Don’t worry about him? How could she not? Cancer was claiming his body, one part at a time. He’d been the only reason she’d had for staying in Durst. She’d had no close friends and worked as cashier and bookkeeper for her husband and his brother’s repair shop. Her social life revolved around trips to the grocery store, the tiny library in Durst, and visits from whoever darkened the door of King Auto Repair. King. Lily snorted as she pondered the irony of her last name. Once upon a time, that was how she’d thought of her soon-to-be ex-husband, JT King. He wasn’t her King anymore.
* * * *
Clay Cook sighed in frustration as he sat at his workbench. He replaced the pencil in the cup on the desk and pinned the sketch of the new design he’d been working on for weeks to the bulletin board above his work space. He’d hoped to have the ring design down and to have already moved on to an entire new line of matching pieces by this point, but he was stymied. He rubbed his neck wearily as the sound of Tabitha Lester chattering out in the jewelry showroom filtered through the workroom doors. It was not exactly a sound to inspire creativity. He glanced at the monitor above his bench and got a glimpse of her talking on her phone.
He shook his head and smoothed the crumpled paper on the bulletin board, wondering if his best work was already behind him. He’d attended art school in San Antonio years before with a dual purpose, to become an artist and a jeweler. Lately, his jewelry designs had looked like everything else he saw in the marketplace and less like original works of art, which is what he’d intended when he’d opened Clay Cook Jewelers. Customers came to him for one-of-a-kind handcrafted jewelry for their loved ones, but he often felt like a fraud. It had been a while since the last time designing a new ring for someone had “fired up” his muse.
A has-been at thirty-eight.
It was a depressing thought.
He looked at the photographs Chance and Clayton Carlisle had given him. He couldn’t wait to get started on the sculpting project they had commissioned. That feeling. That restless desire to create welled up inside of him as he anticipated the start of this new work, and his hands longed for wet clay. He recalled the look in Chance’s eyes, mirrored in Clayton’s, as they’d sat talking after lunch at Rudy’s earlier that afternoon.
“She’s got this thing about her.”
Clay couldn’t help the envy that had surged briefly at Chance’s simple, expressive statement. Clayton Carlisle had nodded silently and gotten a faraway look in his eyes, obviously reliving a memory. The smile on his face as he cleared his throat and looked away hinted that it was a private recollection. Lydia Webster, their bride to be, was the best thing that had ever happened to his friends. He could see that for himself without listening to them talk about her.
Rubbing his stiff neck, Clay glanced at the sketch of the ring, wondering why he didn’t have the same desire to push forward with work on the new line. He’d wanted to introduce a new line of gold, silver, and platinum jewelry that would be marketed as Clay Cook Originals.
He wanted them to be groundbreaking and different from anything else he’d done. But the feeling just wasn’t there yet, and he had no idea where it was going to come from. He turned to his latest project for the showroom and went back to work after glancing at the sketch one last time.
* * * *
Lily made a right turn, and then another, completely confused. She’d found her old elementary school and had thought that would help ground her, but as usual her goofy sense of direction had led her astray. With a frustrated sigh, she conceded defeat as she turned onto Main Street and drove through downtown, searching for a likely place she could stop to look at a map. Another sharp pain and wave of nausea followed her sharp exhalation and she groaned, rubbing her other cold hand on her leg.
Feeling chilled, she licked her numb lips and rolled up the windows as she pondered the wisdom of skipping lunch in favor of getting to Divine more quickly.
I need to find someplace to stop.
Slowing down, she gazed at the colorful signs for the businesses located in a shopping center on her right. She recognized Stigall’s Department Store right away. At least some things had stayed the same.
Without warning, another searing pain shot through her, and she gasped at the intensity of it. She couldn’t blame that on food poisoning, stress, gas, or hunger. Something was wrong. She whimpered as nerves sent a cold prickling sensation over her arms and throat. This wasn’t pain she could ignore, as had become her habit.
She heaved a relieved breath when she saw a familiar name on a sign, wracking another gasp of pain from her.
Clay Cook Jewelers. Oh, God, thank you. Let it be him and not someone else by the same name, please.
What she needed or what he could do for her at the moment was all jumbled up in her head as white sparkles clouded her vision.
Give me directions to my home? Hold me and let me cry? Take me to a hospital! God, help me!
The odd sound of static became louder in her ears as she put on her blinker to turn into the parking lot.
The car hit the dip in the entryway with more force than she intended, jolting the seat belt against her midsection. She cried out in agony and everything went black.
* * * *
Clay’s concentration was suddenly disrupted by a loud crash reverberating through the building, followed by a dramatic scream from Tabitha Lester.
“What the—” Clay ran through the workroom doors and saw Tabitha cowering inside the ring of glass showcases. Looking to the left, he saw the cause of the commotion and groaned. His front window lay in shattered pieces on the hood of a little faded silver car.
“Call nine-one-one, Tabitha,” he said as he ran out the front door.
A familiar, dark-haired woman had already reached the driver side door, so he ran around to the passenger side and pulled the door open. The tall woman had her phone to her ear and was obviously speaking to an emergency dispatcher. Clay did a double take when he recognized his doctor, Emma Guthrie, and then turned his attention to the brunette who was slumped over in the passenger seat.
“Female driver, mid- to late-thirties…no sign of head injuries, the vehicle wasn’t moving very fast when it struck the building.” Clay was afraid to touch the driver for fear of making any injuries she suffered from worse. Emma stood to speak with one of the two men who were standing near her, and then Clay heard her growl disgustedly at Tabitha, who had come outside with her camera phone. Emma called out, “Tabitha, stop taking pictures! There’s glass everywhere and you’re going to get cut. Move over there!” While one of the men put the vehicle in park, Emma gestured for Tabitha to move back toward the door, and then she squatted down to the brunette, muttering, “I can’t believe she’d take pictures. Stupid cow. Sorry, Clay.”
Clay shrugged and glanced at his showroom employee in consternation. He caught her as she made a nasty face at Emma, took another picture, and then proceeded to send a text message, her eyes glittering in her flushed face. Tabitha had always done an adequate job, but her behavior at times was embarrassing.
“Clay, help me slowly lay her flat and then turn her onto her side, with her feet at your end. Careful. Don’t pull too hard. No telling what’s going on internally. That’s it.”
Once they had her positioned, Clay brushed the long strands of reddish-brown hair from the driver’s face and frowned.
Emma noticed his reaction. “Do you know her?”
Did he? Though they were very pale, there was something familiar about her soft, full lips. Lily’s mouth.
Forty-five minutes later, after the ambulance departed and all of the rubberneckers had moved on, he stood with a set of keys in his hand, wondering what to do next. That had been Lily. He was almost certain of it. Her mouth. The color of her ultra-long, wavy hair. The scar on the underside of her chin was the same, too. If it was her, he owed it to her as an old friend to help her. If it wasn’t her, he might be biting off more than he could chew. He could choose to get involved or not.
&nbs
p; The storefront window was secure, and the Mazda had been moved. It had minor damage to the front bumper and hood. Thankfully she hadn’t been moving very fast. Sliding the keys into his pocket, he approached Sheriff Stinson just as Emma Guthrie, who appeared to be ready for a night on the town, and her men said good-bye. Apparently they were her men, judging by the territorial way they’d reacted earlier to finding out that he was friends with her.
The sheriff nodded to him when he made eye contact. “Clay, we’ll have a tow truck around for her vehicle shortly.”
“Can you tell me the driver’s name?”
Glancing at his clipboard, Hank said, “King.”
“King?”
“Yeah, Lily King. Durst, Texas.”
Clay’s heart thudded in his chest. She was married, and apparently in the middle of a hurried moving day, judging by the jumble of hastily packed boxes and luggage in the backseat of her car. The old bruise Emma had briefly examined high on her cheekbone hadn’t escaped his notice either.
“Do you know her?”
Scrubbing his hand through his hair, Clay replied, “Yeah. I do. Listen, why don’t you cancel the tow truck? We’ve already moved her vehicle into a parking spot, so it’s not in the way. I’ll handle seeing that it’s secured and that she gets her keys back.”
Hank eyed him quietly. “Looks like everything the girl owns is inside that little car. She looked pretty puny. Hope she makes it. You sure about doing that?”
Clay nodded. “Yeah. She’s an old friend.”
“All right. I’ll call Dave and cancel the tow.”
After Hank departed, Clay made sure the vehicle was locked up and then went back into the shop. He found Tabitha at her little cubby in the center of the circle of glass showroom cases. She was talking a mile a minute on her phone. Glancing up at him, she whispered sharp words and then ended the call.
“You need me to hang around for anything, Clay?”
Ignoring the way she drew out her words, Clay shook his head. “No. If you’re done you can go.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand Tabitha replied, “The register is already shut down and the cash drawer is on your workbench. I was writing the mailing labels for the Internet kink orders, but I can finish all that up tomorrow.”
Clay wanted to correct her wordage, but his mind was on Lily, and he didn’t want to wage the same old battle with Tabitha again. He’d been happy just to get her to do the address labels and ship the boxes to his Internet customers. “All right. See you in the morning.”
Tabitha glanced at him demurely when she brushed past him, murmuring good night. The bell jingled as the door swung closed behind her, and Clay sneezed. After turning off the lights in the showroom and securing the cash drawer in the safe, Clay returned to his seat at his workbench.
Judging by Emma’s words, Lily’s condition had sounded very serious. Debating whether he should go up to the hospital, he bowed his head and prayed for her. Something had brought her back to her hometown. If she pulled through, he planned to find out exactly what it was.
Divine was enveloped in twilight when he stepped through the back door of his jewelry shop. He’d been in business for himself for nearly eight years, and it was going strong. Too bad the accomplishment felt hollow tonight. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why.
He glanced at her car, remembering the hodgepodge of her belongings filling the backseat. It would be terrible if all her possessions were stolen from her vehicle overnight. Although Divine was a small, quiet town, crimes still happened. He transferred all the boxes and luggage to the backseat of his pickup truck and then locked up her car.
It was Saturday night. O’Reilley’s? Rudy’s again? Taco Bell? He settled for a drive-thru sandwich place and a large coffee. He wolfed the sandwich down in his quiet kitchen and then took the pictures Chance Carlisle had given him, settled in his big overstuffed recliner and began to sketch out the bronze statue of Lydia that he would be creating.
His mind wandered as the pencil drifted on the page and a soft exhale escaped him when he looked down and realized that instead of drawing the paper representation of what Lydia’s statue might eventually look like, he’d drawn a sketch of Lily, the way he remembered her. With sudden clarity, the exact shade of her amber eyes resurfaced in his memory and he imagined them in the face of the beautiful woman he’d helped tonight.
He’d wondered for a long time what had become of his feisty little friend. The identifying mark on her chin had faded and shifted to the underside of her jaw with the passing of years, but he knew just how she’d gotten that scar.
Chapter Two
“Last one in the kitchen is a horny toad!” Lily cried as she jumped from her bike while it was still rolling up Clay and Del’s front walk.
“Hey, Lil! ’Member what Mom said about the steps!” Clay jumped from his bike with Del hot on his heels, their bikes landing in a big jumble on the front yard as they chased Lily Valentine the last few feet toward the front door. The concrete was wet because his mom had been spraying it down after they’d finished with yard work earlier.
Del hollered, “Lil! You’re gonna bust your butt on the—”
“Lily!” Clay yelled as Lily’s rubber flip-flops slipped on the second wet concrete step and she went sprawling, face-first, onto the steps above. “Oh, shit! Mom!”
Clay’s mom rushed through the front screen door as they reached Lily on the stairs. Lily groaned in pain and sniffled, fighting back tears as they helped her into a sitting position on the steps.
Mom grimaced when she saw all the blood. “Oh, sweetie, let’s get you inside where I can clean this up and get some ice on it. You boys help her up the stairs and then go put your bikes away.”
The boys did as they were told, helping Lily to her feet. Her knees and shins were skinned raw in places, but the cut on her chin was a real doozy, leaking bright-red blood onto her T-shirt. By the time they had their bikes put away and had come in the house, Mom had Lily cleaned up and sucking on a piece of one of her homemade pralines.
Mom crouched down and looked at the split in her chin. “Lily, I think this needs stitches.”
“Nuh-uh!” Lily replied. “If I get stitches they’ll make fun of me at school.”
“Nope. Stitches are cool,” Del crossed his arms over his chest, like the know-it-all older brother that he was. Never mind that he was in the same third grade class they were in.
“For boys, maybe,” Lily replied as Mom blotted at the blood still dripping from her chin. “They already tease me for being fat.”
His mom frowned at her words, and Clay knew Lily was right. She did get teased for being a bit chubby. He thought it was too bad because he and Del had a lot of fun with her. She was a pretty good friend to have, and she could defend herself if she needed to. That was pretty cool, too.
“Lily, it may be uncomfortable but this won’t heal properly without them. I’ll call your mom and we’ll meet her at the emergency room.”
“Oh, all right,” Lily grumbled as she took another bite of her praline. “Can the horny toads come, too?” she asked as she grinned crookedly because of her bloodied lip. Clay stuck his tongue out then grinned as he and Del grabbed a couple of fresh pralines each and followed Mom out to the car.
Lily needed six sutures across the center of her chin, right at her jawline, and Clay and Del were entranced as they watched the doctor stitch up the damage. The next day, just as Lily predicted, several of the meaner boys at school teased her, calling her “Whiskers” because of the black stitches poking out. Just like Clay knew she would, Lily beat the tar out of a couple of them before the teacher could stop her. She might be a little chubby, she might have whiskers, at least temporarily, but Lily was a feisty one, and a good friend to him and his brother.
* * * *
The next morning, one of the nurses on the surgical floor pointed Clay in the direction of the room Lily occupied. He placed the cheerful flower arrangement on her bedside table. The
blinds were drawn, and it was obvious she was still sleeping. On silent feet, he approached the bed. She didn’t stir as he sat gingerly on the chair beside the bed and lifted her delicate hand in his.
There was so much of her that was familiar and yet so much that was foreign. Her full lips were the same soft pink that he remembered, though still a bit pale, but they were the sensual lips of a full-grown woman. A little chubby as a child, she had grown into a voluptuous woman with sleek, rounded curves. Her hair was much, much longer than he’d ever remembered seeing it, probably extending past her rear end.
It was obvious by the slight lines around her eyes and mouth that she smiled often, but there was a fragile, indefinable quality to her as she lay in the hospital bed. There was a hint of some emotion in the set of her lips that pulled at his heart. Not exactly a frown, but more of a heart-sadness. Clay shook his head, thinking he was getting a little too touchy-feely with his artist side. She shivered slightly, and for a moment her hand gripped his and then went limp as he released it to tuck the blanket in around her.
He wondered for the hundredth time what had been the cause behind the accident and what had brought her back to Divine, loaded down with her personal possessions. Added to that list now was the faint, intuitive feeling that she had reentered his life for a purpose. He shook his head again as he rose from the chair, unwilling to disturb her.
Clay knew all the stereotypes about artists—that they were flaky, in touch with their emotions, and generally unreliable. Hell, he’d lived some of those categorizations over the years, but his gut was telling him that she needed him. He left a message for her with one of the nurses and went on to the shop.
Divine Phoenix [Divine Creek Ranch 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 2
