Emma closed her mouth for a moment before answering him. “I didn’t work last night, Joe. Why?”
“Looks like you were just getting to bed,” Clint answered for him, rounding the corner toward the truck.
She glanced down and realized she stood out on her porch in her nightshirt, socks and nothing else. A noise from the street caught her attention. There, parked along her curb, sat several pick-up trucks and the mail jeep. Their owners, all middle-aged and elderly men, were leaning out the windows and watching the spectacle Clint and Joe were making on her lawn in the early morning light.
With a squeak, Emma ran in the house in search of her robe. By the time she’d grabbed it, run a comb through her hair and walked out onto the porch again, the two men had finished unloading the truck’s supplies. Clint handed Joe some folded bills and shook his hand before the lanky young man climb into the truck.
She clutched her robe together and started down the steps. Mama laid her hand over hers on the railing, stopping her forward motion.
“Invite your young man to breakfast, dear. I’ll go start the biscuits.”
Open mouthed, Emma could only stare as her mother smiled at the men, patted her hair down smoothly and sauntered back inside.
That took the cake! The man was not embarrassing her in public, interfering with her construction plans and staying for breakfast. She marched onto the dew-covered grass to confront him.
“I want to know what you think you’re doing buying all these supplies and dumping them on my lawn. I don’t need charity, Doctor. Not from you, not from anyone.” She stood toe-to-toe with him, her head thrown back so she could look him in the eye.
When Clint had the gall to smile at her, she fought the urge to ram her fist into his gut.
“It’s not charity, Emma. It’s part of a business proposition I want to make you.”
“What proposition? What business?” She eyed him with suspicion, her arms crossed over her chest.
He looked around them. Emma followed his gaze and realized that not only were people out on the street watching them, but all of her neighbors, including the town busybody, Mrs. Higgins, were leaning over their porch rails to hear what they had to say to each other.
“Maybe we should go inside and talk.” Clint grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the front porch. “Maybe over some breakfast.”
“What’s the matter? Forget to eat breakfast before you went out and tried to wreak havoc with my life?” Emma mumbled as they entered her home. She waited for the front door to close behind them before she jerked her arm out of his grasp and turned on him. “It’s taken me years to build some respect in this town. Thanks to you and your antics today, it’s all been torn down.”
“My antics?” He had the audacity to sound irritated. “If you hadn’t paraded around in your nightshirt trying to take my head off for trying to help you, no one would have taken notice of what I was doing.”
“Paraded around! I wish I had taken your head off. What makes you think I need—much less want—anyone’s help, especially yours?” Instinctively she took a step closer. She hadn’t backed away from a fight in six years. She’d promised herself she never would again.
Clint answered with his own step forward. “Emma, if someone ever needed help, it’s you.”
The air around them crackled with their tension and anger, and something even more palpable—her awareness of him as a man. His warm breath fanned across her face. A small bead of sweat rolled from his forehead down his cheek to his neck. Her eyes followed its path. Without thinking, she licked her lips as if she could taste its saltiness.
A giggle, followed by a second one, broke the odd spell surrounding them.
Emma blinked. She looked at her sons, both seated on the stairs.
“Mommy, you look...” Ben giggled, his hand over his mouth.
“...funny!” Brian finished, trying just as hard to contain his laughter.
All the tension left her body. A bubble of laughter fought its way to the surface. She clamped down on it, hard. No matter what, she wouldn’t laugh at this man. Then a deep rumble started next to her. Slowly, she looked at Clint. His face hadn’t changed in its seriousness, except for the twitching of the muscles around his mouth and the twinkle of humor in his eyes.
She couldn’t contain her amusement any longer. In mock surrender, she threw up her hands. “Fine! I don’t know what I’m going to do with all that stuff, but I guess since it’s here, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Brian giggled louder. “Mommy, Doc Clint didn’t bring you a horse.”
“That’s right, he didn’t.” She ran over and started tickling him. “But he did give us a gift. So, I won’t complain anymore. That’s what I meant.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?” Benjamin joined in on the ticklefest.
“Because your mother likes to talk in riddles,” Clint answered, coming to her rescue and removing both of her boys from her sides. “Now, why don’t you two guys go eat breakfast with your grandmother and then get ready for school, while your mom and I have a little talk.”
“Yes, sir!” They jumped to attention and saluted Clint. Then with much shoving and laughter, they ran down the hall to the kitchen.
Emma’s heart swelled as they disappeared. The only thing she’d managed to do right with her life—her sons were growing up happy. When she turned to talk with Clint, the smiled died on her lips. He stared off in the direction in which her boys had gone. Such sadness and longing etched his face that panic seized her heart.
“They’re mine.” The words shot out of her mouth before she finished the thought.
Clint swung his gaze to her, confusion in his eyes. “What did you say?”
“I...said...they’re gone. We can talk now.” Surely she’d been mistaken. He couldn’t really want her sons. But then hadn’t he threatened her that first morning, calling her an unfit mother? “What is it you have to say to me?” she asked more defensively than she meant.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your neighbors. Remember, I’m a big-city boy these days. Most of my neighbors don’t even know my name, much less care what I’m doing. I forgot how close-knit this town is.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. His action reminded her of her sons when they knew they’d done something wrong. Once again he’d taken the starch out of her anger.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “It probably wasn’t that bad. Besides, if Mrs. Higgins didn’t have my life to talk to the neighbors about, she’d probably waste away from boredom.”
A twinkle of mischief filled his eyes. “That would take a lot of boredom.”
“You’re terrible.” She couldn’t help laughing.
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged again.
“But that doesn’t mean you have to say it.” Emma sat on the stairs, pulling her robe closed over her knees. She knew she shouldn’t feel embarrassed about her state of early-morning dress, since it was his fault she’d gotten out of bed so early, but after her heated response to Clint’s nearness just moments before, any protection soothed her pride, if not her emotions.
With a wave of her hand, she motioned for Clint to join her on the stairs. “Somehow, I don’t think Mrs. Higgins has anything to do with this business proposition of yours.”
“You’re right, she doesn’t,” Clint agreed as he joined her on the steps. He spread his legs wide, bracing his elbows on his thighs and leaning over his steepled fingers. To keep her thighs from resting against his, Emma moved closer to the wall. The small space did little to prevent his heat and masculine scent from steering her thoughts to less-than-businesslike images.
For what seemed like an eternity to Emma, Clint stared out into the early-morning light filtering through the front door’s window. The wait was excruciating. She leaned her shoulder against the wall. Propping her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin in her hand and decided to take advantage of the situation to study the ma
n she’d had a crush on for years.
As a teenager, and then a neglected wife, she’d spent many years daydreaming about Clint Preston. Images of him helping her out of her car, smiling at her across a banana split, teasing her about her redhead’s temper, all helped her through the worst times in her life. Over the years the details of his features had faded a bit. Now she could compare her hero’s image to the real thing.
Actually, her memory wasn’t that far off the mark. Time had matured him. His hair, still thick with red and gold highlights accented against the brown waves, had only a hint of gray just above his ear. His dark eyes remained entrancing, but now a few lines at the corners hinted at the teasing man beneath. A small scar caressing the bronze skin from the corner of his mouth across the bottom of his cheek, accentuated his strong jaw. Funny, she didn’t remember that scar. His nose had a slight crook to it. Emma wondered if at one time he’d broken it. Finally, her eyes centered on his lips. Unconsciously, Emma licked her own, wondering what it would feel like to taste them.
“I want to help you, Emma.”
His words, so sudden out of the quiet, startled her. Had she voiced the idea of kissing him aloud? No, he couldn’t possibly know what she thought. “You want to help me?”
“But you’d be helping me, too,” he quickly added.
“I would?”
“Sure. I’m used to being busy. And the exercise will do me good.”
“It will?” Visions of she and Clint in very intimate exercise flashed before her eyes.
“And it will be good for the boys.”
The image before her burst. “What are you talking about?”
“Me, helping you with the remodeling.” He turned a puzzled gaze to her. “What did you think I was talking about?”
The heat rose in Emma’s cheeks. She quickly tried to think of something to cover her true thoughts. “Jogging.” Good one, Em, old girl! “I thought you wanted to jog.”
“Why would I want to go jogging with so much to do here?” His mouth lifted at the corners as he waited for her explanation.
“You were talking about exercise...and I thought...” She clamped her lips shut before anything else rushed out. “What did you have in mind for the remodeling?”
Clint chuckled at her obvious change of subject and Emma knew her face had turned even redder.
“This is going to be a great living space when you get it done, Emma. But the remodeling is going to be too big a job for you to do yourself. Believe me, I know.” His smile disappeared, the edges of his mouth drawn down as he went from teasing to serious. “You don’t have the money to hire a contractor, right?”
She bristled at his mention of her finances or lack thereof. “You know I don’t. I barely had the money in my savings to pay for the supplies. I didn’t want to take out a loan for both school and this.”
“I’ve already taken care of the supplies. “ He held up his hand to stop her protest. “You can pay me later as you get the money. I’d like you to let me do the work, too, Emma.”
She turned to study him. If his offer was serious, she had to know now, before she made a commitment. “What about Doc Ray’s practice?”
He gave a choked laugh. “There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t had hours on my hands with nothing to do since I got here. I have more than enough time to work on your house every afternoon. And besides aren’t you going to need someone to help watch the boys after school?”
“Yes, although I had planned to enroll them in some sort of after-school plan.” A sigh escaped her. “But they all charge some sort of fee.”
“If I were to spend four hours a day working here, the boys could learn to help instead of getting into mischief.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t think that is such a good idea, Clint. There is too much temptation around the tools and things. One of them could get hurt. Or both.”
“I know. Harriett’s warning was, what one will do, the other will, too. But if I give them safe jobs to do, like stirring paint and carrying out the trash, they would be using their time constructively.” He grinned at her. “Pardon the pun.”
“I don’t know...” she started to protest once more.
“If I can keep them busy, won’t you have time to rest? And won’t having part of the total responsibility for the work taken off your shoulders lessen your own stress?”
Emma nodded her resistance slipping. She knew she’d lost the battle. She hated not being in control. It brought back the feelings of inadequacy she’d developed while living with Dwayne. It had taken her six long years to get her mind out of the white water of emotions and onto solid ground. Now Clint asked her to step into that river of trust again.
After a few minutes of shared silence, Clint reached under her chin with his finger, lifting her face until her gaze met his. As if reading her mind, he murmured, “You can call the shots, make all the decisions. Let me do the work, Emma.”
She stared into his eyes—the eyes that haunted her dreams. Oh yes, if she wasn’t careful, she’d give into every one of those fantasies. And she’d learned years ago that fantasies cost a great deal. But what choice did she have? Everything he said was true. She really did need help.
Closing her eyes and taking a mental step into the whirlpool of uncertainty, Emma nodded her agreement.
“Good.”
“Emma, dear. Is your young man staying for breakfast?” Mama asked as she approached the pair.
Emma shot to her feet, self-conscious that her mother found her talking so intimately with Clint and frustrated that she’d made an assumption that there was more to their relationship. “Mama, Doctor Preston isn’t…”
“I can’t stay for breakfast, Miss Isabelle,” Clint interrupted Emma as he stood and took her mother’s hand in his. “Harriett has a full morning of patients scheduled for me over at the clinic and would tan my hide if I kept anyone waiting. Perhaps you and Emma could drop by the clinic this afternoon for a little visit?”
“Why, we’d be delighted to.” Mama actually blushed, then turned and floated back to the kitchen.
Emma rolled her eyes heavenward. “Honestly, I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth next. Sometimes I feel like I have a teenager living with me.” Shaking her head, she went to the front door and held it open for him. “You don’t need to take time out of your busy day to visit with Mama."
He paused on the other side of the screen door, all semblance of humor gone from his features. “I’d really like to see both of you at the clinic today, Emma.”
“That sounds rather ominous.” She gave a nervous laugh. When he didn’t respond in a like manner, a shiver of dread crept over her skin. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s not anything life-threatening, but we’ll talk about it this afternoon.” He gave her a nod then walked down the porch stairs.
As she watched him saunter across the street to the clinic, she shivered again, praying he wasn’t going to give her more bad news.
* * *
“I saw you out working in your rose garden the other day, Miss Isabelle. What exactly do you do to get such beautiful flowers?” Clint asked Mama as if it were just casual conversation.
The knot in Emma’s stomach tightened in response. She knew it wasn’t just another question, just like all the other innocuous questions he’d asked her weren’t idle conversation. She may not be a doctor, but she knew exactly what he was doing. For the past hour he’d quietly been testing her mother’s memory and speech patterns—looking for memory lapses to the simple answers.
“I feed and water them weekly. Usually I use…” Mama paused looking for the right word.
“Fertilizer…” Emma gently added.
Mama smiled at her. “Fertilizer in a gallon of water.”
“Is there anything else you do?”
“Well, I cut them back regularly. A good…” Again, Mama searched for the word.
“Pruning?” Emma asked. During the last hour she’d realized just how m
any times during a conversation she’d supplied a missing word for her mother. Over the past months it had become second nature to fill in the blanks.
“Yes, pruning. It encourages new blossoms.” Her mother sat back in her chair, then quietly looked about the paneled walls of the doctor’s office.
Clint pushed the button on his intercom then wrote a few notes on the pad of paper in front of him. Almost instantly Harriett appeared at the office door.
“Isabelle, why don’t you come have a cup of tea with me out on the veranda?”
“Thank you, Harriett. I believe I’d love to.” Mama paused at the door and looked back at Emma hesitantly. “Are you going to join us, dear?”
Emma shook her head. As much as she wanted to avoid it, she knew Clint wanted to talk to her in private about her mother. “I’ll be along in a bit. You have a nice visit with Harriett.”
Once the two women were gone and the door shut firmly behind them, Emma turned to face Clint once more. Her fingers laced together in her lap, she clenched her palms together and took a deep breath. “So, what did you discover with all those questions? I’m sure you’re not really interested in quilting, canning and gardening.”
He pulled a slip of paper out of the file on his desk. “I have a few questions for you about your mother’s behavior since your father’s death. Let’s go through those then we’ll talk.”
She knew she should appreciate his professionalism, but her nerves were already frayed from worry and she wished he’d just get on with telling her what he suspected. Otherwise, she might just explode or put her fist through his window, because right now she really felt like hitting something.
“Does your mother need to be reminded to do things around the house like chores or cooking a meal?”
“Occasionally.”
“Does she seem sad, cry more often?”
“Yes, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Her husband of fifty-five years died less than a year ago.”
He looked at her with compassionate eyes. “Yes, it’s part of the grieving process.”
Close To Home (Westen Series) Page 9
