Chapter 25
CLAY
Beer in hand, Clay strode to the door as soon as he heard the vehicle pull up and reefed it open. Stevie walked towards him, mud on her jeans like a real cowgirl so different to the day she’d arrived all fresh and blingy. His heart double-tapped in his chest.
As she neared, he could see her eyes were two purply-blue puddles and his pulse spiked in alarm. ‘We’re leaving in the morning,’ she blurted as she mounted the last step.
Clay blinked. ‘But… you’ve got another three days after today.’
Stevie shook her head. ‘Mom wants to go tomorrow.’
He opened his arms and she walked straight into them, her body so familiar to him now as he tried to compute this new information.
He’d known this thing they were doing had an expiration date and their days had been ticking down ever faster, but, goddamn it, he’d grown accustomed to her face being the first thing he saw when he woke in the morning.
‘Is this because of me?’
‘Well, she’s not saying that exactly,’ came her muffled response, her face buried in his shirt. ‘But yeah… it’s part of it.’
Clay’s jaw clenched. ‘Stevie… This is so fucked up.’
‘I know. I know.’ She pulled her head off his chest to look into his eyes. ‘It’s just… she’s more fragile than I realised and I can’t bear it, Clay. It’s just… easier this way.’
‘This isn’t fair to you.’
That’s what really irked. It might not be intentional; it might even be understandable in psychological terms, but Cindy Everhart was hurting Stevie to help Yolanda, which would have been shitty at any time but worse considering Yolanda was dead.
‘Please just…’ Her eyes begged him to understand. ‘Don’t try and fix this – it’s too broken right now. Just take me to bed one last time. Give me one more good memory to take with me.’
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, her mouth urgent and hungry, grabbing at his belly and his balls and his throat. Groaning, he shoved one hand into her hair, fixing their mouths together as he walked her inside and kicked the door shut.
If she wanted one last hurrah, he could do that. Hell, he’d sear it into her memory banks so she’d never forget the time she’d come to stay at the RVR or the cowboy that had shown her how to love a man.
He just wished he didn’t have to…
Three hours later, Clay was sitting on his front porch brooding as he drank his second beer of the day, not really seeing the view in front of him.
It’d been like that when he’d first moved here, too preoccupied with his resentment over his career and the failings of his body to really see what was in front of him.
Gradually that had changed. And it had changed again having Stevie here, sharing it with her, seeing it through her eyes.
But right now, all he could see was how empty this view would feel without her on the porch by his side.
It was crazy – he’d known her for less than a month but…
she was already such a looming presence in his life.
He’d wanted her to stay the night but she’d just shaken her head and he’d let her walk out the door after a lingering kiss, knowing this whole thing was hard enough for her without him making it harder.
She’d stayed less than an hour.
And right now she’d be at her last cookout because she’d wanted to say a proper goodbye to everyone, and it was the perfect forum. He’d been tempted to go but they’d said their goodbyes – there was no sense in prolonging it all.
Except… he sat forward in the Adirondack chair.
Was that a car he could hear? His pulse skipped a beat.
Had she changed her mind about staying the night?
Throwing back the rest of his beer in three long swallows, he strode inside, dumped the bottle in the trash and was at the door as the vehicle pulled up at the stairs.
It wasn’t Stevie, though – it was her mother.
Clay blew out a breath as she exited her rental and walked up the four steps to his porch. She was wearing light blue three-quarter-length pants and a spotty blouse, her hair teased into a fancy up-do, the splotchy face he’d noticed in the distance earlier now perfectly made up. ‘Clay.’
Trying not to let his feelings for what she was doing to Stevie show on his face, he welcomed her with a clipped, ‘Mrs Everhart.’
‘Cindy, please?’
Clay nodded and indicted for her to enter. He assumed she wanted to talk and probably didn’t want to do it on the front porch.
He followed her in, watching as she advanced inside, looking around the wood and stone interior and to the large glass panels that invited the view inside.
‘This is a nice place.’
‘Yes.’ Clay tried not to be tight-lipped, tried to remember that Cindy had been through a terrible tragedy that had skewed her life and her thinking. ‘My father built it.’
She didn’t say anything for a beat or two, just looked around some more. ‘Stevie thinks I have some business calls to make before I join her at the cookout.’
Clay gritted his teeth. Interpretation – this is just between me and you. ‘Okay.’
Turning to face him, she squared her shoulders. ‘As you know, we’re leaving in the morning.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘But… she likes you, Clay, and I know my daughter, she’s going to want to keep in contact with you. Calls and texts etc, etc.’
Lying in their tangled sheets in the aftermath, they had talked about keeping in touch. Clay had never done that with a woman in his life, but it hadn’t been a question with Stevie.
‘I’m here to ask you—’ She regarded him for long moments. ‘Please don’t respond to any of them.’
Clay wasn’t sure what a stroke felt like but he had been stomped on by a horse so he understood that pain was a warning sign, and he was pretty sure his head was about to explode. Was she serious? There was acting irrationally from grief and there was this… pre-meditated bullshit.
Going behind her daughter’s back to orchestrate something so monstrous? That could really hurt Stevie? On top of the hurt she was already applying?
Clay stiffened. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Everhart, but I will not be doing that.’
Cindy swallowed and Clay could see a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes, could see that it wasn’t easy for her to be standing here asking this – but she was.
So screw her.
‘I’m asking you to give her an off ramp, Clay.’
‘She’s going home, isn’t she?’ She was literally leaving in the goddamn morning.
Cindy gave a sad little shake of her head like there was something he just wasn’t getting. ‘She has a lot of big years ahead of her. Not a lot of time for much else and she can’t afford to be distracted. You’ve had your chance at fame, please don’t stand in the way of hers.’
They were almost the exact same words his father had used that day he’d warned Clay to be careful. And, if he thought Stevie really wanted that, he’d be the first to get out of her way.
‘What if she doesn’t want fame?’
Cindy’s perfectly arched eyebrow quirked. ‘You’ve known her for two seconds and you think you know her better than I do?’
Clay wanted to tell her she didn’t know her daughter at all. He wanted to tell her Stevie didn’t want this. That it gave her crippling anxiety. But he knew she would never forgive him for that because it wasn’t his story to tell.
‘I think you should talk to your daughter about what it is she wants.’
Her eyes widened a little like she hadn’t expected him to talk so personally about Stevie, or have a clue what she might want. Maybe she thought he’d only been after one thing. She let out a breath, her cheeks flushing as the bravado disappeared.
‘Look… I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘Please just forget I even came here. I shouldn’t have asked what I did. It’s just…’
Clay could see she was lost, like she’d come here on a whim without really thinking it through only to discover she’d screwed up and now she was stuck.
‘I know,’ he said, his tone gentler as he realised this wasn’t malice.
Not intentionally anyway. But it was coming from a bad place. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Yeah.’ She rubbed her forehead absently. ‘Thank you for understanding and… sorry again.’
Clay nodded but didn’t say anything as Cindy left. What was there to say?