Rorie lowered her face, pressing her forehead against the hollow of his shoulder. She groaned in frustration. “How could you even think such a thing, when I love you so much?”
Clay moved her face so he could meet her eyes. “But, Rorie...” He stopped and a muscle jerked in his jaw. “Dan can give you far more than I’ll ever be able to. He’s got connections, background, education. A few years down the road, he’s going to be very wealthy—success is written all over him. He may have his faults, but basically he’s a fine man.”
“He is a good person and he’s going to make some woman a good husband. But it won’t be me.”
“He could give you the kinds of things I may never be able to afford....”
“Clay Franklin, do you love me or not?”
Clay exhaled slowly, watching her. “You know the answer to that.”
“Then stop arguing with me. I don’t love Dan Rogers. I love you.”
Still his frown persisted. “You belong in the city.”
“I belong with you,” she countered.
He said nothing for a long moment. “I can’t argue with that,” he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “You do belong here, because God help me, I haven’t got the strength to let you walk away a second time.”
Clay kissed her again, his mouth sliding over hers as though he still couldn’t believe she was in his arms. She held on to him with all her strength, soaking up his love. She was at home in his arms. It was where she belonged and where she planned to stay.
The sound of someone entering the room filtered through to Rorie’s consciousness, but she couldn’t bring herself to move out of Clay’s arms.
“Rorie!” Skip cried, his voice high and excited, “What are you doing here?”
Rorie finally released Clay and turned toward the teenager who had come to her rescue that August afternoon.
“Hello, Skip,” she said softly. Clay slipped his arm around her waist and she smiled up at him, needing his touch to anchor her in the reality of their love.
“Are you back for good?” Skip wanted to know.
She nodded, but before she could answer Clay said, “Meet Nightingale’s new librarian.” His arm tightened around her.
The smile that lit the teenager’s eyes was telling. “So you’re going to stick around this time.” He blew out a gusty sigh. “It’s a damn good thing, because since you left, my brother’s been as hard to live with as a rattlesnake.”
“I’d say that was a bit of an exaggeration,” Clay muttered, clearly not approving of his brother’s choice of description.
“You shouldn’t have gone,” Skip said, sighing again. “Especially before the county fair.”
Rorie laughed. “You’re never going to forgive me for missing that, are you?”
“You should’ve been here, Rorie. It was great.”
“I’ll be here next summer,” she promised.
“The fact is, Rorie’s going to be around for a lifetime of summers,” Clay informed his brother. “We’re going to be married as soon as we can arrange it.” His eyes held hers but they were filled with questions, as if he half expected her, even now, to refuse him.
Rorie swallowed the emotion that bobbed so readily to the surface and nodded wildly, telling him with one look that she’d marry him anytime he wanted.
Skip crossed his arms over his chest and gave them a smug look. “I knew something was going on between the two of you. Every time I was around you guys it was like getting zapped with one of those stun guns.”
“We were that obvious?” It still troubled Rorie that Kate had known, especially since both she and Clay had tried so hard to hide their feelings.
Skip’s shrug was carefree. “I don’t think so, but I don’t care about love and all that.”
“Give it time, little brother,” Clay murmured, “because when it hits, it’ll knock you for a loop.”
Mary stepped into the room, carrying a platter of meat. “So the two of you are getting hitched?”
Their laughter signaled a welcome release from all the tensions of the past weeks. Clay pulled out Rorie’s chair, then sat down beside her. His hand reached for hers, lacing their fingers together. “Yes,” he said, still smiling, “we’ll be married as soon as we can get the license and talk to the pastor.”
Mary pushed the basket of biscuits closer to Skip. “Well, you don’t need to fret—I’ll stay for a couple more years until I can teach this child the proper way to feed a man. She may be pretty to look at, but she don’t know beans about whipping up a decent meal.”
“I’d appreciate that, Mary,” Rorie said. “I could do with a few cooking lessons.”
The housekeeper’s smile broadened. “Now, go ahead and eat before the potatoes get cold and the gravy gets lumpy.”
Skip didn’t need any further inducement. He helped himself to the biscuits, piling three on the edge of his plate.