A Country Affair(37)

“Ah,” Skip said, and his foot dropped from the bumper with a thud, “here’s Clay now.”

Rorie tensed, clasping her hands in front of her. Clay’s lengthy strides quickly diminished the distance between the barn and the yard. Each stride was filled with purpose, as though he longed to get this polite farewell over with.

Rorie straightened and walked toward him. “I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes,” she said softly.

“Kate’s coming to say goodbye,” Skip added.

Rorie noted how Clay’s eyes didn’t quite meet her own. He seemed to focus instead on the car behind her. They’d already said everything there was to say and this final parting only compounded the pain.

“Saying thank you seems so inadequate,” Rorie told him in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady. “I’ve appreciated your hospitality more than you’ll ever know.” Hesitantly she held out her hand to him.

Clay’s hard fingers curled around her own, his touch light and impersonal. Rorie swallowed hard, unable to hold back the emotion churning so violently inside her.

His expression was completely impassive, but she sensed that he held on to his self-control with the thinnest of threads. In that moment, Rorie felt the longing in him and knew that he recognized it in her, too.

“Oh, Clay...” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. The impulse to move into his arms was like a huge wave, threatening to sweep over her, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d have the strength to resist.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Clay muttered grimly.

“I...can’t help it.” But he belonged to Kate and nothing was likely to change that.

He took a step toward her and stopped himself, suddenly remembering they weren’t alone.

“Skip, go hold Thunder for Don. Don’s trying to paste-worm him, and he’s getting dragged all over the stall.” Clay’s words were low-pitched, sharp, full of demand.

“But, Clay, Rorie’s about to—”

“Do it.”

Mumbling something unintelligible, Skip trudged off to the barn.

The minute his brother was out of sight, Clay caught Rorie’s shoulders, his fingers rough and urgent through the thin cotton of her blouse. The next instant, she was locked against him. The kiss was inevitable, Rorie knew, but when his mouth settled over hers she wanted to weep for the joy she found in his arms. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her mouth, until she clung to him with hungry abandon. They were standing in the middle of the yard in full view of farmhands, but Clay didn’t seem to care and Rorie wasn’t about to object.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he whispered huskily.

Rorie’s heart constricted.

At the sound of a car in the distance, Clay abruptly dropped his arms, freeing her. His fingers tangled in her hair as if he had to touch her one last time.

“I was a fool to think I could politely shake your hand and let you leave. We’re more than casual friends and I can’t pretend otherwise—to hell with the consequences.”

Tears flooded Rorie’s eyes as she stared up at Clay. Then, from behind him, she saw the cloud of dust that announced Kate’s arrival. She inhaled a deep breath in an effort to compose herself and, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of one hand, forced a smile.

Clay released a ragged sigh as he trailed a callused hand down the side of her face. “Goodbye, Rorie,” he whispered. With that, he turned and walked away.

Thick fog swirled around Rorie as she paused to catch her breath on the path in Golden Gate Park. She bent forward and planted her hands on her knees, driving the oxygen into her heaving lungs. Not once in the two weeks she’d been on vacation had she followed her jogging routine, and now she was paying the penalty. The muscles in her calves and thighs protested the strenuous exercise and her heart seemed about to explode. Her biggest problem was trying to keep up with Dan, who’d run ahead, unwilling to slow his pace to match hers.

“Rorie?”

“Over here.” Her voice was barely more than a choked whisper. She meant to raise her hand and signal to him, but even that required more effort than she could manage. Seeing a bench in the distance, she stumbled over and collapsed into it. Leaning back, she stretched out her legs.

“You are out of shape,” Dan teased, handing her a small towel.

Rorie wiped the perspiration from her face and smiled her appreciation. “I can’t believe two weeks would make such a difference.” She’d been back in San Francisco only a couple of days. Other than dropping off the MG at Dan’s place, this was the first time they’d had a chance to get together.

Dan stood next to her, hardly out of breath—even after a three-mile workout.

“Two weeks is a long time,” he said with the hint of a smile. “I suppose you didn’t keep up with your vitamin program, either,” he chastised gently. “Well, Rorie, it’s obvious how much you need me.”

She chose to ignore that comment. “I used to consider myself in top physical condition. Not anymore. Good grief, I thought my heart was going to give out two miles back.”

Dan, blond and debonair, was appealingly handsome in a clean-cut boyish way. He draped the towel around his neck and grasped the ends. Rorie’s eyes were drawn to his hands, with their finely manicured nails and long tapered fingers. Stockbroker fingers. Nice hands. Friendly hands.