Debbie Macomber - A Little Bit Country

Rorie sat typing in data for about an hour before her neck and shoulders began to cramp. She paused, flexing her muscles, then rotated her head to relieve the building tightness.

“How long have you been here?”

The rough male voice behind her startled Rorie. Her hand flew to her heart and she expelled a shaky breath. “Clay! You frightened me.”

“How long?” he repeated.

“An hour or so.” She glanced at her watch and nodded.

Clay advanced a step toward her, his mouth a thin line of impatience. “I suppose you’re looking for an apology.”

Rorie didn’t answer. She’d learned not to expect anything from him.

“I’ll tell you right now that you’re not going to get one,” he finished gruffly.

Six

“You don’t owe me anything, Clay,” Rorie said, struggling to make her voice light. Clay looked driven to the limits of exhaustion. Dark shadows had formed beneath his eyes and fatigue lines fanned out from their corners. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight he carried was more than he could bear. He studied her wearily, then turned away, stalking to the other side of the office. His shoulders heaved as he drew in a shuddering breath.

“I know I should feel some regrets, but God help me, Rorie, I don’t.”

“Clay, listen...”

He turned to face her then, and drove his fingers into his hair with such force Rorie winced. “I’d like to explain about Kate and me.”

“No.” Under no circumstances did Rorie want to listen to his explanations or excuses. She didn’t have a lot of room to be judgmental herself. She had, after all, been dating a man steadily for the past few months. “Don’t. Please don’t say anything. It isn’t necessary.”

He ignored her request. “Kate and I have known each other all our lives.”

“Clay, stop.” She pushed out the chair and stood up, wanting only to escape.

“For the last two years, it’s been understood by everyone around us that Kate and I would eventually get married. I didn’t even question the right or wrong of it, just calmly accepted the fact. A man needs someone to share his life.”

“Kate will make you a wonderful wife,” she said, feeling both disillusioned and indignant, but she refused to let him know how much his indiscretion had hurt her. “If you owe anyone an apology, it’s Kate, not me.”

His responding frown was brooding and dark. “I know.” He drew his fingers across his eyes, and she could feel his exhaustion. “The last thing in the world I want is to hurt Kate.”

“Then don’t.”

He stared at her, and Rorie made herself send him a smile, although she feared it was more flippant than reassuring. “There’s no reason for Kate to find out. What good would it do? She’d only end up feeling betrayed. Last night was a tiny impropriety and best forgotten, don’t you agree?” Walking seemed to help, and Rorie paced the office, her fingers brushing the stack of books and papers on his cluttered desk.

“I don’t know what’s best anymore,” Clay admitted quietly.

“I do,” Rorie said with unwavering confidence, still struggling to make light of the incident. “Think about it, Clay. We were alone together for hours—we shared something beautiful with Star Bright and...her foal. And we shared a few stolen kisses under the stars. If anything’s to blame, it’s the moonlight. We’re strangers, Clay. You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” Afraid to look him directly in the eye, Rorie lowered her gaze and waited, breathless, for his next words.

“So it was the moonlight?” His voice was hoarse and painfully raw.

“Of course,” she lied. “What else could it have been?”

“Yes, what else could it have been?” he echoed, then turned and walked out of the office.

It suddenly seemed as though the room’s light had dimmed. Rorie felt so weak, she sank into the chair, shocked by how deeply the encounter had disturbed her.

Typing proved to be a distraction and Rorie left the office a couple of hours later with a feeling of accomplishment. She’d been able to enter several time-consuming pages of data into the computer. The routine work was a relief because it meant she had no time to think.

The kitchen smelled of roasting beef and simmering apple crisp when Rorie let herself in the back door. It was an oddly pleasant combination of scents. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

While she thought of it, Rorie reached for the telephone book and called the number listed for the garage in Riversdale.

“Hello,” she said when a gruff male voice answered. “This is Rorie Campbell...the woman with the broken water pump. The one in Nightingale.”

“Yeah, Miss Campbell, what can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to be sure there wasn’t any problem in ordering the part. I don’t know if Clay...Mr. Franklin told you, but I’m more or less stuck here until the car’s repaired. I’d like to get back on the road as soon as possible—I’m sure you understand.”

“Lady, I can’t make that pump come any faster than what it already is.”

“Well, I just wanted to check that you’d been able to order one.”

“It’s on its way, at least that’s what the guy in Los Angeles told me. They’re shipping it by overnight freight to Portland. I’ve arranged for a man to pick it up the following day, but it’s going to take him some time to get it to me.”

“But that’s only three days.”

“You called too late yesterday for me to phone the order in. Lady, there’s only so much I can do.”

“I know. I’m sorry if I sound impatient.”

“The whole world’s impatient. Listen, I’ll call you the minute it arrives.”

She sighed. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

“Clay got your car here without a hitch, so don’t worry about that—he saved you a bundle on towing charges. Shipping costs and long-distance phone bills are going to be plenty high, though.”

Rorie hadn’t even noticed that Dan’s shiny sports car wasn’t in the yard where Skip had originally left it. “So you’ll be calling me within the next day or two?” she asked, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. And trying not to consider the state of her finances, already depleted by this disastrous vacation.

“Right. I’ll call as soon as it comes in.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said again.

“No problem,” the mechanic muttered, obviously eager to end their conversation.

When the call was finished, Rorie toyed with the idea of phoning Dan next. She’d been half expecting to hear from him, since she’d left the Franklins’ number with his secretary the day before. He hadn’t phoned her back. But there was nothing new to tell him, so she decided not to call a second time.

Hesitantly Rorie replaced the telephone receiver, pleased that everything was under control—everything except her heart.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a strained affair. If it hadn’t been for Skip, who seemed oblivious to the tension between her and Clay, Rorie didn’t think she could have endured it. Clay hardly said a word throughout the meal. But Skip seemed more than eager to carry the conversation and Rorie did her best to lighten the mood, wondering all the time whether Clay saw through her facade.

“While you’re here, Rorie,” Skip said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, “you should learn how to ride.”

“No, thank you,” she said pointedly, holding up her hand, as though fending off the suggestion. An introduction to King and Hercules was as far as she was willing to go.

“Rain Magic would suit you nicely.”

“Rain Magic?”

“That’s a silly name Kate thought up, and Clay went along with it,” Skip explained. “He’s gentle, but smart—the gelding I mean, not Clay.” The younger Franklin laughed heartily at his own attempt at humor.