“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.”