Debbie Macomber - A Little Bit Country

“I’ve got more bad news for you.”

“Oh?” Rorie’s heart had planted itself somewhere between her chest and her throat. She didn’t like the way Clay was frowning, or the concern she heard in his voice. “What’s wrong now?”

“Old Joe’s gone fishing and isn’t expected back this month. The mechanic in Riversdale, which is about sixty miles south of here, says that if it is your pump it’ll take at least four days to ship a replacement.”

Two

“Four days!” Rorie felt the color drain from her face. “But that’s impossible! I can’t possibly wait that long.”

“Seems to me,” Clay said in his smooth drawl, “you don’t have much choice. George tells me he could have the water pump within a day if you weren’t driving a foreign job.”

“Surely there’s someone else I could call.”

Clay seemed to mull that over; then he shrugged. “Go ahead and give it a try if you like, but it isn’t going to do you any good. If the shop in Riversdale can’t get the part until Saturday, what makes you think someone else can do it any faster?”

Clay’s calm acceptance of the situation infuriated Rorie. If she stayed here four days, in the middle of nowhere, she’d completely miss the writers’ conference, which she’d been planning to attend for months. She’d scheduled her entire vacation around it. She’d made arrangements to travel to Victoria on British Columbia’s Vancouver Island after the conference and on the way home take a leisurely trip down the coast.

Clay handed her the phone book, and feeling defeated Rorie thumbed through the brief yellow pages until she came to the section headed Automobile Repair. Only a handful were listed and none of them promised quick service, she noted.

“Yes, well,” she muttered, expelling her breath, “there doesn’t seem to be any other option.” Discouraged, she set the directory back on the counter. “You and your brother have been most helpful and I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. Now if you could recommend a hotel in...what was the name of the town again?”

“Nightingale.”

“Right,” she said, with a wobbly smile, which was the best she could do at the moment. “Actually, anyplace that’s clean will be fine.”

Clay rubbed the side of his jaw. “I’m afraid that’s going to present another problem.”

“Now what? Has the manager gone fishing with Old Joe?” Rorie did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it was difficult. Obviously the people in the community of...Nightingale didn’t take their responsibilities too seriously. If they were on the job when someone happened to need them, it was probably by coincidence.

“A fishing trip isn’t the problem this time,” Clay explained, his expression thoughtful. “Nightingale doesn’t have a hotel.”

“What?” Rorie exploded. “No hotel...but there must be.”

“We don’t get much traffic through here. People usually stick to the freeway.”

If he was implying that she should have done so, Rorie couldn’t have agreed with him more. She might have seen some lovely scenery, but look where this little side trip had taken her! Her entire vacation was about to be ruined. She slowly released her breath, trying hard to maintain her composure, which was cracking more with every passing minute.

“What about Riversdale? Surely they have a hotel?”

Clay nodded. “They do. It’s a real nice one, but I suspect it’s full.”

“Full? I thought you just told me people don’t often take this route.”

“Tourists don’t.”

“Then how could the hotel possibly be full?”

“The Jerome family.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Jerome family is having a big reunion. People are coming from all over the country. Jed was telling me the other day that a cousin of his is driving out from Boston. The overflow will more than likely fill up Riversdale’s only hotel.”

One phone call confirmed Clay’s suspicion.

“Terrific,” Rorie murmured, her hand still on the receiver. The way things were beginning to look, she’d end up sleeping on a park bench—if Nightingale even had a park.

The back door opened and Skip wandered in, obviously pleased about something. He poured himself a glass of iced tea and leaned against the counter, glancing from Rorie to Clay and then back again.

“What’s happening?” he asked, when no one volunteered any information.

“Nothing much,” Rorie said. “Getting the water pump for my car is going to take four days and it seems the only hotel within a sixty-mile radius is booked full for the next two weeks and—”

“That’s no problem. You can stay here,” Skip inserted quickly, his blue eyes flashing with eagerness. “We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Clay?”

Rorie spoke before the elder Franklin had an opportunity to answer. “No, really, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t inconvenience you any more than I already have.”

“She wouldn’t be an inconvenience, would she?” Once more Skip directed the question to his older brother. “Tell her she wouldn’t, Clay.”

“I can’t stay here,” she returned, without giving Clay the chance to echo his brother’s invitation. She didn’t know these people. And, more important, they didn’t know her and Rorie refused to impose on them further.

Clay gazed into her eyes and a slow smile turned up the edges of his mouth. “It’s up to you, Rorie. You’re welcome on Elk Run if you want to stay.”

“But you’ve done so much. I really couldn’t—”

“There’s plenty of room,” Skip announced ardently.

Those baby-blue eyes of his would melt the strongest resolve, Rorie mused.

“There’s three bedrooms upstairs that are sitting empty. And you wouldn’t need to worry about staying with two bachelors, because Mary’s here—she has a cottage across the way.”

It seemed inconceivable to Rorie that this family would take her in just like that. But, given her options, her arguments for refusing their offer were weak, to say the least. “You don’t even know me.”

“We know all we need to, don’t we, Clay?” Skip glanced at his older brother, seeking his support.

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you like,” Clay repeated, his gaze continuing to hold Rorie’s.

Again she was struck by the compelling quality of this man. He had a stubborn jaw and she doubted there were many confrontations where he walked away a loser. She’d always prided herself on her ability to read people. And her instincts told her firmly that Clay Franklin could be trusted. She sensed he was scrupulously honest, utterly dependable—and she already knew he was generous to a fault.

“I’d be most grateful,” she said, swallowing a surge of tears at the Franklins’ uncomplicated kindness to a complete stranger. “But, please, let me do something to make up for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Skip said, looking as if he wanted to jump up and click his heels in jubilation.

Clay frowned as he watched his younger brother.

“Really,” Rorie stressed. “If there’s anything I can do, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”

“Do you know anything about computers?”

“A little,” she said. “We use them at the library.”

“You’re a librarian?”

Rorie nodded and brushed a stray dark curl from her forehead. “I specialize in children’s literature.” Someday she hoped to have her own work published. That had been her reason for attending the conference in Seattle. Three of the top children’s authors in the country were slated to speak. “If you have a computer system, I’d be happy to do whatever I can...”

“Clay bought a new one last winter,” Skip informed her proudly. “He has a program that records horse breeding and pedigrees up to the fourth and fifth generation.”