wading through cold molasses.
She turned her head and looked out the window at the clear March sky. There had been a time when conversation between them had flowed easily and naturally. They had been able to talk about anything—or so she had thought. She realized now that their conversations had never really dealt with the overwhelming differences between them—his need for adventure and hers for safety and security. Their conversations had certainly never touched that secret place that Clay had always kept locked away from her.
Clay, a mining engineer, had been working on a short-term contract for an oil and gas company. The company’s owner had taken Clay to discuss a possible easement for a gas line. across her father’s, Hal Kelleher, property. She had been there, too, that day, picking up her youngest sister, Brittnie, for a trip to the orthodontist’s in Durango. She had almost missed Brittnie’s appointment because once Clay had arrived, she had lingered at the ranch, intrigued and yet terrified by the impact of meeting him.
He had sought her out that night, locating her at her job, managing the local movie theater. He had taken her out and they had talked until nearly dawn, then they’d been together every free minute after that. They had fallen immediately into lust and married after a three-week courtship. At the time, she had thought it was like a fairy tale. She realized now that their speedy marriage had possessed exactly as much substance as a fairy tale.
Even after all this time, the memory of their meeting still brought her intense joy, followed by sorrow. How could they have known things would go so wrong?
Determined to get through this short visit with as much civility as possible, Becca bought her attention back to Clay and discovered that he was studying her with the clear-eyed intensity he brought to everything he did. She met his eyes for a fleeting instant and saw sharp emotion there, but it was gone before she could identify it. His face went blank, as if he was expecting her to make the next gesture. Becca sighed inwardly. She had made all the gestures so far. She had to admit that this was better than fighting with him, but she didn’t know what he was thinking. At least when they had fought, she had known what was going on in his mind—somewhat.
Did he feel the same regrets she did? She had no idea and that was basically what had lain at the root of all their problems when they had been married.
“Can I offer you some coffee, Clay?” she asked, and wished her voice sounded less strained.
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
Relieved to be doing something, Becca hopped up and headed for the kitchen, but was distressed to glance back and discover that he was following close behind her.
“I’ll bring it out here, Clay,” she said, giving him a fleeting smile over her shoulder.
He answered with a steady look. “You don’t have to treat me like a guest, Becca. I can drink coffee in the kitchen.”
“All right,” she agreed, but she felt an edge of irritation. Why couldn’t he make such a simple thing easy? “Won’t you sit down?”
She already had the coffeemaker set up, so she flipped the switch to start it brewing, then began getting cups from the cabinet and cream from the refrigerator. When she had fiddled with the preparations as long as she could, she finally turned around, folded her arms across her waist, and wished she could think of something to say.
Clay had pulled out one of the four chairs that went with her oak table and sat now with his long legs stretched out before him and his strong miner’s hands resting casually on the polished wood. Glancing at the centerpiece of dried prairie grasses in a squat terra-cotta jug, then at the tabletop beneath his hands, he said, “This is new.”
“Yes, it is.” She brought their cups to the table, handed him his with just the amount of cream he liked stirred into it, then sat down opposite him. “It’s new to me at least. Mary Jane found it in the barn after Dad died. It was my grandmother’s. I had it refinished.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last bit. It wasn’t as though he cared. Heirlooms such as her grandmother’s table had never meant much to him.
He nodded. “In fact, it looks like you’ve finally got the place you always wanted.”
She listened for censure in his tone, but hearing none, she glanced around at her lovely little home and said, “Yes, I do.”
“So things are all set for you, then?”
There was something in his deep voice that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair, then hide her discomfort behind a sip of coffee. “Jimmy has made friends here in the neighborhood and at school. Things are going fine. How about you? When did this job in Venezuela come up?”
“A few weeks ago. George Cisneros called, said they needed me for some preliminary work on a mine they’re opening down there.” He shrugged. “And now there’s no reason for me not to go.”
There was no accusation or self-pity in his tone. He was matter-of-fact, but she felt a twist of guilt knowing that their divorce was the reason he was now free to take a job in South America. He’d wanted to years ago, saying the cultural changes would be good for them. Since they both spoke some Spanish, living in South America wouldn’t be hard for them. Becca had fought the move, reluctant to be so far from her family for such a long time. Mexico had been a great enough distance for her.
Before she could respond, Jimmy struggled into the room, pulling his overstuffed duffel bag with one hand, and clutching his book with the other. The tip of his tongue peeked from the corner of his mouth and a lock of dark hair flopped over his forehead. Clay started to his feet to help the boy out, but when Jimmy had the bag two inches inside the kitchen, he abandoned it in the doorway and rushed to climb into Clay’s lap.
Clay grunted when Jimmy’s elbow connected with his stomach. Rubbing the tender spot, he looked at the book’s cover, then gave Becca a questioning glance. “Gems and minerals?” he asked.
“I admit the book’s a little thin on plot, but most of it is written at his level, and it’s his favorite subject,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “He must have inherited it from you.”
Clay grinned, the first natural smile she’d seen from him since he had arrived, and she relaxed against the back of her chair. Since she had read, and heard, the book several times already, she sipped her coffee and watched Clay as he helped their son with such words as “feldspar” and “sandstone.” She wasn’t sure how much of the book Jimmy actually understood, but he loved rocks of all types, was a fount of information about them, and could be counted on to volunteer interesting tidbits at any given moment.
When he finished, Jimmy gave a satisfied sigh, jumped down from his father’s lap and dashed away to put the book back in his room.
“His teacher said he’s the only child to check that book out of the school library in two years. He’s kept rechecking it every week for a month. He should have it memorized by now.”
Clay nodded, then smiled at her with such pride in his son, that Becca felt tears clog her throat. This is the way it should always be between them, sharing in their son’s accomplishments.
“We went up to the old Lucy Belle mine a few weeks ago,” she continued when she knew she’d conquered the tears. “He was convinced he could find gold there, even thought it was a silver mine. He had on a pair of sweatpants with big pockets that he filled so full of rock samples the seat hung down past his knees. He walked around all day with his feet wide apart to keep his pants from falling down. He looked as if
