Читать книгу All Summer Long - Сьюзен Мэллери - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

A TYPICAL DAY in Clay’s New York life had included working out at the gym, getting a facial or maybe a manicure, a meeting with a client, a fitting for a future shoot or talking to his agent about upcoming projects. Despite the ongoing party scene, Clay had usually spent evenings with friends, and he’d often been in bed well before midnight.

Life on the ranch was different. Rafe and Heidi had left for Paris and their honeymoon, which meant someone else had to take care of her goats. Shane had agreed to take over the early morning milking, but when he was in town, staying at Annabelle’s, the work fell to Clay.

It was barely eight in the morning, but Clay had already milked the goats, fed the horses, the elephant, the pony, the pig, the llamas and the sheep. Next up, he would paint the porch railing in preparation for winter. There were blisters on his hands and his spray tan had long since faded, replaced by a farmer’s tan, earned through working outdoors.

This was better, he thought as he collected the sandpaper and scrapers. He draped a tarp over one shoulder. He liked getting up early and being able to point to what he’d done in a day. He was tired and sore when he fell into bed at night, but he’d done something with his time. As soon as escrow closed on the land he’d bought, he would start to work on preparing for his fall alfalfa crop. He had rented the equipment already and had interviews lined up for the farm manager. But for now, painting the railings at the Castle Ranch was going to be enough.

He spread out the tarp and went to work on the scraping. From inside came the sound of laughter. His mother and her new husband, Glen, were having a house built on the other side of the property. It would be finished by the end of the month and they would move into it. Until then, they stayed at the main house.

Shane was also building a house nearby. He and Annabelle would settle there while Heidi and Rafe stayed in this one. Everyone on the ark had paired up, Clay thought, except for him and his little sister, Evangeline. Which meant he was going to need his own place. While no one would kick him out, he wasn’t exactly the party favor most new couples were looking for.

He added “get a house in town” to his mental to-do list. He wouldn’t need much space. There was only him. For a second he allowed himself to wonder what Diane would think of Fool’s Gold. She would like it here, he decided. Not just for the physical beauty of the mountains, but she would enjoy the people.

She had been the best part of him. Loving her had been easy—a lightning bolt. He’d surrendered to his feelings because he hadn’t had a choice. Within a single date, he’d known she was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

After she’d died, the world had lost its color. Time had healed him, but he would always miss her. Need her. He wasn’t interested in loving someone else.

He bent over the railing and scraped the peeling paint. As the bare wood was exposed he found himself thinking of Charlie and her unexpected request. Just as surprising was the fact he was considering what she wanted.

He liked being around her. He liked her toughness and competence. She wasn’t like everyone else. He supposed he wasn’t immune to being flattered by her request—her assumption that he could be the one to heal her. Which sounded great, but there was reality to deal with. Heal her? How? With his incredible magnificence?

He dropped the scraper and reached for a piece of sandpaper. The sun was warm, the sky blue. There were birds chirping and another burst of laughter from inside the house.

With Diane, he’d been unable to get enough. No matter how many times they made love, he wanted more. Wanted her. Since then, he’d gone through the motions but little else.

He tried to imagine touching Charlie and found the idea appealing. She wouldn’t make it easy, he thought with a grin. Knowing her, she would make it difficult and yet that was okay.

She thought she needed to get over her fear of having sex. He knew what she needed was to learn to trust. And he needed... He drew in a breath. He needed to care about someone again. Not love, obviously. But something. Right now attraction and compassion would be a step forward. Charlie wasn’t the only one who needed a good healing, he thought. Maybe they could figure out a way to fix each other.

* * *

“I’M INTRIGUED,” Dakota said as Charlie walked into her office. She smiled, amusement brightening her brown eyes. “As you requested, I’ve cleared my schedule for the whole hour. Now what is this about?”

Charlie had been friends with Dakota for years. She’d met all three of the Hendrix triplets within a week of moving to Fool’s Gold. They were bright, funny women who cared about other people and understood the value of loyalty. While Charlie believed in the latter, she liked having added security.

She handed over a check for a hundred dollars.

Dakota took the offered paper, studied it for a second, then raised her eyebrows. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I’m hiring you as my therapist for the next hour. It’s a onetime thing.”

While Dakota didn’t have a private practice, she was still a trained and licensed psychologist.

“If I’m your therapist, patient confidentiality applies,” Dakota said slowly, motioning to the chair on the far side of her desk. “This must be important.”

“It is.” Charlie studied her friend. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she began, aware that Dakota could take the whole check-writing thing wrong. They were friends. As such, Charlie should trust her. And she did. It was just...

Dakota leaned forward. “I understand,” she said gently. “No explanations are required. You need the added security to feel safe so you can talk about whatever’s bothering you. Of course I’ll be your therapist for this hour and I will keep everything you tell me confidential.”

Damn. While she appreciated the support, right now she was uncomfortably on edge. If she were anyone else, she might even admit to being emotional. But she wasn’t, so that wasn’t an option. Still, Dakota’s support made her eyes burn. Which wasn’t the same as crying. No way.

“Okay,” Charlie muttered. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now what’s this all about?”

“The baby thing.”

Dakota already knew about Charlie’s past and her desire to have a child. In fact, Dakota had been the one to point out that Charlie needed to consider curing herself first. Not advice she’d wanted to hear, but words that had made sense.

“You were right,” Charlie told her. “About me getting better before having a kid.”

Dakota leaned toward her. “I also told you I wasn’t the person to take you on that journey. I do have the names of several trauma specialists. They’re in Sacramento, so you wouldn’t be dealing with anyone local. It’s a drive, but more private.”

“I may have to do that,” Charlie said, then wished she was standing so she could shuffle her feet or pace. Sometimes, sitting still was difficult. “But first I’m going to try something else.”

“Okay, and what is that?”

Charlie swallowed, squared her shoulders, then looked her friend directly in the eye. “I talked to Clay Stryker about having sex with me. Getting me, you know, ready. So I can do it without freaking.”

Dakota’s mouth dropped open. Charlie was pretty sure there was a rule that therapists weren’t supposed to show emotion of any kind, let alone shock.

“Clay Stryker?”

“Yes.”

“The underwear-model guy?”

Charlie nodded. “I’ve met him a few times. He wants to be a volunteer firefighter. He’s more than a pretty face. We’ve talked a few times and we’re sort of friends. So I asked him.”

“Oh, my.” Dakota cleared her throat. “He’s an interesting choice.”

“I don’t care that he’s good-looking. Or famous. I know what you’re thinking. That I should have gone with somebody normal, right? It’s just, he’s nice. He was married before and when he talked about his late wife, there was something in his eyes.” She pushed to her feet and started pacing. “That’s why I’m here. Because I asked. Was it stupid? Am I an idiot?”

“You’re a lot of things,” Dakota said. “Stupid isn’t one of them. Your plan is unconventional, but when you decide to face a problem, you jump in. So this isn’t that surprising.” She paused, as if considering her words. “You know the actual problem isn’t about sex, right?”

Charlie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s about trust. Trusting a man. Trusting myself with a man. Being able to have men in my life in a serious way so my child can be comfortable with a male role model.”

Dakota smiled. “You’ve been thinking about this. You’re aware of the problem and taking steps to fix it. That’s good.”

“I hope so. I keep thinking if I can just be with a guy without freaking, I’ll relax more and start letting men in my life,” Charlie admitted. “Clay was nice about it. He didn’t laugh or say no. He’s thinking about it. I’m just scared he’ll agree. And maybe scared he won’t.”

Normal seemed like such an easy goal—for everyone else. She’d always been on the fringes.

“You’re attracted to him?”

“Have you seen him?” Charlie asked with a grin. Then her smile faded. “Ignoring the obvious, there have been a few tingles. Nothing huge, but more than usual for me.”

She returned to the chair and sank down. “I’m not expecting anything like a relationship. I don’t want that. I just want to get through whatever it takes to be in a place where I’m comfortable having a kid. Whatever form that takes.”

“Understandable,” Dakota said. “Okay, you have a plan and you’ve taken the first step. Now what?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted. “That’s what I want to talk about. What do I do if he says yes?”

“You let the man seduce you.”

Charlie could feel her face getting hot. “I can’t even think about that. It makes my stomach hurt. But assuming I can get through that, aren’t there girlie things I should be doing? I don’t know how to do this stuff. Is there a Dummies book?”

“No book required. Just be yourself.”

“Being myself is the problem. Do I have to buy lingerie? Get a bikini wax?”

Dakota laughed. “I would pay big money to be in the room next door when some poor person tries to give you a bikini wax.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry. Look, you’re understandably conflicted. Who wouldn’t be? If he says yes, then shower, shave in the usual places and let the man do his thing. If he says no, I have the name of the trauma specialists to give you. How’s that?”

“Good.” She drew in a breath. “I’m on birth control. I have period issues and the pill helps.”

“One problem solved. Oh, be safe and use a condom.”

Charlie winced. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’m sure he’ll take care of buying them, but just make sure you have the conversation.”

“Because that will be so comfortable.”

“If you can’t talk about protecting yourself with the man, how do you expect to have sex with him?”

“I thought I’d just lie there and think of England.”

“He’ll be so flattered to hear that.”

Charlie told herself to keep breathing. After all, she didn’t have to do it that second. And Clay could say no. Although now that she’d asked, she found herself hoping he would agree. Or maybe not. Maybe therapy was a better choice.

Dakota’s expression softened. “Trust yourself. You have good instincts.”

“I picked the guy in college and look what happened there.”

“You didn’t pick him. You were young and impressed by who you thought he was. There’s a difference.”

“I hope so.”

“From what I know about the Stryker brothers, their mother raised them right. Keep breathing. Whatever happens, you’re strong and capable. You’ll get through this.”

Charlie could only hope she was right.

* * *

WHAT CHARLIE DISCOVERED was that waiting could be its own brand of hell. She worked the next day and that was a nice distraction. Paige McLean, the station’s former receptionist, had dropped by to talk about how happy she was with her new husband. The two of them had been in Australia and were heading to Thailand next. But once Paige left, Charlie had too much time to think. Worse, she was now off for twenty-four hours. She was jumpy and crabby and lots of other words ending in y. In desperation, she attacked her hedges, deciding to cut them back before winter.

She’d been at it for a couple of hours. She was sweaty and hot, her sticky skin dotted with bits of leaves and smudged with dirt. She had just finished with the last hedge and was about to take her tools to the garage for cleaning when Clay strolled up.

He looked cool and fresh, his cotton shirt all smooth. His jeans were worn, with interesting creases at the hips and thighs. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but there were tiny reflections of herself on the lenses. Sweat, grime and debris were not her best look.

“What do you want?” she demanded, before she remembered that perhaps she might want to be nicer to the man she’d asked to sleep with her.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Not a morning person?” he asked.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

She sighed. “I don’t like yard work. I’m not good at it. Not the physical stuff—that’s easy. But knowing what to do. I think my plants make fun of me behind my back.”

“Because they respect you enough not to do it to your face?”

“Something like that.” She looked at him, then away. Confusion made her uneasy. Should she demand he tell her what he’d decided? Or just withdraw the request and accept a year or two of therapy?

“We should go inside,” he said, motioning to the front door.

As it was her house, she should do the inviting, but she decided to simply go with it. She put down her clippers and wiped her hands on the front of her tank top, wished her jeans were a little cleaner, then mentally shrugged. This was the real her. If Clay couldn’t handle it, then sex was out of the question.

But as she led the way into the house, she realized she was filled with a queasy combination of anticipation and dread. He could agree or tell her to go to hell. To be honest, she wasn’t comfortable with any of the possibilities.

She passed through the living room and walked into the spacious kitchen. The previous owner had updated it a decade or so ago, which had been more than enough for her. Appliances that worked, wood cabinets and a countertop where she could stack takeout was plenty. Annabelle had done a full five-minute lovefest on the six-burner stove she’d chosen for Shane’s new house and an even longer soliloquy on the countertops. Charlie had listened with seeming interest because she wanted to be a good friend, but dear God. It was a kitchen. She simply didn’t have it in herself to get excited.

The table and chairs by the window had been a garage-sale find. She’d stripped them herself and refinished them. Heidi had helped her pick out the cheerful red cushions. Now she pointed to the chairs.

“Sit.”

The word came out as more of a bark than she would have liked. Clay removed his sunglasses, gave her an amused single-eyebrow raise, then did as instructed.

She sighed. Fine. She would admit it. The boy-girl thing was a complete disaster for her. At least she understood her limitations. Besides, she wasn’t looking for a meaningful relationship. She simply wanted to get laid.

Sort of.

She pulled a pitcher out of the refrigerator. After filling two glasses with ice, she carried them over to the table, set the pitcher in the middle and then glared at Clay.

“Did you want something else?”

The amusement never faltered. “You get defensive when you’re nervous.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for illustrating my point. Now you sit.”

She plopped down and poured them each a glass of lemonade. After passing his to him, she happened to glance at her hands.

Dirt covered every inch and collected under her nails. Crap. She probably should have washed her hands before getting them drinks. Which she would have done if he hadn’t been here. The man rattled her and not in a happy way.

“I’m not defensive,” she snapped.

He picked up his glass and took a sip. His unsettling gaze swung back to her. “This is lemonade.”

She rolled her eyes. “Most people would say the yellow color was a dead giveaway.”

He reached his free hand across the table and placed it on her forearm. “No claws required, Charlie. I’m not the enemy.”

His voice was gentle, as was the pressure on her arm. She was aware of the warmth of his fingers on her skin. It all seemed easy for him. Because for him, the touching thing was no big deal.

She could touch, too, she reminded herself. She could carry a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man out of a burning building, then give him CPR without blinking. But even she knew that was different.

She drew in a deep breath, ignored the warmth his fingers generated and then exhaled.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “It’s lemonade.”

“You used sugar.”

“Have you tried it without sugar? Do you know what a lemon is?”

His hold tightened slowly. She had a feeling if she were a stray cat or dog, he would be murmuring something like, “It’s okay, girl. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I was making conversation,” he told her, his tone still tinged with amusement. “Most people don’t use sugar. They use something without calories.”