Was there any point in fighting his attraction to a vibrant bonfire of emotion wearing the cold armor of a business suit?
Locating a fallen tree trunk still sporting branches, Clay found a seat where he could look out over the sand and ocean without being seen. Moonlight might be useful. Did the turtles come out in moonlight?
Maybe this was a mistake. It gave him entirely too much time to think. The flat screen of a computer focused his attention instead of letting him drift through his empty life.
It didn’t hurt to take stock once in a while, he decided, especially if he avoided his brother’s teasing by doing so. Their dysfunctional family had taught them poor communication skills. TJ let everything roll off his broad back. Jared reacted with laughter and taunts. Clay figured he pulled his head in like a turtle and let the world pass on by.
He wasn’t certain he wanted to do that anymore.
Watching the shades of sunset darken to twilight, he contemplated turtles, Aurora, and amazing kisses, not necessarily in that order.
By the time he’d reaffirmed his earlier decision that sex was a desirable solution but a relationship probably wasn’t possible, his ass was sore from the tree trunk, and his head ached from staring into darkness. He hadn’t seen any sign of turtles.
Preparing to slide out from the branches without being slapped in the face by them, Clay sought a safe purchase on the limb in front of him. In that second he spotted the creature crawling from the sea.
In awe, he froze where he was, forgetting his awkward position while he watched the immense loggerhead haul herself from the surf and rise on four flippers to waddle determinedly across the hard-packed sand.
He tried to breathe quietly as she lumbered closer, her destination the softer, drier sand farther up the shore, beneath his feet. Settling back amid the branches, Clay prepared to watch the Jurassic age meet the twenty-first century.
Studying dinosaurs was better than the movies any day. This was the real thing—nature emerging from the primeval ooze for purposes of procreation. Ancient history in Technicolor.
o0o
Rory dialed the number of McCloud’s cottage again. Nothing. Could he actually be on the courthouse roof this early in the morning? Or did he sleep late and just not answer phones?
Trying not to care, she clicked off the cordless and wandered back to the kitchen. “He’s not in. I have to go over a few more figures with the tourist commission this morning. If I run into him, I’ll see what he says. He may only work on his computer in the evening.”
Cissy offered a bleak smile. “Maybe he didn’t mean it. If he packed up and ran last night, there’s still time to change my mind. I haven’t told Commercial no.”
More inclined to fight than accept defeat, Rory figured she’d go after McCloud with a butcher knife if he’d lied to her sister, but Cissy didn’t need to hear that. “Don’t tell them anything yet. No sense in warning them that their plans have been thwarted. Give me a little time to get ahead of them.”
“Remember to stop at Cleo’s for another can of red paint,” Cissy called as Rory headed out the door. “Daddy can send that big order out next week if I finish the dwarves.”
“Will do.” Adding another mental note to the growing list in her head, Rory hurried down the front steps into the early morning sunshine. She stopped to smell the magnolia-scented air and admire the sway of willow leaves over the peony bed. What would life be like out here if a developer succeeded in changing the acreage behind them into a bustling hive of apartment dwellers?
She enjoyed escaping on holidays to this slower life. It wouldn’t be the same if she couldn’t amble back to Grandma Iris’s to buy baskets for Christmas presents, or sit on the beach on lazy summer nights and watch for the loggerheads. They’d lose the herons and cranes that lived on the fish and crabs. She might as well stay in the city without all that.
She supposed life would go on, but Cissy and her father would hate it. They’d end up selling the land and living in some development, where they’d get on each other’s nerves. At least they each had their own space out here. She wanted to keep it that way.
Turning the BMW around in the gravel drive, she started toward the road, only to meet a red Jeep entering. Her father had a separate entrance with a sign for his business, but sometimes tourists took the wrong drive. She pulled her convertible to the side of the road and cut the engine.
The Jeep did the same. This close, she recognized the driver. Jared McCloud beamed at her and climbed out to admire her car.
“Nice.” He ran his hand over the powder blue finish, obviously checking out the machine and not her.
“A fascination with vehicles runs in the family?” she asked dryly, wondering what he wanted. “I’ll sell you this one, if you’re interested.”
To her surprise, he looked interested, but then he shook his head. “Love ’em, but can’t use ’em these days. Not kid-friendly. Cleo says you have birdbaths out here. Is it too early to look at some?”
“Nope. Pop’s already up and about. There are some in the yard, but most of the inventory is in the next drive down. You can park here and wander over if you want.”
“Thanks.” Lankier than his brother, with a shock of dark hair that fell across his brow, Jared shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts and threw an uncertain look up the empty drive. “Don’t suppose you have a notion where Clay is? He told one of the kids that he’d teach her his graphics program since it’s a school holiday, but he never came in last night.”
Rory struggled with a kaleidoscope of emotion at this news. She wanted to say, So what? Alley cats stray. But from the look on his brother’s face, she thought maybe this particular cat hadn’t strayed lately. She ought to be appalled that Jared thought maybe Clay had spent the night here, but after what he’d observed yesterday, she really couldn’t blame him.
She didn’t know how she felt about Clay being the kind of homebody who caused people to worry when he didn’t show up, but she recognized a quiver of fear at his disappearance. Surely no developer was desperate enough to harm anything but the environment?
“He left here after supper last night,” she said. “It was before dusk. I have no idea where he was headed.”
Or maybe she did. She was fairly certain her family had unnerved him with their emotional turmoil. Clay didn’t strike her as the type accustomed to living in a fishbowl of chaos. And he’d been so totally fascinated by the turtles that he’d actually—grudgingly—agreed to help in her crusade. The idea of his whereabouts grew a little more feasible.
“The turtle nesting area is down the lane and up the beach a way. He was pretty interested. Do you think he might have—” She cut herself off at Jared’s skeptical expression. Okay, so maybe she’d figured Clay wrong. “Have you asked the bartender at the Monkey if he’s been in there?”
If Clay followed her father’s pattern, he’d probably picked up someone at the bar. She didn’t know why she thought McCloud might be different from any other man around here.
“I don’t want to embarrass him by asking,” Jared said sheepishly. “I’ll go talk to your dad. Maybe he can nose around for me. I’m sure Clay’s fine and just forgot about Kiz. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Watching Jared return to the Jeep, Rory wanted to call him back, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. What did she know about Clay McCloud, anyway? That he kissed with a hunger and loneliness that called to all the empty places in her heart?
Or more likely, with a learned expertise that bowled over every woman he touched. She didn’t want to know how he spent his nights or that he hurt young kids with broken promises. If Jared was talking about Kismet Watkins, that poor kid didn’t need any more rejection in her young life.
She didn’t want to believe she’d trusted a man like that with her sister’s hopes and dreams. Watching in her rearview mirror as Jared picked up a colorful concrete dwarf and grinned, apparently unconcerned by his brother’s defection, Rory started her
engine and roared out to the road.
Instead of turning toward the main highway, she swung toward the dead end by the beach. One of these days she’d quit believing in lost causes and the inherent goodness of man, but she needed Clay McCloud right now, and she didn’t want to give up on him already.
Parking her car in the makeshift lot formed by years of beachgoers, Rory didn’t immediately see Clay’s Harley. Cursing herself for a fool and an idealistic idiot, she climbed out, glad she’d chosen platform sandals today instead of heels. She might wreck her hose but at least she wouldn’t fall and break her neck.
The bike’s chrome glittered from a thicket of wax myrtle at the base of a dead oak. Not knowing whether to be glad or very afraid, Rory picked her way past the thicket, along the edge of the sandy dune to the beach. Surely he wouldn’t have driven back to town, picked up a twelve-pack, and passed out on the beach. She’d give the man credit for some sense.
The dune gave way to sandy beach and hurricane-lashed shrubbery and trees. She kept a sharp eye out for any turtle trails. The tide was still far enough out not to have wiped away every trace.
She saw the track before she saw Clay. She halted, glanced around to be certain she didn’t disturb any fragile nests buried beneath the sand, and spotted a flash of blue on an old tree trunk behind the myrtle.
Telling herself she was insane, he was insane, and the whole wide world wasn’t large enough for the two of them, she carefully trod a path along the shrubbery’s edge. She halted when she could safely recognize the man sprawled along the wide trunk of a fallen oak, sleeping like the dead.
In repose, he was much safer to look upon than when awake. Dark lashes fanned across bronzed cheeks, and a stubble of dark whiskers colored his angular jaw. Sun-bleached hair rippled in the breeze, and she could almost see the boy he’d been—curious, intelligent, always seeking— maybe never finding?
Silly thought. He was a grown man, a loner who’d chosen to fritter the rest of his life away in a beach shack and make a world out of a computer. Nothing she could relate to. Spying on turtles was an interesting side she’d not expected, but she wouldn’t fall victim to hormones and look for excuses to believe a footloose loner could magically turn into the caring, steady man she wanted.
“You’ll develop a serious crick in your neck if you don’t get up from there,” she said loudly when his even breathing broke into a small snore.
The snore halted, but he didn’t immediately wake, or give any indication that he was awake.
“Your brother is looking for you, something about a kid you promised to teach?” She hadn’t understood the part about the graphics program, but that wasn’t important. In her book, breaking promises to kids was on the same level as kicking cats.
One lid opened and a silver eye peered from under it. The eyelid closed again, and a frown appeared between his thick eyebrows.
“I don’t see any beer cans, so can I assume you make a habit of sleeping in trees?”
A deep sigh caused his broad chest to rise and fall. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
“Nope. This is almost as entertaining as watching turtles nest.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He didn’t move but seemed to be assessing the number and quality of aches and pains from his uncomfortable resting place. “I take it the turtle went back to sea?”
“One assumes. They usually don’t stay for daylight.” With a disgruntled exhalation, she relented. She’d spent many a night out here in the summers, watching for the turtles, awed by their massiveness and determination. She couldn’t blame a stranger to the area for experiencing the same effect. “Come back to the house and shower, and I’ll fix you some breakfast before you go home. You’re likely to have a kid waiting on your front porch, certain you couldn’t have forgotten her.”
“Kismet.” He groaned and swung into a sitting position. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her. “You won’t let me hear the end of this, will you?”
“Haven’t decided yet. But if you’re in the habit of breaking promises, I might call you on it until you die.” Without waiting for him, Rory started back to the car.
A man who offered to teach computers to kids and her sister was not a man who fit anywhere into her perception of the world. She either had to readjust her thinking or start running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. She didn’t have time to indulge in infatuation.
Chapter Eleven
While Mandy rustled around the kitchen fixing breakfast, Cissy sat at the kitchen table with a basket of unpaid bills in the chair beside her. Head propped on one hand, pencil in the other, she tried to sum the total of the figures she’d scribbled on a piece of notebook paper, but the number she kept getting was too astronomical to comprehend. Way past the small sum she needed for Mandy’s summer school.
Rory had emptied her savings to cover the deductible on Cissy’s insurance and to pay part of her dad’s enormous hospital bill. Cissy hated that, but looking at the pages of expenses on both bills, her eyes glazed over. Basic math said the balance remaining was larger than the Grand Canyon. And that didn’t count the mortgage she hadn’t told Rory about—the one with the overdue payment the bank had called about a few minutes ago. After yesterday’s revelations, she understood the early- morning call meant they were pushing her to sell. Understanding didn’t make it easier.
They’d have to declare bankruptcy. Would they lose the trailer? Dad’s factory? She had lost her mind believing she could pull out of this.
All she had to do was pick up the phone and call the realty company. The cordless sat on the table beside her where she’d left it after hanging up on the bank call. She had Ralph Turner’s card right here....
The front door opened, and Rory entered, trailing a disheveled McCloud in what appeared to be yesterday’s clothes, reeking of rumpled male.
Cissy tried to hide her disappointment. Last night she’d thought Clay McCloud was the answer to all her prayers. He’d appeared roughly respectable, understanding, and talented.
This morning he looked like her father after a bad night in town. She was trusting Mandy’s future to a man with twigs in his hair?
“Give me a minute to clean up,” Clay was saying as he entered, wielding a bundle of clothes. “I can catch something to eat at Cleo’s. I don’t want to terrify the kid looking like this. As Cleo says, Kiz has issues.”
“If you’re talking about Kismet Watkins, yeah, she’s scared of her own shadow.” Finishing her cereal, Mandy jumped up from the table and eyed them with interest. “You been sleeping on the beach?”
Realizing they had an audience, Clay tried not to appear embarrassed as the long-legged teenager looked from him to Aurora. How the hell did these women live in one another’s pockets like this?
“Watching turtles,” he replied a little more curtly than he’d intended.
“There’s a shower in there.” Oblivious to her niece’s interest, Aurora pointed to her bedroom door. “Throw your dirty clothes out and I can put them in the machine, or next time you pull this stunt you’ll only find dirty clothes in the bike’s bag.”
Clay thought about protesting, but with an audience watching it didn’t seem worth the effort. He should have just driven home, but he was feeling guilty enough about standing Kismet up after she’d finally relented and agreed to learn the software. Scaring her to death with his rough appearance wasn’t on the agenda.
He hadn’t scared Aurora with his appearance. Once she knew he hadn’t deserted Kiz, she’d even accepted why he was there. He couldn’t think of too many women who would understand his need to see and understand things for himself.
Entering Aurora’s bedroom, he glanced around with interest as he hadn’t the day before. The cheap white poster bed was probably leftover from childhood. The sleek desk and computer in the corner, though, looked like something he’d buy and must have come from her banker days. She’d talked about her job a little yesterday as they’d trudged from store to store
. She hadn’t said, but he assumed she’d left her career to take care of her family. Playing the part of caretaker wasn’t the behavior of any MBA he knew, but then, Aurora was full of surprises. He was enjoying uncovering all the layers.
Maybe it was just the anticipation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to work at wooing a woman into bed. Had he ever?
Her bathroom wasn’t large, but it held a tub with a whirlpool gadget attached and a showerhead. The jasmine scent he recognized as Aurora’s blended with the potpourri of rose petals on the vanity and the lemon fragrance of her soap and shampoo. He’d never spent time in a feminine bathroom, but he had no insecurities about his masculinity, so it didn’t intimidate him. He wanted to explore, see if he could find the secret to unlocking Aurora’s armor—only Kiz was waiting, and he didn’t have the leisure.
Using the lemon shampoo and soap, he lathered quickly, turning on the cold to tame his unruly sex and unrulier thoughts.
He’d thrown his dirty clothes out the door as instructed, so Aurora could take them away. She was right: he’d probably have stuffed them back in his bag and forgotten them.
He didn’t know if he liked her knowing him that well when he knew next to nothing about her. Women had always been a mystery to him. They attached themselves occasionally, offered sex, tried to manage his life, and when he couldn’t be managed, they’d disappear.
Diane had married his CEO after the two of them siphoned most of the funds his investors sank into the company. He’d sold everything he’d owned to pay back what he could. After that, he’d lost interest in following the road to love and fortune, but a man couldn’t live without sex. So maybe he should scout the layout, learn what made Aurora tick, and build a safe barrier to keep her out of his life while encouraging her into his bed.
Jerking on his T-shirt and old jeans, wrapping a raw-hide shoestring around his wet tail of hair, Clay eyed his scruffy visage in the mirror and shrugged. He’d left the fancy hair salons behind in L.A., and he didn’t have his shaving gear with him. Maybe he ought to think about packing a kit in his bag. Until now it hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to be presentable to anyone.
Carolina Girl Page 10
