“I’m sure it’ll be great fun.”
Skip braced his foot against the bumper of the faded blue pickup, apparently forgetting his earlier decision to seek out Clay, which was just as well.
“You don’t like the country much, do you, Rorie?”
“Oh, but I do,” she said. “It’s a different way of life, though. Here on Elk Run, I feel like a duck in a pond full of swans.”
Skip laughed. “I suppose folks there in the big city don’t think much of the country.”
“No one has time to think,” Rorie said with a small laugh.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Everyone’s got thoughts.”
Rorie nodded, not knowing how to explain something so complex. When Skip had spent some time in the city, he’d figure out what she meant.
“The one thing I’ve noticed more than anything is how quiet it is here,” she said pensively, looking around, burning into her memory each detail of the farmhouse and the yard.
“I like the quiet. Some places, the noise is so bad I worry about ear damage,” Skip said.
“I imagine if I lived here, I’d grow accustomed to the silence, too. But to be honest, I hadn’t realized how much I enjoy the sounds of the city. There’s something invigorating about the clang of the trolley cars or the foghorn on the Bay early in the morning.”
Skip frowned and shook his head. “You honestly like all that racket?”
Rorie nodded. “It’s more than that. The city’s exciting. I hadn’t really known how much living there meant to me before coming to Elk Run.” Rorie wasn’t sure how to describe the aroma of freshly baked sourdough bread, or the perfumed scent of budding rosebushes in Golden Gate Park, to someone who’d never experienced them. Country life had its appeal, she couldn’t deny that, but she belonged to the city. At least, that was what she told herself over and over again.
“Ah,” Skip said, and his foot dropped from the bumper with a thud, “here’s Clay now.”
Rorie tensed, clasping her hands in front of her. Clay’s lengthy strides quickly diminished the distance between the barn and the yard. Each stride was filled with purpose, as though he longed to get this polite farewell over with.
Rorie straightened and walked toward him. “I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes,” she said softly.
“Kate’s coming to say goodbye,” Skip added.
Rorie noted how Clay’s eyes didn’t quite meet her own. He seemed to focus instead on the car behind her. They’d already said everything there was to say and this final parting only compounded the pain.
“Saying thank you seems so inadequate,” Rorie told him in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady. “I’ve appreciated your hospitality more than you’ll ever know.” Hesitantly she held out her hand to him.
Clay’s hard fingers curled around her own, his touch light and impersonal. Rorie swallowed hard, unable to hold back the emotion churning so violently inside her.
His expression was completely impassive, but she sensed that he held on to his self-control with the thinnest of threads. In that moment, Rorie felt the longing in him and knew that he recognized it in her, too.
“Oh, Clay...” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. The impulse to move into his arms was like a huge wave, threatening to sweep over her, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d have the strength to resist.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Clay muttered grimly.
“I...can’t help it.” But he belonged to Kate and nothing was likely to change that.
He took a step toward her and stopped himself, suddenly remembering they weren’t alone.
“Skip, go hold Thunder for Don. Don’s trying to paste-worm him, and he’s getting dragged all over the stall.” Clay’s words were low-pitched, sharp, full of demand.
“But, Clay, Rorie’s about to—”
“Do it.”
Mumbling something unintelligible, Skip trudged off to the barn.
The minute his brother was out of sight, Clay caught Rorie’s shoulders, his fingers rough and urgent through the thin cotton of her blouse. The next instant, she was locked against him. The kiss was inevitable, Rorie knew, but when his mouth settled over hers she wanted to weep for the joy she found in his arms. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her mouth, until she clung to him with hungry abandon. They were standing in the middle of the yard in full view of farmhands, but Clay didn’t seem to care and Rorie wasn’t about to object.
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he whispered huskily.
Rorie’s heart constricted.
At the sound of a car in the distance, Clay abruptly dropped his arms, freeing her. His fingers tangled in her hair as if he had to touch her one last time.