going to propose that now when he was giving her this opening.
“Let’s go,” she said before Clay could change his mind.
Clay was aware of the swish of Celeste’s skirt as she preceded him up the lit walk to his house, a log home nestled among Douglas firs and aspen. He must have been certifiably crazy to ask her back here. Holding her in his arms, something had happened to him. Maybe because he hadn’t been with a woman since before his separation and divorce, his body had responded to her. Whatever the reason, he’d felt an arousal he hadn’t wanted to feel.
Perhaps she’d leave after this visit and his life would go back to the normal he was trying so hard to find.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” she said with an almost shy smile as she glanced at him over her shoulder.
The motion caused her shawl to slip, and he automatically reached for it. As they’d left the school, the July night had turned cooler, and she’d slung the delicate, crocheted wrap around her. Every movement of Celeste’s was graceful and natural. He’d always noticed that when they’d hiked. Zoie’s movements had been more frenetic, some calculated to entice, others just meant to gain notice.
Clay lifted the end of the shawl over her shoulder. His hand brushed her hair, which felt as silky as it had looked when they were dancing. That same ripple of sensual awareness coursed through him again, and he mentally swore, frustrated with himself and the situation.
When Celeste’s gaze met his, for a moment he forgot where he was. He forgot everything but the two of them standing there on the walk outside his house.
“I love the scent of the evergreens all around your property. And the petunias look lovely.”
All he could smell now was the scent of Celeste’s perfume. “Abby likes flowers so I asked Mom’s gardener to plant a few. If we’re lucky and the cold holds off, they could last through September.”
“I don’t miss the winter snow,” Celeste said with a laugh. “But I do miss the green. I prefer firs to saguaros.”
“Where are you staying while you’re in Miners Bluff?”
“In one of the guest suites at Mikala’s aunt’s. The Purple Pansy Bed and Breakfast doesn’t have a lot of rooms, but I think it’s still one of the most hospitable places to stay in town.”
“How is Ms. Conti?” He should have guessed Celeste would be staying near Mikala—one of her best friends from high school—but he thought at this time of year, the B and B might not have a vacancy.
“Anna doesn’t seem to let anything get her down.”
“I hear good things about Mikala’s music therapy practice. I took a family sightseeing who’d driven up from Sedona so their daughter could spend a week in sessions with her.”
“She never discusses her clients.”
“No, but her clients discuss her, and you know how gossip makes the rounds in Miners Bluff.”
“Oh, yes,” Celeste murmured as they climbed the porch steps, then stood at his front door. “Quicker than a high-speed train.”
Celeste’s mother had been a target of the whispering chain around town. There had been rumors about her morals and the kind of life she’d led. She supposedly spent afternoon to midnight at the bar, drinking with the clientele, and slept with men who were patrons. She left her daughters alone too much of the time. Yet Clay knew rumors never told the whole truth. Clay had liked Ms. Wells. She’d raised Zoie and Celeste on her own the best she could. Her death when the twins were in their twenties had hit them both hard.
After Clay took out his key, he cast a glance at Celeste and saw she was biting her lip. She was nervous. Nervous about not knowing what to expect with Abby? Or nervous about seeing his mother again? She’d spent Christmas with them all the year before Abby was born. She hadn’t been back here since.
Clay opened the door, stepped back into the life he knew, the life he liked … the life he was satisfied with now.
Celeste was right behind him.
He realized little had changed from the way the house had looked a few years ago. He had exchanged the outlandishly colored sofa Zoie had wanted for a more muted blue plaid one. The gleaming hardwood floors, the dark rafters across the ceiling, the stone fireplace with its mantel, had remained the same.
“Great TV,” Celeste joked with a smile.
He had to admit, yes, that was new, too. “Multipurpose. Not only does it allow Abby to watch her movies in almost life-size proportions, but I can run my footage of trips and wilderness treks, really seeing what I’ve got.” He gave her a wink. “I could do my email on here, too, if I really wanted to.”
She just shook her head. “I’m having trouble keeping up with technology and it’s part of my business. Sometimes I wonder—”
A child’s cry sounded down the left hall off the great room.
“Abby!” Clay called and hurried down the hall to the wing of bedrooms. In that moment, when his daughter needed him, he forgot about Celeste and why she’d come.
Clay’s mom, who must have been sitting in the rocker reading—her book lay open on the chair—sat on Abby’s canopy bed, holding her arms out to her granddaughter. But Abby huddled near the pale pink wall, crying as if her heart were breaking.
“She had another bad dream,” his mother said.
Abby had been having bad dreams on and off ever since Zoie had left two years ago. She couldn’t possibly remember her mother, but he understood when a child’s world changed, everything went topsy-turvy no matter how resilient they were supposed to be.
Clay crossed the room quickly, sat on the bed and gathered Abby into his arms. “Hey, ladybug. What’s wrong?”
Abby shook her head and hiccupped, tears running down her chubby cheeks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Celeste in the doorway. He saw his mother’s frown and knew she was aware of her, too. He couldn’t deal with Celeste now. In fact, he wished she’d leave.
But Celeste didn’t leave. She looked uncertain—as if she might get thrown out—but she crossed the room slowly … as if she couldn’t stay away. She knelt down before Abby and said in a soft voice, “That must have been a very bad dream. But your daddy’s here now. He can protect you.”
Abby glanced up to look at Clay, but then ducked her head down again, almost as if she were trying to crawl into herself. “Daddy’s not always here.”
“I’m here, honey, when your daddy’s not.” Violet Sullivan’s voice sounded disappointed that her granddaughter didn’t know that.
As if Celeste recognized that children didn’t employ reason to come to a conclusion, she delved into Abby’s world. “I’ll bet your very favorite stuffed animal could protect you. I bet he could hold your hand all night if you wanted.”
Sniffling, Abby peered up at Celeste. “Granny says I shouldn’t sleep with my bears.”
Clay
