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

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

A Little Bit Country

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Blackberry Summer

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

A Little Bit Country

Debbie Macomber

One

“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

“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

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

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.”

Five

“You and Clay are...engaged,” Rorie murmured as shock waves coursed through her blood. They stopped with a thud at her heart and spread out in ripples of dismay.

Somehow Rorie managed a smile, her outward composure unbroken. She was even able to offer her congratulations. To all appearances, nothing was wrong. No one would’ve known that those few simple words had destroyed a night she’d planned to treasure all her life.

“I hope you and Clay will be very happy,” Rorie said—and she meant it. She’d just been introduced to Kate Logan, but already Rorie knew that this sweet, friendly woman was exactly the kind of wife a man like Clay would need.

“Skip’s rushing things a little,” Kate pointed out, but the glint of love in her eyes contradicted her words. “Clay hasn’t even given me an engagement ring yet.”

“But you and Clay have been talking about getting married, haven’t you?” Skip pressed. “And you’re crazy about him.”

Kate blushed prettily. “I’ve loved Clay from the time I was in fifth grade. I wrote his name all over my books. Of course, Clay wouldn’t have anything to do with me, not when he was a big important high-schooler and I was just the pesky little girl next door. It took a while for him to notice me—like ten years.” She gave a small laugh. “We’ve been dating steadily for the past two.”

“But you and Clay are going to get married, right?” Skip continued, clearly wanting to prove his point.

“Eventually, but we haven’t set a date, although I’m sure it’ll be soon,” Kate answered, casting a sharp look at Rorie.

The tightness that had gripped Rorie’s throat eased and she struggled to keep her smile intact. It was impossible not to like Kate, but that didn’t lessen the ache in Rorie’s heart.

“The wedding’s inevitable,” Skip said offhandedly, “so I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you were Clay’s fiancée, now was I?”

Kate smiled. “I suppose not. We love each other, and have for years. We’re just waiting for the right time.” Her eyes held Rorie’s, assessing her, but she didn’t seem worried about competition.

Rorie supposed she should be pleased about that, at least.

“I was taking Kate over to see Nightsong,” Skip explained to Rorie.

“I actually came to Elk Run to meet you,” the other woman said. “Clay stopped by last night and told me about your car. I felt terrible for you. Your whole vacation’s been ruined. You must be awfully upset.”

“These things happen,” Rorie said with a shrug. “Being upset isn’t going to ship that part any faster. All I can do is accept the facts.”

Kate nodded sympathetically. “Skip was about to show me the filly. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

Rorie nodded, unable to excuse herself without sounding rude. If there’d been a way, she would have retreated, wanting only to lick her wounds in private. Instead, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt, she mumbled, “I was headed in that direction myself.”

Skip led the way to the barn, which was alive with activity. Clay had explained that Elk Run employed five men full-time, none of whom lived on the premises. Two men mucking out stalls paused when Skip and the women entered the building. Skip introduced Rorie and they touched the tips of their hats in greeting.

“I don’t understand Clay,” Skip said as they approached the mare’s stall. “When we bought Star Bright a few years back, all Clay could do was complain about that silly name. He even talked about getting her registration changed.”

“Star Bright’s a perfectly good name,” Kate insisted, her sunny blue eyes intent on the newborn foal.

Nightsong was standing now on knobby, skinny legs that threatened to buckle, greedily feasting from her mother.

“Oh, she really is lovely, isn’t she?” Kate whispered.

Rorie hadn’t been able to stop looking at the filly from the moment they’d reached the stall. Finished with her breakfast, Nightsong gazed around, fascinated by everything she surveyed. She returned Rorie’s look, not vacantly, but as though she recognized the woman who’d been there at her birth.

Rorie couldn’t even identify all the emotions she suddenly felt. Some of these feelings were so new she couldn’t put a name to them, but they gripped her heart and squeezed tight.

“What I can’t understand,” Skip muttered, “is why Clay would go and call her Nightsong when he hates the name Star Bright. It doesn’t sound like anything he’d ever come up with on his own, yet he says he did.”

“I know,” Kate agreed, “but I’m glad, because the name suits her.” She sighed. “Clay’s always been so practical when it comes to names for his horses, but Nightsong has such a romantic flavor, don’t you think?”

Skip chuckled. “You know what Clay thinks about romance, and that makes it even more confusing. But Nightsong she is, and she’s bound to bring us a pretty penny in a year or two. Her father was a Polish Arabian, and with Star Bright’s bloodlines Nightsong will command big bucks as a National Show Horse.”

“Skip.” Clay’s curt voice interrupted them. He strode from the arena leading a bay mare. The horse’s coat gleamed with sweat, turning its color the shade of an oak leaf in autumn. One of the stablemen approached to take the reins. Then Clay removed his hat, wiping his brow with his forearm, and Rorie noticed the now-grimy bandage she’d applied last night. No, this morning.

She stared hungrily at his sun-bronzed face, a face that revealed more than a hint of impatience. The lines around his mouth were etched deep with poorly disguised regrets. Rorie recognized them, even if the others didn’t.

Clay stopped short when he saw Kate, his eyes narrowing.

“’Morning, Kate.”

“Hello, Clay.”

Then his gaze moved, slowly and reluctantly, to Rorie. The remorse she’d already sensed in him seemed unmistakable.

“I hope you slept well,” was all he said to her.

“Fine.” She detected a tautness along his jawline and decided he was probably concerned that she’d say or do something to embarrass him in front of his fiancée. Rorie wouldn’t, but not because she was worried about him. Her sense of fair play wouldn’t allow her to hurt Kate, who so obviously adored this man.

“We’re just admiring Nightsong,” Kate explained, her expression tender as she smiled up at him.

“I can’t understand why you’d name her that,” Skip said, his mouth twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “You always pick names like Brutus and Firepower, but Nightsong? I think you’re going soft on us.” Considering himself particularly funny, Skip chuckled and added, “I suppose that’s what love does to a man.”

Kate’s lashes brushed against the high arch of her cheek and she smiled, her pleasure so keen it was like a physical touch.

“Didn’t I ask you to water the horses several hours ago?” Clay asked in a tone that could have chipped rock.

“Yes, but—”

“Then kindly see to it. The farrier will be here any minute.”

The humor left Skip’s eyes; he was clearly upset by Clay’s anger. He looked from his brother to the two women and then back at Clay again. Hot color rose into his neck and invaded his face. “All right,” he muttered. “Excuse me for living.” Then he stormed out of the barn, slapping his hat against his thigh in an outburst of anger.

Kate waited until Skip was out of the barn. “Clay, what’s wrong?”

“He should’ve done what I told him long before now. Those horses in the pasture are thirsty because of his neglect.”

“I’m the one you should be angry with, not Skip.” Kate’s voice was contrite. “I should never have stopped in without calling first, but I...wanted to meet Rorie.”

“You’ve only been here a few minutes,” Clay insisted, his anger in check now. “Skip had plenty of time to complete his chores before you arrived.”

Rorie tossed invisible daggers at Clay, annoyed with him for taking his irritation out on his younger brother. Skip had introduced her to Clay’s fiancée. That was what really bothered him if he’d been willing to admit it—which he clearly wasn’t.

“We came here to see Nightsong,” Kate said again. “I’m glad you named her that, no matter what Skip thinks.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and rested her head against his broad chest. “He was just teasing you and you know how he loves to do that.”

Clay gave her an absent smile, but his gaze settled with disturbing ease on Rorie. She met his eyes boldly, denying the emotions churning furiously inside her. The plea for patience and understanding he sent her was so obvious that Rorie wondered how anyone seeing it wouldn’t know what was happening.

As though she’d suddenly remembered something, Kate dropped her arm and glanced hurriedly at her watch. She groaned. “I promised Dad I’d meet him for lunch today. He’s getting together with the other Town Council members in one of those horribly boring meetings. He needs me as an excuse to get away.” She stopped abruptly, a chagrined expression on her face. “I guess that tells you how informal everything is in Nightingale, doesn’t it, Rorie?”

“The town seems to be doing very well.” She didn’t know if that was true or not, but it sounded polite.

“He just hates these things, but he likes the prestige of being a Council member—something I tease him about.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Clay offered.

“Oh, there’s no need. You’re busy. Besides, I wanted to talk to Rorie and arrange to meet her tomorrow and show her around town. I certainly hope you remembered to invite her to the Grange dance tomorrow night. I’m sure Luke would be willing to escort her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” Rorie blurted.

“Nonsense, you’d be more than welcome. And don’t worry about having the right kind of clothes for a square dance, either, because I’ve got more outfits than I know what to do with. We’re about the same size,” Kate said, eyeing her. “Perhaps you’re a little taller, but not so much that you couldn’t wear my skirts.”

Rorie smiled blandly, realizing it wouldn’t do any good to decline the invitation. But good heavens, square dancing? Her?

“Knowing you and Skip,” Kate chastised Clay, “poor Rorie will be stuck on Elk Run for the next four days bored out of her mind. The least I can do is see that she’s entertained.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Rorie said. The sooner she got back on the road, the safer her heart would be, and if Kate Logan was willing to help her kill time, then all the better.

“I thought I’d give you a tour of our little town in the morning,” Kate went on. “It’s small, but the people are friendly.”

“I’d love to see Nightingale.”

“Clay.” The brusque voice of a farmhand interrupted them. “Could you come here a minute?”

Clay turned to the man and nodded. “I have to find out what Don needs,” he said quietly. As he met Rorie’s eyes, a speculative look flashed into his own.

She nearly flinched, wondering what emotion her face had betrayed. From the minute Clay had walked into the barn, she’d been careful to school her expression, not wanting him to read anything into her words or actions. She’d tried to look cool and unconcerned, as if the night they’d shared had never happened.

“You two will have to excuse me.” Weary amusement turned up the corners of his mouth and Rorie realized he’d readily seen through her guise.

“Of course,” Kate said. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

Clay nodded abruptly and departed with firm purposeful strides.

Kate started walking toward the yard. Rorie followed, eager to escape the barn and all the memories associated with it.

“Clay told us you’re a librarian,” Kate said when she reached the Ford parked in the curving driveway. “If you want, I can take you to our library. We built a new one last year and we’re rather proud of it. I know it’s small compared to where you probably work, but I think you’ll like what we’ve done.”

“I’d love to see it.” Libraries were often the heart of a community, and if the citizens of Nightingale had seen fit to upgrade theirs, it was apparent they shared Rorie’s love of books.

“I’ll pick you up around ten tomorrow, if that’s convenient?”

“That’d be fine.”

“Plan on spending the afternoon with me and we’ll meet Clay and Skip at the dance later.”

Rorie agreed, although her enthusiasm was decidedly low. The last thing she wanted was to be at some social event with Clay. Never mind how Dan would tease her if he ever discovered she’d spent part of her vacation square dancing with the folks at the Grange.

“Bye for now,” Kate said.

“Bye,” Rorie murmured, waving. She stood in the yard until Kate’s car was out of sight. Not sure what else to do, she wandered back into the house, where Mary was busy with preparations for lunch.

“Can I help?” she asked.

In response, Mary scurried to a drawer and once again handed her a peeler. Rorie started carefully whittling away at a firm red apple she’d scooped from a large bowlful of them.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking?” Mary demanded, pointing her own peeler at Rorie.

“I’ve managed to keep from starving for the last few years,” she retorted idly.

The merest hint of amusement flashed into the older woman’s weathered face. “If I was judging your talents in the kitchen on looks alone, I think you’d starve a man to death within a week.”

Despite her glum spirits, Rorie laughed. “If you’re telling me you think I’m thin, watch out, Mary, because I’m likely to throw my arms around your neck and kiss you.”

The other woman threw her a grin. Several peaceful minutes passed while they peeled apple after apple.

“I got a call from my sister,” Mary said hesitantly, her eyes darting to Rorie, then back to her task. “She’s coming to Riversdale and wants to know if I can drive over and see her. She’s only going to be in Oregon one day.”

This was the most Mary had said to Rorie since her arrival. It pleased her that the older woman was lowering her guard and extending a friendly hand.

“I’d like to visit with my sister.”

“I certainly think you should.” It took Rorie another minute to figure out where Mary was heading with this meandering conversation. Then suddenly she understood. “Oh, you’re looking for someone to do the cooking while you’re away.”

Mary shrugged as if it didn’t concern her one way or the other. “Just for the evening meal, two nights from now. I could manage lunch for the hands before I leave. It’s supper I’m worried about. There’s only Clay and Skip who need to be fed—the other men go home in the evenings.”

“Well, relax, because I’m sure I can manage one dinner without killing off the menfolk.”

“You’re sure?”

Mary was so completely serious that Rorie laughed outright. “Since my abilities do seem to worry you, how would you feel if I invited Kate Logan over to help?”

Mary nodded and sighed. “I’d rest easier.”

* * *

Rorie stayed in the kitchen until the lunch dishes had been put away. Mary thanked her for helping, then went home to watch her daily soap operas.

Feeling a little lost, Rorie wandered outside and into the stable. Since Clay had already shown her the computer, she decided to spend the afternoon working in his office.

The area was deserted, which went some distance toward reassuring her—but then, she’d assumed it would be. From what she’d observed, a stud farm was a busy place and Clay was bound to be occupied elsewhere. That suited Rorie just fine. She hoped to avoid him as much as possible. In three days she’d be out of his life, leaving hardly a trace, and that was the way she wanted it.

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.

Clay smiled, but Rorie wasn’t fooled; he hadn’t been amused by the joke, nor, she suspected, was he pleased by the reference to Kate.

“No, thanks, Skip,” she said, hoping to bring the subject to a close. “I’m really not interested.” There, that said it plainly enough.

“Are you afraid?”

“A little,” she admitted truthfully. “I prefer my horses on a merry-go-round. I’m a city girl, remember?”

“But even girls from San Francisco have been known to climb on the back of a horse. It’ll be good for you, Rorie. Trust me—it’s time to broaden your horizons.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she told him, emphasizing her point by biting down on a crisp carrot stick with a loud crunch.

“Rorie, I insist. You aren’t going to get hurt—I wouldn’t let that happen, and Rain Magic is as gentle as they come. In fact—” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down “—if you want, we can ride double until you feel more secure.”

Rorie laughed. “Skip, honestly.”

“All right, you can ride alone, and I’ll lead you around in a circle. For as long as you want.”

Rorie shook her head and, amused at the mental picture that scenario presented, laughed again.

“Leave it,” Clay said with sudden sharpness. “If Rorie doesn’t want to ride, drop it, okay?”

Skip’s shocked gaze flew from Rorie to his brother. “I was just having fun, Clay.”

His older brother gripped his water goblet so hard Rorie thought the glass might shatter. “Enough is enough. She said she wasn’t interested and that should be the end of it.”

The astounded look left Skip’s features, but his eyes narrowed and he stiffened his shoulders in a display of righteous indignation. “What’s with you, Clay?” he shouted. “You’ve been acting like a wounded bear all day, growling at everyone. Who made you king of the universe all of a sudden?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring in the apple crisp,” Rorie said, and hurriedly rose to her feet, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire between the two brothers. Whatever they had to say wasn’t meant for her ears.

The exchange that followed ended quickly, Rorie noted gratefully from inside the kitchen. Their voices were raised and then there was a hush followed by laughter. Rorie relaxed and picked up the dessert, carrying it into the dining room along with a carton of vanilla ice cream.

“I apologize, Rorie,” Clay said soberly when she reentered the room. “Skip’s right, I’ve been cross and unreasonable all day. I hope my sour mood hasn’t ruined your dinner.”

“Of course not,” she murmured, giving him a smile.

Clay stood up to serve the dessert, spooning generous helpings of apple crisp and ice cream into each bowl.

Skip chattered aimlessly, commenting on one subject and then bouncing to another without any logical connection, his thoughts darting this way and that.

“What time are you going over to Kate’s tonight?” he casually asked Clay.

“I won’t be. She’s got some meeting with the women’s group from the Grange. They’re decorating for the dance tomorrow night.”

“Now that you mention it, I seem to remember Kate saying something about being busy tonight.” Without a pause he turned to Rorie. “You’ll be coming, I hope. The Grange is putting on a square dance—the biggest one of the year, and they usually do it up good.”

“Kate already invited me. I’ll be going with her,” Rorie explained, although she hadn’t the slightest idea how to square dance. Generally she enjoyed dancing, although she hadn’t gone for several months because Dan wasn’t keen on it.

“You could drive there with us if you wanted,” Skip offered. “I’d kinda like to walk in there with you on my arm. You’d cause quite a stir with the men, especially Luke Rivers—he’s the foreman at the Logan place. Most girls go all goo-goo-eyed over him.”

Clay’s spoon clanged loudly against the side of his glass dish and he murmured an apology.

“I’m sorry, Skip,” Rorie said gently. “I told Kate I’d drive over with her.”

“Darn,” Skip muttered.

The meal was completed in silence. Once, when Rorie happened to glance up, her eyes met Clay’s. Her heart felt as though it might hammer its way out of her chest. She was oppressively aware of the chemistry between them. It simmered in Rorie’s veins and she could tell that Clay felt everything she did. Throughout dinner, she’d been all too conscious of the swift stolen glances Clay had sent in her direction. She’d sent a few of her own, though she’d tried hard not to. But it was impossible to be in the same room with this man and not react to him.

A thousand times in the next couple of hours, Rorie told herself that everything would be fine as soon as she could leave. Life would return to normal then.

When the dishes were finished, Skip challenged her to a game of cribbage, and grateful for the escape Rorie accepted. Skip sat with his back to his brother, and every time Rorie played her hand, she found her eyes wandering across the room to where Clay sat reading. To all outward appearances, he was relaxed and comfortable, but she knew he felt as tense as she did. She knew he was equally aware of the electricity that sparked between them.

Rorie’s fingers shook as she counted out her cards.

“Fifteen eight,” Skip corrected. “You forgot two points.”

Her eyes fell to the extra ten, and she blinked. “I guess I did.”

Skip heaved a sigh. “I don’t think your mind’s on the game tonight.”

“I guess not,” she admitted wryly. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up to bed.” She threw him an apologetic smile and reached for her coffee cup. Skip was right; her mind hadn’t been on the game at all. Instead, her thoughts had been on a man who owed his loyalties to another woman—a woman whose roots were intricately bound with his. A woman Rorie had liked and respected from the moment they met.

Feeling depressed, she bade the two men good-night and carried her cup to the kitchen. Dutifully, she rinsed it out and set it beside the sink, but when she turned around Clay was standing in the doorway, blocking her exit.

“Where’s Skip?” she asked a little breathlessly. Heat seemed to throb between them and she retreated a step in a futile effort to escape.

“He went upstairs.”

She blinked and faked a yawn. “I was headed in that direction myself.”

Clay buried one hand in his jeans pocket. “Do you know what happened tonight at dinner?”

Not finding her voice, Rorie shook her head.

“I was jealous,” he said from between clenched teeth. “You were laughing and joking with Skip and I wanted it to be me your eyes were shining for. Me. No one else.” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Jealous of a seventeen-year-old boy... I can’t believe it myself.”

Seven

Rorie decided to wear a dress for her outing with Kate Logan. Although she rose early, both Skip and Clay had eaten breakfast and left the house by the time she came downstairs. Which was just as well, Rorie thought.

Mary stood at the stove, frying chunks of beef for a luncheon stew. “I spoke to Clay about your cooking dinner later this week. He says that’ll be fine if you’re still around, but the way he sees it, you’ll be on your way in a day or two.”

Rorie poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’ll be happy to do it if I’m here. Otherwise, I’m sure Kate Logan would be more than pleased.”

Mary turned to face her, mouth open as if to comment. Instead her eyes widened in appreciation. “My, my, you look pretty enough to hog-tie a man’s heart.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Rorie answered, grinning.

“I suppose you got yourself a sweetheart back there in San Francisco?” she asked, watching her closely. “A pretty girl like you is bound to attract plenty of men.”

Rorie paused to think about her answer. She briefly considered mentioning Dan, but decided against it. She’d planned this separation to gain a perspective on their relationship. And within hours of arriving at Elk Run, Rorie had found her answer. Dan would always be a special friend—but nothing more.

“The question shouldn’t require a week’s thought,” Mary grumbled, stirring the large pot of simmering beef.

“Sorry...I was mulling something over.”

“Then there is someone?”

She shook her head. “No.”

The answer didn’t seem to please Mary, because she frowned. “When did you say that fancy car of yours was going to be fixed?”

The abrupt question caught Rorie by surprise. Mary was openly concerned about the attraction between her and Clay. The housekeeper, who probably knew Clay as well as anyone did, clearly wasn’t blind to what had been happening—and just as clearly didn’t like it.

“The mechanic in Riversdale said it should be finished the day after tomorrow if all goes well.”

“Good!” Mary proclaimed with a fierce nod, then turned back to her stew.

Rorie couldn’t help smiling at the older woman’s astuteness. Mary was telling her that the sooner she was off Elk Run the better for everyone concerned. Rorie had to agree.

Kate Logan arrived promptly at ten. She wore tight-fitting jeans, red checkered western shirt and a white silk scarf knotted at her throat. Her long honey-colored hair was woven into thick braids that fell over her shoulders. At first glance, Kate looked closer to sixteen than the twenty-four Rorie knew her to be.

Kate greeted her with a warm smile. “Rorie, there wasn’t any need to wear something so nice. I should’ve told you to dress casually.”

Rorie’s shoulders slumped. “I brought along more dresses than jeans. Am I overdressed? I could change,” she said hesitantly.

“Oh, no, you look lovely...” But for the first time, Kate seemed worried. The doubt that played across her features would have been amusing if Rorie hadn’t already been suffering from such a potent bout of guilt. It was all too obvious that Kate viewed Rorie as a threat.

If Clay Franklin had chosen that moment to walk into the kitchen, Rorie would’ve called him every foul name she could think of. She was furious with him for doing this to her—and to Kate.

“I wear a lot of dresses because of my job at the library,” Rorie rushed to explain. “I also date quite a bit. I’ve been seeing someone—Dan Rogers—for a while now. In fact, it’s his car I was driving.”

“You’re dating someone special?” Kate asked, sounding relieved.

“Yes, Dan and I’ve been going out for several months.”

Mary coughed noisily and sent Rorie an accusing glare; Rorie ignored her. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

“Oh, sure, any time you’re ready.” When they were outside, Kate turned to face Rorie. Looking uncomfortable, she slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I’ve embarrassed you and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t trust you and Clay.”

“There’s no need for an apology. I’m sure I wouldn’t react any differently if Clay was my fiancé.”

Kate shook her head. “But I feel as if I should apologize. I’m not going to be the kind of wife Clay wants if I can’t trust him around a pretty girl once in a while.”

Had the earth cracked open just then, Rorie would gladly have fallen in. That had to be preferable to looking at Kate and feeling the things she did about Clay Franklin.

“Don’t have any worries about me,” she said, dismissing the issue as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a day or two.”

“Oh, Rorie, please, I don’t want you to rush off because I had a silly attack of jealousy. Now I feel terrible.”

“Don’t, please. I have to leave... I want to leave. My vacation’s on hold until I can get my car repaired and there’s so much I’d planned to see and do.” She dug in her bag for a brochure. “Have you ever been up to Victoria on Vancouver Island?”

“Once, but I was only five, too young to remember much of anything,” Kate told her, scanning the pamphlet. “This does sound like fun. Maybe this is where Clay and I should have our honeymoon.”

“It’d be perfect for that,” Rorie murmured. Her heart constricted with a sudden flash of pain, but she ruthlessly forced down her emotions, praying Kate hadn’t noticed. “I’m looking forward to visiting Canada. By the way, Mary’s driving to Riversdale to visit her sister later in the week. She’s asked me to take charge of cooking dinner if I’m still here. Would you like to help? We could have a good time and really get to know each other.”

“Oh, that would be great.” Kate slipped her arm around Rorie’s waist and gave her an enthusiastic squeeze. “Thank you, Rorie. I know you’re trying to reassure me, and I appreciate it.”

That had been exactly Rorie’s intent.

“It probably sounds selfish,” Kate continued, “but I’m glad your car broke down when it did. Without any difficulty at all, I can see us becoming the best of friends.”

Rorie could, too, but that only added to her growing sense of uneasiness.

* * *

Nightingale was a sleepy kind of town. Businesses lined both sides of Main Street, with a beauty shop, an insurance agency, Nellie’s Café and a service station on one side, a grocery store, pharmacy and five-and-dime on the other. Rorie had the impression that things happened in their own time in Nightingale, Oregon. Few places could have been more unlike San Francisco, where people always seemed to be rushing. Here, no one seemed to feel any need to hurry. It was as though this town, with its population of fifteen hundred, existed in a time warp. Rorie found the relaxed pace unexpectedly pleasant.

“The library is across from the high school on Maple Street,” Kate explained as she parked her Ford on Main. “That way, students have easy access.”

Rorie climbed out of the car, automatically pressing down the door lock.

“You don’t have to do that here. There hasn’t been a vehicle stolen in...oh, at least twenty years.”

Rorie’s eyes must have revealed her surprise, because Kate went on, “Actually, we had trouble passing our last bond issue for a new patrol car. People couldn’t see the need since there hasn’t been a felony committed in over two years. About the worst thing that goes on is when Harry Ackerman gets drunk. That happens once or twice a year and he’s arrested for disturbing the peace.” She grinned sheepishly. “He sings old love songs to Nellie at the top of his lungs in front of the café. They were apparently sweet on each other a long time back. Nellie married someone else and Harry never got over the loss of his one true love.”

Looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, Rorie looked around the quiet streets.

“The fire and police station are in the same building,” Kate pointed out next. “And there’s a really nice restaurant on Oak. If you want, we could have lunch there.”

“Only if you let me treat.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Kate said with a shake of her head that sent her braids flying. “You’re my guest.”

Rorie decided not to argue, asking another question instead. “Where do the ranchers get their supplies?” It seemed to her that type of store would do a thriving business, yet she hadn’t seen one.

“At Garner’s Feed and Supply. It’s on the outskirts of town—I’ll take you past on the way out. In fact, we should take a driving tour so you can see a little more of Nightingale. Main Street is only a small part of it.”

By the time Kate and Rorie walked over to Maple and the library, Rorie’s head was swimming with the names of all the people Kate had insisted on introducing. It seemed everyone had heard about her car problems and was eager to talk to her. Several mentioned the Grange dance that night and said they’d be looking for her there.

“You’re really going to be impressed with the library,” Kate promised as they walked the two streets over to Maple. “Dad and the others worked hard to get the levy passed so we could build it. People here tend to be tightfisted. Dad says they squeeze a nickel so hard, the buffalo belches.”

Rorie laughed outright at that.

The library was the largest building in town, a sprawling one-story structure with lots of windows. The hours were posted on the double glass doors, and Rorie noted that the library wouldn’t open until the middle of the afternoon, still several hours away.

“It doesn’t seem to be open,” she said, disappointed.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got a key. All the volunteers do.” Kate rummaged in her bag and took out a large key ring. She opened the door, pushing it wide for Rorie to enter first.

“Mrs. Halldorfson retired last year, a month after the building was finished,” Kate told her, flipping on the lights, “and the town’s budget wouldn’t stretch to hire a new full-time librarian. So a number of parents and teachers are taking turns volunteering. We’ve got a workable schedule, unless someone goes on vacation, which, I hate to admit, has been happening all summer.”

“You don’t have a full-time librarian?” Rorie couldn’t disguise her astonishment. “Why go to all the trouble and expense of building a modern facility if you can’t afford a librarian?”

“You’ll have to ask Town Council that,” Kate returned, shrugging. “It doesn’t make much sense, does it? But you see, Mrs. Halldorfson was only part-time and the Council seems to think that’s what her replacement should be.”

“That doesn’t make sense, either.”

“Especially when you consider that the new library is twice the size of the old one.”

Rorie had to bite her tongue to keep from saying more. But she was appalled at the waste, the missed opportunities.

“We’ve been advertising for months for a part-time librarian, but so far we haven’t found anyone interested. Not that I blame them—one look at the size of the job and no one wants to tackle it alone.”

“A library is more than a place to check books in and out,” Rorie said, gesturing dramatically. Her voice rose despite herself. This was an issue close to her heart, and polite silence was practically impossible. “A library can be the heart of a community. It can be a place for classes, community services, all kinds of things. Don’t non-profit organizations use it for meetings?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kate answered. “Everyone gets together at Nellie’s when there’s any kind of meeting. Nellie serves great pies,” she added, as though that explained everything.

Realizing that she’d climbed onto her soapbox, Rorie dropped her hands and shrugged. “It’s a very nice building, Kate, and you have every reason to be proud. I didn’t mean to sound so righteous.”

“But you’re absolutely correct,” Kate said thoughtfully. “We’re not using the library to its full potential, are we? Volunteers can only do so much. As it is, the library’s only open three afternoons a week.” She sighed expressively. “To be honest, I think Dad and the other members of the Town Council are expecting Mrs. Halldorfson to come back in the fall, but that’s unfair to her. She’s served the community for over twenty years. She deserves to retire in peace without being blackmailed into coming back because we can’t find a replacement.”

“Well, I hope you find someone soon.”

“I hope so, too,” Kate murmured.

They ate a leisurely lunch, and as she’d promised, Kate gave Rorie a tour of the town. After showing her several churches, the elementary school where she taught second grade and some of the nicer homes on the hill, Kate ended the tour on the outskirts of town near Garner’s Feed and Supply.

“Luke’s here,” Kate said, easing into the parking place next to a dusty pickup truck.

“Luke?”

“Our foreman. I don’t know what Dad would do without him. He runs the ranch and has for years—ever since I was in high school. Dad’s retirement age now, and he’s more than willing to let Luke take charge.”

Kate got out of the car and leaned against the front fender, crossing her arms over her chest. Rorie joined her.

“He’ll be out in a minute,” Kate said.

True to her word, a tall, deeply tanned man appeared with a sack of grain slung over his shoulder. His eyes were so dark they gleamed like onyx, taking in everything around him, but revealing little of his own thoughts. His strong square chin was balanced by a high intelligent brow. He was lean and muscular and strikingly handsome.

“Need any help, stranger?” Kate asked with a laugh.

“You offering?”

“Nope.”

Luke chuckled. “That’s what I figured. You wouldn’t want to ruin those pretty nails of yours now, would you?”

“I didn’t stop by to be insulted by you,” Kate chastised, clearly enjoying the exchange. “I wanted you to meet Rorie Campbell—she’s the one Clay was telling us about the other night, whose car broke down.”

“I remember.” For the first time the foreman’s gaze left Kate. He tossed the sack of grain into the back of the truck and used his teeth to tug his glove free from his right hand. Then he presented his long callused fingers to Rorie. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“The pleasure’s mine.” Rorie remembered where she’d heard the name. Skip had mentioned Luke Rivers when he’d told her about the Grange square dance. He’d said something about all the girls being attracted to the foreman. Rorie could understand why.

They exchanged a brief handshake before Luke’s attention slid back to Kate. His eyes softened perceptibly.

“Luke’s like a brother to me,” Kate said fondly.

He frowned at that, but didn’t comment.

“We’re going to let you escort us to the dance tonight,” she informed him.

“What about Clay?”

“Oh, he’ll meet us there. I thought the three of us could go over together.”

Rorie wasn’t fooled. Kate was setting her up with Luke, who didn’t look any too pleased at having his evening arranged for him.

“Kate, listen,” she began, “I’d really rather skip the dance tonight. I’ve never done any square dancing in my life—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Kate interrupted. “Luke will be glad to show you. Won’t you, Luke?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, with the enthusiasm of a man offered the choice between hanging and a firing squad.

“Honestly, Luke!” Kate gave an embarrassed laugh.

“Listen,” Rorie said quickly. “It’s obvious Luke has his own plans for tonight. I don’t want to intrude—”

He surprised her by turning toward her, his eyes searching hers. “I’d be happy to escort you, Rorie.”

“I’m likely to step all over your toes... I really think I should sit the whole thing out.”

“Nonsense,” Kate cried. “Luke won’t let you do that and neither will I!”

“We’ll enjoy ourselves,” the foreman said. “Leave everything to me.”

Rorie nodded reluctantly.

A moment of awkward silence fell over the trio. “Well, I suppose I should get Rorie back to Circle L and see about finding her a dress,” Kate said, smiling. She playfully tossed her car keys in the air and caught them deftly.

Luke tipped his hat when they both returned to the car. Rorie didn’t mention his name until they were back on the road.

“Luke really is attractive, isn’t he?” she asked, closely watching Kate.

The other woman nodded eagerly. “It surprises me that he’s not married. There are plenty of girls around Nightingale who’d be more than willing, believe me. At every Grange dance, the ladies flirt with him like crazy. I love to tease him about it—he really hates that. But I wish Luke would get married—I don’t like the idea of him living his life alone. It’s time he thought about settling down and starting a family. He was thirty last month, but when I said something about it, he nearly bit my head off.”

Rorie nibbled on her lower lip. She inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. Her guess was that Luke Rivers had his heart set on someone special, and that someone was engaged to another man. God help him, Rorie thought. She knew exactly how he felt.

* * *

The music was already playing by the time Luke, Kate and Rorie arrived at the Grange Hall in Luke’s ten-year-old four-door sedan. Rorie tried to force some enthusiasm for this outing, but had little success. She hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with the foreman during the entire drive. He, apparently, didn’t like this arranged-date business any better than she did. But they were stuck with each other, and Rorie at least was determined to make the best of it.

They entered the hall and were greeted by the cheery voice of the male caller:

Rope the cow, brand the calf

Swing your sweetheart, once and a half...

Rorie hadn’t known what to expect, but she was surprised by the smooth-stepping, smartly dressed dancers who twirled around the floor following the caller’s directions. She felt more daunted than ever by the evening ahead of her. And to worsen matters, Kate had insisted Rorie borrow one of her outfits. Although Rorie liked the bright blue colors, she felt awkward and self-conscious in the billowing skirts.

The Grange itself was bigger than Rorie had anticipated. On the stage stood the caller and several fiddlers. Refreshment tables lined one wall and the polished dance floor was so crowded Rorie wondered how anyone could move without bumping into others. The entire meeting hall was alive with energy and music, and despite herself, she felt her mood lift. Her toes started tapping out rhythms almost of their own accord. Given time, she’d be out there, too, joining the vibrant, laughing dancers. It was unavoidable, anyway. She knew Kate wouldn’t allow her to sit sedately in the background and watch. Neither would Clay and Skip, who’d just arrived.

“Oh, my feet are moving already.” Kate was squirming with eagerness. Clay smiled indulgently, tucked his arm around her waist and the two of them stepped onto the dance floor. He glanced back once at Rorie, before a circle of eight opened up to admit them.

“Shall we?” Luke asked, eyeing the dance floor.

He didn’t sound too enthusiastic and Rorie didn’t blame him. “Would it be all right if we sat out the first couple of dances?” she asked. “I’d like to get more into the swing of things.”

“No problem.”

Luke looked almost grateful for the respite, which didn’t lend Rorie much confidence. No doubt he assumed this city slicker was going to make a fool of herself and of him—and she probably would. When he escorted her to the row of chairs, Rorie made the mistake of sitting down. Instantly her skirts leaped up into her face. Embarrassed, she pushed them down, then tucked the material under her thighs in an effort to tame the layers of stiff petticoats.

“Hello, Luke.” A pretty blonde with sparkling blue eyes sauntered over. “I didn’t know if you’d show tonight or not. Glad you did.”

“Beth Hammond, this is Rorie Campbell.”

Rorie nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Beth.”

“Oh, I heard about you at the drugstore yesterday. You’re the gal with the broken-down sports car, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.” By now it shouldn’t have surprised Rorie that everyone knew about her troubles.

“I hope everything turns out okay.”

“Thanks.” Although Beth was speaking to Rorie, her eyes didn’t leave Luke. It was patently obvious that she expected an invitation to dance.

“Luke, why don’t you dance with Beth?” Rorie suggested. “That way I’ll gather a few pointers from watching the two of you.”

“What a good idea,” Beth chirped eagerly. “We’ll stay on the outskirts of the crowd so you can see how it’s done. Be sure and listen to Charlie—he’s the caller. Then you’ll see what each step is.”

Rorie nodded agreeably.

Luke gave Rorie a long sober look. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

All join hands, circle right around

Stop in place at your hometown...

Studying the dancers, Rorie quickly picked up the terms do se do, allemande left and allemande right and a number of others, which she struggled to keep track of. By the end of the dance, her foot was tapping out the lively beat of the fiddlers’ music and a smile formed as she listened to the perfectly rhyming words.

“Rorie,” Skip said, suddenly standing in front of her. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

“I...I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Nonsense.” Without listening to her protest, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet.

“Skip, I’ll embarrass you,” she protested in a low whisper. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve got to start sometime.” He tucked his arm around her waist and led her close to the stage.

“We got a newcomer, Charlie,” Skip called out, “so make this one simple.”

Charlie gave Skip a thumbs-up and reached for the microphone. “We’ll go a bit slower this time,” Charlie announced to his happy audience. “Miss Rorie Campbell from San Francisco has joined us and it’s her first time on the floor.”

Rorie wanted to curl up and die as a hundred faces turned to stare at her. But the dancers were shouting and cheering their welcome and Rorie shyly raised her hand, smiling into the crowd.

Getting through that first series of steps was the most difficult, but soon Rorie was in the middle of the floor, stepping and twirling—and laughing. Something she’d always assumed to be a silly, outdated activity turned out to be great fun.

By the time Skip led her back to her chair, she was breathless. “Want some punch?” he asked. Rorie nodded eagerly. Her throat felt parched.

When Skip left her, Luke Rivers appeared at her side. “You did just great,” he said sincerely.

“For a city girl, you mean,” she teased.

“As good as anyone.”

“Thanks.”

“I suspect I owe you an apology, Rorie.”

“Because you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself with me on the dance floor?” she asked with a light laugh. “That’s understandable. Kate and Clay practically threw me in your lap. I’m sure you had other plans for tonight, and I’m sorry for your sake that we got stuck with each other.”

Luke grinned. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of envious looks from around the room. Any of a dozen different men would be more than happy to be ‘stuck’ with you.”

That went a long way toward boosting her ego. She would have commented, but Skip came back just then carrying a paper cup filled with bright pink punch. A teenage girl was beside him, clutching his free arm and smiling dreamily up at him.

“I’m going to dance with Caroline now, okay?” he said to Rorie.

“That’s fine,” she answered, smiling, “and thank you for braving the dance floor with me.” Skip blushed as he slipped an arm around Caroline’s waist and hurried her off.

“You game?” Luke nodded toward the dancing couples.

Rorie didn’t hesitate. She swallowed the punch in three giant gulps, and gave him her hand. Together they moved onto the crowded floor.

By the end of the third set of dances, Rorie had twirled around with so many different partners, she lost track of them. She’d caught sight of Clay only once, and when he saw her he waved. Returning the gesture, she promptly missed her footing and nearly fell into her partner’s waiting arms. The tall sheriff’s deputy was all too happy to have her throw herself at him and told her as much, to Rorie’s embarrassment.

Although it was only ten o’clock, Rorie was exhausted and so warm the perspiration ran in rivulets down her face and neck. She had to escape. Several times, she’d tried to sit out a dance, but no one would listen to her excuses.

In an effort to catch her breath and cool down, Rorie took advantage of a break between sets to wander outside. The night air was refreshing. Quite a few other people had apparently had the same idea; the field that served as a car park was crowded with groups and strolling couples.

As she made her way through the dimly lit field, she saw a handful of men passing around a flask of whiskey and entertaining each other with off-color jokes. She steered a wide circle around them and headed toward Luke’s parked car, deciding it was far enough away to discourage anyone from following her. In her eagerness to escape, she nearly stumbled over a couple locked in a passionate embrace against the side of a pickup.

Rorie mumbled an apology when the pair glanced up at her, irritation written all over their young faces. Good grief, she’d only wanted a few minutes alone in order to get a breath of fresh air—she hadn’t expected to walk through an obstacle course!

When she finally arrived at Luke Rivers’s car, she leaned on the fender and slowly inhaled the clean country air. All her assumptions about this evening had been wrong. She’d been so sure she’d feel lonely and bored and out of place. And she’d felt none of those things. If she were to tell Dan about the Grange dance, he’d laugh at the idea of having such a grand time with a bunch of what he’d refer to as “country bumpkins.” The thought annoyed her. These were good, friendly, fun-loving people. They’d taken her under their wing, expressed their welcome without reserve, and now they were showing her an uncomplicated lifestyle that had more appeal than Rorie would have believed possible.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Rorie’s whole body tensed as she recognized the voice of the man who’d joined her.

“Hello, Clay.”

Eight

Rorie injected a cheerful note into her voice. She turned around, half expecting Kate to be with him. The two had been inseparable from the minute Clay had arrived. It was just as well that Kate was around, since her presence prevented Clay and Rorie from giving in to any temptation.

Clay’s hands settled on her shoulders and Rorie flinched involuntarily at his touch. With noticeable regret, Clay dropped his hands.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked.

She nodded. “I didn’t think I would, which tells you how prejudiced I’ve been about country life, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised.”

“I’m glad.” His hands clenched briefly at his sides, then he flexed his fingers a couple of times. “I would’ve danced with you myself, but—”

She stopped him abruptly. “Clay, no. Don’t explain...it isn’t necessary. I understand.”

His eyes held hers with such tenderness that she had to look away. The magical quality was in the air again—Rorie could feel it as forcefully as if the stars had spelled it out across the heavens.

“I don’t think you do understand, Rorie,” Clay said, “but it doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone in a couple of days and both our lives will go back to the way they were meant to be.”

Rorie agreed with a quick nod. It was too tempting, standing in the moonlight with Clay. Much too tempting. The memory of another night in which they’d stood and gazed at the stars returned with powerful intensity. Rorie realized that even talking to each other, alone like this, was dangerous.

“Won’t Kate be looking for you?” she asked carefully.

“No. Luke Rivers is dancing with her.”

For a moment she closed her eyes, not daring to look up at Clay. “I guess I’ll be going inside now. I just came out to catch my breath and cool down a little.”

“Dance with me first—here in the moonlight.”

A protest rose within her, but the instant Clay slid his arms around her waist, Rorie felt herself give in. Kate would have him the rest of her life, but Rorie only had these few hours. Almost against her will, her hands found his shoulders, slipping around his neck with an ease that brought a sigh of pleasure to her lips. Being held by Clay shouldn’t feel this good.

“Oh, Rorie,” he moaned as she settled into his embrace.

They fitted together as if they’d been created for each other. His chin touched the top of her head and he caressed her hair with his jaw.

“This is a mistake,” Rorie murmured, closing her eyes, savoring the warm, secure feel of his arms.

“I know...”

But neither seemed willing to release the other.

His mouth grazed her temple and he kissed her there. “God help me, Rorie, what am I going to do? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I can’t sleep, I hardly eat...” His voice was raw, almost savage.

“Oh, please,” she said with a soft cry. “We can’t...we mustn’t even talk like this.” His gray eyes smoldered above hers, and their breaths merged as his mouth hovered so close to her own.

“I vowed I wouldn’t touch you again.”

Rorie looked away. She’d made the same promise to herself. But it wasn’t in her to deny him now, although her mind searched frantically for the words to convince him how wrong they were to risk hurting Kate—and each other.

His hands drifted up from her shoulders, his fingertips skimming the sides of her neck, trailing over her cheeks and through the softness of her hair. He placed his index finger over her lips, gently stroking them apart.

Rorie moaned. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Clay’s left hand dug into her shoulders as her tongue caressed the length of his finger, drawing it into her mouth and sucking it gently. She needed him so much in that moment, she could have wept.

“Just this once...for these few minutes,” he pleaded, “let me pretend you’re mine.” His hands cupped her face and slowly brought her mouth to his, smothering her whimper of part welcome, part protest.

A long series of kisses followed. Deep, relentless, searching kisses that sent her heart soaring. Kisses that only made the coming loneliness more painful. A sob swelled within her and tears burned her eyes as she twisted away and tore her mouth from his.

“No,” she cried, covering her face with her hands and turning her back to him. “Please, Clay. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He was silent for so long that Rorie suspected he’d left her. She inhaled a deep, calming breath and dropped her hands limply to her sides.

“It would be so easy to love you, Rorie.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vigorously as she faced him again. “I’m not the right person for you—it’s too late for that. You’ve got Kate.” She couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice. Anything between them was hopeless, futile. Within a day or two her car would be repaired and she’d vanish from his life as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Clay fell silent, his shoulders stiff and resolute as he stood silhouetted against the light of the Grange Hall. His face was masked by shadows and Rorie couldn’t read his thoughts. He drew in a harsh breath.

“You’re right, Rorie. We can’t allow this...attraction between us to get out of hand. I promise you, by all I hold dear, that I won’t kiss you again.”

“I’ll...do my part, too,” she assured him, feeling better now that they’d made this agreement.

His hand reached for hers and clasped it warmly. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the hall. We’re going to be all right. We’ll do what we have to do.”

Clay’s tone told her he meant it. Relieved, Rorie silently made the same promise to herself.

* * *

Rorie slept late the next morning, later than she would have thought possible. Mary was busy with lunch preparations by the time she made her way downstairs.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Mary immediately asked.

In response, Rorie curtsied and danced a few steps with an imaginary partner, clapping her hands.

Mary tried to hide a smile at Rorie’s antics. “Oh, get away with you now. All I was looking for was a yes or a no.”

“I had a great time.”

“It was nothing like those city hotspots, I’ll wager.”

“You’re right about that,” Rorie told her, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“You seeing Kate today?”

Rorie shook her head and popped a piece of bread in the toaster. “She’s got a doctor’s appointment this morning and a teachers’ meeting this afternoon. She’s going to stop by later if she has a chance, but if not I’ll be seeing her for sure tomorrow.” Rorie intended to spend as much time as she could with Clay’s fiancée. She genuinely enjoyed her company, and being with her served two useful purposes. It helped keep Rorie occupied, and it prevented her from being alone with Clay.

“What are you going to do today, then?” Mary asked, frowning.

Rorie laughed. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I promise to stay out of your way.”

The housekeeper gave a snort of amusement—or was it relief?

“Actually, I thought I’d finish putting the data Clay needs for his pedigree-research program into the computer. There isn’t much left and I should be done by this afternoon.”

“So if someone comes looking for you, that’s where you’ll be?”

“That’s where I’ll be,” Rorie echoed. She didn’t know who would “come looking for her,” as Mary put it. The housekeeper made it sound as though a posse was due to arrive any minute demanding to know where the Franklin men were hiding Rorie Campbell.

Taking her coffee cup with her, Rorie walked across the yard and into the barn. Once more, she was impressed with all the activity that went on there. She’d come to know several of the men by their first names and returned their greetings with a smile and a wave.

As before, she found the office empty. She set down her cup while she turned on the computer and collected Clay’s data. She’d just started to type it in when she heard someone enter the room. Pausing, she twisted around.

“Rorie.”

“Clay.”

They were awkward with each other now. Almost afraid.

“I didn’t realize you were here.”

She stood abruptly. “I’ll leave...”

“No. I came up to get something. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

She nodded and sat back down. “Okay.”

He walked briskly to his desk and sifted through the untidy stacks of paper. His gaze didn’t waver from the task, but his jaw was tight, his teeth clenched. Impatience marked his every move. “Kate told me you’re involved with a man in San Francisco. I...didn’t know.”

“I’m not exactly involved with him—at least not in the way you’re implying. His name is Dan Rogers, and we’ve been seeing each other for about six months. He’s divorced. The MG is his.”

Clay’s mouth thinned, but he still didn’t look at her. “Are you in love with him?”

“No.”

Lowering his head, Clay rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I had no right to ask you that. None. Forgive me, Rorie.” Then, clutching his papers, he stalked out of the office without a backward glance.

Rorie was so shaken by the encounter that when she went back to her typing, she made three mistakes in a row and had to stop to regain her composure.

When the phone rang, she ignored it, knowing Mary or one of the men would answer it. Soon afterward, she heard running footsteps behind her and swivelled around in the chair.

A breathless Skip bolted into the room. Shoulders heaving, he pointed in the direction of the telephone. “It’s for you,” he panted.

“Me?” It could only be Dan.

He nodded several times, his hand braced theatrically against his heart.

She picked up the extension. “Hello,” she said, her fingers closing tightly around the receiver. “This is Rorie Campbell.”

“Miss Campbell,” came the unmistakable voice of George, the mechanic in Riversdale, “let me put it to you like this. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Now what?” she cried, pushing her hair off her forehead with an impatient hand. She had to get out of Elk Run.

“My man picked up the water pump for your car in Portland just like we planned.”

“Good.”

George sighed heavily. “There’s a minor problem, though.”

“Minor?” she repeated hopefully.

“Well, not that minor actually.”

“Oh, great... Listen, George, I’d prefer not to play guessing games with you. Just tell me what happened and how long it’s going to be before I can get out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Campbell, but they shipped the wrong part. It’ll be two, possibly three more days.”

Nine

“What’s the matter?” Skip asked when Rorie indignantly replaced the receiver.

She crossed her arms over her chest and breathed deeply, battling down the angry frustration that boiled inside her. The problem wasn’t George’s fault, or Skip’s, or Kate’s, or anyone else’s.

“Rorie?” Skip asked again.

“They shipped the wrong part for the car,” she said flatly. “I’m going to be stuck here for another two or possibly three days.”

Skip didn’t look the least bit perturbed at this information. “Gee, Rorie, that’s not so terrible. We like having you around—and you like it here, don’t you?”

“Yes, but...” How could she explain that her reservations had nothing to do with their company, the farm or even with country life? She couldn’t very well blurt out that she was falling in love with his brother, that she had to escape before she ruined their lives.

“But what?” Skip asked.

“My vacation.”

“I know you had other plans, but you can relax and enjoy yourself here just as well, can’t you?”

She didn’t attempt to answer him, but closed her eyes and nodded, faintly.

“Well, listen, I’ve got to get back to work. Do you need me for anything?”

She shook her head. When the office door closed, Rorie sat down in front of the computer again and poised her fingers over the keyboard. She sat like that, unmoving, for several minutes as her thoughts churned. What was she going to do? Every time she came near Clay the attraction was so strong that trying to ignore it was like swimming upstream. Rorie had planned on leaving Elk Run the following day. Now she was trapped here for God only knew how much longer.

She got up suddenly and started pacing the office floor. Dan hadn’t called her, either. She might have vanished from the face of the earth as far as he was concerned. The stupid car was his, after all, and the least he could do was make some effort to find out what had happened. Rorie knew she wasn’t being entirely reasonable, but she was caught up in the momentum of her anger and frustration.

Impulsively she snatched up the telephone receiver, had the operator charge the call to her San Francisco number and dialed Dan’s office.

“Rorie, thank God you phoned,” Dan said.

The worry in his voice appeased her a little. “The least you could’ve done was call me back,” she fumed.

“I tried. My secretary apparently wrote down the wrong number. I’ve been waiting all this time for you to call me again. Why didn’t you? What on earth is going on?”

She told him in detail, from the stalled car to her recent conversation with the mechanic. She didn’t tell him about Clay Franklin and the way he made her feel.

“Rorie, baby, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded mutely, close to tears. If she wasn’t so dangerously close to falling in love with Clay, none of this would seem such a disaster.

The silence lengthened while Dan apparently mulled things over. “Shall I come and get you?” he finally asked.

“With what?” she asked with surprising calm. “My car? You were the one who convinced me it would never make this trip. Besides, how would you get the MG back?”

“I’d figured something out. Listen, I can’t let you sit around in some backwoods farm town. I’ll borrow a car or rent one.” He hesitated, then expelled his breath in a short burst of impatience. “Damn, forget that. I can’t come.”

“You can’t?”

“I’ve got a meeting tomorrow afternoon. It’s important—I can’t miss it. I’m sorry, Rorie, I really am, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, defeat causing her voice to dip slightly. “I understand.” In a crazy kind of way she did. Dan was a rising stockbroker, so career moves were critical to him, more important than rescuing Rorie, the woman he claimed to love... Somehow Rorie couldn’t picture Clay making the same decision. In her heart she knew Clay would come for her the second she asked.

They spoke for a few more minutes before Rorie ended the conversation. She felt trapped, as though the walls were closing in around her. So far she and Clay had managed to disguise their feelings, but they wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer before someone guessed. Kate wasn’t blind, and neither was Mary.

“Rorie?” Clay called her name as he burst into the office. “What happened? Skip told me you were all upset—something about the car? What is it?”

“George called.” She whirled around and pointed toward the phone. “The water pump arrived just like it was supposed to—but it’s the wrong one.”

Clay dropped his gaze, then removed his hat and wiped his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too, but that doesn’t help, does it?” The conversation with Dan hadn’t improved matters, and taking her frustration out on Clay wasn’t going to change anything, either. “I’m stuck here, and this is the last place on earth I want to be.”

“Do you think I like it any better?” he challenged.

Rorie blinked wildly at the tears that burned for release.

“I wish to God your car had broken down a hundred miles from Elk Run,” he said. “Before you bombarded your way into my home, my life was set. I knew what I wanted, where I was headed. In the course of a few days you’ve upended my whole world.”

Emotion clogged Rorie’s throat at the unfairness of his accusations. She hadn’t asked for the MGB to break down where it had. The minute she could, she planned to get out of his life and back to her own.

No, she decided, they couldn’t wait that long—it was much too painful for them both. She had to leave now. “I’ll pack my things and be gone before evening.”

“Just where do you plan to go?”

Rorie didn’t know. “Somewhere...anywhere.” She had to leave for his sake, as well as hers.

“Go back inside the house, Rorie, before I say or do something else I’ll regret. You’re right—we can’t be in the same room together. At least not alone.”

She started to walk past him, eyes downcast, her heart heavy with misery. Unexpectedly his hand shot out and caught her fingers, stopping her.

“I didn’t mean what I said.” His voice rasped, warm and hoarse. “None of it. Forgive me, Rorie.”

Her heart raced when his hand touched hers. It took all the restraint Rorie could muster, which at the moment wasn’t much, to resist throwing herself into his arms and holding on for the rest of her life.

“Forgive me, too,” she whispered.

“Forgive you?” he asked, incredulous. “No, Rorie. I’ll thank God every day of my life for having met you.” With that, he released her fingers, slowly, reluctantly. “Go now, before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

Rorie ran from the office as though a raging fire were licking at her heels, threatening to consume her.

And in a way, it was.

* * *

For two days, Rorie managed to stay completely out of his way. They saw each other only briefly and always in the company of others. Rorie was sure they gave Academy Award performances every time they were together. They laughed and teased and joked and the only one who seemed to suspect things weren’t quite right was Mary.

Rorie was grateful the housekeeper didn’t question her, but the looks she gave Rorie were frowningly thoughtful.

Three days after the Grange dance, Mary’s sister arrived in Riversdale. Revealing more excitement than Rorie had seen in their acquaintance, Mary fussed with her hair and dress, and as soon as she’d finished the lunch dishes she was off.

Putting on Mary’s well-worn apron, Rorie looped the long strands around her waist twice and set to work. Kate joined her mid-afternoon, carrying a large bag of ingredients for the dessert she was going to prepare.

“I’ve been cooking from the moment Mary left,” Rorie told Kate, pushing the damp hair from her forehead as she stirred wine into a simmering sauce. Rorie intended to dazzle Clay and Skip with her one speciality—seafood fettuccine. She hadn’t admitted to Mary how limited her repertoire of dishes was, although the housekeeper had repeatedly quizzed her about what she planned to make for dinner. Rorie had insisted it was a surprise. She’d decided that this rich and tasty dish stood a good chance of impressing the Franklin men.

“And I’m making Clay his favorite dessert—homemade lemon meringue pie.” Kate reached for the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and six bright yellow lemons rolled out.

Rorie was impressed. The one and only time she’d tried to bake a lemon pie, she’d used a pudding mix. Apparently, Kate took the homemade part seriously.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” Kate said, stepping over to the stove. Crab, large succulent shrimp and small bite-sized pieces of sole were waiting in the refrigerator, to be added to the sauce just before the dish was served.

Kate was busy whipping up a pie crust when the phone rang several minutes later. She glanced anxiously at the wall, her fingers sticky with flour and lard.

Rorie looked over at her. “Do you suppose I should answer that?”

“You’d better. Clay usually relies on Mary to catch the phone for him.”

Rorie lifted the receiver before the next peal. “Elk Run.”

“That Miss Campbell?”

Rorie immediately recognized the voice of the mechanic from Riversdale. “Yes, this is Rorie Campbell.”

“Remember I promised I’d call you when the part arrived? Well, it’s here, all safe and sound, so you can stop fretting. Just came in a few minutes ago—haven’t even had a chance to take it out of the box. Thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s the right one this time?”

“Here, I’ll check it now... Yup, this is it.”

Rorie wasn’t sure what she felt. Relief, yes, but regret, too. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“It’s a little late for me to be starting the job this afternoon. My son’s playing a Little League game and I promised him I’d be there. I’ll get to this first thing in the morning and should be finished before noon. Give me a call before you head over here and I’ll make sure everything’s running the way it should.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks again.” Slowly Rorie replaced the receiver. She leaned against the wall sighing deeply. At Kate’s questioning gaze, she smiled weakly and explained, “That was the mechanic. The water pump for my car arrived and he’s going to be working on it first thing in the morning.”

“Rorie, that’s great.”

“I think so, too.” She did—and she didn’t. Part of her longed to flee Elk Run, and another part of her realized that no matter how far she traveled, no matter how many years passed, she’d never forget these days with Clay Franklin.

“Then tonight’s going to be your last evening here,” Kate murmured. “Selfish as it sounds, I really hate the thought of you leaving.”

“We can keep in touch.”

“Oh, yes, I’d like that. I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”

That reminder was the last thing Rorie needed. But once she was on the road again, she could start forgetting, she told herself grimly.

“Since this is going to be your last night, we should make it special,” Kate announced brightly. “We’re going to use the best china and set out the crystal wineglasses.”

Rorie laughed, imagining Mary’s face when she heard about it.

Even as she spoke, Kate was walking toward the dining-room china cabinet. In a few minutes, she’d set the table, cooked the sauce for the pie and poured it into the cooling pie shell that sat on the counter. The woman was a marvel!

Rorie was busy adding the final touches to the fettuccine when Clay and Skip came in through the back door.

“When’s dinner?” Skip wanted to know. “I’m starved.”

“Soon.” Rorie tested the boiling noodles to be sure they’d cooked all the way through but weren’t overdone.

“Upstairs with the both of you,” Kate said, shooing them out of the kitchen. “I want you to change into something nice.”

“We’re supposed to dress up for dinner?” Skip complained. He’d obviously recovered from any need to impress her with his sartorial elegance, Rorie noted, remembering that he’d worn his Sunday best that first night. “We already washed—what more do you want?”

“For you to change your clothes. We’re having a celebration tonight.”

“We are?” The boy looked from Kate to Rorie and then back again.

“That’s right,” Kate continued, undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm. “And when we’re through with dinner, there’s going to be a farewell party for Rorie. We’re going to send her off country-style.”

“Rorie’s leaving?” Skip sounded shocked. “But she just got here.”

“The repair shop from Riversdale called. Her car will be finished tomorrow and she’ll be on her way.”

Clay’s eyes burned into Rorie’s. She tried to avoid looking at him, but when she did chance to meet his gaze, she could feel his distress. His jaw went rigid, and his mouth tightened as though he was bracing himself against Kate’s words.

“Now hurry up, you two. Dinner’s nearly ready,” Kate said with a laugh. “Rorie’s been cooking her heart out all afternoon.”

Both men disappeared and Rorie set out the fresh green salad she’d made earlier, along with the seven-grain dinner rolls she’d warmed in the oven.

Once everyone was seated at the table and waiting, Rorie ceremonially carried in the platter of fettuccine, thick with seafood. She’d spent at least ten minutes arranging it to look as attractive as possible.

“Whatever it is smells good,” Skip called out as she entered the dining room. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“Funny, Skip, very funny,” Kate said.

Rorie set the serving dish in the middle of the table and stepped back, anticipating their praise.

Skip raised himself halfway out of his seat as he glared at her masterpiece. “That’s it?” His voice was filled with disappointment.

Rorie blinked, uncertain how she should respond.

“You’ve been cooking all afternoon and you mean to tell me that’s everything?”

“It’s seafood fettuccine,” she explained.

“It just looks like a bunch of noodles to me.”

Ten

“I’ll have another piece of lemon pie,” Skip said, eagerly extending his plate.

“If you’re still hungry, Skip,” Clay remarked casually, “there are a few dinner rolls left.”

Skip’s gaze darted to the small wicker basket and he wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. Too many seeds in those things. I got one caught in my tooth earlier and spent five minutes trying to suck it out.”

Rorie did her best to smile.

Skip must have noticed how miserable she was because he added, “The salad was real good though. What kind of dressing was that?”

“Vinaigrette.”

“Really? It tasted fruity.”

“It was raspberry flavored.”

Skip’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of that kind of vinegar. Did you buy it here in Nightingale?”

“Not exactly. I got the ingredients while Kate and I were out the other day and mixed it up last night.”

“That tasted real good.” Which was Skip’s less-than-subtle method of telling her nothing else had. He’d barely touched the main course. Clay had made a show of asking for seconds, but Rorie was all too aware that his display of enthusiasm had been an effort to salve her injured ego.

Rorie wasn’t fooled—no one had enjoyed her special dinner. Even old Blue had turned his nose up at it when she’d offered him a taste of the leftovers.

Clay and Skip did hard physical work; they didn’t sit in an office all day like Dan and the other men she knew. She should have realized that Clay and his brother required a more substantial meal than noodles swimming in a creamy sauce. Rorie wished she’d discussed her menu with either Mary or Kate. A tiny voice inside her suggested that Kate might have said something to warn her...

“Anyone else for more pie?” Kate was asking.

Clay nodded and cast a guilty glance in Rorie’s direction. “I could go for a second piece myself.”

“The pie was delicious,” Rorie told Kate, meaning it. She was willing to admit Kate’s dessert had been the highlight of the meal.

“Kate’s one of the best cooks in the entire country,” Skip announced, licking the back of his fork. “Her lemon pie won a blue ribbon at the county fair last year.” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “She’s got a barbecue sauce so tangy and good that when she cooks up spareribs I just can’t stop eating ’em.” His face fell as though he was thinking about those ribs now and would have gladly traded all of Rorie’s fancy city food for a plateful.

“I’d like the fettuccine recipe if you’d give it to me,” Kate told Rorie, obviously attempting to change the subject and spare Rorie’s feelings. Perhaps she felt a little guilty, too, for not giving her any helpful suggestions.

Skip stared at Kate as if she’d volunteered to muck out the stalls.

“I’ll write it down before I leave.”

“Since Rorie and Kate put so much time and effort into the meal, I think Skip and I could be convinced to do our part and wash the dishes.”

“We could?” Skip protested.

“It’s the least we can do,” Clay returned flatly, frowning at his younger brother.

Rorie was all too aware of Clay’s ploy. He wanted to get into the kitchen so they could find something else to eat without being conspicuous about it. Something plain and basic, no doubt, like roast-beef sandwiches.

“Listen, you guys,” Rorie said brightly. “I’m sorry about dinner. I can see everyone’s still hungry. You’re all going out of your way to reassure me, but it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rorie. Dinner was excellent,” Clay said, patting his stomach.

Rorie nearly laughed out loud. “Why don’t we call for a pizza?” she said, pleased with her solution. “I bungled dinner, so that’s the least I can do to make it up to you.”

Three faces stared at her blankly.

“Rorie,” Clay said gently. “The closest pizza parlour is thirty miles from here.”

“Oh.”

Undeterred, Skip leaped to his feet. “No problem... You phone in the order and I’ll go get it.”

* * *

Empty pizza boxes littered the living-room floor, along with several abandoned soft-drink cans.

Skip lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. “Anyone for a little music?” he asked lazily.

“Sure.” Kate got to her feet and sat down at the piano. As her nimble fingers ran over the keyboard, the rich sounds echoed against the walls. “Some Lee Greenwood?”

“All right,” Skip called out with a yell, punching his fist into the air. He thrust two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

“Who?” Rorie asked once the commotion had died down.

“He’s a country singer,” Clay explained. Blue ambled to his side, settling down at his feet. Clay gently stroked his back.

“I guess I haven’t heard of him,” Rorie murmured.

Once more she discovered three pairs of eyes studying her curiously.

“What about Johnny Cash?” Kate suggested next. “You probably know who he is.”

“Oh, sure.” Rorie looped her arms over her bent knees and lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch. “I hear that train a comin’.”

Skip let loose with another whistle and Rorie laughed at his boisterous antics. Clay left the room; he returned a moment later with a guitar, then seated himself on the floor again, beside Blue. Skip crawled across the braided rug in the center of the room and retrieved a harmonica from the mantel. Soon Kate and the two men were making their own brand of music—country songs, from the traditional to the more recent. Rorie didn’t know a single one, but she clapped her hands and tapped her foot to the lively beat.

“Sing for Rorie,” Skip shouted to Clay and Kate. “Let’s show her what she’s been missing.”

Clay’s rich baritone joined Kate’s lilting soprano, and Rorie’s hands and feet stopped moving. Her eyes darted from one to the other in openmouthed wonder at the beautiful harmony of their two voices, male and female. It was as though they’d been singing together all their lives. She realized they probably had.

When they finished, Rorie blinked back tears, too dumbfounded for a moment to speak. “That was wonderful,” she told them and her voice caught with emotion.

“Kate and Clay sing duets at church all the time,” Skip explained. “They’re good, aren’t they?”

Rorie nodded, gazing at the two of them. Clay and Kate were right for each other—they belonged together, and once she was gone they would blend their lives as beautifully as they had their voices. Rorie happened to catch Kate’s eye. The other woman slipped her arms around Clay’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder, laying claim to this man and silently letting Rorie know it. Rorie couldn’t blame Kate. In like circumstances she would have done the same.

“Do you sing, Rorie?” Kate asked, leaving Clay and sliding onto the piano bench.

“A little, and I play some piano.” Actually her own singing voice wasn’t half bad. She’d participated in several singing groups while she was in high school and had taken five years of piano lessons.

“Please sing something for us.” Rorie recognized a hint of challenge in the words.

“Okay.” She replaced Kate at the piano seat and started out with a little satirical ditty she remembered from her college days. Skip hooted as she knew he would at the clever words, and all three rewarded her with a round of applause.

“Play some more,” Kate encouraged. “It’s nice to have someone else do the playing for a change.” She sat next to Clay on the floor, once again resting her head against his shoulder. If it hadn’t been for the guitar in his hands, Rorie knew he would’ve placed his arm around her and drawn her even closer. It would have been the natural thing to do.

“I don’t know the songs you usually sing, though.” Rorie was more than a little reluctant now. She’d never heard of this Greenwood person they seemed to like so well.

“Play what you know,” Kate said, “and we’ll join in.”

After a few seconds’ thought, Rorie nodded. “This is a song by Billy Joel. I’m sure you’ve heard of him—his songs are more rock than country, but I think you’ll recognize the music.” Rorie was only a few measures into the ballad before she realized that Kate, Clay and Skip had never heard this song.

She stopped playing. “What about Whitney Houston?”

Skip repeated the name a couple of times before his eyes lit up with recognition. “Hasn’t she done Coke commercials?”

“Right,” Rorie said, laughing. “She’s had several big hits.”

Kate slowly shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t think I can remember the words to her songs.”

“Barbra Streisand?”

“I thought she was an actress,” Skip said with a puzzled frown. “You mean she sings, too?”

Reluctantly Rorie rose from the piano seat. “Kate, you’ll have to take over. It seems you three are a whole lot country and I’m a little bit rock and roll.”

“We’ll make you into a country girl yet!” Skip insisted, sliding the harmonica across his mouth with an ease Rorie envied.

Clay glanced at his watch. “We aren’t going to be able to convert Rorie within the next twelve hours.”

A gloom settled over them as Kate took Rorie’s place at the piano.

“Are you sure we can’t talk you into staying a few extra days?” Skip asked. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

Rorie shook her head, more determined than ever to leave as soon as she could.

“It would be a shame for you to miss the county fair next weekend. Maybe you could stop here on your way back through Oregon, after your trip to Canada,” Kate added. “Clay and I are singing, and we’re scheduled for the square dance competition, too.”

“Yeah,” Skip cried. “And we’ve got pig races planned again this year.”

“Pig races?” Rorie echoed faintly.

“I know it sounds silly, but it’s really fun. We take the ten fastest pigs in the area and let them race toward a bowl of Oreos. No joke—cookies! Everyone bets on who’ll win and we all have a lot of fun.” Skip’s eyes shone with eagerness. “Please think about it, anyway, Rorie.”

“Mary’s entering her apple pie again,” Clay put in. “She’s been after that blue ribbon for six years.”

A hundred reasons to fade out of their lives flew across Rorie’s mind like particles of dust in the wind. And yet the offer was tempting. She tried, unsuccessfully, to read Clay’s eyes, her own filled with a silent appeal. This was a decision she needed help making. But Clay wasn’t helping. The thought of never seeing him again was like pouring salt onto an open wound; still, it was a reality she’d have to face sooner or later.

So Rorie volunteered the only excuse she could come up with at the moment. “I don’t have the time. I’m sorry, but I’d be cutting it too close to get back to San Francisco for work Monday morning.”

“Not if you canceled part of your trip to Canada and came back on Friday,” Skip pointed out. “You didn’t think you’d have a good time at the square dance, either, but you did, remember?”

It wasn’t a matter of having a good time. So much more was involved...though the pig races actually sounded like fun. The very idea of such an activity would have astounded her only a week before, Rorie reflected. She could just imagine what Dan would say.

“Rorie?” Skip pressed. “What do you think?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“The county fair is about as good as it gets around Nightingale.”

“I don’t want to impose on your hospitality again.” Clay still wasn’t giving her any help with this decision.

“But having you stay with us isn’t a problem,” Skip insisted. “As long as you promise to stay out of the kitchen, you’re welcome to stick around all summer. Isn’t that right, Clay?”

His hesitation was so slight that Rorie doubted anyone else had noticed it. “Naturally Rorie’s welcome to visit us any time she wants.”

“If staying with these two drives you crazy,” Kate inserted, “you could stay at my house. In fact, I’d love it if you did.”

Rorie dropped her gaze, fearing what she might see in Clay’s eyes. She sensed his indecision as she struggled with her own. She had to leave. Yet she wanted to stay....

“I think I should take the rest of my vacation in Victoria,” she finally told them.

“I know you’re worried about getting back in time for work, but Skip’s right. If you left Victoria one day early, then you could be here for the fair,” Kate suggested again, but her offer didn’t sound as sincere as it had earlier.

“Rorie said she doesn’t have the time,” Clay said after an awkward silence. “I think we should respect her decision.”

“You sound as if you don’t want her to come back,” Skip accused.

“No,” Clay murmured, his eyes meeting hers. “I want her here, but Rorie should try to salvage some of the vacation she planned. She has to do what she think’s best.”

Rorie could feel his eyes moving over her hair and her face in loving appraisal. She tensed and prayed that Kate and Skip weren’t aware of it.

During the next hour, Skip tried repeatedly to convince Rorie to visit on her way back or even to stay until the fair. As far as Skip could see, there wasn’t much reason to go to Canada now, anyway. But Rorie resisted. Walking away from Clay once was going to be painful enough. Rorie didn’t know if she could do it twice.

Skip was yawning by the time they decided to call an end to the evening. With little more than a mumbled good-night, he hurried up the stairs, abandoning the others.

Rorie and Kate took a few extra minutes to straighten the living room, while Clay drove his pickup around to the front of the house. “I’d better burn the evidence before Mary sees these pizza boxes,” Rorie joked. “She’ll have my hide once she hears about dinner.”

Kate laughed good-naturedly as she collected her belongings. When they heard Clay’s truck, she put down her bags and ran to Rorie. “You’ll call me before you leave tomorrow?”

Rorie nodded and hugged her back.

“If something happens and you change your mind about the fair, please know that you’re welcome to stay with me and Dad—we’d enjoy the company.”

“Thank you, Kate.”

The house felt empty and silent once Kate had left with Clay. Rorie knew it would be useless to go upstairs and try to sleep. Instead she went out to the front porch, where she’d sat in the swing with Clay that first night. She sank down on the steps, one arm wrapped around a post, and gazed upward. The skies were glittered with the light of countless stars—stars that shone with a clarity and brightness one couldn’t see in the city.

Clay belonged to this land, this farm, this small town. Rorie was a city girl to the marrow of her bones. This evening had proved the hopelessness of any dream that she and Clay might have of finding happiness together. There was his commitment to Kate. And there was the fact that he and Rorie were too different, their tastes too dissimilar. She certainly couldn’t picture him making a life away from Elk Run.

Clay had accepted the hopelessness of it, too. That was the reason he agreed she should travel to Canada. This evening Rorie had sensed a desperation in him that rivaled her own.

It was a night filled with insights. Sitting under the heavens, she was beginning to understand some important things about life. For perhaps the first time, she’d fallen in love. During the past six days she’d tried to deny what she was feeling, but on the eve of her departure it seemed silly to lie to herself any longer. Rorie couldn’t believe something like this had actually happened to her. Meeting someone and falling in love with him in the space of a few days was an experience reserved for novels and movies. This wasn’t like her normal sane, sensible self at all. Rorie had always thought she was too levelheaded to fall so easily in love.

Until she met Clay Franklin.

On the wings of one soul-searching realization came another. Love wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d assumed it meant a strong sensual passion that overwhelmed the lovers and left them powerless before it. But in the past few days, she’d learned that love marked the soul as well as the body.

Clay would forever be a part of her. Since that first night when Nightsong was born, her heart had never felt more alive. Yet within a few hours she would walk away from the man she loved and consider herself blessed to have shared these days with him.

A tear rolled down the side of her face, surprising her. This wasn’t a time for sadness, but joy. She’d discovered a deep inner strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She wiped the moisture away and rested her head against the post, her eyes fixed on the heavens.

The footsteps behind Rorie didn’t startle her. She’d known Clay would come to her this one last time.

Eleven

Clay draped his arm over Rorie’s shoulders and joined her in gazing up at the sky. Neither spoke for several minutes, as though they feared words would destroy the tranquil mood. Rorie stared, transfixed by the glittering display. Like her love for this man, the stars would remain forever distant, unattainable, but certain and unchanging.

A ragged sigh escaped her lips. “All my life I’ve believed that everything that befalls us has a purpose.”

“I’ve always thought that, too,” Clay whispered.

“Everything in life is deliberate.”

“Our final hours together you’re going to become philosophical?” He rested his chin on her head, gently ruffling her hair. “Are you sad, Rorie?”

“Oh, no,” she denied quickly. “I can’t be... I feel strange, but I don’t know if I can find the words to explain it. I’m leaving tomorrow and I realize we’ll probably never see each other again. I have no regrets—not a single one—and yet I think my heart is breaking.”

His hand tightened on her shoulder in silent protest as if he found the idea of relinquishing her more than he could bear.

“We can’t defy reality,” she told him. “Nothing’s going to change in the next few hours. The water pump on the car will be replaced, and I’ll go back to my life. The way you’ll go back to yours.”

“I have this gut feeling there’s going to be a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in mine the minute you drive away.” He dropped his arm and moved away from her. His eyes held a weary sadness, but Rorie found an acceptance there, too.

“I’m an uncomplicated man,” he said evenly. “I’m probably nothing like the sophisticated man you’re dating in San Francisco.”

Her thoughts flew to Dan, so cosmopolitan and...superficial, and she recognized the truth in Clay’s words. The two men were poles apart. Dan’s interests revolved around his career and his car, but he was genuinely kind, and it was that quality that had attracted Rorie.

“Elk Run’s given me a good deal of satisfaction over the years. My life’s work is here and, God willing, some day my son will carry on the breeding programs I’ve started. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of has always been within my grasp.” He paused, holding in a long sigh and releasing it slowly. “And then you came,” he whispered, and a brief smile crossed his lips, “and, within a matter of days, I’m reeling from the effects. Suddenly I’m left doubting what’s really important in my life.”

Rorie lowered her eyes. “Who’d have believed a silly water pump would be responsible for all this wretched soul-searching?”

“I’ve always been the type of man who’s known what he wants, but you make me feel like a schoolboy no older than Skip. I don’t know what to do anymore, Rorie. In a few hours, you’ll be leaving and part of me says if you do, I’ll regret it the rest of my life.”

“I can’t stay.” Their little dinner party had shown her how different their worlds actually were. She wouldn’t fit into his life and he’d be an alien in hers. But Kate... Kate belonged to his world.

Clay rubbed his hands across his eyes and harshly drew in a breath. “I know you feel you should leave, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“The pull to stay is there for me, too,” she whispered.

“And it’s tearing both of us apart.”

Rorie shook her head. “Don’t you see? So much good has come out of meeting you, Clay.” Her voice was strong. She had to make him understand that she’d always be grateful for the things he’d taught her. “In some ways I grew up tonight. I feel I’m doing what’s right for both of us, although it’s more painful than anything I’ve ever known.”

He looked at her with such undisguised love that she ached.

“Let me hold you once more,” he said softly. “Give me that, at least.”

Rorie shook her head. “I can’t...I’m sorry, Clay, but this is how it has to be with us. I’m so weak where you’re concerned. I couldn’t bear to let you touch me now and then leave tomorrow.”

His eyes drifted shut as he yielded to her wisdom. “I don’t know that I could, either.”

They were only a few feet apart, but it seemed vast worlds stood between them.

“More than anything I want you to remember me fondly, without any bitterness,” Rorie told him, discovering as she spoke the words how much she meant them.

Clay nodded. “Be happy, Rorie, for my sake.”

Rorie realized that contentment would be a long time coming without this man in her life, but she would find it eventually. She prayed that he’d marry Kate the way he’d planned. The other woman was the perfect wife for him—unlike herself. A thread of agony twisted around Rorie’s heart.

She turned to leave him, afraid she’d dissolve into tears if she remained much longer. “Goodbye, Clay.”

“Goodbye, Rorie.”

She rushed past him and hurried up the stairs.

* * *

The following morning, both Clay and Skip had left the house by the time Rorie entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mary,” she said with a note of false cheer in her voice. “How did the visit with your sister go?”

“Fine.”

Rorie stepped around the housekeeper to reach the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. A plume of steam rose enticingly to her nostrils and she took a tentative sip.

“I found those pizza boxes you were trying so hard to hide from me,” Mary grumbled as she wiped her hands on her apron. “You fed these good men restaurant pizza?”

Unable to stop herself, Rorie chuckled at the housekeeper’s indignation. “Guilty as charged. Mary, you should’ve known better than to leave their fate in my evil hands.”

“Near as I can figure, the closest pizza parlour is a half-hour away. Did you drive over and get it yourself or did you send Skip?”

“Actually he volunteered,” she admitted reluctantly. “Dinner didn’t exactly turn out the way I’d hoped.”

The housekeeper snickered. “I should’ve guessed. You city slickers don’t know nothing about serving up a decent meal to your menfolk.”

Rorie gave a hefty sigh of agreement. “The only thing for me to do is stay on another couple of months and have you teach me.” As she expected, the housekeeper opened her mouth to protest. “Unfortunately,” Rorie continued, cutting Mary off before she could launch into her arguments, “I’m hoping to be gone by this afternoon.”

Mary’s response was a surprise. The older woman’s expression grew troubled and intense.

“I suspected you’d be going soon enough,” she said in a tight voice, pulling out a chair. She sat down heavily and brushed wisps of gray hair from her forehead. Her weathered face was thoughtful. “It’s for the best, you know.”

“I knew you’d be glad to get rid of me.”

Mary shrugged. “It’s other reasons that make it right for you to leave. You know what I’m talking about, even if you don’t want to admit it to me. As a person you tend to grow on folks. Like I said before, for a city girl, you ain’t half bad.”

Rorie took a banana from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “For a stud farm, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, this place isn’t half bad, either,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, which had taken an unexpected turn toward the serious. “The people are friendly and the apple pie’s been exceptional.”

Mary ignored the compliment on her pie. “By people, I suppose you’re referring to Clay. You’re going to miss him, aren’t you, girl?”

The banana found its way back into the bowl and with it went her cheerful facade. “Yes. I’ll miss Clay.”

The older woman’s frown deepened. “From the things I’ve been noticing, he’s going to be yearning for you, as well. But it’s for the best,” she said again. “For the best.”

Rorie nodded and her voice wavered. “Yes...but it isn’t easy.”

The housekeeper gave her a lopsided smile as she gently patted Rorie’s hand. “I know that, too, but you’re doing the right thing. You’ll forget him soon enough.”

A strong protest rose in her breast, closing off her throat. She wouldn’t forget Clay. Ever. How could she forget the man who had so unselfishly taught her such valuable lessons about life and love? Lessons about herself.

“Kate Logan’s the right woman for Clay,” Mary said abruptly.

Those few words cut Rorie to the quick. Hearing another person voice the truth made it almost unbearably painful.

“I...hope they’re very happy.”

“Kate loves him. She has from the time she was knee-high to a June bug. And there’s something you don’t know. Years back, when Clay was in college, he fell in love with a girl from Seattle. She’d been born and raised in the city. Clay loved her, wanted to marry her, even brought her to Elk Run to meet the family. She stayed a couple of days, and the whole time, she was as restless as water on a hot skillet. Apparently she had words with Clay because the next thing I knew, she’d packed her bags and headed home. Clay never said much about her after that, but she hurt him bad. It wasn’t until Kate got home from college that Clay thought seriously about marriage again.”

Mary’s story explained a lot about Clay.

“Now, I know I’m just an old woman who likes her soaps and Saturday-night bingo. Most folks don’t think I’ve got a lick of sense, and that’s all right. What others choose to assume don’t bother me much.” She paused, and shook her head. “But Kate Logan’s about the kindest, dearest person this town has ever seen. People like her—they can’t help themselves. She’s always got a kind word and there’s no one in this world she’s too good for. She cares about the people in this community. Those kids she teaches over at the grade school love her like nothing you’ve ever seen. And she loves them. When it came to building that fancy library, it was Kate who worked so hard convincing folks they’d be doing what was best for Nightingale by voting for that bond issue.”

Rorie kept her face averted. She didn’t need Mary to tell her Kate was a good person; she’d seen the evidence of it herself.

“What most folks don’t know is that Kate’s seen plenty of pain in her own life. She watched her mother die a slow death from cancer. Took care of her most of the time herself, nursing Nora when she should’ve been off at college having fun like other nineteen-year-olds. Her family needed her and she was there. Kate gave old man Logan a reason to go on living when Nora passed away. She still lives with him, and it’s long past time for her to be a carefree adult on her own. Kate’s a good person clean through.” Mary hesitated, then drew in a solemn breath. “Now, you may think I’m nothing but a meddling old fool. But I’m saying it’s a good thing you’re leaving Elk Run before you break that girl’s heart. She’s got a chance now for some happiness, and God knows she deserves it. If she loses Clay, I can tell you it’d break her heart. She’s too good to have that happen to her over some fancy city girl who’s only passing through.”

Rorie winced at the way Mary described her.

“I’m a plain talker,” Mary said on the end of an abrupt laugh. “Always have been, always will be. Knowing Clay—and I do, as well as his mother did, God rest her soul—he’ll pine for you awhile, but eventually everything will fall back into place. The way it was before you arrived.”

Tears stung Rorie’s eyes. She felt miserable as it was, and Mary wasn’t helping. She’d already assured the housekeeper she was leaving, but Mary apparently wanted to be damn sure she didn’t change her mind. The woman didn’t understand...but then again, maybe she did.

“Have you ever been in love, Mary?”

“Once,” came the curt reply. “Hurt so much the first time I never chanced it again.”

“Are you sorry you lived your life alone now?” That was what Rorie saw for herself. Oh, she knew she was being melodramatic and over-emotional, but she couldn’t imagine loving any man as much as she did Clay.

Mary lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Some days I have plenty of regrets, but then on others it ain’t so bad. I’d like to have had a child, but God saw to it that I was around when Clay and Skip needed someone.... That made up for what I missed.”

“They consider you family.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do.” Mary pushed out her chair and stood up. “Well, I better get back to work. Those men expect a decent lunch. I imagine they’re near starved after the dinner you fed them last night.”

Despite her heartache, Rorie smiled and finished her coffee. “And I’d better get upstairs and pack the rest of my things. The mechanic said my car would be ready around noon.”

On her way to the bedroom, Rorie paused at the framed photograph of Clay’s parents that sat on the piano. She’d passed it a number of times and had given it little more than a fleeting glance. Now it suddenly demanded her attention, and she stopped in front of it.

A tremor went through her hand as she lightly ran her finger along the brass frame. Clay’s mother smiled serenely into the camera, her gray eyes so like her son’s that Rorie felt a knot in her stomach. Those same eyes seemed to reach across eternity and call out to Rorie, plead with her. Rorie’s own eyes narrowed, certain her imagination was playing havoc with her troubled mind. She focused her attention on the woman’s hair. That, too, was the same dark shade as Clay’s, brushed away from her face in a carefully styled chignon. Clay had never mentioned his parents to her, not once, but studying the photograph Rorie knew intuitively that he’d shared a close relationship with his mother. Blue wandered out from the kitchen and stood at Rorie’s side as though offering consolation. Grateful, she bent down to pet him.

Looking back at the photograph, Rorie noted that Skip resembled his father, with the same dancing blue eyes that revealed more than a hint of devilry.

Rorie continued to study both parents, but it was Clay’s mother who captured her attention over and over again.

The phone ringing in the distance startled her, and her wrist was shaking when she set the picture back on the piano.

“Phone’s for you,” Mary shouted from the kitchen.

Rorie assumed it was George at the repair shop in Riversdale; she’d been waiting all morning to hear from him.

“Hello,” she said, her fingers closing tightly around the receiver. Her biggest fear was that something had happened to delay her departure a second time.

“Miss Campbell,” said the mechanic, “everything’s fine. I got that part in and working for you without a hitch.”

“Thank God,” she murmured. Her hold on the telephone receiver relaxed, a little.

“I’ve got a man I could spare if you’d like to have your car delivered to Elk Run. But you’ve got to understand fifty miles is a fair distance and I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you extra for it.”

“That’s fine,” Rorie said eagerly, not even bothering to ask the amount. “How soon can he be here?”