" Spring flushed and hastily looked up and down the supermarket produce aisle, hoping that no one had overheard her outspoken sister. "Honestly."
Summer sighed but lowered her voice. "Well? Want to explain that dreamy look that's been in your eyes all day?"
"You know that this is absolutely none of your business."
"Yes, I know."
"And that it's rude and insensitive for you to even ask."
"I know that, too." Summer waited expectantly, her hand hovering over the kiwifruit.
Spring exhaled in a gust of exasperation and shook her head. The truth was, she found herself wanting to talk about Clay, about her feelings for him. She thought it just might help her clarify those feelings for herself if she could discuss them with someone laving and sympathetic. Like her sister. "All right, we'll talk about it," she said. "But not in a supermarket! Over lunch."
"Fine."
"So let's talk about you and Clay," Summer demanded as soon as they'd seated themselves at the cozy kitchen table for lunch. Derek was playing golf that afternoon with Joel, giving the sisters a chance to spend time with each other. "Something's going on, I can tell."
With little evidence of success Spring fought the wave of color that flooded her fair cheeks. "Well, we, uh—"
Summer nodded solemnly. "And?"
"And...it was, um—"
"I see. So now what?"
"I wish I knew." Spring sighed, shaking her head.
"This is such an enlightening conversation." Summer grinned as she absently stabbed at her fruit salad. "Are you in love with Clay?"
"I strongly suspect that I am."
"Want to try saying that with a smile?"
"I don't think I can. And stop looking so happy, Summer! This is dreadful!"
"Spring, if you're in love with Clay, which you are, and he's in love with you, which I'm sure he is, there's nothing dreadful about it! People in love find ways to work out the obstacles and be together. Derek and I did, Joel and Connie did, and you and Clay will. Be happy, Sis. Falling in love is wonderful, especially when it's the happily-ever-after kind. Believe me, I'm speaking from experience."
"I hope you're right." Spring pushed aside her barely touched plate, knowing how much longing must be written on her face. "I don't know if this is the happily-ever-after kind, but I do know it's permanent. It's not something that's going to go away when I get home."
"Good. Now you know why your other relationships never lasted. You weren't in love."
"No, not like this." Spring smiled ruefully. "Though God knows why I've chosen to fall in love—really in love, for the first time in my life—with Clay McEntire, of all people. I always thought I wanted a nice normal person. You know, one from the same planet?"
Summer chuckled, her blue eyes dancing with pleasure. "It has to be the way he dresses," she managed brokenly. "You just couldn't resist the pink suit."
That did it. Both of them fell back in their chairs and laughed hysterically at Clay's expense. And Spring felt much better when they'd finished. She found herself clinging to a foolish hope that she and Clay were going to be together long past the end of her vacation.
* * *
It wasn't going to work, Clay had decided by Monday morning. He shoved his fingers through his already disordered hair and stared glumly at the stacks of papers on his desk. His relationship with Spring wasn't going to work. He might as well acknowledge that now and start trying to accept it. Actually, he'd started accepting it yesterday, when he'd been away from her long enough to clear his love-clouded mind and take a long look at the situation. He was angry with himself because he hadn't even called her, as he'd promised. But he couldn't be objective when he was with her or even talking to her on the phone.
Spring loved her home state. She was happy there, happy with her career, her friends, having her parents within visiting distance. She'd made a success of her practice, and she'd worked hard to do it. She wouldn't be interested in giving it up and moving to San Francisco, where she'd have to start from scratch.
Besides, he asked himself honestly, leaning back in his comfortably worn desk chair and staring at the Mickey Mouse poster on his office wall, what did he have to offer her? He wasn't the most stable, settled person. He liked taking life one day at a time, living impulsively. He was unofficially on call at all hours for any troubled teenager who needed him; it wasn't unusual for him to receive calls in the middle of the night that had him jumping out of bed and running to help. His love and his energy were spent on his kids, and he wasn't sure how much was left over. Hadn't that been his reason for staying single all along? How did he know what kind of husband he'd make, assuming that he decided he wanted to marry Spring or she him?
He leaned his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands. He loved her so much. He'd never imagined loving anyone this much. She was going to rip a part of him away when she left on Wednesday. But there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't feel right about asking her to stay, asking her to risk her future on him.
Another thought hit him, making
him lift his head and rest his chin on his fists, frowning fiercely at old Mickey, as if the cartoon mouse had made the suggestion. Go with her? To Little Rock, Arkansas? He was California born and bred, quite comfortable with the fast lane. What was there for him in Little Rock? He wouldn't even be able to communicate with the kids there, much less help them. Would he? And what made him think she'd want him to go with her? She'd never said that she loved him, only that she was attracted to him. And that wasn't enough.
No. He slowly shook his head at Mickey, whom he fancied was beginning to wear a look of sympathy. Mick knew it wasn't going to work, too, he decided, trying to find his always present sense of humor. Even that didn't help. He didn't feel like laughing or even smiling. He felt like crying. Or going after Spring, kidnapping her to a desert island somewhere and making love to her thirty times a day until they both succumbed to exhaustion. Since he wasn't going to do either of those things, he decided to get back to work.
It was a long day. Students were in and out of his office in a steady stream. He'd heard from those who claimed their teachers picked on them, those whose parents didn't understand them, those madly in love and wanting advice or approval. Only now that school had been dismissed for the afternoon did he have some time alone to clear his desk. He pulled a file folder in front of him and began to go over the records of a recent transfer to the school, a boy who'd been in trouble at his former school in Oregon. And for the first time in years Clay found another person's problems having to compete with his own for his full attention.
Chapter Eight
Spring had just pulled the hem of her soft blue sweater over her slacks Monday night, in preparation for an evening at Connie's and Joel's, when her sister knocked, then peeked cautiously around the bedroom door. "Spring, Clay's here," Summer said almost hesitantly, knowing that Spring was upset because she hadn't heard from Clay since the wee hours of Sunday morning. "To be honest, he seems to be in a lousy mood."
He was in a bad mood? Spring was the one who was annoyed—with him, for the mixed signals that were so hard for her to understand, and with herself, for allowing things to become so awkward. Her heart curled up and whimpered, afraid it was about to be kicked. "Okay, I'm ready," she said impassively, hoping that her cool expression hid her anxiety.
Clay was waiting for her in the den. Summer and Derek had tactfully disappeared. Clay's smile was a bit strained when Spring entered the room. She clenched her hands in the pockets of her pleated slacks, hiding their trembling. "Hello, Clay."
"Hi, Spring." Even his voice sounded different somehow.
Only then did she notice what he was wearing, a bright turquoise leather bomber jacket over a baggy, multipocketed air-force-styled jumpsuit in neon yellow. Odd, she mused absently, how she noticed his clothing now only as an afterthought. She stood where she was, unsmiling, watching him. She had no intention of making things easier for him.
Clay made a sharp, impatient gesture, and then he was across the room and she was in his arms. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, holding her so tightly that it hurt.
She didn't complain but burrowed into his shoulder, her hands clutching his back beneath the buttery-soft jacket. "Sorry about what?"
"For not calling you yesterday."
She shook her head against him. "You don't owe me explanations."
"I promised I'd call," he replied flatly. "At the very least, I owe you an apology."
She wanted so badly to ask why he hadn't called, but she couldn't, and he didn't volunteer the information. It wasn't as if he owed her anything or didn't deserve time away from her, she told herself. But he'd promised he'd call.
He kissed her rather roughly and set her a few inches away from him. "I thought you and I could follow Derek and Summer in my car to Connie's tonight, if that's okay with you," he said with obviously forced airiness.
Why are you acting so strangely? "Of course that's all right with me."
He nodded and turned to stare out the huge window of the den. He seemed distant, as if his thoughts were turned so deeply inward that he was having to make an effort to concentrate on anything going on around him. He'd been so open with her until now. It hurt to be shut out.
"Did you see Thelma today?" she asked him, struggling to make conversation.
He nodded. "Yes. They're moving her into a regular room tomorrow."
"That's good, isn't it? It means she's better." Talk to me, Clay. Tell me what's bothering you.
"Yes, she's much better. The doctors seem quite pleased with her progress."
"How is she emotionally?"
"She's okay. Her mother's no help, but her aunt Diane is here now, and she's very nice. I think she'll be able to help Thelma a great deal."
"I'm glad." And that was all she could think of to say. If it's not Thelma, then what is it? Are you tired of me already? I'll only be here for two more days. "I'll go see if Summer and Derek are ready."
Clay nodded, not even looking around at her as she left the room.
They were in the library-styled room that Derek used as an office at home, Summer leafing through a magazine as her husband glanced through some files at an enormous rolltop desk. She looked up curiously when Spring entered. "You and Clay ready to go? Tonight should be fun."
Spring nodded doubtfully. "I hope so."
"Uh-oh. He's still in a bad mood?"
"He's in an odd mood. A bit withdrawn."
Summer placed the magazine on a low table, looking thoughtful. "He gets that way sometimes. Usually when he's worried about something."
Spring thought wistfully of how little she actually knew about Clay. Summer knew him much better, even though Spring had made love with him. Why had she thought that the physical closeness they'd shared would bring them closer together emotionally, as well? Obviously she'd been wrong.
Clay paced the den, waiting for the others to join him. He knew that he'd confused Spring earlier, but he didn't know how else to act with her. He'd never been at such a loss. He loved her, he'd shared something with her that surpassed any experience he'd ever had with a woman, and yet there was still nothing more between them than...than a vacation affair, he thought sadly. She still planned to leave him in a couple of days, and he saw nothing for them beyond that time. Dammit, how am I supposed to act?
He looked up as Spring came back into the room and mentally flinched at the wary look on her pretty face. Don't look at me like that, Spring. Don't you know I only want to hold you, love you? Can't you see that you're tearing me apart?
He'd thought it would be easier in a larger group of people to ignore the panic that was steadily building within him and act naturally. Instead, being with Summer and Derek and Joel and Connie during the dinner that Connie and Joel had prepared for them was unexpectedly painful. The other couples were so happy, so comfortable in their relationships. Clay found himself noting each loving look and intimate touch that passed between them. He, on the other hand, was carefully avoiding meeting Spring's eyes or touching her more than necessary because he wasn't sure how well he could control his emotions. He supposed there was some ironic humor in the situation—a natural toucher such as himself envying others for being able to touch the ones they loved. Too bad he didn't feel like laughing. And why did he find himself getting so angry?
"So you'll be back in Little Rock by Wednesday evening," Joel was saying to Spring when Clay forced his attention to the conversation going on around him. "When do you go back to work?"
"Not until Monday," Spring answered. "I have some things I want to do around the house, so I took a full two weeks off—first time since I opened my practice almost two years ago."
"You're going to be busy when you get back," Summer commented. "I'll bet your patients will be lined up at the door Monday morning."
Spring smiled. "Well, actually, my appointment book is full for the next few weeks. But I'm not complaining about business being good."
"I thought we were going to watch a movie," Clay blurted out suddenly a
nd not particularly graciously. He couldn't sit quietly and listen to them talk about Spring leaving. He winced at the wide-eyed looks of surprise turned his way and tried to make a joke. "I'm not allowed to stay up past ten on school nights."
"Sure, Clay. We really believe that," Connie retorted, but she stood and inserted the cassette into the VCR. With surreptitious glances at Clay that he didn't miss, the others settled back in their seats to watch the movie.
Spring's attention remained on Clay. He looked up to find her watching him with an expression that he couldn't read. Disgusted with himself for acting like a jerk, he reached out to take her hand, unable to resist raising it to his lips. Her skin was soft beneath his mouth, and he felt her pulse racing in her slender wrist at the caress. His own body responded. He wanted her. He remembered his earlier fantasy of picking her up, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to an isolated spot. It still sounded good. And just as impossible.
He lowered their linked hands to his thigh and turned his gaze toward the big-screen television, trying to pay attention to the recently released comedy that he'd wanted to see at one time. Now he couldn't care less about the movie.
Anger. The doctor of psychology in him recognized the emotion as reaction to his upcoming loss, his dread of rejection. The neglected little boy still buried deep inside him was unable to rationalize the inappropriate emotion away. He was hurting, and it made him want to lash out at the cause of his pain—Spring.
What is wrong with him? Spring asked herself for the...well, she'd lost track of the number of times. Why is he treating me this way? Almost like a stranger.
She hadn't thought he'd be the type of man to lose interest once he'd made another conquest. Maybe she'd misjudged him.
He'd barely touched her this evening. After all the touching he'd done from the moment they'd met, now he seemed to have no problem at all keeping his hands to himself. He was holding her hand now, but it seemed almost an afterthought to him, almost as if he were doing her a favor, she thought resentfully.
