Clay (Texas Rascals Book 11)

by Lori Wilde

  Molly babbled from the Pack ’n Play in the corner. The baby grinned at Tobie, wriggling with happiness.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Tobie threw back the covers and padded over to lift Molly up. “Goodness, somebody’s got wet britches.”

  After they’d changed—Molly into a dry diaper and T-shirt and Tobie into a pink print sundress—she toted the baby into the kitchen. Spying Clay in his pajama bottoms, flipping bacon with a fork, Tobie felt suddenly shy.

  Molly squirmed to be let down.

  Bending over, Tobie settled the child to the floor. Faster than a roadrunner, the baby crawled across the hardwood floor, her little legs working like windmills. She bumped into a wall, turned, and crawled back, her peals of laughter filling the cabin.

  “Good morning,” Clay said, his voice rumbling deep and sexy. His hair was in disarray. He gave her a lopsided grin. It was as if their argument from the previous day never happened. “How did you sleep?”

  Tobie couldn’t help smiling back. “Like a baby.”

  “Hopefully you had dry pants.”

  Tobie’s mouth dropped open. “Are you insinuating I wet the bed?” Grabbing a dishtowel off the kitchen table, she twisted it in her hands.

  “Now, now.” Clay laughed. He dropped his fork and raised his palms. “You wouldn’t pop an unarmed man, would you?”

  “You asked for it.” Grinning, Tobie bounced on the balls of her feet, shifting her weight like an edgy boxer. “Come on, Barton, make my day.”

  Ducking, he dodged the flick of her towel. “Jeez, Avery, you’re awfully frisky this morning. Have a sexy dream about me last night?”

  “Okay, that’s it, you’ve had it.” Wielding the towel, she chased him around the kitchen until they were both laughing and breathless.

  He raised both arms to cover his face. “Truce! Truce!”

  “No mercy,” she cried triumphantly and cornered him.

  He made a break for it, but she was faster. Tobie twisted the towel, took aim, and popped him right on the bottom.

  “You stinker,” he exclaimed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to his chest.

  Tobie dropped the towel, and her heart sped up.

  They stood nose to nose, chin to chin…

  Mouth to mouth.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “What you do to me, woman, should be a crime,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand tightening around her wrist.

  “Oh, yeah?” She thrust her chin forward and pursed her lips, practically daring him to kiss her.

  “Yeah.” His lips came down on hers, possessive, hungry, seeking.

  Her free hand trailed to his nape. She spurred him on by tangling her fingers in his hair and tugging lightly.

  “I knew it,” he murmured, pulling back.

  “Knew what?” she asked, leaning up to capture his bottom lip between her teeth.

  “That beneath that professional cool lurks the heart of a wild woman.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. Lowering his head, he kissed her again.

  “Hmm,” Tobie commented, enjoying his minty taste.

  “Good thing you didn’t kiss me like this last night,” he panted, burying his face in her hair. “Otherwise…”

  “Are you trying to say you’ve got a wild streak yourself?” She growled low in her throat.

  “Ah, Tobie, you’re too damned sexy. There’s no resisting you.” He placed a palm on either side of her face and planted his mouth on hers once more.

  She felt the kiss in her toes. Tilting back her head, she allowed him deeper access. Untamed desire stirred her. Her entire body vibrated with needy urgency. She wanted Clay to make love to her.

  Right now!

  Molly’s high-pitched keen tore them apart.

  “What is it? Where is she?” Clay exclaimed.

  Tobie bent to pick the baby off the floor, her head still reeling from the kiss. Her lips burned. Her blood pulsed. Her body ached for him.

  “What is it?” Clay demanded again. He seemed as disoriented as she felt.

  Tears rolling down her cheeks, Molly held out her little hand to Tobie. The index finger was red and turning purple at the nail.

  “She smashed her finger in the cabinet door,” Tobie said, ducking her head to kiss Molly’s sore finger.

  Clay plowed a frustrated hand through his hair. “Are you kidding me? I spent half the night after you went to bed installing those baby latches. The whole point was to keep her safe, and now the dang things pinched her finger.”

  “It’s the way they design these latches.” She shook her head. “They only keep the door partway closed. A baby can still get her fingers inside.”

  “I ought to invent better ones,” Clay fumed. “Poor Molly.”

  “She’ll be okay,” Tobie said, smoothing down the infant’s hair. “One of many lessons learned in the journey of life.”

  “Why, Dr. Avery, I didn’t know you were a philosopher,” he teased. Then his eyes widened as he stared at the stove. “Good grief, the bacon’s burning.”

  Stepping over one of Molly’s wooden blocks on the floor, he snatched at the iron skillet with his bare hand.

  “Clay,” Tobie called out to stop him, but it was too late.

  Yelping, he dropped the pan back down on the stovetop. Acrid smoke filled the air. Molly sneezed.

  Tobie turned on the faucet. “Get cold water on your hand. Now.”

  Clay stumbled over Molly’s blocks, let loose with a howl of pain, then hobbled to the sink to douse his burned hand.

  Coughing against the smoke, Tobie turned off the burner and clicked on the stove’s vent fan.

  “Open the door,” Clay suggested, wincing.

  With Molly perched on her hip, she scurried to open the front door, then returned to the kitchen. Using a dishtowel to fan the smoke out of the kitchen, Tobie glanced in Clay’s direction.

  “Are you all right?” She raised her voice over the fan’s rattling hum.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What a mess.”

  “Hello, anybody home?” A strange female voice drew Tobie’s attention from Clay.

  She looked up to see a stylishly dressed young woman standing in the doorway. The woman wore gold jewelry and expensive designer clothing. Very classy. Behind her stood a tall man with a bemused expression on his face. Who were these people?

  “Holt! Anne! You’re back.” Clay sounded nervous.

  Embarrassed to be meeting his family under the circumstances, Tobie combed her fingers through her hair, aware of how things must look—the kitchen stinking of charred bacon, Clay bent over the sink, his hand under the cold water, tear streaks staining Molly’s cheeks.

  “Looks like you’ve had your hands full, baby brother,” Anne said and picked her way across the kitchen floor to give Clay a big hug.

  He turned off the water and dried his hand on the towel Tobie pitched his way. “We didn’t expect you back until late this afternoon.”

  “We caught the earliest flight,” Anne said, taking Molly from Tobie. “I couldn’t wait to get home and see my precious angel.” She smothered her baby with kisses.

  The tall man followed his wife into the kitchen. He smiled at Tobie and extended his hand. “I’m Holt Johnson, and this is my wife, Anne. We understand you’ve been helping Clay take care of our little Molly.”

  “Yes,” she replied, not knowing what else to say. The aura of affluence surrounding these people surprised her. From their expensive clothes to their cultured mannerisms, Anne and Holt Johnson radiated the self-confidence of old money.

  Quite a contrast to Clay and his humble cabin. Tobie couldn’t help wondering why Anne didn’t help her brother financially. Clay was probably too proud to take handouts.

  “This is Dr. Tobie Avery,” Clay said, slinging an arm across her shoulders.

  “Thank you so much, Dr. Avery, for intervening when Clay got in over his head.” Anne smiled and touched Tobie’s shoulder. “He should have hired a—”

&nbs
p; “Do you think it’ll scar?” Clay interrupted, shoving his hand between the women for their assessment.

  Tobie shot Clay a suspicious glance. Something wasn’t right. Was it her imagination, or did he seem excessively flustered? She studied his palm. Nothing worse than a first-degree burn. The skin wouldn’t even blister.

  “You’ll live,” she said.

  “Come on, Anne, Holt, let me help you gather up Molly’s things.” Clay spoke quickly. He bent to snatch Molly’s blocks and blanket from the floor before herding everyone toward the bedroom for the baby’s Pack ’n Play.

  “We really do appreciate all you’ve done,” Holt said, taking his turn holding his daughter. “It was a relief knowing Molly was in good hands while we were at the hospital with my mother.”

  “Yes,” Anne agreed. “I’m sorry you got stuck taking care of her, Clay. If only Mom and Dad weren’t—”

  “Out of town,” he finished for her. “Did I tell you guys the recycler works?”

  While Clay chattered to his relatives about his invention, Tobie studied him. He spoke hurriedly, his body language as tense as a soldier on alert.

  She frowned.

  Clay was definitely hiding something. He’d interrupted his sister twice, and he seemed determined to usher them out of the door as soon as possible. What was going on with him?

  Holt and Clay loaded up Molly’s belongings while Anne repeatedly hugged and kissed her daughter. Clay kept casting glances at Tobie and his sister as if reluctant to leave them alone in the same room together.

  Tobie longed to corner Anne and ask her a million questions about her brother and their childhood, but each time she tried, Clay would come flying back into the room, alert and breathless, his gaze darting from Tobie to Anne and back again.

  Tobie shot Clay a look. When his family left, they would have a talk.

  Fifteen minutes later, the Johnsons packed their Lexus with Molly’s stuff, and the family waved goodbye to Clay and Tobie. When the car disappeared from sight, Tobie tapped his shoulder. “All right, Barton, spill it. I want to know exactly what it is you don’t want me to find out.”

  “Now’s not a good time,” Clay said, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He’d just spent the past thirty minutes trying to keep Tobie and Anne apart so his sister wouldn’t inadvertently spill the beans about who he was.

  “Why not?” She folded her arms over her chest.

  Clay ran a finger around the collar of his T-shirt and tugged at the material. He hated it when she gave him that look as if he’d disappointed her greatly. What was she thinking behind that cool veneer?

  “I—m-mean,” he stammered. “I’m not prepared to discuss it.”

  She arched an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. Then she waited.

  “I promise I’ll tell you everything after I come back from seeing the patent attorney. I need to wait until then.”

  Her jaw muscles worked as if she wanted to say something but was controlling herself. Clay hadn’t felt so discombobulated since grammar school where they’d cast him in the lead role in the school play, and he’d forgotten his lines on opening night.

  “Look,” she said at last, “if you’re trying to give me the brush-off, just say so. I can take it.” She moved past him, heading up the porch steps. “I’ll just get my things and be on my way.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. Where are you going?” He had to sprint to catch up. Before she reached the landing, he snagged her elbow.

  “To a hotel until they’ve finished fumigating my home.”

  “Tobie, cut me some slack?”

  “Look, you don’t owe me anything. We’ve only known each other a week. Yes, we really got to know each other in a week, but it’s still only a week.”

  “I have feelings for you,” he said.

  “I have feelings for you too, but until you can be honest with me about what’s going on with you, we have nothing to build on.” She headed for the door.

  He put out his hand and moved to block her from leaving. “Please, just give me until I’ve had time to talk to the patent attorney, and I’ll explain everything then.”

  “If you want to hide things, hide them. But you don’t get to be deceptive and still have a relationship with me.”

  He should tell her the truth. Now. Anything to keep her from walking away. But he was afraid of losing her. Or worse yet, terrified that she’d love the “rich” Clay Barton and forget about the ordinary guy he was at heart.

  All his life he’d balked against the opulent image preferred by his family. He’d hated the private schools and exclusive country clubs and overpriced material goods his folks found so important. He saw crystal chandeliers and oriental rugs and priceless paintings as a flagrant waste of money when there were people starving the world over and when the environment was being destroyed at an alarming rate.

  He wanted nothing more than to invent useful things and gain respect for his own talents, not his parents’ money.

  “There’s no point. You have your life. I have mine. We had a nice week. Let it go.”

  “I thought we were working on something,” he said.

  “Me too, but if you can’t talk to me, then I guess we were both wrong.”

  “I’m just asking for forty-eight hours, Tobie, that’s all.”

  Tobie tapped her toe against the step. “All right,” she agreed. “Forty-eight hours. But if by Tuesday evening you don’t have an explanation for me, it’s over between us. Got that?”

  A reprieve! She’d agreed to wait.

  Now all Clay had to do was patent the recycler, and he’d have something to offer her for the future. Something he’d achieved on his own without the family wealth. Something worthwhile that would benefit mankind.

  “You got yourself a deal,” he said and kissed her one last time.

  16

  On Monday morning, Clay guided his aging pickup down the highway to Houston. He should have been concentrating on the recycler riding in his pickup bed, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Tobie.

  From the confident way she crossed those shapely legs at the knees to her sweet floral scent to her pale complexion that easily showed a blush, he couldn’t stop his mind from lingering on her.

  She perplexed him.

  One minute, she was cool as cucumber salad, the next moment so hot he feared he’d burn his hands when he touched her.

  Women.

  You couldn’t figure them.

  Clay thought in mechanical terms. Cogs and gears made sense to him. Metal and rubber and plastic, those things he got. But not heavy emotions and most definitely not women.

  He knew Tobie was attracted to him. Hell, attraction was an understatement. The sparks they generated could set Yellowstone National Park ablaze. But then at critical moments, she’d withdraw into herself, fighting the things she felt for him. She could be playful and fun, but in the next breath turn serious and inflexible. And he knew she harbored doubts about his ability to provide for a family.

  On some level, she saw him in the same light as her ne’er-do-well father. Obviously, Tobie still had some father issues to work out.

  Perhaps Clay should already have told her he was worth millions. That would ease her mind, assuage her doubts, free her to love him. But then he would never know whether she wanted him for himself or his money.

  Clay winced. That trap had caught him before. Once, several years ago, he’d thought himself in love. His heart was broken by a woman who was interested only in his family fortune.

  He’d found out the hard way when he’d caught her in bed with a friend of his. After that betrayal, Clay had let no one near his heart again.

  Until now.

  Until Tobie.

  Spending this time with Tobie and Molly stirred something inside him. A deeply paternal instinct he hadn’t known he possessed. It amazed Clay at how much he enjoyed taking care of Molly and how well things had gone.

  Together, he and Tobie made a terrific team.

 
Yes, this past week he’d learned a lot, about both himself and Tobie.

  His pulse thudded erratically. As soon as he got the patent, he would ask Tobie if she’d consider seeing only him.

  All he could do was pray she’d say yes.

  Tobie couldn’t concentrate. She stayed late at the office to catch up on paperwork because she didn’t want to go home to her empty townhouse.

  But she hadn’t done any work. She simply couldn’t stop thinking about Clay.

  He was hiding something from her, but she had no idea what it was. Unfortunately, her mind was pretty good at scaring up crazy scenarios. What if he was married? What if he had a communicable disease? What if he had a criminal record?

  Ack! She was making herself nuts.

  She was elbow deep in paperwork when someone knocked on the clinic’s front door. Could it be Clay? Pulse strumming, she put down her paper, hopped up, and went through the darkened lobby to answer the door.

  Peeping through the keyhole, she saw her mother standing outside and unlocked the door.

  “Hi, honey,” her mother greeted her.

  “Mom!” Chagrined that she’d forgotten about her mother’s impending visit, she tugged her mother inside and gave her a big hug.

  “I went by your house, but you weren’t there, so I swung by here. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “My phone’s in the bottom of my purse. I must have the ringer turned off.”

  “No worries. I found you.” Her mother hugged her tighter. “Oh, it feels so good to squeeze you.”

  Finally, Mom let her go, and she stepped back. Stella Avery wore a new designer outfit and a bright smile.

  “You look fantastic,” Tobie exclaimed.

  “I just had my hair cut and got a new wardrobe.” Her mother’s eyes sparkled. “I have some marvelous news. Let me take you out to dinner, and I’ll explain.”

  “Okay. Let me grab my purse.”

  Ten minutes later, they entered the quaint Italian restaurant down the street from Tobie’s office. Her mother asked the hostess for secluded seating.

  “So that we can talk without too much noise,” she whispered, pulling a large white envelope from her oversized handbag.