Stay... Page 16

  “Emily, this is as much your home as anyone’s.”

  She smiled sadly, clearly showing that she had very nearly made up her mind. She heard him stifle a curse.

  “It’s ironic, Tristan. All these years of enduring Jefferson’s departures. And this time, I’m going to be the one to leave.”

  “You’ll go back to San Diego, then.”

  Her lashes kept him from seeing her expression, but she worried her lip.

  “Emily?”

  “Maybe it’s time for a change,” she whispered. “Past time.”

  “Dammit! I don’t want to lose my best friend because my brother’s too stubborn to see what is right under his nose!”

  Emily turned back to the batter, stirring blindly. “Don’t be angry with Jefferson. He can’t help the way—”

  Tristan stopped her with a blunt word. “He’s in love with you, Emily. Pure and simple.”

  “If he loves me,” she nearly choked on the words, “he’d stop pushing me away.” She gave up trying to mix the batter. “I know he has feelings for me,” she acknowledged. “That he’s attracted to me.” Color rose in her cheeks, but she made herself continue. “But I need him to share himself with me. You know? His thoughts. His dreams. His past. But even more, he needs someone that he can share himself with that way.” Her jaw worked. “That person isn’t me. It’s time I faced that.” She looked up at Tristan.

  “So you’re going to use his example and run away from the people who love you?”

  It hurt Emily to hear Tristan phrase it so bluntly. “That’s probably what I’m doing,” she admitted. “But I can’t go on this way. Maybe a complete break will help.”

  “It’s not gonna help me,” Tristan argued. “It’s sure as hell not going to help Jefferson. And what about Matt and Dan? What about Squire? What are you going to tell Squire?”

  “I don’t know!” She cried. “But Jefferson is a Clay. And he needs you all so much. He just doesn’t know how to say it. I can’t bear for him to be so unhappy, and my presence here is only making it worse!”

  “Neither of you has to leave. And you’re a Clay, too,” Tristan said firmly. “That fact is half of Jefferson’s problem.”

  “What?”

  “It’s stupid, as far as I’m concerned,” Tristan continued. “And he’ll probably break my legs for me when he finds out I said something. But he’s gotten some crazy idea about his feelings for you not being appropriate. What with Squire raising you and all.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. Jefferson knows we’re not related.” Her lips twisted. “We’ve even talked about it.”

  Tristan shrugged. “Have you told Jefferson that you’re planning to leave?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Promise me one thing, then.”

  “What?”

  “Promise first.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I promise.”

  “Don’t tell Squire or anyone else that you’re leaving until after you’ve told Jefferson.” He yanked open the door. “I swear, Emily, you’re not going to give up your home and family, even if I have to make good on my threat to Jefferson and marry you myself.”

  Emily blinked. After a moment’s delayed confusion, she jogged out to the mudroom and swung out the screen door, looking at his departing back. “What’s that supposed to mean? Tristan?” She yelled after him, but he ignored her.

  “Remember your promise,” he yelled back, moments before swinging up into the back of the pickup that had rolled to a stop behind him.

  Through narrowed eyes she watched the crew head back out to the fields.

  What had Tristan gone and said to Jefferson?

  Chapter Nine

  Emily had halfway planned to ask Sawyer what he thought about employment prospects back East, but her promise to Tristan kept her silent. Instead, she found herself counting the minutes of each hour of the day until after their early supper, when they’d all troop to town to visit Squire. All of them except Jefferson.

  The man who’d basically kept to himself all day long, she reminded herself as she followed Daniel outside to the vehicles, a plastic-wrapped plate of brownies in her hand.

  Sawyer and Jefferson were standing several yards away. Another arguing pair. Emily watched them openly, though she couldn’t hear a word.

  “Are you planning to stand there all day?” Tristan nudged her arm toward the car. “I’d drive that little tin can you rented, but your seat doesn’t go back far enough.”

  “What do you suppose that’s all about?” She hunched her shoulder in the direction of Sawyer and Jefferson.

  Tristan dropped his arm over her shoulders. “Hard to say. Maybe wise old Sawyer is giving Jefferson some advice on his love life.”

  Emily elbowed Tristan in the ribs. “Very funny.” She rounded the car and yanked open the door. Across the roof of the vehicle she watched Sawyer gesture. Jefferson suddenly lifted his head, and across the distance his eyes searched out Emily. She found herself holding her breath.

  Jefferson said something to Sawyer who shook his head sharply. But after a moment, the two men shook hands. Jefferson stood watching as Sawyer returned to the Blazer. A faded duffel bag sat on the gravel near the truck, and Sawyer picked it up and tossed it into the rear before going around to climb in beside Matthew.

  She looked at the spot where the bag had been. The pang that shot through her left her knees weak. “What’s the bag for?” she asked Tristan.

  “Hmm?” He noticed her expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is Jefferson leaving?”

  Tristan started. “Hell no, he’s not leaving! You’re the one talking about that nonsense.”

  “But the duffel—”

  Tristan squinted and looked over to the truck. “Oh, that was probably just some clothes of Squire’s. He wanted us to bring him some of his own stuff. Relax, would ya?”

  “So why didn’t Sawyer use Squire’s suitcase?” she asked as she placed the brownies on the floor in the back seat.

  “What?”

  “The duffel,” Emily said impatiently. “Why would Sawyer take Squire’s stuff in Jefferson’s duffel? Or it could be Sawyer’s duffel, I guess.”

  “Well how on earth should I know? Maybe he couldn’t find Squire’s suitcase. Geez, Emily. Get a grip would ya?”

  “You’d tell me if Jefferson was leaving, wouldn’t you?”

  Tristan heaved a sigh. “I’d tell you,” he promised. “And he’s not leaving.”

  Emily bit the inside of her lip. Her eyes went from Tristan’s exasperated gaze to Matt’s truck. Jefferson was the only one not inside the truck. “Okay, I believe you,” she mumbled and climbed into the car. She started the engine and pulled in behind the Blazer, far enough back that they weren’t choked in the dust stirred up by the other vehicle.

  In to her rearview mirror, she caught sight of Jefferson as he lingered by the aspen trees, watching their departure. After a moment he turned away and walked out of sight behind the big house. Suddenly she took her foot off the gas and coasted to a stop.

  “What are you doing?”

  Emily’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel and pinned Tristan with a firm look. “You didn’t really tell Jefferson we were involved, did you?”

  Tristan looked uncomfortable.

  “You didn’t.” She wanted to throttle him. “Tristan, what am I going to do with you? No wonder Jefferson keeps giving us strange looks.”

  “He didn’t believe me,” Tristan assured her. “I was just trying to light a fire under him. For all the good it did,” he added darkly. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Emily unsnapped the safety belt and got out. “You’ll have to drive. Legroom or not. Tell Squire I’ll see him tomorrow,” she said. “And give his nurses the brownies, please. Don’t eat them all before you get there.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “Get some answers,” she replied. “Or make a complete and utter fool of myself.” She shrugged. “Take your pick.�
��

  Tristan got out and rounded the car. “Tell him about your crazy idea of leaving,” he advised as he began folding himself into the driver’s seat. He knocked his knee on the steering wheel and grunted. “Maybe I should just stay behind,” he muttered.

  “Don’t you dare,” Emily pushed his head inside and closed the door on him. “This is one evening the place isn’t crawling with people, and I plan to take advantage of it.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I mean—”

  Tristan chuckled and started the engine. “Don’t let him scare you off,” he said, sobering. “You’re exactly what he needs.” He gave her a thumbs-up and shifted into gear.

  Emily hastily backtracked so she wouldn’t get an eyeful of dust. “Exactly what he needs,” she repeated, wishing that she could be as confident of the notion as Tristan seemed to be.

  She drew in a deep breath and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. With her heart in her throat, she began walking back toward the house.

  It took a little longer than she’d expected. And she felt hot and sticky by the time she walked into the kitchen. She prowled through the rooms of the main floor, but Jefferson was nowhere in sight. Nor was he upstairs or in the den or in the basement. In fact, Emily finally gave up and acknowledged that the man wasn’t anywhere in the house at all.

  Feeling anticlimactic, she retreated to her room. When she freshened up and looked at herself in the mirror, she knew she was being cowardly. Jefferson had to be somewhere. If she wanted to find him, she could. She would.

  She let herself out through the front door, narrowing her eyes against the fiery sunlight that hovered just above the horizon. Streaks of red and orange blazed across the sky in a magnificent sunset. The wooden swing that had always been on the front porch was empty, swaying gently in the warm breeze. She went down the steps and headed around the side of the house, scanning the grounds for some sign of Jefferson.

  She stuck her head inside the horse barn. But the only sounds that greeted her were the soft nickers from the half dozen horses enclosed in their stalls. She walked around to the corrals, but the only one who paid attention was the golden retriever that slowly rose from her sprawl in the fading sun to join Emily. “Hey, Sandy,” she softly greeted Matthew’s dog and bent down to scratch behind her ears. “Where’s Jefferson?”

  But the dog merely cocked her head and looked back with her gentle eyes.

  Emily gave the dog a final pat and stood. To her right lay the gravel road that led toward the machinery barn. Voices and music rang from the bunkhouse as the men finished up their evening meal. She headed that way and stuck her head inside the side door. Many heads turned her way, smiling and nodding and calling out greetings. But Jefferson’s blond head wasn’t one of them.

  She returned Maggie’s wave and left.

  Situated farthest from the big house, was another set of corrals used primarily during branding. The foreman’s home was west of the corrals. She could just see the back side of the brick house. She propped her hands on her hips. Still no sign of Jefferson.

  Pursing her lips, she began walking back the way she’d come. She passed the horse barn again and paused. In a smooth curve, the gravel road led to the swimming hole.

  She set off for the trees, forgoing the gravel for the softer knee-high grass alongside the road. When she came upon the lilac bushes growing lush and thick among the trees surrounding the natural spring, the sun was casting its last efforts of daylight. Twigs crackled beneath her sandals as she slipped between two trees.

  A slender shaft of sunlight arrowed through the trees, highlighting the man’s shaggy golden mane. Emily stopped cold, her hand pressing flat to her stomach. Jefferson was sprawled on his back atop the flattish boulder that jutted out from the bank.

  His head was toward the water, his sun-gilded hair drifting from the rock toward the still water. Almost like a dream, she watched his eyes turn directly toward her. As if he’d been expecting her.

  Desire clenched inside her. Low and demanding. This was no dream.

  She stepped forward.

  In just the moment it took to cross the few yards to the boulder, the shaft of sunlight flickered then slid away to nothing. Twilight still hovered in the air, holding back the evening darkness, and she saw his chest slowly rise and fall.

  “I thought you were going to see Squire,” he said.

  “I was,” she toed off her sandals and stepped closer. Beneath her foot, the boulder was still warm from the day’s heat. “I’m here to see you instead.” She looked down at him.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at her, silent. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It was too dark now. Not that she’d be able to tell even if it were broad daylight.

  “Squire’ll miss you,” he murmured.

  “I’m sure he misses you, too. No matter what the problem is between you. But he’s doing much better and his cardiologist is talking about releasing him soon.”

  He lifted his arm and bent it across his eyes.

  “Aren’t you glad he’ll be home soon?” she asked.

  “Of course I am.” It was true. He was glad his father was improving. Glad that the man would be returning to his own home soon. It also meant, though, that Jefferson would have to be moving on soon. And the thought of leaving the ranch again brought on a curious sense of grief.

  “Pardon me, but you don’t look overjoyed.”

  He deliberately forced his hand to relax before it could curl into a fist.

  “I know, I know,” Emily said. “None of my business.”

  He heard her walking around the boulder and then felt the warmth of her against his knee when she sat down beside him. He watched her from beneath his arm. She stretched out one leg until her toe broke the glassy surface of the water. Drawing in her breath, she retracted her foot. It was one thing to go for a dunking during the middle of the day. But the evening was another matter entirely.

  “I remember when Squire taught you how to swim out here. You were like a little fish. It didn’t matter how cold the water got, you still wanted to go swimming.”

  Beneath the full skirt, she propped her foot on the rock and clasped her arms around her bent knees. “You do that a lot, you know,” she pointed out. “Veer our conversations back to my childhood.”

  She lowered her cheek to her knees and continued speaking softly, amazed that her voice was steady when her heart was thundering so unevenly. “As if by putting my existence in that context you won’t have to deal with me. You won’t have to acknowledge what’s going on between us. You won’t have to give up any of those precious secrets you keep hoarded so close to your chest.

  “There is nothing going on between me and Tristan. I don’t know exactly what he said to you. Only that he said something. But he and I are just friends. Exactly like I told you in San Diego. He was just…just…” She broke off.

  “I know what he was doing.”

  Emily nibbled on the inside of her lip and was grateful for the gathering darkness. She softly cleared her throat. “Would it have mattered to you? If it had been true?”

  Jefferson took the question like a blow to his midriff. He wanted to tell her. Tell her exactly how much every little thing about her mattered. He wanted to spill his bloody guts and let her sweetness wash over him. But it all came back to those damned secrets she accused him of hoarding.

  Secrets. He was so sick and tired of secrets. Of partial truths. Of cover stories. But he didn’t think he was up to the aversion he’d see in her pansy brown eyes if she knew the truth. He didn’t even know if he knew how to get the words out anymore.

  She made a frustrated sound at his continued silence and pushed up from the rock. She bent and picked up her sandals. “One of these days,” she murmured bitterly as she walked back toward the trees, “I’m going to learn how to leave you alone.” Her voice went slightly hoarse, but he still heard her words. “I’m going to finally get it through my head that you don’t want, or need, anything from me.”

 
Jefferson sat up and watched her pick her way back through the trees. He even called her name, but she didn’t hear. Or perhaps she did. Calling himself a fool, he pushed himself up from the boulder and went after her.

  She was leaning against a tree trunk, pulling on her sandals. “Emily.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, and he realized she was crying. “Go away.”

  “That’s my line.” He took the other shoe from her and bent over. He brushed away the crushed leaves from the sole of her foot before sliding on the sandal. She went to step away from the tree, but he moved, blocking her from leaving. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry you’re a sorry, stubborn, mangy, moth-eaten, mulish, jackass—”

  He shut her up the simplest way he knew. He kissed her.

  Her breath was tumbling past her lips when he raised his head. But at least she was quiet. “Moth-eaten?”

  “Damn you, Jefferson Clay,” she muttered, curling her palm behind his neck. She pulled his head down and kissed him back.

  His breath was uneven when he raised his head. He pulled her hands from his neck, and with one hand he anchored them safely above her head, against the tree. “We can’t do this.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  She tugged at her hands, and he adjusted his grip accordingly.

  “Over and over again,” she added, renewing her efforts to unleash herself.

  Her squirming succeeded in arching her back away from the tree trunk, and had he been a gentleman he’d have stepped back when her curves thrust up against his chest. Of course, had he been a gentleman he wouldn’t have her trapped against the tree, either.

  She seemed to realize her position and suddenly ceased struggling, choosing to plaster herself back against the peeling tree bark. A good half foot out of touching range. “Let me go,” she ordered.

  He had to look away from the dark eyes bravely staring him down. He stifled a curse. “I wish I could,” he muttered.