Since he didn't like to chat much himself, he understood that the fact that she didn't participate much at gatherings didn't mean she was stupid or mean, both monikers that had been applied to him on different occasions. April had adored her, and wanted to spend more time with her, but for some reason, Elodie had resisted coming over as often as April wanted her to. She never out and out said that Clay was the reason she declined April's invitations, but it was fairly obvious that she didn't like him. She couldn't have been any more uncomfortable around him if she'd tried—fidgeting, stuttering and never meeting his eyes the entire time she was around him. She'd only gotten a little better about it since they'd been lunching.
He probably should have let her off the hook about the lunches, but he wanted to stay as close to April's family as he could, and being with Elodie reminded him, in a sad sort of way, what it was like to be with April. And he enjoyed the lunches, once he pulled her out of her shell. Elodie was smart and, when she was comfortable, had a biting wit that he enjoyed. She was pretty but not blatantly so—but she got that lovely, naturally curly hair directly from her mother. If she was talking about something she was interested in—like her art—her face lit up from within.
Lately he'd started to worry about her, though. Elodie wasn't looking good, and she was thin as a rail. She certainly did inherit more than her share of the family stubbornness, though, and adamantly refused to let him take her to lunch, or to go to dinner with him. She was such a shy little thing that he hesitated for a long time to put his foot down about that, but this afternoon he just decided that he wasn't going to let her have her way.
Clay had been surprised and pleased when she'd acquiesced without too much of a fuss. If he'd known it was going to be that easy, he would have done it months ago… hell, years ago. In fact, he wished he hadn't held her to a month from then, but maybe it would help her get her head around it. She'd also gotten a huge helping of the family pride, too. She wouldn't even let him pick up her lunch tab—she'd practically gotten into a physical fight with him the first time they went out because of it.
Apparently, his "look", as April had called it, didn't work on older sisters—at least not this one. She hadn't so much as batted an eyelash at him. Either that, or it had lost its power since it hadn't been used in quite some time.
There was something about Elodie... something unsettling. She made Clay want to shake her out of her calm, quiet demeanor. It was like she had something to say, but not the courage to do so.
She made him want to kiss her out of it, too, and that impulse sent him reeling out of his chair, his back to the picture of April, as if he couldn't bear for her to see his shame. He hadn't had the impulse to kiss someone for so long, it physically hurt him to consider it. To say nothing of how guilty it made him feel—not only was he contemplating kissing someone other than his wife, but he was contemplating kissing his wife's sister.
Once the idea formed in his mind, however, he found that he couldn't let it go. It haunted him, sneaking into his consciousness when he least expected it over the next few weeks—visions of taking that staunch, starched little body and tugging it against his, letting his hands sweep up into all that hair, bending her head back for his deep, passionate kiss, letting his lips slide slowly over hers…
Clay shook his head.
"Mr. Carver? Are you all right?" His ranch hand, George, was peering at him as if he thought he'd gone off his rocker because he hadn't taken the pile of receipts he'd been holding out to him for the past several minutes.
Clay cleared his throat and sent him on his way, more bothered than he wanted to be about how Miss Elodie kept popping into his daydreams. It was disquieting in the extreme. Not even April had been able to disrupt him at work.
This was not good.
Chapter 4
The phone call came in the evening, the night before they were supposed to go out. Clay generally screened calls in the evenings once he got home. If any of his men needed to get hold of him, they'd call his cell. Pretty much anyone else could leave a message.
"Hello?"
"Hey. How have you been?"
That was usually what she asked him. Immediately after April's death, Elodie had stayed with him for over a week. She took over every mundane duty she could for him, picking out the dress to bury her sister in, handling the funeral home, and helping to write the obituary. Clay had felt more lost than he'd ever felt in his life, and his usual ability to get things done and handle details had vacated the premises. For a few days, he let Elodie take care of him more than he'd let anyone do since his mother. Usually, he was the one who did the caretaking in any situation.
But Elodie didn't seem to think any less of him for it; he was sure he would have seen it in her eyes if she had.
He couldn't stifle a yawn. "I'm okay, how are you?"
"Stop that! It's contagious!" She yawned back, barely intelligible.
"Sorry, long day. One of the cattle had a breeched calf I had to assist with. Took hours, but all worked out in the end."
"That's good…"
Clay had a bad feeling about why she was calling, and he decided to pre-empt her. "Is this the call where you beg off tomorrow night?" Bullseye. Complete silence from the other end. He leaned back in his big leather chair, crossing his ankle over his knee, his eyes narrowing as if he had her called onto the carpet in front of him. "Are you hurt?"
A pointed pause before she answered, very reluctantly. "No."
"Are you sick?"