CHAPTER 14
CLAYTON
After dinner Jamie and Ruth thanked the Langleys and Nolan drove them back.
Meanwhile Clayton headed upstairs to pack an overnight bag with a few essentials.
He could have told Jamie how to set his house alarm—or at least mentioned he had one.
But who was he kidding? He wanted to see her first thing in the morning. Maybe even make her breakfast.
She’d seemed comfortable around the girls, which caught him off guard. She’d been clear about not wanting kids, yet there was something natural in the way she interacted with them. It made him wonder if there was more to that story than she let on.
Momma was waiting in the foyer when he came down the stairs, arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping like she was keeping time for a song only she could hear.
“Be careful now, son.”
“What are you talking about?” His mother knew him better than anyone and could always tell when he was up to something .
“You’re grinning like a possum eating sweet taters.” She let out a sigh and put her hands on her hips. “Reckon Jamie Keaton’s the reason.”
There was no sense in lying to her. “I like her, and I think she likes me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Give her a little time.”
“Let me guess . . . you don’t like her?”
“I like her just fine,” Momma said. “But this ain’t no place for a city girl. I’m sure there’s plenty of nice country girls who’d love to be your wife.”
Clayton let out a short laugh. “Doubt that.” He smirked. “Besides, men of sense, whatever you may choose to say, do not want silly wives.”
Momma’s eyes narrowed, then she huffed. “Austen.”
“Austen.”
She sighed. “Just don’t get your heart broken.”
“Well, last time I did I wrote a number-one song.”
As the truck bounced along the dirt road, Duke quietly riding beside him, Clayton replayed their conversation. Maybe Momma was right—maybe he was coming on too strong. But Jamie lit something in him he didn’t know how to dim.
He knocked on the front door, figuring she’d appreciate the effort since she’d all but read him the riot act the last time he showed up unannounced. When she opened it, wearing pajamas with Poppy’s face printed on them, he bit back a grin.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight ,” she said, looking put-out.
“You won’t even know I’m here.” He stepped inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, while Duke raced in, tail wagging.
“This really isn’t necessary,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it since I was eight.”
“Sorry about your momma.”
She waved that off. “Forget about my mom—yours is on another level. I appreciate her straightforwardness. No bullshit.”
Clayton smirked. “Birdie Langley does not suffer fools gladly.”
“To tell you the truth, she scares the living hell out of me.”
“Why do you think I’m still single—well, divorced, that is.”
Jamie snorted. “Want me to write you a list?”
“That might be helpful.” He couldn’t help but flirt with her. She was probably the sassiest woman he’d ever met and, unlike Tammy, she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. And, Lord help him, she was drop-dead gorgeous, especially in her pajamas.
Jamie picked up her dog off the couch and cradled her like a baby. “I feel bad you’re not with your girls.”
“I put them to bed, but not before they talked my ear off about you.”
“Do they like me?” she asked, almost like she didn’t believe it.
“Did they show you their Schleich horse collection?”
“Yeah, it’s really impressive. And they have all kinds of farm animals, not just horses.”
“They won’t let me near those things—scared I’ll break them.” He scratched his beard. “They love horses. Real horses. You ought to go riding with them.”
“You really want me to break my leg, don’t you?” She set Poppy back down and tucked her in with a blanket.
“Well, if you broke your leg you’d need me to help you.”
Jamie shot him a look. “Clayton, I wouldn’t need your help if I broke both arms and both legs.” She grabbed her guitar from its case. “Anyway, I’m going to finish this song. You sure you don’t want your bed back?”
“I kind of like you in my bed.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “That’s a good song title. ”
“It is,” he agreed, heading toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”
“As long as it’s not beer.”
“Nolan picked up some Ketel One. Should’ve told you it was in the freezer.”
“That’s my vodka!” she hollered.
“I told you: I notice stuff.” He came back into the room and handed her a vodka soda.
She took a sip, watching him. “Why weren’t you drinking at dinner?”
“Don’t when I’m with my girls.”
She nodded. “Then I won’t either.”
His gaze softened. “You sure you’re all right?”
Jamie exhaled. “I just hate being embarrassed.”
Clayton leaned back against the couch, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Hell, darlin’, he’s the one who ought to be embarrassed. Ain’t a single one of his movies worth the popcorn.”
She laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. Then her gaze caught the lifeless horse painting above the fireplace. She pointed at it. “Do you actually like that?”
Clayton sighed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Tammy painted it.” A beat passed. Then, with a wry smirk, he added, “Always hated that damn picture.”