9. Chapter 9 – Clay
B y the time Lucy’s second art class at the visitor center arrived, the minor uproar over Gran Fenwick’s artistic choices had died down.
But I’d still promised to supervise art class.
I hope no one expected miracles, because Gran was a law unto herself.
If I went too hard on her, she’d rally the rest of class and have them following her into nude territory.
She was the Pied-Fucking-Piper of seniors: no fucks left and eager to mess with the next generation, just for giggles.
I took my job as park ranger seriously. The last thing I needed was complaints landing on my regional manager’s desk.
I spit into the sink. Right . I took my job so seriously that I was brushing my teeth again in the visitor center bathroom like a middle schooler trying to impress his crush.
When I got back to the tables, Lucy was already setting up. A black turtleneck and jeans made her look every inch the artist, like she’d dressed to blend and observe, serving as a backdrop that wouldn’t detract from the art around her. But it was a poor disguise for Lucy’s natural presence.
No one could skip over her or dismiss her so easily.
She changed the energy in a room just by walking into it.
Impossible to ignore. Especially not with that red-painted mouth.
It signaled the truth: she was a force to be reckoned with.
Her dark pigtails hinted at her playful side, but her red lips?
They alluded to the wicked sense of humor and tart tongue that tempted me into saying things I shouldn’t.
Every time I got too close, it was like grabbing the fence again, knowing damn well what it would do to me.
I’d been shocked too many times to fall for the illusion of quiet control.
“Lucifer, what can I do to help?” I asked.
“Stay out of the way.”
She flitted about, dropping sculpting tools and a block of clay at each workstation.
A few minutes later, the activity bus dropped off the first round of students, and the small visitor center filled with school-age children. The next forty-five minutes was utter chaos. Ten sets of hands sculpted beads, animals, and houses, wiping clay on everything.
I scurried around with a wad of paper towels, wiping down surfaces and kids as soon as they got streaked with the cold, gummy clay.
Lucy seemed utterly unbothered. She was calm as you please, going from student to student, helping with their projects. By the end of class, she was covered in clay to her elbows, with a streak on her left cheek and another on her forehead, but she was the most relaxed I’d ever seen her.
By comparison, I was a hot, dirty mess. And not the fun kind.
The bus came back, exchanging older students for younger ones, and soon we repeated the process. The older kids were less messy. In theory. But every time I turned my back, I caught small pieces of clay flying through the air in my peripheral vision.
Lucy was the picture of serenity. Relaxed shoulders. Easy smile. Not so much as a chiding word for the students throwing clay.
A hunk hit my left shoulder, and I spun around, glaring at a gangly boy. “Knock it off!”
His eyes widened. He shrank in on himself, offering me a sheepish grin of apology.
After the final bus departed, I collapsed into one of the chairs. “We have how long before we have to do this all again?”
“Thirty minutes,” Lucy responded, transferring clay creations to the back table we’d set up for drying.
“Thank god there’s only one more.” I shuddered. “I’m not cut out for this.” A giggle popped out before Lucy squelched it. I narrowed my eyes. “What? I’m shocked you’re so calm. That was a lot of little kids.” I twitched. “So much clay.”
She patted my cheek, eyes dancing. “Don’t quit your day job, Robertson.”
My heart stalled. Her palm was soft against my jaw. She didn’t seem to realize it was the first time she touched me by choice. I beat back the instinct to snag her hand and hold it there. That kind of move was sure to get me zapped.
“Never fear. You’ve got job security.”
Lucy arched one dark brow, her expression skeptical. “You sure about that, hotshot? Isn’t that why you’re here? Didn’t you think I needed supervision?”
“No,” I denied swiftly. “But Gran does.”
She chuckled, the sound slow and more sympathetic than joyful. “Oh, Ranger Robertson. You only think you have the authority here.”
Nope. No illusions on that front.
Eyes flashing, pigtails sticking out like flags, every line of her posture challenged me. Made me want more. She crossed her arms.
I spread my legs, letting my thighs fall apart, and patted my knees. Confident and relaxed. Silently taunting.
Her expression sharpened, daring me to take it further.
“Why don’t you come over here and let me give you a taste of how much authority I can wield?”
Goading her was reckless. Addictive. And I was already in too deep to care.
She clicked her tongue gently, mocking me, a tiny smile flirting with her red mouth. “Is that an invitation? What happened to waiting to kiss me until I was ready?”
I snagged her clay-streaked hand, tugging her gently toward me, holding her gaze. “Who said anything about kissing?”
“Yet another question.” Her lips turned down in a playful pout.
She straddled my lap, slowly sinking until her legs wrapped around my waist. I gripped her hips, seating her securely, enjoying the curves of her lush backside pressed against my thighs.
Her hands landed naturally at the nape of my neck, toying with the long hair there. She leaned closer, our eyes locked.
“You need a haircut,” she whispered. As if our normal volumes might destroy the moment.
“You offering?” I matched her tone, swaying closer. Our lips almost touched before I diverted to her cheek, nuzzling the soft skin there.
“It’s a brave man who hands me a pair of scissors.”
Or a desperate and foolish one. But I was well past due.
“Would you cut off anything I can’t live without, Lucifer?”
She arched into me, pressing her hips forward. The move exposed her neck, and I traced the strong lines with my nose, sliding gently into the hollow at her throat.
“That depends,” she said huskily, tilting to meet my gaze.
“On?”
Her eyes flashed. “If you ever stop asking these damn questions and kiss me already.”
A chuckle rolled out of me, long and low. “Baby, real authority doesn’t come from demands. It comes from leading the people where you want them to go.”
“Sneaky, sneaky.” She hovered nearer, our lips almost grazing. Up close, her eyes were impossibly large. Luminous.
The tell-tale ding of the door opening behind us had Lucy scrambling off my lap.
“Hey, Peggy,” she said, as if she hadn’t just been spread across me like peanut butter.
The rest of the seniors filtered in minutes later. I vacated my chair for its rightful occupant, choosing to hover at the back of the room while Lucy introduced the project to the adult class.
“Tonight, we’re sculpting with clay.” Her lips twitched as she caught my gaze. Maybe it was the unintentional pun, but she paused. The second of dead air was our downfall.
Gran turned in her seat, correctly guessing the object of Lucy’s attention.
Her bored expression morphed to something I recognized too well: mischief.
She hooted. “Step right up to the center, handsome! I hope you’re not going to be a prude who only offers his hands or some such nonsense.
” She twirled a finger in the air. “Turn around. Let us get a good look at you.”
Heat burst beneath my cheeks.
“Mrs. Fenwick, that’s not what I—" Lucy started.
“I love a tight ass,” Gran complimented, beckoning me forward. “C’mon, Clay. Show us what you’re working with.”
“Ma’am.” My sternest tone had no visible effect on Gran’s enthusiasm. The other ladies tittered.
One brave woman in a brightly colored sweater called, “Don’t be shy. We love a man in uniform.”
“ Or out of it ,” her friend mumbled softly. Unfortunately for me, her voice carried.
A grumbling started from one of the married men, his browns beetled in a severe frown.
“If the ladies get a looker, then do we get Lucy?” Mr. Reyes called out.
Gran cackled. “Sounds fair. Nudes for all! We’re celebrating the human form tonight.”
“NO.” My answer boomed across the small space.
Lucy winced. “What happened to leading with questions?” she asked, her stare challenging me from across the room.
I stood, fists and jaw clenched. These fools were getting Lucy to model over my dead body. “There will be no models for tonight’s class,” I bit out.
Lucy jumped in with instructions for their clay before Gran or anyone else could protest further. The class focused on their new creations, thankfully dropping any suggestions that Lucy or I model for them.
I circulated, wiping up bits of clay and trying to keep things tidy. Lucy spent time with each of her students, offering suggestions and demonstrating different sculpting techniques. Her patience and knowledge impressed me. My sculpting skills ended at rolling out a snake.
Slowly, the seniors’ projects took shape. Shirley Reynolds managed a half-decent depiction of one of the wild foxes that roamed the island. Pam crafted a surprisingly accurate sailboat, complete with sails.
Gran kept shooting me sideways glances. I studiously avoided her end of the table, afraid of what I’d find. Lucy approached Gran’s station near the end of class, stopping dead with a wide-eyed look. She inhaled deeply before stepping up to Gran with a forced smile.
Maybe it was cowardly, but Lucy’s expression sent me in the opposite direction. Some chaperone I made. Tangling with Gran wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Lucy finished her rounds and stepped to the center of the room.
“Okay, class. It’s time to wrap up. Please put your projects on the back table to dry.
Next week, we meet at the Madrone Acres Farm.
We’ll be drawing farm animals. They’ve got an alpaca, a pig, and a few chickens for us to use as models. ”
“You’ve already got the jackass covered,” Gran muttered, glaring my way.
She could die mad. It was one thing to sass me, another to pressure Lucy.
“Good night, everyone,” I said firmly, wanting nothing more than to be rid of our adult-ish nuisances.
Most of the class cleared out quickly, but Gran lingered, slowly carrying her project to the drying table. She cast one last dark look my way before gathering her purse and shuffling for the exit.
I collapsed into a folding chair for the second time that night, utterly wrung out. “That was a disaster,” I moaned.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“What class were you in? They were all undressing us with their eyes. I’m not a piece of meat.”
“Robertson, there you go again, talking about your meat.” Her lips twitched. “At least the ladies weren’t comparing parts of your anatomy to fruit.” She held her hands up as if cupping her breasts. “Apparently, I’m sporting a nice pair of honeycrisps.”
I squinted. “At least they recognize you as worth the expensive apples.”
“Not helping, Robertson.”
“Let me make it up to you with dinner.”
“If we eat at the brewery for a second time, rumors are going to fly that we’re dating.”
“Aren’t we?” I asked.
“There you go again, asking questions.”