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A Little Bit Country: A Little Bit Country / Blackberry Summer
RaeAnne Thayne
Debbie Macomber
www.RaeAnneThayne.comwww.DebbieMacomber.comA Little Bit Country by Debbie MacomberWhen a city woman meets a country man… Rorie Campbell has a pleasant, predictable life in San Francisco, where she's seeing a pleasant, predictable man. Then, while she's on vacation, her car breaks down on an Oregon country road, and horse rancher Clay Franklin comes to her rescue. Rorie soon discovers that a city girl can fall in love with a country man. And the other way around… But Clay has no right to return her feelings because he's engaged to another woman!. Is he willing to change that situation for Rorie—and himself?Blackberry Summer by RaeAnne ThayneWhen a small-town woman falls for a big-city cop… Shop owner and single mom Claire Bradford has just suffered a serious car accident in her hometown of Hope's Crossing, Colorado. She certainly has no time for romance, or so she tells herself—especially when Riley McKnight comes back to town as the new chief of police. The accident forces Claire to rely on other people, including Riley, and she realizes for the first time that things have to change—in her own life and in the town, where a string of robberies has damaged the residents' sense of community. Riley is the man who can bring about the change everybody needs!


When a city woman meets a country man…
Rorie Campbell has a pleasant, predictable life in San Francisco, where she’s seeing a pleasant, predictable man. Then, while she’s on vacation, her car breaks down on an Oregon country road, and horse rancher Clay Franklin comes to her rescue. Rorie soon discovers that a city girl can fall in love with a country man. And the other way around… But Clay has no right to return her feelings because he’s engaged to another woman! Is he willing to change that situation for Rorie—and himself?
A Little Bit Country by Debbie Macomber
When a small-town woman falls for a big-city cop…
Shop owner and single mom Claire Bradford has just suffered a serious car accident in her hometown of Hope’s Crossing, Colorado. She certainly has no time for romance, or so she tells herself—especially when Riley McKnight comes back to town as the new chief of police. The accident forces Claire to rely on other people, including Riley, and she realizes for the first time that things have to change—in her own life and in the town, where a string of robberies has damaged the residents’ sense of community. Riley is the man who can bring about the change everybody needs!
Blackberry Summer by RaeAnne Thayne
Praise for the novels of #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“Popular romance author Macomber has a gift for evoking the emotions that are at the heart of the genre’s popularity.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[Macomber] demonstrates her impressive skills with characterization and her flair for humor.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Macomber…is no stranger to the New York Times bestseller list. She knows how to please her audience.”
—Oregon Statesman Journal
“Whether [Debbie Macomber] is writing lighthearted romps or more serious relationship books, her novels are always engaging stories that accurately capture the foibles of real-life men and women with warmth and humor.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne
“In Thayne’s latest, her beautiful, honest storytelling goes straight to the heart. Her characters are authentically vulnerable and the light, amusing banter between them adds to the sweet warmth of this story… [A] moving yet powerful romance.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wild Iris Ridge
“Thayne’s series starter introduces the Colorado town of Hope’s Crossing in what can be described as a cozy romance… [A] gentle, easy read.”
—Publishers Weekly on Blackberry Summer
“Thayne, once again, delivers a heartfelt story of a caring community and a caring romance between adults who have triumphed over tragedies.”
—Booklist on Woodrose Mountain
A Little Bit Country
A Little Bit Country
Debbie Macomber
Blackberry Summer
RaeAnne Thayne


www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u682b48b0-ff9f-5191-9098-5d1dfd41528d)
Back Cover Text (#ue9b916e8-a88e-5776-9b35-f7193f84aded)
Praise (#uaa781344-7a44-511b-9e40-b02b609a97a0)
Title Page (#u76ffd565-28a8-56d9-8c9f-4b43090a85fb)
A Little Bit Country (#ued4f52bc-c273-5c94-b7cd-2f2b9ff9e2b0)
One (#ub53d221b-f92b-5228-9267-544954f5ad9f)
Two (#u2fe34da0-0185-5887-8764-5a42853583e5)
Three (#u69c639c9-db47-5841-a5b4-d1856658159f)
Four (#u0a265d48-598c-549a-bb84-5967727a4e2a)
Five (#u93b39a43-77fe-500e-b760-17085408414c)
Six (#u868374d1-415d-5f6e-87a6-bb5896065174)
Seven (#u0ceb8c37-e73d-58ae-9f96-6281daa0fe56)
Eight (#u4a420aec-c192-578c-9f48-cbe17ba02879)
Nine (#u69355eef-7b76-5fef-92be-6ac9cdf330a6)
Ten (#u9ac275a4-bc35-5d92-b1b0-6848db3c79cf)
Eleven (#u249c4b83-7436-5e96-a3ad-775c164133b9)
Twelve (#u3038fda9-8d64-5c0d-a52a-8cd488ad1084)
Thirteen (#u056a21ca-5b6a-52a1-ad61-644548b36c23)
Fourteen (#ud107613f-4e5a-5541-8fdc-0c39132a073a)
Fifteen (#u7943ff90-0385-57a1-b802-3789dc52ea92)
Sixteen (#u24f508bf-c962-54ba-ad7f-c1b66e77c290)
Seventeen (#u831e011f-0b8e-51e8-a872-becad13979c1)
Blackberry Summer (#ud8b9ca17-daaa-5a38-bb32-219b00fadc30)
Dedication (#uea80e7df-eecb-557c-b5a3-fca9e41791c8)
One (#ud46be2f8-2643-583c-9020-70b06350b321)
Two (#u81aced44-313a-51a5-b066-5d4941c58110)
Three (#u9b1468a8-c0b5-59d3-8c4d-7993340cadde)
Four (#uaa74ed0e-83dc-5408-8f80-0c1a900be916)
Five (#uabee2789-97be-55eb-9b46-83ecc25bd32b)
Six (#u593ae7ae-3363-56a3-b6e5-c5fa5bb81eb9)
Seven (#u5ed9658e-1b82-5000-846d-877ab6d0f61f)
Eight (#u3d92caa2-d75a-509e-9f88-250e1e7d6893)
Nine (#uddeb2c5d-8115-57fa-a40d-af9a2e6cb7e0)
Ten (#ua779d04e-7747-5460-8268-542773526966)
Eleven (#u2092b4aa-3c15-54e0-b6d7-2bba77785e43)
Twelve (#ubf196027-6628-5f69-820e-969a503c727d)
Thirteen (#u65db8ac8-4d2e-5290-91c8-f440a4c669ad)
Fourteen (#u225210a5-c636-5fb3-9046-0034405be81a)
Fifteen (#u34d3552c-3023-55c4-a1bc-5d56b9d9149b)
Sixteen (#u2a47e7fe-b5be-5bb0-a10a-6bcf65f49437)
Seventeen (#u17293314-4cf5-544d-8beb-ca2073bed861)
Eighteen (#u84423098-1148-5af9-9fc5-512a6644166d)
Nineteen (#ub0624600-ac99-5931-97a1-2f045386e22c)
Extract (#udb1880a3-796b-570a-b6fb-199e41c79497)
Copyright (#u5d1ec90c-e3b6-5400-bcb6-a72140feb43b)
A Little Bit Country (#ue750e336-03d5-5087-a19a-378e42aca884)
Debbie Macomber
One (#ulink_dd9fb465-ec0e-59e4-91b3-43ff732bf707)
“Help! Fire!” Rorie Campbell cried as she leaped out of the small foreign car. Smoke billowed from beneath the hood, rising like a burnt offering to a disgruntled god. Rorie ran across the road, and a black-and-white cow ambled through the pasture toward her, stopping at the split-rail fence. Soulful brown eyes studied her, as if the cow wondered what all the commotion was about.
“It’s not even my car,” Rorie said, pointing in the direction of the vehicle. “All of a sudden smoke started coming out.”
The cow regarded her blankly, chewing its cud, then returned lazily to the shade of a huge oak tree.
“I think it’s on fire. Dan’s going to kill me for this,” Rorie muttered as she watched the uninterested animal saunter away. “I don’t know what to do.” There was no water in sight and even if there had been, Rorie didn’t have any way of hauling it to the car. She was so desperate, she was talking to a cow—and she’d almost expected the creature to advise her.
“Howdy.”
Rorie whirled around to discover a man astride a chestnut stallion. Silhouetted against the warm afternoon sun, he looked like an apparition smiling down at her from the side of the hill opposite Dan’s car.
“Hello.” Rorie’s faith in a benign destiny increased tenfold in that moment. “Boy, am I glad to see another human being.” She’d been on this road for the past two hours and hadn’t encountered another car in either direction.
“What seems to be the problem?” Leather creaked as the man swung out of the saddle with an ease that bespoke years of experience.
“I...I don’t know,” Rorie said, flapping her hands in frustration. “Everything was going just great when all of a sudden the car started smoking like crazy.”
“That’s steam.”
“Steam! You mean the car isn’t on fire?”
The man flipped the reins over his horse’s head and walked toward the hood of the sports car. It was then that Rorie realized the man wasn’t a man at all, but a boy. Sixteen, or possibly a little older. Not that Rorie was particular. She was just grateful someone had stopped. “A friend of mine insisted I drive his MGB up to Seattle.” She sighed. “I should’ve known that if anything went wrong, I’d be at a total loss about what to do. I should’ve known...”
The boy whipped a large blue-starred hankie from the hip pocket of his faded jeans and used it to protect his hand while he raised the hood of her car. The instant he did, a great white cloud of steam swirled up like mist from a graveyard in a horror movie.
“I...thought I’d take the scenic route,” Rorie explained, frantically waving her hand in front of her face to dispel the vapor. “The man at the gas station a hundred miles back said this is beautiful country. He said I’d miss some of the best scenery in Oregon if I stuck to the freeway.” Rorie knew she was chattering, but she’d never experienced this type of situation before or felt quite so helpless.
“It’s not only the best scenery in the state, it tops the whole country, if you ask me,” the boy murmured absently while he examined several black hoses beneath the raised hood.
Rorie looked at her watch and moaned. If she wasn’t in Seattle before six, she’d lose her hotel reservation. This vacation wasn’t starting out well—not at all. And she’d had such high expectations for the next two weeks.
“I think you’ve got a leak in your water pump,” the teenager stated, sounding as though he knew what he was talking about. “But it’s hard to tell with all that fancy stuff they got in these foreign cars. Clay can tell you for sure.”
“Clay?”
“My brother.”
“Is he a mechanic?” Rorie’s hopes soared.
“He’s done his share of working on cars, but he’s not a mechanic.”
Rorie gnawed on her lower lip as her spirits plummeted again. Her first concern was getting to a phone. She’d make the necessary arrangements to have the car repaired and then call the hotel to ask if they’d hold her room. Depending on how close she was to the nearest town, Rorie figured it would take an hour for a tow truck to arrive and then another for it to get her car to a garage. Once there, the repairs shouldn’t take too long. Just how hard could it be to fix a water pump?
“How far is it to a phone?”
The young man grinned and pointed toward his horse. “Just over that ridge...”
Rorie relaxed. At least that part wasn’t going to be much of a problem.
“...about ten miles,” he finished.
“Ten miles?” Rorie leaned her weight against the side of the car. This was the last time she’d ever take the scenic route and the last time she’d ever let Dan talk her into borrowing his car!
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to walk. Venture can handle both of us. You don’t look like you weigh much.”
“Venture?” Rorie was beginning to feel like an echo.
“My horse.”
Rorie’s gaze shifted to the stallion, who had lowered his head to sample the tall hillside grass. Now that she had a chance to study him, she realized what an extraordinarily large animal he was. Rorie hadn’t been on the back of a horse since she was a child. Somehow, the experience of riding a pony in a slow circle with a bunch of other six-year-olds didn’t lend her much confidence now.
“You...you want me to ride double with you?” She was wearing a summer dress and mounting a horse might prove...interesting. She eyed the stallion, wondering how she could manage to climb into the saddle and still maintain her dignity.
“You wearing a dress and all could make that difficult.” The boy rubbed the side of his jaw, frowning doubtfully.
“I could wait here until someone else comes along,” she offered.
He used his index finger to set his snap-brim hat further back on his head. “You might do that,” he drawled, “but it could be another day or so—if you’re lucky.”
“Oh, dear!”
“I suppose I could head back to the house and grab the pickup,” he suggested.
It sounded like a stroke of genius to Rorie. “Would you? Listen, I’d be more than happy to pay you for your time.”
He gave her an odd look. “Why would you want to do that? I’m only doing the neighborly thing.”
Rorie smiled at him. She’d lived in San Francisco most of her life. She loved everything about the City by the Bay, but she couldn’t have named the couple in the apartment next door had her life depended on it. People in the city kept to themselves.
“By the way,” he said, wiping his hands with the bright blue handkerchief, “the name’s Skip. Skip Franklin.”
Rorie eagerly shook his hand, overwhelmingly grateful that he’d happened along when he did. “Rorie Campbell.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Me too, Skip.”
The teenager grinned. “Now you stay right here and I’ll be back before you know it.” He paused, apparently considering something else. “You’ll be all right by yourself, won’t you?”
“Oh, sure, don’t worry about me.” She braced her feet wide apart and held up her hands in the classic karate position. “I can take care of myself. I’ve had three self-defence lessons.”
Skip chuckled, ambled toward Venture and swung up into the saddle. Within minutes he’d disappeared over the ridge.
Rorie watched him until he was out of sight, then walked over to the grassy hillside and sat down, arranging her dress carefully around her knees. The cow she’d been conversing with earlier glanced in her direction and Rorie felt obliged to explain. “He’s gone for help,” she called out. “Said it was the neighborly thing to do.”
The animal mooed loudly.
Rorie smiled. “I thought so, too.”
An hour passed, and it seemed the longest of Rorie’s life. With the sun out in full force now, she felt as if she was wilting more by the minute. Just when she began to suspect that Skip Franklin had been a figment of her overwrought imagination, she heard a loud chugging sound. She leaped to her feet and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked down the road. It was Skip, sitting on a huge piece of farm equipment, heading straight toward her.
Rorie gulped. Her gallant rescuer had come to get her on a tractor!
Skip removed his hat and waved it. Even from this distance, she could see his grin.
Rorie feebly returned the gesture, but her smile felt brittle. Of the two modes of transportation, she would have preferred the stallion. Good grief, there was only one seat on the tractor. Where exactly did Skip plan for her to sit? On the engine?
Once he’d reached the car, he parked the tractor directly in front of it. “Clay said we should tow the car to our place instead of leaving it on the road. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Whatever he thinks is best.”
“He’ll be along any minute,” Skip explained, jumping down from his perch. He used a hook and chain to connect the sports car to the tractor. “Clay had a couple of things he needed to do first.”
Rorie nodded, grateful her options weren’t so limited, after all.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of another vehicle. This time it was a late-model truck in critical need of a paint job. Rust showed through on the left front fender, which had been badly dented.
“That’s Clay now,” Skip announced, nodding toward the winding road.
Rorie busied herself brushing bits of grass from the skirt of her dress. When she’d finished, she looked up to see a tall muscular man sliding from the driver’s side of the pickup. He was dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, and his hat was pulled low over his forehead, shading his eyes. Rorie’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed his grace of movement—a thoroughly masculine grace. Something about Clay Franklin grabbed her imagination. He embodied everything she’d ever linked with the idea of an outdoorsman, a man’s man. She could imagine him taming a wilderness or forging an empire. In his clearly defined features she sensed a strength that reminded her of the land itself. The spellbinding quality of his steel-gray eyes drew her own and held them for a long moment. His nose had a slight curve, as though it had been broken once. He smiled, and a tingling sensation Rorie couldn’t explain skittered down her spine.
His eyes still looked straight into hers and his hands rested on his lean hips. “Looks as if you’ve got yourself into a predicament here.” His voice was low, husky—and slightly amused.
His words seemed to wrap themselves around Rorie’s throat, choking off any intelligent reply. Her lips parted, but to her embarrassment nothing came out.
Clay smiled and the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes crinkled appealingly.
“Skip thinks it might be the water pump,” she said, pointing at the MGB. The words came out weak and rusty and Rorie felt even more foolish. She’d never had a man affect her this way. He wasn’t really even handsome. Not like Dan Rogers. No, Clay wasn’t the least bit like Dan, who was urbane and polished—and very proud of his little MGB.
“From the sounds of it, Skip’s probably right.” Clay walked over to the car, which his brother had connected to the tractor. He twisted the same black hose Skip had earlier and shook his head. Next he checked to see that the bumper of Dan’s car was securely fastened to the chain. He nodded, lightly slapping his brother’s back in approval. “Nice work.”
Skip beamed under his praise.
“I assume you’re interested in finding a phone. There’s one at the house you’re welcome to use,” Clay said, looking at Rorie.
“Thank you.” Her heart pounded in her ears and her stomach felt queasy. This reaction was so unusual for her. Normally she was a calm, levelheaded twenty-four-year-old, not a flighty teenager who didn’t know how to act when an attractive male happened to glance in her direction.
Clay walked around to the passenger side of the pickup and held open the door. He waited for Rorie, then gave her his hand to help her climb inside. The simple action touched her; it had been a long time since anyone had shown her such unselfconscious courtesy.
Then Clay walked to the driver’s side and hoisted himself in. He started the engine, which roared to life immediately, and shifted gears.
“I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused you,” Rorie said stiffly, after several moments of silence.
“It’s no problem,” Clay murmured, concentrating on his driving, doing just the speed limit and not a fraction more.
They’d been driving for about ten minutes when Clay turned off the road and through a huge log archway with ELK RUN lettered across the top. Lush green pastures flanked the private road, and several horses were grazing calmly in one of them. Rorie knew next to nothing about horse breeds, but whatever these were revealed a grace and beauty that was apparent even to her untrained eye.
The next thing Rorie noticed was the large two-story house with a wide wraparound veranda on which a white wicker swing swayed gently. Budding rosebushes lined the meandering brick walkway.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. Rorie would have expected something like this in the bluegrass hills of Kentucky, not on the back roads of Oregon.
Clay made no comment.
He drove past the house and around the back toward the largest stable Rorie had ever seen. The sprawling wood structure must have had room for thirty or more horses.
“You raise horses?” she said.
A smile moved through his eyes like distant light. “That’s one way of putting it. Elk Run is a stud farm.”
“Quarter horses?”
That was the only breed that came to mind.
“No. American Saddlebreds.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them before.”
“Probably not,” Clay said, not unkindly.
He parked the truck, helped Rorie down and led her toward the back of the house.
“Mary,” he called, holding the screen door for Rorie to precede him into the large country kitchen. She was met with the smell of cinnamon and apples. The delectable aroma came from a freshly baked pie, cooling on the counter. A black Labrador retriever slept on a braided rug. He raised his head and thumped his tail gently when Clay stepped over to him and bent down to scratch the dog’s ears. “This is Blue.”
“Hi, Blue,” Rorie said, realizing the dog had probably been a childhood pet. He looked well advanced in years.
“Mary doesn’t seem to be around.”
“Mary’s your wife?”
“Housekeeper,” Clay informed her. “I’m not married.”
That small piece of information gladdened Rorie’s heart and she instantly felt foolish. Okay, so she was attracted to this man with eyes as gray as a San Francisco sky, but that didn’t change a thing. If her plans went according to schedule, she’d be in and out of his life within hours.
“Mary’s probably upstairs,” Clay said when the housekeeper didn’t answer. “There’s a phone on the wall.” He pointed to the other side of the kitchen.
While Rorie retrieved her AT&T card from her eelskin wallet, Clay crossed to the refrigerator and took out a brightly colored ceramic pitcher.
“Iced tea?” he asked.
“Please.” Her throat felt parched. She had to swallow several times before she could make her call.
As she spoke on the phone, Clay took two tall glasses from a cupboard and half filled them with ice cubes. He poured in the tea, then added thin slices of lemon.
Rorie finished her conversation and walked over to the table. Sitting opposite Clay, she reached for the drink he’d prepared. “That was my hotel in Seattle. They won’t be able to hold the room past six.”
“I’m sure there’ll be space in another,” he said confidently.
Rorie nodded, although she thought that was unlikely. She was on her way to a writers’ conference, one for which she’d paid a hefty fee, and she hated to miss one minute of it. Every hotel in the city was said to be filled.
“I’ll call the garage in Nightingale for you,” Clay offered.
“Is that close by?”
“About five miles down the road.”
Rorie was relieved. She’d never heard of Nightingale and was grateful to learn it had a garage. After all, the place was barely large enough to rate a mention on the road map.
“Old Joe’s been working on cars most of his life. He’ll do a good job for you.”
Rorie nodded again, not knowing how else to respond.
Clay quickly strode to the phone, punched out the number and talked for a few minutes. He was frowning when he replaced the receiver. Rorie wanted to question him, but before she could, he grabbed an impossibly thin phone book and dialed a second number. His frown was deeper by the time he’d completed the call.
“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 (#ulink_43865670-dfb3-5d44-b88f-fb6a718ec03f)
“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.”
A heavyset woman Rorie assumed was the housekeeper entered the kitchen, hauling a mop and bucket. She inspected Rorie with a measuring glance and seemed to find her lacking. She grumbled something about city girls as she sidled past Skip.
“Didn’t know you’d decided to hold a convention right in the middle of my kitchen.”
“Mary,” Clay said, “this is Rorie Campbell, from San Francisco. Her car broke down, so she’ll be staying with us for the next few days. Could you see that a bed is made up for her?”
The older woman’s wide face broke into a network of frown lines.
“Oh, please, I can do that myself,” Rorie said quickly.
Mary nodded. “Sheets are in the closet at the top of the stairs.”
“Rorie is our guest.” Clay didn’t raise his voice, but his displeasure was evident in every syllable.
Mary shrugged, muttering, “I got my own things to do. If the girl claims she can make a bed, then let her.”
Rorie couldn’t contain her smile.
“You want to invite some city slicker to stay, then fine, but I got more important matters to attend to before I make up a bed for her.” With that, Mary marched out of the kitchen.
“Mary’s like family,” Skip explained. “It’s just her way to be sassy. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Rorie said, smiling so Clay and Skip would know she wasn’t offended. She gathered that the Franklins’ housekeeper didn’t hold a high opinion of anyone from the city and briefly wondered why.
“I’ll get your suitcase from the car,” Skip said, heading for the door.
Clay finished his drink and set the glass on the counter. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he told her, pausing for a moment before he added, “You won’t be bored by yourself, will you?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about me.”
Clay nodded. “Dinner’s at six.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Rorie picked up the empty glasses and put them by the sink. While she waited for Skip to carry in her luggage, she phoned Dan. Unfortunately he was in a meeting and couldn’t be reached, so she left a message, explaining that she’d been delayed and would call again. She felt strangely reluctant to give him the Franklins’ phone number, but decided there was no reason not to do so. She also decided not to examine that feeling too closely.
Skip had returned by the time she’d hung up. “Clay says you can have Mom and Dad’s old room,” the teenager announced on his way through the door. He hauled her large suitcase in one hand and her flight bag was slung over his shoulder. “Their room’s at the other end of the house. They were killed in an accident five years ago.”
“But—”
“Their room’s got the best view.”
“Skip, really, any bedroom will do... I don’t want your parents’ room.”
“But that’s the one Clay wants for you.” He bounded up the curving stairway with the energy reserved for the young.
Rorie followed him more slowly. She slid her hand along the polished banister and glanced into the living room. A large natural-rock fireplace dominated one wall. The furniture was built of solid oak, made comfortable with thick chintz-covered cushions. Several braided rugs were placed here and there on the polished wood floor. A piano with well-worn ivory keys stood to one side. The collection of family photographs displayed on top of it immediately caught her eye. She recognized a much younger Clay in what had to be his high-school graduation photo. The largest picture in an ornate brass frame was of a middle-aged couple, obviously Clay and Skip’s parents.
Skip paused at the top of the stairway and looked over his shoulder. “My grandfather built this house more than fifty years ago.”
“It’s magnificent.”
“We think so,” he admitted, eyes shining with pride.
The master bedroom, which was at the end of the hallway, opened onto a balcony that presented an unobstructed panorama of the entire valley. Rolling green pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. Rorie felt instantly drawn to this unfamiliar rural beauty. She drew a deep breath, and the thought flashed through her mind that it must be comforting to wake up to this serene landscape day after day.
“Everyone loves it here,” Skip said from behind her.
“I can understand why.”
“Well, I suppose I should get back to work,” he said regretfully, setting her suitcases on the double bed. A colorful quilt lay folded at its foot.
Rorie turned toward him, smiling. “Thank you, Skip. I hate to think what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t come along when you did.”
He blushed and started backing out of the room, taking small steps as though he was loath to leave her. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”
Rorie smiled again. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Bye for now.” He raised his right hand in a farewell gesture, then whirled around and dashed down the hallway. She could hear his feet pounding on the stairs.
It took Rorie only a few minutes to hang her things in the bare closet. When she’d finished, she went back to the kitchen, where Mary was busy peeling potatoes at the stainless steel sink.
“I’d like to help, if I could.”
“Fine,” the housekeeper answered gruffly. She took another potato peeler out of a nearby drawer, slapping it down on the counter. “I suppose that’s your fancy sports car in the yard.”
“The water pump has to be replaced...I think,” Rorie answered, not bothering to mention that the MGB wasn’t actually hers.
“Humph,” was Mary’s only response.
Rorie sighed and reached for a large potato. “The mechanic in Riversdale said it would take until Saturday to get a replacement part.”
For the second time, Mary answered her with a gruff-sounding humph. “If then! Saturday or next Thursday or a month from now, it’s all the same to George. Fact is, you could end up staying here all summer.”
Three (#ulink_36f9b5bb-501b-5f30-8c74-9c90947a0a9e)
Mary’s words echoed in Rorie’s head as she joined Clay and Skip at the dinner table that evening. She stood just inside the dining room, dressed in a summer skirt and a cotton-knit cream-colored sweater, and announced, “I can’t stay any longer than four days.”
Clay regarded her blankly. “I have no intention of holding you prisoner, Rorie.”
“I know, but Mary told me that if I’m counting on George what’s-his-name to fix the MG, I could end up spending the summer here. I’ve got to get back to San Francisco—I have a job there.” She realized how nonsensical her little speech sounded, as if that last bit about having a job explained everything.
“If you want, I’ll keep after George to make sure he doesn’t forget about it.”
“Please.” Rorie felt a little better for having spoken her mind.
“And the Greyhound bus comes through on Mondays,” Skip said reassuringly. “If you had to, you could take that back to California and return later for your friend’s car.”
“The bus,” she repeated. “I could take the bus.” As it was, the first half of her vacation was ruined, but it’d be nice to salvage what she could of the rest.
Both men were seated, but as Rorie approached the table Skip rose noisily to his feet, rushed around to the opposite side and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. His dark hair was wet and slicked down close to his head. He’d changed out of his work clothes and into what appeared to be his Sunday best—a dress shirt, tie and pearl-gray slacks. With a good deal of ceremony, he pushed in her chair. As he leaned toward her, it was all Rorie could do to keep from grimacing at the overpowering scent of his spicy aftershave. He must have drenched himself in the stuff.
Clay’s gaze seemed to tug at hers and when Rorie glanced in his direction, she saw that he was doing his utmost not to laugh. He clearly found his brother’s antics amusing, though he took pains not to hurt Skip’s feelings, but Rorie wasn’t sure how she should react. Skip was only in his teens, and she didn’t want to encourage any romantic fantasies he might have.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Skip said, once he’d reclaimed his chair. “Mary puts on a good feed.”
“I’m starved,” Rorie admitted, eyeing the numerous serving dishes spread out on the table.
Clay handed her a large platter of fried chicken. That was followed by mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, fresh green beans, a mixed green salad, milk and a variety of preserves. By the time they’d finished passing around the food, there wasn’t any space left on Rorie’s oversize plate.
“Don’t forget to leave room for dessert,” Clay commented, again with that slow, easy drawl of his. Here Skip was practically doing cartwheels to attract her attention and all Clay needed to do was look at her and she became light-headed. Rorie couldn’t understand it. From the moment Clay Franklin had stepped down from his pickup, she hadn’t been the same.
“After dinner I thought I’d take you up to the stable and introduce you to King Genius,” Skip said, waving a chicken leg.
“I’d be happy to meet him.”
“Once you do, you’ll feel like you did when you stood on the balcony in the big bedroom and looked at the valley.”
Obviously this King wasn’t a foreman, as Rorie had first assumed. More than likely, he was one of the horses she’d seen earlier grazing on the pasture in front of the house.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to take Rorie around Hercules,” Clay warned his younger brother.
“Of course not.” But it looked as if Skip wanted to argue.
“Who’s Hercules?”
“Clay’s stallion,” Skip explained. “He has a tendency to act up if Clay isn’t around.”
Rorie could only guess what “act up” meant, but even if Skip didn’t intend to heed Clay’s advice, she gladly would. Other than that pony ride when she was six, Rorie hadn’t been near a horse. One thing was certain; she planned to steer a wide path around the creature, no matter how much Skip encouraged her. The largest pet she’d ever owned had been a guinea pig.
“When Hercules first came to Elk Run, the man who brought him said he was mean-spirited and untrainable. He wanted him destroyed, but Clay insisted on working with the stallion.”
“Now he’s your own personal horse?” Rorie asked Clay.
He nodded. “We’ve got an understanding.”
“But it’s only between them,” Skip added. “Hercules doesn’t like anyone else getting close.”
“He doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as I’m concerned,” Rorie was quick to assure both brothers. “I’ll give him as much space as he needs.”
Clay grinned, and once again she felt her heart turn over. This strange affinity with Clay was affirmed in the look he gave her. Unexpected thoughts of Dan Rogers sprang to mind. Dan was a divorced stockbroker she’d been seeing steadily for the past few months. Rorie enjoyed Dan’s company and had recently come to believe she was falling in love with him. Now she knew differently. She couldn’t be this powerfully drawn to Clay Franklin if Dan was anything more than a good friend. One of the reasons Rorie had decided on this vacation was to test her feelings for Dan. Two days out of San Francisco, and she had her answer.
Deliberately Rorie pulled her gaze from Clay, wanting to attribute everything she was experiencing to the clean scent of country air.
Skip’s deep blue eyes sparkled with pride as he started to tell Rorie about Elk Run’s other champion horses. “But you’ll love the King best. He was the five-gaited world champion four years running. Clay put him out to stud four years ago. National Show Horses are commanding top dollar and we’ve produced three of the best. King’s the sire, naturally.”
“Do all the horses I saw in the pasture belong to you?”
“We board several,” Skip answered. “Some of the others are brought here from around the country for Clay to break and train.”
“You break horses?” She couldn’t conceal her sudden alarm. The image of Clay sitting on a wild bronco that bucked and heaved in a furious effort to unseat him did funny things to Rorie’s stomach.
“Breaking horses isn’t exactly the way Hollywood pictures show it,” Clay explained.
Rorie was about to ask him more when Skip planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. Once again Rorie was assaulted by the overpowering scent of his aftershave. She did her best to smile, but if he remained in that position much longer, her eyes would start watering. Already she could feel a sneeze tickling her nose.
“How old are you, Rorie?” he asked.
The question was so unexpected that she was too surprised to answer immediately. Then she said, “Twenty-four.”
“And you live in San Francisco. Is your family there, too?”
“No. My parents moved to Arizona and my brother’s going to school back east.”
“And you’re not engaged or anything?”
As Rorie shook her head, Clay shot his brother an exasperated look. “Are you interviewing Rorie for the Independent?”
“No. I was just curious.”
“She’s too old for you, little brother.”
“I don’t know about that,” Skip returned fervently. “I’ve always liked my women more mature. Besides, Rorie’s kind of cute.”
“Kind of?”
Skip shrugged. “You know what I mean. She doesn’t act like a city girl...much.”
Rorie’s eyes flew from one brother to the next. They were talking as if she wasn’t even in the room, and that annoyed her—especially since she was the main topic of conversation.
Unaware of her reaction, Skip helped himself to another roll. “Actually, I thought she might be closer to twenty. With some women it’s hard to tell.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rorie muttered to no one in particular.
“My apologies, Rorie,” Clay said contritely. “We were being rude.”
She took time buttering her biscuit. “Apology accepted.”
“How old do you think I am?” Skip asked her, his eyes wide and hopeful.
It was Rorie’s nature to be kind, and besides, Skip had saved her from an unknown fate. “Twenty,” she answered with barely a pause.
The younger Franklin straightened and sent his brother a smirk. “I was seventeen last week.”
“That surprises me,” Rorie continued, setting aside her butter knife and swallowing a smile. “I could’ve sworn you were much older.”
Looking even more pleased with himself, Skip cleared his throat. “Lots of girls think that.”
“Don’t I remember you telling me you’re helping Luke Rivers tonight?” Clay reminded his brother.
Skip’s face fell. “I guess I did.”
“If Rorie doesn’t mind, I’ll introduce her to King.”
Clay’s offer appeared to surprise Skip, and Rorie studied the boy, a little worried now about causing problems between the two brothers. Nor did she want to disappoint Skip, who had offered first.
“But I thought...” Skip began, then swallowed. “You want to take Rorie?”
Clay’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. “That’s what I just said. Is there a problem?”
“No...of course not.” Skip stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth and shook his head vigorously. After a moment of chewing, he said, “Clay will show you around the stable.” His words were measured and even, but his gaze held his brother’s.
“I heard,” Rorie said gently. She could only speculate on what was going on between them, but obviously something was amiss. There’d been more than a hint of surprise in Skip’s eyes at Clay’s offer. She noticed that the younger Franklin seemed angry. Because his vanity was bruised? Rorie supposed so. “I could wait until tomorrow if you want, Skip,” she suggested.
“No, that’s all right,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “Clay can do it, since that’s what he seems to want.”
When they finished the meal, Rorie cleared the table, but Mary refused to let her help with cleaning up the kitchen.
“You’d just be in the way,” she grumbled, though her eyes weren’t unfriendly. “Besides, I heard the boys were showing you the barn.”
“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow night then.”
Mary murmured a response, then asked brusquely, “How was the apple pie?”
“Absolutely delicious.”
A satisfied smile touched the edges of the woman’s mouth. “Good. I did things a little differently this time, and I was just wondering.”
Clay led Rorie out the back door and across the yard toward the barn. The minute Rorie walked through the enormous double doors she felt she’d entered another world. The wonderful smells of leather and liniments and saddle soap mingled with the fragrance of fresh hay and the pungent odor of the horses themselves. Rorie found it surprisingly pleasant. Flashes of bright color from halters and blankets captured her attention, as did the gleam of steel bits against the far wall.
“King’s over here,” Clay said, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her elbow.
When Clay opened the top of the stall door, the most magnificent creature Rorie had ever seen turned to face them. He was a deep chestnut color, so sleek and powerful it took her breath away. This splendid horse seemed to know he was royalty. He regarded Rorie with a keen eye, as though he expected her to show him the proper respect and curtsy. For a wild moment, Rorie was tempted to do exactly that.
“I brought a young lady for you to impress,” Clay told the stallion.
King took a couple of steps back and pawed the ground.
“He really is something,” Rorie whispered, once she’d found her voice. “Did you raise him from a colt?”
Clay nodded.
Rorie was about to ask him more when they heard frantic whinnying from the other side of the aisle.
Clay looked almost apologetic. “If you haven’t already guessed, that’s Hercules. He doesn’t like being ignored.” He walked to the stall opposite King’s and opened the upper half of the door. Instantly the black stallion stuck his head out and complained about the lack of attention in a loud snort, which brought an involuntary smile to Rorie’s mouth. “I was bringing Rorie over to meet you, too, so don’t get your nose out of joint,” Clay chastised.
“Hi,” Rorie said, and raised her right hand in a stiff greeting. It amused her that Clay talked to his animals as if he honestly expected them to understand his remarks and join in the conversation. But then who was she to criticize? Only a few hours earlier, she’d been conversing with a cow.
“You don’t need to be frightened of him,” Clay told her when she stood, unmoving, a good distance from the stall. Taking into consideration what Skip had mentioned earlier about the moody stallion, Rorie decided to stay where she was.
Clay ran his hand down the side of Hercules’s neck, and his touch seemed to appease the stallion’s obviously delicate ego.
Looking around her, Rorie was impressed by the size of the barn. “How many stalls are there altogether?”
“Thirty-six regular and four foaling. But this is only a small part of Elk Run.” He led her outside to a large arena and pointed at a building on the opposite side. “My office is over there, if you’d like to see it.”
Rorie nodded, and they crossed to the office. Clay opened the door for her. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the collection of championship ribbons and photographs displayed on the walls. A large trophy case was filled with a variety of awards. When he saw her interest in the computer, Clay explained the system he’d had installed and how it would aid him in the future.
“This looks pretty straightforward,” Rorie told him.
“I’ve been meaning to hire a high-school kid to enter the data for me so I can get started, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”
Rorie sorted through the file folders. There were only a few hours of work and her typing skills were good. “There’s no need to pay anyone. If I’m going to be imposing on your hospitality, the least I can do is enter this into the computer for you.”
“Rorie, that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to spend your time stuck here in the office doing all that tedious typing.”
“It’ll give me something productive to do instead of fretting over how long it’s taking to get the MG repaired.”
He glanced at her, his expression concerned. “All right, if you insist, but it really isn’t necessary, you know.”
“I do insist.” Rorie clasped her hands behind her back and decided to change the subject. “What’s that?” she asked, gesturing toward a large room off the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the arena.
“The observation room.”
“So you can have your own private shows?”
“In a manner of speaking. Would you like to go down there?”
“Oh, yes!”
Inside the arena, Rorie saw that it was much bigger than it had appeared from above. They’d been walking around for several minutes when Clay checked his watch and frowned. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a meeting in town. Normally I wouldn’t leave company.”
“Oh, please,” she said hurriedly, “don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not as though I was expected or anything. I hardly consider myself company.”
Still Clay seemed regretful. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
He left in the pickup a couple of minutes later. The place was quiet; Mary had apparently finished in the kitchen and retired to her own quarters, a cottage not far from the main house. Skip, who had returned from helping his friend, was busy talking on the phone. He smiled when he saw Rorie, without interrupting his conversation.
Rorie moved into the living room and idly picked up a magazine, leafing through it. Restless and bored, she read a heated article on the pros and cons of a new medication used for equine worming, although she couldn’t have described what it said.
When Skip was finished on the phone, he suggested they play cribbage. Not until after ten did Rorie realize she was unconsciously waiting for Clay’s return. But she wasn’t quite sure why.
Skip yawned rather pointedly and Rorie took the hint.
“I suppose I should think about heading up to bed,” she said, putting down the deck of playing cards.
“Yeah, it seems to be that time,” he answered, yawning again.
“I didn’t intend to keep you up so late.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s just that we start our days early around here. But you sleep in. We don’t expect you to get up before the sun just because we do.”
By Rorie’s rough calculation, getting up before the sun meant Clay and Skip started their workday between four-thirty and five in the morning.
Skip must have read the look in her eyes, because he chuckled and said, “You get used to it.”
Rorie followed him up the stairs, and they said their good-nights. But even after a warm bath, she couldn’t sleep. Wearing her flower-sprigged cotton pajamas, she sat on the bed with the light still on and thought about how different everything was from what she’d planned. She was supposed to be in Seattle now, at a cocktail party arranged for the first night of the conference; she’d hoped to talk to several of the authors there. But she’d missed that, and the likelihood of attending even one workshop was dim. Instead she’d made an unscheduled detour onto a stud farm and stumbled upon a handsome rancher.
She grinned. Things could be worse. Much worse.
An hour later, Rorie heard a noise outside, behind the house. Clay must be home. She smiled, oddly pleased that he was back. Yawning, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off.
The discordant noise came again.
Rorie frowned. This time, whatever was making the racket didn’t sound the least bit like a pickup truck parking, or anything else she could readily identify. The dog was barking intermittently.
Grabbing her housecoat from the foot of the bed and tucking her feet into fuzzy slippers, Rorie went downstairs to investigate.
As she stood in the kitchen, she could tell that the clamor was coming from the barn. A problem with the horses?
Not knowing what else to do, she scrambled up the stairs and hurried from room to room until she found Skip’s bedroom.
The teenager lay sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly.
“Skip,” she cried, “something’s wrong with the horses!”
He continued to snore.
“Skip,” she cried, louder this time. “Wake up!”
He remained deep in sleep.
“Skip, please, oh, please, wake up!” Rorie pleaded, shaking him so hard he’d probably have bruises in the morning. “I’m from the city. Remember? I don’t know what to do.”
The thumps and bangs coming from the barn were growing fiercer and Blue’s barking more frantic. Perhaps there was a fire. Oh, dear Lord, she prayed, not that. Rorie raced halfway down the stairs, paused and then reversed her direction.
“Skip,” she yelled. “Skip!” Rorie heard the panic in her own voice. “Someone’s got to do something!”
No one else seemed to think so.
Nearly frantic now, Rorie dashed back down the stairs and across the yard. Trembling, she entered the barn. A lone electric light shone from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the area.
Several of the stalls’ upper doors were open and Rorie could sense the horses becoming increasingly restless. Walking on tiptoe, she moved slowly toward the source of the noise, somewhere in the middle of the stable. The horses were curious and their cries brought Rorie’s heart straight to her throat.
“Nice horsey, nice horsey,” she repeated soothingly over and over until she reached the stall those unearthly sounds were coming from.
The upper half of the door was open and Rorie flattened herself against it before daring to peek inside. She saw a speckled gray mare, head thrown back and teeth bared, neighing loudly, ceaselessly. Rorie quickly jerked away and resumed her position against the outside of the door. She didn’t know much about horses, but she knew this one was in dire trouble.
Running out of the stable, Rorie picked up the hem of her robe and sprinted toward the house. She’d find a way to wake Skip or die trying.
She was breathless by the time she got to the yard. That was when she saw Clay’s battered blue truck.
“Clay,” she screamed, halting in the middle of the moonlit yard. “Oh, Clay.”
He was at her side instantly, his hands roughly gripping her shoulders. “Rorie, what is it?”
She was so glad to see him, she hugged his waist and only just resisted bursting into tears. Her shoulders were heaving and her voice shook uncontrollably. “There’s trouble in the barn....”
Four (#ulink_f59435d4-8b23-5d3a-b3e3-76ecbb6f4f69)
Clay ran toward the barn with Rorie right behind him. He paused to flip a switch, flooding the interior with bright light.
The gray mare in the center stall continued to neigh and thrash around. Rorie found it astonishing that the walls had remained intact. The noise of the animal’s pain echoed through the stable, reflected by the rising anxiety of the other horses.
Clay took one look at the mare and released a low groan, then muttered something under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Rorie cried.
“It seems Star Bright is about to become a mother.”
“But why isn’t she in one of the foaling stalls?”
“Because two different vets palpated her and said she wasn’t in foal.”
“But...”
“She’s already had six foals and her stomach’s so stretched she looks pregnant even when she isn’t.” Clay opened the stall door and entered. Rorie’s hand flew to her heart. Good grief, he could get killed in there!
“What do you want me to do?” she said.
Clay shook his head. “This is no place for you. Get back to the house and stay there.” His brow furrowed, every line a testament to his hard, outdoor life.
“But shouldn’t I be phoning a vet?”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Boiling water—I could get that for you.” She wanted to help; she just had no idea how.
“Boiling water?” he repeated. “What the hell would I need that for?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed with a shrug, “but they always seem to need it in the movies.”
Clay gave an exasperated sigh. “Rorie, please, just go to the house.”
She made it all the way to the barn door, then abruptly turned back. If anyone had asked why she felt it so necessary to remain with Clay, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. But something kept her there, something far stronger than the threat of Clay’s temper.
She marched to the center stall, her head and shoulders held stiff and straight. She stood with her feet braced, prepared for an argument.
“Clay,” she said, “I’m not leaving.”
“Listen, Rorie, you’re a city girl. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“I’m a woman, too. The sight of a little blood isn’t enough to make me faint.”
Clay was doing his best to calm the frightened mare, but without much success. The tension in the air seemed to crackle like static electricity.
“I haven’t got time to argue with you,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Good.”
Star Bright heaved her neck backward and gave a deep groan that seemed to reverberate in the stall like the boom of a cannon.
“Poor little mother,” Rorie whispered in a soothing voice. Led by instinct, she carefully unlatched the stall door and slipped inside.
Clay sent her a look hot enough to peel paint. “Get out of here before you get hurt.” His voice was low and urgent.
Star Bright reacted to his tension immediately, jerking about, her body twitching convulsively. One of her hooves caught Clay in the forearm and, almost immediately, blood seeped through his sleeve. Rorie bit her lip to suppress a cry of alarm, but if Clay felt any pain he didn’t show it.
“Hold her head,” Clay said sharply.
Somehow Rorie found the courage to do as he asked. Star Bright groaned once more and her pleading eyes looked directly into Rorie’s, seeming to beg for help. The mare’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she flailed her head to and fro, shaking Rorie in the process.
“Whoa, girl,” Rorie said softly, gaining control. “It’s painful, isn’t it, but soon you’ll have a beautiful baby to show off to the world.”
“Foal,” Clay corrected from behind the mare.
“A beautiful foal.” Rorie stroked the sweat-dampened neck, doing what she could to reassure the frightened horse.
“Keep talking to her,” Clay whispered.
Rorie kept up a running dialogue for several tense minutes, but there was only so much she could find to say on such short acquaintance. When she ran out of ideas, she started to sing in a soft, lilting voice. She began with lullabies her mother had once sung to her, then followed those with a few childhood ditties. Her singing lasted only minutes, but Rorie’s lungs felt close to collapse.
Suddenly the mare’s water broke. Clay wasn’t saying much, but he began to work quickly, although she couldn’t see what he was doing. Star Bright tossed her neck in the final throes of birth and Rorie watched, fascinated, as two hooves and front legs emerged, followed by a white nose.
The mare lifted her head, eager to see. Clay tugged gently, and within seconds, the foal was free. Rorie’s heart pounded like a locomotive struggling up a steep hill as Clay’s strong hands completed the task.
“A filly,” he announced, a smile lighting his face. He reached for a rag and wiped his hands and arms.
Star Bright turned her head to view her offspring. “See?” Rorie told the mare, her eyes moist with relief. “Didn’t I tell you it would all be worth it?”
The mare nickered. Her newborn filly was gray, like her mother, and finely marked with white streaks on her nose, mane and tail. Rorie was touched to her very soul by the sight. Tears blurred her vision and ran down her flushed cheeks. She blotted them with her sleeve so Clay couldn’t see them, and silently chided herself for being such a sentimental fool.
It was almost another hour before they left Star Bright’s stall. The mare, who stood guard over her long-legged baby, seemed content and utterly pleased with herself. As they prepared to leave, Rorie whispered in her ear.
“What was that all about?” Clay wanted to know, latching the stall door.
“I just told her she’d done a good job.”
“That she did,” Clay whispered. A moment later, he added, “And so did you, Rorie. I was grateful for your help.”
Once more tears sprang to her eyes. She responded with a nod, unable to trust her voice. Her heart was racing with exhilaration. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt more excited. It was well past midnight, but she’d never felt less sleepy.
“Rorie?” He was staring at her, his eyes bright with concern.
She owed him an explanation, although she couldn’t fully explain this sudden burst of emotion. “It was so...beautiful.” She brushed the hair from her face and smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn’t think she was just a foolish city girl. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she doubted that any man had seen her looking worse, although Rorie was well aware that she didn’t possess a classic beauty. She was usually referred to as cute, with her slightly turned-up nose and dark brown eyes.
“I understand.” He walked to the sink against the barn’s opposite wall and busily washed his hands, then splashed water on his face. When he’d finished, Rorie handed him a towel hanging on a nearby hook.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know how to describe it,” she said, after a fruitless effort to find the words to explain all the feeling that had surged up inside her.
“It’s the same for me every time I witness a birth,” Clay told her. He looked at her then and gently touched her face, letting his finger glide along her jaw. All the world went still as his eyes caressed hers. There was a primitive wonder in the experience of birth, a wonder that struck deep within the soul. For the first time, Rorie understood this. And sharing it with Clay seemed to intensify the attraction she already felt for him. During that brief time in the stall, just before Star Bright delivered her foal, Rorie had felt closer to Clay than she ever had to any other man. It was as though her heart had taken flight and joined his in a moment of sheer challenge and joy. That was a silly romantic thought, she realized. But it seemed so incredible to her that she could feel anything this strong for a man she’d known for mere hours.
“I’ve got a name for her,” Clay said, hanging up the towel. “What do you think of Nightsong?”
“Nightsong,” Rorie repeated softly. “I like it.”
“In honor of the woman who sang to her mother.”
Rorie nodded as emotion clogged her throat. “Does this mean I did all right for a city slicker?”
“You did more than all right.”
“Thanks for not sending me away... I probably would’ve gone if you’d insisted.”
They left the barn, and Clay draped his arm across her shoulders as though he’d been doing it for years. Rorie was grateful for his touch because, somehow, it helped ground the unfamiliar feelings and sensations.
As they strolled across the yard, she noticed that the sky was filled with a thousand glittering stars, brighter than any she’d ever seen in the city. She paused midstep to gaze up at them.
Clay’s quiet voice didn’t dispel the serenity. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”
Rorie wanted to hold on to each exquisite minute and make it last a lifetime. A nod was all she could manage as she reminded herself that this time with Clay was about to end. They would walk into the house and Clay would probably thank her again. Then she’d climb the stairs to her room and that would be all there was.
“How about some coffee?” he asked once they’d entered the kitchen. Blue left his rug and wandered over to Clay. “The way I feel now, it would be a waste of time to go to bed.”
“Me, too.” Rorie leaped at the suggestion, pleased that he wanted to delay their parting, too. And when she did return to her room, she knew the adrenaline in her system would make sleep impossible, anyway.
Clay was reaching up for the canister of coffee, when Rorie suddenly noticed the bloodstain on his sleeve and remembered Star Bright’s kick.
“Clay, you need to take care of that cut.”
From the surprised way he glanced at his arm, she guessed that he, too, had forgotten about the injury. “Yes, I suppose I should.” Then he calmly returned to his task.
“Let me clean it for you,” Rorie offered, joining him at the kitchen counter.
“If you like.” He led her into the bathroom down the hall and took a variety of medical supplies from the cabinet above the sink. “Do you want to do it here or in the kitchen?”
“Here is fine.”
Clay sat on the edge of the bath and unfastened the cuff, then rolled back his sleeve.
“Oh, Clay,” Rorie whispered when she saw the angry torn flesh just above his elbow. Gently her fingers tested the edges, wondering if he needed stitches. He winced slightly at her probing fingers.
“Sorry.”
“Just put some antiseptic on it and it’ll be all right.”
“But this is really deep—you should probably have a doctor look at it.”
“Rorie, I’m as tough as old leather. This kind of thing happens all the time. I’ll recover.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she said primly.
“Then put on a bandage and be done with it.”
“But—”
“I’ve been injured often enough to know when a cut needs a doctor’s attention.”
She hesitated, then conceded that he was probably right. She filled the sink with warm tap water and took care to clean the wound thoroughly. All the while, Rorie was conscious of Clay’s eyes moving over her face, solemnly perusing the chin-length, dark brown hair and the big dark eyes that—judging by a glance in the mirror—still displayed a hint of vulnerability. She was tall, almost five-eight, her figure willowy. But if Clay found anything attractive about her, he didn’t mention it. Her throat muscles squeezed shut, and, although she was grateful for the silence between them, it confused her.
“You missed your vocation,” he told her as she rinsed the bloody cloth. “You should’ve been a nurse.”
“I toyed with the idea when I was ten, but decided I liked books better.”
His shoulders were tense, Rorie noted, and she tried to be as gentle as possible. A muscle leaped in his jaw.
“Am I...hurting you?”
“No,” he answered, his voice curt.
After that, he was an excellent patient. He didn’t complain when she dabbed on the antiseptic, although she was sure it must have stung like crazy. He cooperated when she wrapped the gauze around his arm, lifting and lowering it when she asked him to. The silence continued as she secured the bandage with adhesive tape. Rorie had the feeling that he wanted to escape the close confines of the bathroom as quickly as possible.
“I hope that stays.”
He stood up and flexed his elbow a couple of times. “It’s fine. You do good work.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“The coffee’s probably ready by now.” He spoke quickly, as if eager to be gone.
She sighed. “I could use a cup.”
She put the medical supplies neatly back inside the cabinet, while Clay returned to the kitchen. Rorie could smell the freshly made coffee even before she entered the room.
He was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of the fragrant coffee, waiting for her.
“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” she murmured, adding cream and sugar to the mug he’d poured for her.
A certain tension hung in the air, and Rorie couldn’t explain or understand it. Only ten minutes earlier, they’d walked across the yard, spellbound by the stars, and Clay had laid his arm across her shoulders. He’d smiled down on her so tenderly. Now he looked as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
“Have I done anything wrong?” she asked outright.
“Rorie, no.” He set his mug aside and gripped her shoulders with both hands. “There’s something so intimate and...earthy in what we shared.” His eyes were intense, strangely darker. “Wanting you this way isn’t right.”
Rorie felt a tremor work through him as he lifted his hands to her face. His callused thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks.
“I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” he whispered hoarsely, his expression uncertain.
“It’s...been the same for me, from the moment you stepped out of the truck.”
Clay smiled, and Rorie thought her knees would melt. She put her coffee down and as soon as she did Clay eased her into his arms, his hands on her shoulders. Her heart stopped, then jolted back to frenzied life.
“I’m going to kiss you....”
He made the statement almost a question. “Yes,” she whispered, letting him know she’d welcome his touch. Her stomach fluttered as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
Rorie had never wanted a man’s kiss more. His moist lips glided over hers in a series of gentle explorations. He drew her closer until their bodies were pressed tight.
“Oh, Rorie,” he breathed, dragging his mouth from hers. “You taste so good... I was afraid of that.” His mouth found the pulse in her throat and lingered there.
“This afternoon I thought I’d cry when the car broke down and now...now I’m glad...so glad,” she said.
He kissed her again, nibbling on her lower lip, gently drawing it between his teeth. Rorie could hardly breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She slumped against him, delighting in the rise and fall of his broad chest. His hands moved down her back with slow restraint, but paused when he reached the curve of her hips.
He tensed. “I think we should say good-night.”
A protest sprang to her lips, but before she could voice it, Clay said, “Now.”
She looked at him, dazed. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him. “What about my coffee?”
“That was just an excuse and we both know it.”
Rorie said nothing.
The silence between them seemed to throb for endless minutes.
“Good night, Clay,” she finally whispered. She broke away, but his hand caught her fingers, and with a groan he pulled her back into his arms.
“What the hell,” he muttered fiercely, “sending you upstairs isn’t going to help. Nothing’s going to change.”
His words brought confusion, but Rorie didn’t question him, didn’t want to. What she longed for was the warmth and security she’d discovered in his arms.
“Come on,” he whispered, after he’d kissed her once more. He led her through the living room and outside to the porch, where the swing moved gently in the night breeze.
Rorie sat beside him and he wrapped his arm around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder, savoring these precious moments.
“I’ll never forget this night.”
“Neither will I,” Clay promised, kissing her again.
* * *
Rorie awoke when the sun settled on her face and refused to leave her alone. Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled contentedly, basking in the memory of her night with Clay. They’d sat on the swing and talked for hours. Talked and kissed and laughed and touched...
Sitting up, Rorie raised her hands high above her head and stretched, arching her spine. She looked at her watch on the nightstand and was shocked to see that it was after eleven. By the time she’d climbed the stairs for bed the sky had been dappled with faint shreds of light. She suspected Clay hadn’t even bothered to sleep.
Tossing aside the blankets, Rorie slid to the floor, anxious to shower and dress. Anxious to see him again. Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way down the stairs.
Mary, who was dusting in the living room, nodded when she saw Rorie. Then the housekeeper resumed her task, but not before she’d muttered something about how city folks were prone to sleeping their lives away.
“Good morning, Mary,” Rorie greeted her cheerfully.
“’Mornin’.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Where they ought to be this time of day. Working.”
“Yes, I know, but where?”
“Outside.”
Rorie had trouble hiding her smile.
“I heard about you helping last night,” Mary added gruffly. “Seems you did all right for a city girl.”
“Thank you, Mary. You don’t do half bad for a country girl, either.”
The housekeeper seemed uncomfortable with the praise, despite the lightness of Rorie’s tone. “I suppose you want me to cook you some fancy breakfast.”
“Good heavens, no, you’re busy. I’ll just make myself some toast.”
“That’s hardly enough to fill a growing girl,” Mary complained.
“It’ll suit me fine.”
Once her toast was ready, Rorie carried it outside. If she couldn’t find Clay, she wanted to check on Nightsong.
“Rorie.”
She turned to discover Skip walking toward her, in animated conversation with a blonde. His girlfriend, she guessed. He waved and Rorie returned the gesture, smiling. The sun was glorious and the day held marvelous promise.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” Skip said.
“I’m sorry—I don’t usually sleep this late.”
“Clay told me how you helped him deliver Star Bright’s filly. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I heard.”
Rorie nodded, her heart warming with the memory. “Well, I tried to get you up. It would’ve been easier to wake a dead man than to get you out of bed last night.”
Skip looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry about that, but I generally don’t wake up too easily once I’m asleep.” As he spoke, he slipped his arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders. “Rorie, I want you to meet Kate Logan.”
“Hello, Kate.” Rorie held out a hand and Kate shook it politely.
“Hello, Rorie,” she said. “Clay and Skip told me about your car troubles. I hope everything turns out all right for you.”
“I’m sure it will. Do you live around here?” Rorie already knew she was going to like her. At a closer glance, she saw that Kate was older than she’d first assumed. Maybe her own age, which gave credence to Skip’s comment about liking older, more mature women.
“I don’t live far,” Kate said. “The Circle L is down the road, only a few miles from here.”
“She’s going to be living with us in the near future,” Skip put in, gazing fondly at Kate.
The young woman’s cheeks reddened and she smiled shyly.
“Oh?” Skip couldn’t possibly mean he planned to marry her, Rorie thought. Good heavens, he was still in high school.
He must have seen Rorie’s puzzled frown, and hurried to explain. “Not me,” he said with a short laugh. “Kate is Clay’s fiancée.”

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