Clay

by Jennifer Blake

He released her abruptly, disentangled his long legs and eased from her. Rolling to his side, he lay facing her, breathing hard through flared nostrils. Janna stared up at the ceiling, trying to force her stunned mind to acceptance.

  “Go on,” he said in low-voiced reassurance. “You have to see about her.”

  “Yes. I’m…sorry.”

  He understood without further explanation. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. It mattered to her. It mattered a great deal, for in his forfeiting of his pleasure for her daughter’s comfort and well-being she saw something, fully, that she’d known at least halfway all along.

  She saw how fatally easy it would be to love Clay Benedict.

  11

  Clay fell back on the mattress with his arms outflung and his rib cage rising and falling like the gills of a landed fish. He felt like one, too, as if he’d been snatched out of his perfect element into one where it was impossible to survive. The pulsing in the lower part of his body was so strong that he could count his heartbeats where there was normally none worth noticing, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to fit himself back into his jeans. Not that he’d be forever scarred by the disappointment; he’d get over it, one way or another. Just as soon as he finished wrestling his outraged libido back under control.

  He couldn’t remember a more wrenching experience, not even in his high school days when routed from the bed of a truck by a cruising patrol unit driven by Roan, then a deputy. He’d been the next thing to gone, maybe even permanently, over Janna Kerr, Clay knew. And he wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry that he’d been forced to pull up short.

  At least he’d carried her over the edge first. That was some consolation, though he wasn’t sure if it was male ego or simple fellow-feeling that made him see it that way. Could be it was some of both.

  He hadn’t used protection.

  Clay whispered a curse as the realization struck him. It was stunning, almost unbelievable, after so many years of being careful. Was this what had happened to Matt, the same uncontrollable, all-consuming need, leading to Lainey’s conception? If so, Clay took back every hard thought he’d had about his twin’s sense of responsibility. He even felt a flash of the old, special closeness to him.

  Clay sat up on the edge of the bed with stiff-jointed care, raked his fingers back through his hair, ruffling it vigorously, then clasped the back of his neck. As he massaged it to relieve the tension, he glanced toward the hall. Light streamed from the other bedroom, indicating that it had grown almost completely dark. The rain had stopped, but it seemed a temporary respite from the way lightning still flickered beyond the window and thunder grumbled overhead.

  He could hear Lainey crying and the low sound of Janna’s voice as she tried to soothe her. Guilt touched him for dwelling on his own trials when the little girl was obviously in greater pain. Listening hard, he tried to get a handle on what the problem might be, but could form no clear idea. It was something more than normal, he thought. The hopeless misery that threaded through Lainey’s cries scraped his nerves to the bone and tore ragged strips from his heart.

  Pushing to his feet with a hard contraction of stomach and back muscles, Clay jerked on his jeans, then took a step toward the door. The nylon rope attached to his waist brought him up short. It was twisted around him, a portent reminder that he could go nowhere. Or at least he couldn’t without explanation. Cursing silently, he untangled himself, giving the rope a hard jerk to straighten it, and then moved from the room into the hall. He stopped there with his hands on his hips, staring at nothing while he followed by sound what was happening in the other bedroom. Janna was taking Lainey’s temperature, he thought, though with scant cooperation from the patient.

  Short moments later, Janna emerged from her daughter’s room. She flung him a quick glance as she slid past him to enter the bathroom then looked quickly away, as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Watching her take a clean bath cloth from the shelf and wet it under the cold water tap, he asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered with her back to him. “I may have to call Dr. Gower.”

  It was serious then, even potentially dangerous. “Symptoms?”

  “Fever, nausea, night sweats, you name it.” She paused. “Her eyes look glassy to me.” She hunched a shoulder, then moved past him again on her way back to the bedroom.

  To Clay, a crisis was a problem in need of solving. It felt wrong to be helpless in the face of this one. The urge to make himself useful, to do something, anything, besides stand there made him more antsy than being hog-tied. He hesitated, then called out, “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No. No, thanks,” Janna answered, her voice preoccupied. It was also muffled, as if she might have gathered Lainey up in her arms, maybe to change her nightgown or the bedclothes.

  Clay swore under his breath. He’d had about all of this passive thumb twiddling that he could take. He’d learned most of what he wanted to know anyway—or would have the information when he’d heard from the tests being run by Doc Watkins. It was possible that he needed a new game plan.

  He’d already crossed one foul line, hadn’t he? What was one more?

  Janna came out of the bedroom again just then, leaving Lainey still crying behind her. Her footsteps were swift and purposeful. He moved aside, and she continued along the hall to the kitchen and dining area. Her cell phone lay on the table, plugged into its charging base. She picked it up and punched in a number, then turned her back to him while she waited for someone to answer on the other end.

  She was avoiding him, could barely stand to be in the same room with him. Clay wasn’t sure whether it was guilt or newly discovered dislike that moved her, but he didn’t care for her attitude. Controlling his irritation with a strong effort, he moved in her direction to the limit of his cable.

  She didn’t turn around, didn’t seem to notice. As she spoke into the phone, she kept her voice low. Clay’s hearing was excellent, however, and he had no compunction about using it.

  “I need to speak to Dr. Gower,” she said with brisk assurance overlaid by haste, as if she feared whoever was on the other end might hang up. “Could you please give me his home number or have him contact me?” She paused a moment, then said sharply, “Of course it’s urgent! Would I bother to call at this time of evening if it wasn’t?”

  Clay pressed his lips together in a straight line as he heard the panic climb in her voice. Janna didn’t frighten easily; he had solid proof of that still attached at his waist. The situation was serious indeed. He listened with care while she ran through Lainey’s vital signs and the actions that she’d taken so far, as well as a somewhat longer list of symptoms than she’d given him earlier.

  The reply to the spate of information was unsatisfactory, for Janna’s back stiffened and anger snapped in her voice. “I am not overreacting, Nurse Fenton. I know my daughter.” Janna listened a second. “No, she isn’t, but I’ve been with her day and night for years. I understand things she can’t tell me.” She paused again, then said firmly, “I really need to talk to the doctor. Yes, I know he needs his rest—so do I! Believe me, this is nothing personal…Look, if you won’t let me talk to him, I’ll bring Lainey to the clinic…I don’t care if it does draw attention!” She stopped, her stance rigid as she pressed the phone to her ear. After a second, she said, “Well, yes, I did say she might need dialysis again this soon, but wouldn’t it be better if…But that will take hours!” She drew a deep, hissing breath. “Fine. You do whatever you have to do.”

  Clay watched with grim admiration as Janna punched the button to end the call. When she turned toward him, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

  “The nurse is coming.”

  “All this way? As late as it is and in this weather?”

  Janna tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It’s her choice. It isn’t storming in Baton Rouge, apparently. And she seems to think that Dr. Gower—”

  “What?”
he asked when she stopped. Then, as color invaded her face and she remained silent, he added, “That maybe you had a personal reason for wanting to see the good doctor?”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Janna snapped as she looked away, past his shoulder. “I can’t imagine where she got the idea.”

  He’d just bet she couldn’t. “Anyway, she’s coming instead,” he said in clarification. “So the question now is can Lainey wait that long?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered in clipped tones. “Nurse Fenton wants me to put her back on dialysis in the meantime, and I don’t see what else I can do.”

  He straightened. “I know a good doctor in Turn-Coupe. He won’t mind being disturbed. Release me, and I can have you there in half an hour, including the time to get to my airboat.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped stare. “I can take care of my daughter, thank you.”

  “I know that. It was just a suggestion.”

  “You’re interfering in something that doesn’t concern you. Go back to bed and let me handle it.”

  “Even if I can help?” He tried to keep the incredulous anger from his voice, but wasn’t sure he made it.

  “I don’t need your help. I don’t need your advice. I don’t need you to ride to my rescue in your airboat. Have you got it yet?”

  “I’ve got it,” he said, his voice even. “You don’t need me.”

  She lifted her chin. Her gaze flickered, then she looked away as if unable to hold his gaze. “As I said, I can handle it.”

  The sound of their raised voices had upset Lainey even more than before. Her crying had turned to screams, something that Clay couldn’t stand. He wanted to push the issue, to make Janna listen to him, but not at the risk of doing more damage than good.

  As he watched her, tight-lipped and silent, Janna made as if to stalk past him again. He shot out a hand to catch her wrist, bringing her up short. She struggled for an instant, then went still as he tightened his grip. When her gaze met his, only inches from his face, he said softly, “Don’t take your nerves out on me, Janna. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I’m not hurting you or Lainey, and nothing I’ve done was without invitation.”

  “No, you’re innocent, aren’t you? If anything happens, it’s all my fault, even if…”

  “What?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

  She looked away, biting the inside of her lip. Finally she said in strangled tones, “If Lainey is really sick, the surgery will be delayed. We’ll lose the kidney that’s been promised, lose it for good.”

  “I thought you might be afraid she’d die out here,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “That, too,” she said. “And you warned me, didn’t you, which would make you right.”

  The raw edge in her voice acted as a brake on his temper. “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s what you think. Though why you should care, I can’t imagine.”

  “Kids are special. Lainey is special.” What he didn’t say, but recognized with grim certainty, was that he’d grown attached to the girl. She was sweet and good-natured in spite of her problems. She took them in stride, was so incredibly brave about most of it, that she’d won his heart. That she was a small edition of her mother could be a factor as well.

  “Really,” Janna said in satirical disbelief. “At what age does that end? When she becomes a teenager maybe? Is that when they cease to be special and become expendable?”

  Clay thought of Roan’s son Jake, a funny, awkward and wise fifteen, irritating at times with his mannerism and poses, but promising to be a decent citizen and Benedict scion one day. His very being rejected the idea of the boy’s death. “God, no,” he said. “Kids of any age are hope incarnate, as close to immortality as we’ll ever get.”

  “Touching, or it would be if I believed you.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and moved quickly along the hall, vanishing once more into the room where Lainey lay. After a moment, the girl’s screams increased in a sure sign that her dialysis tubing was being hooked up.

  Janna didn’t understand, Clay thought, had no conception of the Benedict creed toward kids. The more the merrier about covered it. Even as he accepted that, another part of his brain processed the salient fact that she had just hinted at knowledge of the dead teens found in the swamp. How was that possible, here in her isolation? It also sounded as if she was aware that he might be a suspect in the deaths. But if that was so, why in heaven’s name had she ever let him make love to her?

  They had made love, not just had sex. What they shared had been no fast and frantic coupling to scratch an itch, but something special. It had been a dream of sensual exploration, or so he’d thought and felt. Janna had needed him, yes, but she’d also wanted him; he was sure of it.

  Yet now that it was done, why was she so set on pushing him away as if she had no more use for him? Two possibilities came to mind. The first was that he was wrong, that it had been about sex after all. The second was that she felt guilty, as if there’d been something behind it.

  Either way, it disturbed him.

  It disturbed him so much that he was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another. Now wasn’t the time, not while Lainey cried in the next room as if everything had gone wrong in her young life and would never be right again. But it would happen soon, one way or another.

  Clay stood the overwrought screams for as long as he could. When he felt the next one would send him around the bend, he swung around and made his way back into his bedroom. At the foot of the bed where the cable was fastened, he bent to catch the frame and give it a hefty pull toward the door. It slid a good three feet. A bit more effort and he had gained the slack in the cable that he needed. With his face set in taut lines, he left the room again, heading down the hall, jerking the plastic coated restraining cable with every hard stride so that it slapped the door facing behind him like a whip.

  Janna was sitting on the side of the bed, holding Lainey on her lap while the girl’s plastic dialysis tubing snaked down around their legs. She looked up with wide, startled eyes as Clay appeared in the doorway.

  “I had to come see for myself,” he said in curt explanation for his presence, lifting his voice above Lainey’s sobs. “Any change?”

  Janna shook her head.

  “An alcohol sponge bath might help the fever.”

  The look she gave him was scathing. “I tried that. It hurts her and she fights it, which just makes her worse.”

  “Sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Benedict. I suppose you think you can make her all well.”

  “I could at least try.”

  “No, thank you. I told you before—”

  “You don’t need me, I got that. But what does Lainey need?”

  She bent her head, speaking against Lainey’s shining hair even as she tightened her arms against the child’s wailing struggles. “She’s mine. My child, my responsibility.” Her voice dropped lower. “My life.”

  Beyond the windows, the lightning flashed with an almost constant glimmer. The lamp beside the bed, the only illumination in the room, dimmed almost as if the storm was stealing its power. With a glance in that direction, he said, “The generator on the front porch has been around a while, has a lot of hours of use on it. Have you checked to see if it works?”

  “I asked Denise about it as backup for the dialysis. I’m not completely irresponsible about my daughter’s health.”

  He clamped his lips shut against the retort he’d like to make. He’d only asked, with no thought of accusing her of neglect. When he could speak again, he asked, “So you haven’t cranked it recently?”

  “There’s been no need.”

  “But you know how?” he insisted.

  “What do you think?”

  “Good. You may need it, since electric service isn’t too reliable around the lake in bad weather.”

  She glanced at the machinery that sat humming against the wall at the head of th
e bed, then to the lamp, and back again to his face. A frown appeared between her eyes. “I see no problem.”

  “Gasoline engines aren’t always cooperative. It might be better to check it out before everything goes dark.”

  Haunted indecision came and went in her face as she looked down at her daughter. Smoothing the tears from Lainey’s pale, contorted cheek with the palm of her hand, Janna said, “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Unlock this,” he said in clipped tones as he indicated his restraint, “and I’ll do it for you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Damn it, Janna, if I’d wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of opportunity before now.”

  She didn’t even look up. “Go back to bed and leave us alone.”

  “I can’t.” The words were the stark truth, though he wasn’t sure she was capable of recognizing it.

  Voice cool and infinitely remote, she said, “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Doesn’t it?” he asked, then went on before she could answer or make more of the derision in his voice than he’d intended. “Let me have Lainey, then, while you go see about the generator.”

  He thought she was going to refuse. Her grasp tightened while she lifted her gaze to his face as if searching for hidden motives. Then she gave a tight nod.

  He moved forward and sank down onto the mattress, taking the girl in his arms with caution and all the gentleness he could muster. “All right, Lainey,” he said in soft yet positive command. “That’s enough. Quiet now.”

  Perhaps because he was calmer or his hold somehow stronger and more authoritative, Lainey turned toward him as she settled into lap, burrowing her wet face into his neck. She sobbed once or twice more, her whole body shaking, then her cries died away to a hiccuping whimper.

  Clay felt his heart constrict while savage protectiveness flowed along his veins. At the same time, he was more aware than he wanted to be that Janna had not released her hold, as if she still didn’t quite trust him. His bare skin burned where her arm was caught between him and Lainey. For an instant, they supported her between them, their arms overlapping, faces inches apart. Above the medicinal and other inevitable odors of a sickroom, he caught the faint herbal scent of Janna’s shampoo combined with a lingering hint of spent passion and female musk. She met his gaze over her daughter’s tumbled head, and he saw tears glistening where they pooled in the corners of her eyes.