by Ann Roth
More dead space. He scrubbed the back of his neck. It was time to say “see you around” and head for Spenser’s. Instead, he just stood there.
“Adam Dawson is the one who told me about Cody and Autumn,” Sarah said. “He thought I’d be interested in their ranch, which is a little different from the usual cattle ranch. It doubles as a foster home for boys.
“Cody has a ranch crew, but after school the boys work there, too.” She bubbled on. “One of them is in community college, and the others plan to attend after high school. It sounds like a pretty amazing place. I’ll get to see for myself tomorrow afternoon, around the time the boys get home from school.”
Clay had visited the ranch and met the boys. “They’re nice kids—you’ll like them. You’ve been busy.”
“I don’t have much time in Saddlers Prairie and I need to make every minute count.”
A good reminder that she wasn’t here long.
He wanted to ask about Bob and Judy Becker, but decided not to. “How are you really doing?” he said instead.
She hesitated, clearly thinking about that. “Surviving. I’m pretty embarrassed about the other day. “
“All of it?” He glanced at her mouth before jerking his gaze upward.
She blushed. “Not all of it, no.”
He almost got lost in her big blue eyes. Sweet Jesus, he wanted her. The urge to touch her was almost impossible to ignore.
Jerking his gaze away, he fisted his hands at his sides. The blisters on his palms smarted something fierce, and he latched on to the pain. Better that than the awful need gripping him.
“I’d best get that feed,” he said. “Take care.”
“You, too.”
She moved rapidly away, as if she, too, needed to put as much space between them as possible. He didn’t relax until her car pulled out of the parking lot.
* * *
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’ve been here a whole week already,” Mrs. Yancy said over breakfast Wednesday morning.
Sarah agreed. Time seemed to be passing so quickly. “I know. I feel so comfortable here. Having breakfast with you every morning is something I’ll miss when I leave. The food is wonderful, and you’re so easy to talk to.”
She wouldn’t miss Clay—or so she tried to tell herself. Running into him at Spenser’s yesterday had undone all her efforts to push him from her mind. He’d looked work-weary and dusty, and so incredibly good. Her heart had all but lifted out of her chest, and she had to admit she’d lied to herself.
The truth was, he hadn’t been out of her thoughts since she’d first knocked on his door a week ago.
“If you want to extend your visit, I’d love for you to stay longer,” Mrs. Yancy said.
Sarah considered the idea, but the safest thing to do was leave and never look back. “I couldn’t, but thanks.” She refilled her mug and topped off Mrs. Yancy’s. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“The first time your son contacted his biological mother, was she happy to hear from him?”
“As I recall, she was stunned and needed a while to adjust before she welcomed him into her life.” Mrs. Yancy gave Sarah a sympathetic look. “It will be the same with your grandparents. Don’t forget, they have to break the news to Tammy, as well. I’ll bet that, in time, they’ll come around, and so will she.”
Clay had said the same thing, but Sarah had her doubts. In the three days since she’d knocked on their door, she hadn’t heard a word from them. Not that she expected to. Their message had been loud and clear: leave us alone and go back where you came from.
“I’ve been thinking about writing to them,” she said. She’d started a letter twice, but gave up when she couldn’t think of the right words. Which was odd for a writer. Not for the first time, she wished she could go back and redo the meeting with them. “If I ask, maybe they’ll tell me where to find Tammy.”
“You could do that, but why don’t you wait a little bit. They have your card. Give them time, and they’ll call.”
“But waiting is hard.” Sarah’s attempt at a laugh failed miserably.
Mrs. Yancy sipped her coffee. “I’m glad Clay went with you. He seems like a good man.”
He was. The best.
“That’s a heavy sigh.”
Sarah was thinking about confiding in Mrs. Yancy about her dangerous feelings for Clay, when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen and froze. “It’s Bob Becker.”
“I knew it! Don’t just sit there, answer the phone.”
Fully aware of the woman’s close scrutiny, Sarah picked up. After a few minutes she disconnected. “You said they’d call,” she said. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re family. What did they say?”
“They invited me to come over tomorrow.” Still in shock, Sarah shook her head. “They actually sounded friendly.”
“Didn’t I tell you? All they needed was a little time to get used to the idea of meeting their granddaughter. Are you going to call Clay and let him know?”
At the subtle note of excitement in Mrs. Yancy’s voice, Sarah frowned. “There’s nothing between us.”
Nothing she cared to share.
“Of course not.” Mrs. Yancy brushed muffin crumbs from the table into her palm. “But he was there with you when you visited them the other day. He’ll want to know that they called.”
This was true. “You’re right,” Sarah said. “Excuse me a moment.”
She moved to the living room, out of eavesdropping range, and punched in Clay’s number. His phone rang and went to voice mail before she remembered—wasn’t he at a cattle auction today?
She left a message. “It’s Sarah. I heard from the Beckers.”
* * *
AS THE CATTLE trucks Clay had arranged to transport his new herd trundled onto the highway toward Saddlers Prairie, he clapped Mattson’s shoulder. “We did well today—or you did.”
The foreman shrugged. “I’d better—I’ve participated in stock auctions since I was a kid.”
Clay yawned. He’d had no idea the event would be so time consuming or require such focus. The day had started shortly after dawn, with a twenty-mile drive to Red Deer and the auction grounds.
Roughly an hour before the event officially started, he and Mattson had checked over the stock that were kept in holding pens and decided which ones they wanted.
After the bidding finished and Clay settled up, an onsite vet had examined the cattle and immunized them, with Mattson explaining the whys and wherefores and educating Clay. He was grateful to his new foreman for teaching him things he otherwise wouldn’t have known.
The more Clay got to know Burl Mattson, the more he liked him. He counted himself lucky to have hired the man. “Why don’t we stop on the way home and grab a late lunch?” he suggested. “On me.”
“I won’t say no to that. Let me call Jess and tell him that the stock is on its way.”
While Mattson made the call, Clay kept an eye out for a restaurant and congratulated himself on a day well spent. Owning stock at last felt good, another step toward building his business. Things were finally falling into place.
If only he could say the same thing about his personal life...
He nodded at a sign indicating fuel and food ahead. “Let’s find a place to eat off this exit.”
Minutes later, they slid into a booth at a restaurant. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the place was virtually empty.
A cute redhead with a flirty smile brought the menus.
“I’m Misty, and I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” she said, giving Clay a sultry look.
“She likes you,” Mattson murmured as she moved away with her hips swaying.
With no thanks to Sarah Tigarden, Clay felt
nothing but the mildest appreciation. “She smiled at you, too.”
“There was a time when I’d have gone for her, but not anymore.” Mattson pointed to the wedding band on his finger. “Tara is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not about to muck up this marriage.”
Clay wondered at the telling comment.
“The first time I married, I was eighteen,” Mattson explained. “We didn’t get along and divorced before my twentieth birthday. I didn’t think about marriage again until I met Tara, when I was barely this side of forty. She was also divorced, and I had to chase her pretty hard to get her to even date me, let alone agree to be my wife. She has two great kids I love like they’re my own.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Three years. I never thought I’d find a woman who’d want me and hold my interest. Tara does both.”
Mattson gave a satisfied smile Clay envied.
“Just you wait—one day, some pretty little filly will lasso you tight and pull you in. And you’ll go willingly, like a lamb to slaughter.” He chuckled.
“I don’t know,” Clay said. “I’ve had my share of girlfriends, but I’ve never really been in love.”
“That could’ve been me talking. ’Course, I wasn’t a big rodeo star like you. But if love happened for me, it could happen for you.”
Clay’s phone vibrated, reminding him that he’d silenced the ringer during the auction and had forgotten to turn the sound back on. He slid it from his hip pocket and checked the screen.
To his surprise, he saw that Sarah had called. His heart thudding, he listened to her message. So she’d heard from the Beckers. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.
“You okay?” Mattson said, and Clay realized he was frowning.
“I’m not sure. When the waitress comes back, order me a soda, cheeseburger and fries.”
He slipped on his sunglasses and stepped outside. Standing in the parking lot, he called Sarah. She didn’t pick up. “It’s me,” he said when voice mail started. “Just got your message. Call me back.”
He hung up and rejoined Mattson, in time to see the waitress saunter off with their order in hand.
The foreman eyed him. “That was a quick call.”
“She didn’t answer.”
“She?”
Clay shrugged. “Sarah Tigarden. She’s a writer who’s in town, doing research for a story on ranching.”
Mattson nodded. “Is she researching you?”
If kisses and caresses counted, then yeah, they’d been researching each other. Not nearly enough, though. Clay wanted much, much more.
“Not exactly,” he said.
Mattson looked curious, but the waitress delivered the sodas and lingered at their table, chitchatting about the beautiful weather and the string of sunny days forecast for the rest of the week.
When she left, Clay steered the conversation to cattle and ranching and kept it there throughout lunch and the pie they ate for dessert. Mattson had plenty to say that Clay needed to learn, yet his mind wandered.
Sarah’s grandparents had finally called. Clay wondered if Sarah had apologized for stopping by without calling, and whether they’d apologized for their rudeness. Maybe they’d invited her into their lives. He wanted Sarah to call him back with the details, wanted to know how she was dealing with this latest turn of events.
The waitress brought him the check, along with a slip of paper with her name and phone number.
She wasn’t the first. Clay had never known what to do with numbers he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. He stuffed the paper into his pocket.
Mattson’s eyes widened. “Are you going to call her?”
Clay shook his head. “I’m tossing it in the next trash bin I find. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Eleven
Hours later, after making sure the cattle arrived at the ranch and were settled in, Clay steered his pickup toward the highway.
After the long day, his leg throbbed. He was bone weary, and his empty belly demanded food. Not in the mood for pizza or another burger, he headed for Spenser’s.
He also checked his cell phone. No word yet from Sarah. Clay was beyond curious to hear what she had to say. Why the hell hadn’t she called him back?
Spenser’s was quiet, and in no time he was pulling out of the parking lot with his beer and sack of prepared food on the passenger seat.
On automatic pilot, he headed for the rental house. The rotisserie chicken he’d bought smelled so good his mouth watered. He could hardly wait to pop open a beer, plunk himself in front of the tube and dig in.
The pickup had other ideas and drove him straight to Mrs. Yancy’s place. Her neighborhood was similar to his, a narrow little street of modest houses and big yards. Sarah’s sedan was parked out front.
Clay told himself to drive on past and leave her alone, but moments later, he walked up the front steps and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Yancy answered. Her round face lit up, as though he was a friend she hadn’t seen in too long, rather than a guy she’d met once or twice.
“Clay! What a pleasant surprise—and me about to go out. A friend has invited me to dinner, and I’m due at her house shortly. What can I do for you?”
What was he doing there? Clay scratched the back of his neck. “I’m looking for Sarah.”
“You’re in luck—she just got back from an interview. Please come in.”
He wiped his boots on the welcome mat and stepped into a small entryway. Mrs. Yancy directed him to the living room and disappeared up a narrow flight of stairs.
Clay wandered into a room filled with overstuffed furniture covered in flowery material bright enough to make his head hurt.
In no time, Mrs. Yancy bustled down the stairs. “She’ll be with you momentarily,” she said. “Did I forget to ask you to sit down? Please do. Can I get you some iced tea or coffee?”
Clay shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
He had no idea what to say, but the woman’s constant chatter filled in the silence. By the time Sarah came down the stairs, he was seriously regretting ever knocking on the door.
“Hi.” Her eyebrows rose in question.
“If I don’t leave this minute I’ll be late,” Mrs. Yancy said. “Good night, you two. I made brownies for the dinner tonight, but I’m leaving some here. Help yourselves.”
“Does that woman ever stop talking?” Clay muttered when she shut the door behind her.
“Not so far.” Sarah smiled.
With that, he relaxed. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “As a matter of fact, I was planning on going back to Barb’s tonight. The food there is really good.”
Clay agreed. He considered inviting himself along, but he didn’t feel like going out. “I just picked up a roasted chicken, a six pack and some other stuff from Spenser’s, and there’s more than enough for two,” he said. “How about we share it, and you tell me about that call from the Beckers.”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded. “That sounds like a fair trade. Let’s eat in the kitchen.”
Relieved but not sure why, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “I’ll get the food from the truck.”
Whistling, he headed outside.
* * *
SOMEHOW, THE KITCHEN table seemed bigger when Sarah shared it with Mrs. Yancy. “I see what you mean about having bought enough for two,” she said, impressed by the feast-size quantity of food Clay had set on the table between them.
But then, when she’d first met him three years ago he’d had the same big appetite. No matter what he ate, the lucky guy never seemed to gain weight. “It all looks really good.”
So did Clay. A black T-shirt hugged his broad should
ers, and as he carved the chicken, his impressive biceps flexed.
“Pass me your plate,” he said.
Sarah could hardly believe she was sharing a meal with him. Given her unwelcome feelings, she wasn’t sure how smart that was. But Clay only wanted an update on the Beckers. That seemed harmless enough.
Except to murmur over the tantalizing aroma of the food, neither of them spoke again until they’d filled their plates and sampled the dishes. Sarah was hungry, and Clay attacked his meal with the gusto of a starving man.
“This is surprisingly good,” she said.
“Sure beats my cooking.” Clay forked up a large mouthful and chewed with relish.
“I’m a pretty good cook,” she said. “But it’s been a while since I felt like making anything.”
“Why is that?”
“For the past year, I pretty much took care of my mother 24/7. I cooked her three meals a day—bland dishes she could digest. I didn’t have the energy to cook anything different for myself, so I ate it, too.” She made a face.
“I thought you said your parents had both passed.”
“They have. Ellen—my mom—had ovarian cancer. When she started to go downhill, I moved back home to take care of her.” Sarah glanced at her plate. “She died about six months ago.”
“That recent?” Clay stopped eating. “You never said. I’m real sorry.”
“Thanks.”
He placed his hand over hers. The gesture and his warm, sympathy-filled expression unleashed a flurry of sorrow. She dipped her head.
“You okay?”
She pulled away and nodded.
“What about your dad? How long has he been gone?”
“Since I was ten.”
“I never knew that, either, yet you know all about my family. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“Yes I did, three years ago. You didn’t say much about yourself, just kept reminding me that the interview was about me, not you.”
“Which was true,” she said. Intent on getting a realistic look at Clay and his life, she’d wanted to keep the focus on him.
