His Daughter...Their Child

“No, Mom. I’m not.”

“Humor him,” she coaxed.

Clay sighed. “I’ll speak to him about the account, but I don’t intend to change anything.”

“At least that’s something,” his mother murmured, squeezed his shoulder and then left the sunroom.

Although Celeste was already putting a puzzle together with Abby, she tossed him a quizzical look.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I’m not thinking anything, except maybe your dad still wants you to be a banker.”

His father had always wanted him to be a banker … just as Zoie had. “Some things never change.”

“Doesn’t he accept the fact that you’re doing the work you love? Doesn’t that matter to him at all?”

So Celeste had always realized that. The revelation settled into Clay’s being as if it was important enough to make a home there. “My father isn’t interested in the journey. He’s always been interested in appearances and the end result. He wants me to be a respected member of the community and take over for him some day.”

“Turn the puzzle piece this way,” Celeste encouraged Abby. “There you go. That one fits.”

Abby clapped her hands and hugged Lulu tighter against her. “It fits, Lulu!”

As Abby selected another piece with Cinderella’s fairy godmother stamped on it, Celeste asked Clay, “Do you still like what you do? Do you still want to get into that SUV and drive where not many people go, hike where few people dare, teach others about the beauty of this place?”

He heard passion in Celeste’s voice. He’d never thought of her as passionate. That had been Zoie’s forte. “Yes, or I wouldn’t still be doing it.” He leaned around Celeste to tug on one of his daughter’s pigtails.

She grinned at him. “Don’t tease, Daddy.”

He laughed. He knew in spite of everything, Abby was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, he had Celeste to thank for that.

Levering himself up to a sitting position again, his chest brushed Celeste’s shoulder. She glanced back at him and he studied her face. His first impression at the reunion had been wrong—she did look a bit like Zoie, but not as much as he’d thought. Her perfume was different, her gaze was, too. It was direct, not evasive. In that moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her—if her lips would be soft and pliant, if passion would be natural for her or a means to get what she wanted.

Abby.

He pushed himself to his feet. “We’re having turkey burgers tonight. I’ll turn on the grill and set up a washbasin outside because I’m sure the bears’ bath will get messy.”

“Can I wear my swimsuit?” Abby asked, scrambling to her feet.

He tried to let the tension he felt with Celeste ease away so his daughter wouldn’t pick up on it. “Sure.”

Celeste turned away and took a deep breath. Was she feeling chemistry, too? Why now?

Rising to her feet, she asked, “What can I do to help?”

All of a sudden, he imagined the two of them naked and tangled in each other’s arms. Where the hell had that vision come from? That rush of adrenaline that still lingered? The bite of arousal he’d relegated to a remnant of younger days?

No, he could not get involved with this woman. Or any woman. His nine-year marriage had drained all the romance out of him. Zoie’s betrayal had left him distrustful at worst … guarded at best. Why would he want to risk that kind of pain again? Why would he put Abby at risk of getting hurt, too?

Coolly he said, “The washbasin is in the laundry room. Towels, too. Maybe you can bring those outside.”

“Can C’leste help me put on my swimsuit?”

Clay’s heart took a nosedive. Already Abby was bonding with Celeste. He had to make a decision whether he should let it happen or stop it right now.

What would be best for his daughter—and for him?

Chapter Three

Celeste paced Clay’s sunroom, anxiety making her nauseous. Had she passed the test? Would he think she was good for his daughter?

Her daughter, she reminded herself. Her daughter.

They’d washed the toys and then enjoyed a pleasant supper on the patio. At least she thought it had been pleasant.

Until her gaze had met Clay’s and something electric had filled the air.

He’d turned away. She’d turned away. They’d both moved away, never getting within touching distance as they played tag with Abby and hide-and-seek and a funny little game Abby had produced with a blue elephant and butterflies.

But Clay hadn’t invited her to participate in the bedtime ritual. He’d said that she could go inside, relax and watch TV if she wanted.

But she couldn’t relax. Not waiting for his judgment call. She felt as if tonight her life could change forever. And she preferred the shadows of the sun porch to the glare of the great-room lights.

She heard Clay’s footsteps as he strode through the kitchen. Only the summer moon cut a swath of light across the yard as Clay’s voice preceded him into the sunroom. “Celeste?”

“I’m here. I was listening to the sounds—the owls, the breeze in the leaves. Most of all I like the scents—the pines and the sage.”

His voice was a deep rumble in the shadows. “I’ve centered my life around the scents, the sounds, the textures of the landscape.”

She wished he’d step into the moonlight so she could see his expression. “You made a life around it. During my life I made memories of it. As soon as I was old enough, I ran up these mountains to escape the noise of the bar and Mom bringing men home. Those sensory memories will always be a part of me, just as holding Abby in my arms for the first time will be, remembering the warmth and softness of her skin.”

Now he took a step into her space, right into the glow of the moon. If he wanted her to step back, she didn’t. She could see the silver flecks in Clay’s eyes, almost feel the muscled fitness of his body. The heat of the July day was almost gone now, yet she could feel heat between them. Maybe that was just on her part.

“Are you trying to convince me of something?” he asked roughly.

“No. I’ve just told you how I feel.”

He swore, turned away, then faced her again, the tension in his body so evident that she could practically feel the sensual ripples.

“Clay.” She said his name so softly it was almost a whisper.

“Don’t,” he ordered.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me as if you want to be more than Abby’s mother. Don’t you get it, Celeste? I’m feeling, too.”

She knew if she asked the next question, she might not like the answer. But she asked anyway. “What are you feeling?”

He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. “I’m attracted to you. I can’t get you out of my mind. Sure, it’s part worry about you and Abby. But so much of it is just …” He stopped to study her … to assess how she might react. “So much of it is raw desire that’s making me crazy!”

She knew she could run. That’s probably what he expected her to do. Instead, she stood her ground because this was Clay—a boy she’d fallen hard for, a man she now desired. So she said, “I dream about you, too.”

Her words seemed to break a wall between them. He reached out and touched her face. His fingers were scorching. She didn’t breathe.

His groan was low as his arms encircled her and his lips came down on hers. Her breath became trapped in her chest as she kissed him back, bringing her hands to his shoulders, gripping him tightly so her knees wouldn’t buckle.

She heard his deep groan, felt his desire ratchet up as his tongue parted her lips, and he claimed her more possessively. She’d imagined this moment when she was in high school, yet she’d never expected it to happen. Once Zoie and Clay were dating steadily, she’d locked all her feelings tightly in a corner of her heart, never intending to let them show, never intending to act on them, never intending to let Clay see them.

As he pressed his body against hers, she felt herself melting into him, fitting against him as if this kiss was going to go a lot further. Clay rubbed against her, explored her mouth more thoroughly, took the kiss into the realm of deep passion instead of skimming the surface of their desire.

But just as suddenly as they’d come together, he pulled away and took a long, deep breath. “That never should have happened. Ever since you came back …” He abruptly stopped and shook his head. “You look like Zoie, yet you don’t. And you’re different than she was. You’re passionate and so natural with Abby. I don’t know if I’m attracted to you or if this is just some kind of libido-memory thing.”

Could he possibly know how much that hurt her? To be compared to Zoie and brushed aside as if she weren’t capable of inciting a man’s desire?

Even in the dim light, he must have seen the emotion on her face because he clasped her arm and said, “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“Maybe you did. Maybe this has nothing to do with me at all.”

He seemed to consider that and then shook his head. “No. Ever since we danced, there’s this … buzz between us. You obviously feel it, too, or you would have backed away. Why didn’t you?”

Now he was the one who wanted answers, yet she couldn’t give them. She realized now she didn’t want to reveal too much. Knowledge was power, and he could use that knowledge and power in all sorts of ways. She didn’t think he would, but as protective as he was of Abby, he might not take any chances by giving her even a little bit of leeway.

When she didn’t answer him, he concluded, “We have to ignore it.” His words were filled with conviction. “Chemistry will only complicate our lives even more. It was all Zoie and I had when we started and we didn’t even have that when we finished.”

There was a world of pain in that admission, pain from giving his life to someone and having her tear it up. She knew about that, but not as much as Clay did.

“Have you dated since the divorce?” she asked quietly.

He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Celeste, there’s no reason to get into this.”

“I’d like to know if there have been any other women in Abby’s life.” And in yours.

“I wouldn’t have brought a woman into Abby’s life, not unless I was absolutely sure she’d be committed to staying in it. So, no, I haven’t dated.”

That summed up the intensity of the kiss for Celeste. If he hadn’t been with a woman, it would be easy for his desire to blaze out of control.

His voice was gruff as he lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I can’t say that what you’re thinking isn’t wrong.”

Another zinger. He could read her mind. That was almost as scary as the fact that he might have kissed her simply because she reminded him of Zoie.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, dropping his hand. “Are you involved in Phoenix?”

There was suspicion in his eyes, a remnant from Zoie’s betrayal. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was.”

She hoped that was true. But all those old longings had coalesced into a passionate encounter she wouldn’t soon forget. If one of his kisses could shake her up that much, heaven help her if they went further than that.

But he wouldn’t—because of Abby. Because he didn’t want to stir up a hornet’s nest.

“Tonight was a test run, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“You mean with Abby?”

“Yes.” What else would she mean, unless—”Did you kiss me to see what I would do to get access to Abby? Was that the test, too?”

“Don’t make more of it than it was, Celeste. I have to know what you’re planning to do now.”

“I’m serious about moving here, Clay. The question is—how often will you let me see her?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, glanced toward Abby’s bedroom, then said, “Let’s start with a couple of visits a week for now. My mother will be here while you’re with her. Is that acceptable to you?”

He sounded as if he were setting up a legal agreement.

“That’s fine. I hope in time you’ll trust me with her alone.”

“I don’t have an abundance of trust right now.”

The truth of that statement was as evident as the fine lines around his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the defensiveness in his stance. She wanted to break through the walls he’d constructed after Zoie had left.

Maybe in time, he’d learn she wasn’t like her sister.

“I shouldn’t have come to this cocktail party,” Celeste said to Jenny on Friday evening as her friend ushered her into Silas Decker’s huge house. Zack’s father bred and trained cutting horses, turning over more of the management of the Rocky D ranch to Jenny every year.

When Jenny was a teenager, she’d come to live and work at the Rocky D. But to Silas she’d come to be much more than an employee. She was the daughter he’d never had.

“If Silas is introducing Clay to friends who want a fishing guide, I don’t want to intrude.” The more she thought about seeing Clay again, the more nervous she’d become.

Jenny was having none of that. “He’s doing that, but we’re watching Zack’s new movie, too. You’re my friend, and I want you here. As I told you on the phone, Silas is trying to fix me up again. I don’t want to be fixed up. I’m happy here doing what I’m doing, and doing it without worrying about what some man’s going to think of me.”

Celeste thought Jenny was protesting a little too much. She wondered again about the argument she’d had with Zack the night of the reunion. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it. They’d been quite an item their senior year, and from their angry parting, there still seemed to be some heat between them.

“Did you hear from Zack after the reunion?”

A mutinous expression flamed on Jenny’s face. “I don’t want to hear from Zack, not unless he’s telling me he’s coming home to figure out how to lessen the load on his dad.”

“Is there a problem?”

Jenny didn’t respond for a few moments, as if considering the facts, and whether she should or shouldn’t say anything about them. “I’ve seen some changes in the last couple of months. Silas’s energy’s definitely lower. He needs to rest more. He doesn’t have the verve he used to when he’s working in the barns. And with the book work, he could care less. He used to be on top of all of it. I asked him to consider going to the doctor for a checkup, but he said he’s fine. My instincts are telling me something’s going on.”

“What does Zack think?”

“He thinks I’m overreacting. But he was here less than twenty-four hours. How could he tell?”

“That’s why you argued?”

“Yes. And now I’m going to forget about it and just keep pushing Silas to see his physician.” She let out a deep breath. “So tell me what’s happening with you and Clay and Abby.”

Celeste felt warmth creep up her neck, and Jenny noticed.

“Well?” she asked, one hand on her hip, slightly wrinkling her coral sheath, her blond head cocked, her brown eyes penetrating.

“I saw Abby last Sunday and again on Monday when Clay was there. Then I visited again yesterday and he wasn’t there. His mother was.”

“How did that go?”

“It went okay, actually. His mom doesn’t seem to know what to think of me, though. She expects me to be flighty … like Zoie.”

Jenny brought a finger to her chin, then gave a slight nod as if she’d settled something with herself. “I never told you, but I saw Zoie once with Abby when she was about six months old. She had her in a grocery cart, pushing her around the store. The thing was—she didn’t pay much attention to her. When Abby fussed, she just let her fuss and kept shopping as if nothing was happening. This was one time and it might not have meant anything at all. She might have been tired. Maybe Abby had been fussing all day. But I wondered if that was the way she treated her all the time. It was none of my business, so I kept out of it. But I wondered.”

“If you had told me, I would have come back sooner.”

“And then what?”

Wasn’t that a loaded question? Would she have barged into Zoie and Clay’s life, claimed her daughter wasn’t getting the attention and love she needed? Wasn’t that why she’d chosen to make a life for herself in Phoenix, so she wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t see, wouldn’t be involved?

“Come on,” Jenny said, hooking her arm in Celeste’s. “Let’s join the party. Silas’s out-of-town friends heard about Clay and his tours and wanted to meet him in person. Silas also invited Jesse Vargas, Brody Hazlett and his dad, so you won’t be stuck in a room with Clay all night. Besides, I need a little girl company.”

Jenny led Celeste across the marble foyer, through a covered archway that opened into a high-ceilinged living room with a Remington on the wall, cowhide rugs and a suede and leather sofa long enough for a giant.

“Everyone’s in Silas’s parlor. Martha’s serving appetizers and drinks. You’re the last to arrive.”

Great, Celeste thought. That meant everyone would notice her when they walked in. She reminded herself she was no longer a shy teenager who preferred back corners to dancing under the spotlight. Holding her head high, she straightened to her full height, glad she’d worn heels instead of sandals, glad her teal dress, which had been an alternate choice for the reunion, had been a recent purchase before her trip here.

Celeste felt as if she should knock on the mahogany French doors that led into the parlor, but Jenny didn’t hesitate to grab a glass knob and open one of them. For a few moments, masculine voices circled around the group in the center of the room. Celeste recognized one deep baritone right away, but she kept her gaze from swinging to Clay. Instead she focused on the man at the center of the circle. He’d lost most of his gray hair, but his gray-black mustache seemed as thick as ever. The multitude of lines on his face attested to the fact that he’d aged since Celeste had seen him last.

“He has changed,” Celeste whispered to Jenny.

“In a lot of ways. Most of all, I think he’s just sad that he and Zack can’t talk.”

After only a few moments of hesitation, Celeste decided. “We might as well dive right in.” She tried to come up with a genuine smile.

“You’ve changed, too,” Jenny muttered as side by side they approached the closed group.

All of a sudden, one of the men Celeste didn’t know gave a low whistle and slapped Silas Decker on the back. “Where have you been keeping these two lovely ladies?”

Silas shrugged off the thirty-something man’s hand and turned to greet them. “Jenny, I’m so glad you invited Celeste.” He held her hand and then kissed the top of it lightly. “You’ve grown into quite a beauty.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

“As usual, we were talking horses. Clay was trying to explain to us why he picks the ones he does when he goes on trail rides. You were always a good picker, too, when you and Jenny convinced me to let you ride up to Moonshadow or out to Feather Peak. How do you choose?”

“It’s not very scientific,” she joked. “I look into his eyes, see if he likes my touch or pulls away from it. I give him a few ground commands and see how well he obeys. Then I take him for a little walk to get a feel for rhythm and companionability.”

Several men cleared their throats. Brody, a veterinarian like his dad, asked, “You don’t listen to recommendations from others?”

“I’ve learned recommendations from others don’t go very far if the horse and I don’t understand the same language.”

“Do you pick your dates that way?” Silas joked.

Unoffended, she shot back, “Maybe I should.”

The majority of the group laughed, but with one glance at Clay, she could see he wasn’t one of them. Even with that quick meeting of their eyes, she could still feel the desire from their kiss, the unusual undercurrent that made her body buzz, the still burned-on sensual taste of his lips on hers.

“Remember me?” a handsome, smartly dressed man asked. “I was a year ahead of you in high school.”

Jenny explained, “Jesse recently bought the sporting goods store.”

Celeste did remember Jesse, who’d been a football star in high school.

He had black curly hair, snapping dark brown eyes and a smile that could charm. “Which sport’s your favorite?” he asked.

Clay stepped in, eyed Celeste’s upswept hair, her dangling copper earrings, as well as the rest of her, in a millisecond glance. “Celeste prefers hiking. We were in the same club in high school and she can follow a trail better than anyone I know.”

“Anyone but you,” she acknowledged easily, wondering why he’d stepped in.

“You two were in the same class?” Jesse asked.

They glanced at each other and couldn’t look away. The kiss was there in Clay’s eyes—desire-filled, inciting, worrying.

Jesse cleared his throat, glanced at Clay, then asked Celeste with a bit of challenge, “Can I get you a drink?” He motioned toward the wet bar. “Silas’s bartender makes great dirty martinis.”

“Thank you. Maybe in a little while. I need to talk to Clay about something.”

“I’ll find you in a little while,” he agreed. He turned away and ambled over to the bar.

Clay led Celeste to a furniture grouping away from the others. “Lining up a date?” he asked in a serious tone.

“No, just trying not to be rude to one of Silas’s guests. Do you have a problem with that?”

Consternation crossed Clay’s face. “No, I guess not.”

Celeste glanced around and made sure nobody was within earshot. “I need to tell you something about Abby. When we were together yesterday, we played with her dollhouse.”

A smile crossed Clay’s lips. “She likes to take everything out and then put it all back in again.”

Celeste laughed. “Maybe she’ll be an interior designer someday.”

“But that’s not what you wanted to tell me.”

Her smile faded. “She played with a mom and dad and baby, but after a few minutes, she set the woman doll away from the dollhouse. When I asked her why, she said the mommy doll went away. I didn’t know how you’d want me to deal with it.”

Clay’s smile slid away, and he shook his head. “My mother never said anything about the way Abby plays.”

“Maybe your mom didn’t notice, or maybe Abby felt free to do that with me since I haven’t been part of her family circle.”

Clay rammed his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “I can’t tell her Zoie’s gone for good and I can’t tell her she’s coming back. You know Zoie’s unpredictable, and I can’t pin her down. When we divorced, sole custody was my main concern. In September, she’ll be receiving the second half of her settlement. When we talk about where to wire it, we’re going to have to get a few more things clarified. Abby needs to know who makes up her world.”

Because Clay looked so troubled, Celeste regretted telling him about Abby’s play. “I didn’t mean to just throw this at you, but I thought you should know.”

After a few moments of glancing away, his attention seemingly on the group across the room, he swung back to her. “What did you tell her?” His penetrating study of her face said he wanted the truth.

“I just suggested she let the daddy put the baby to bed, then we moved on to her pet-shop toys. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, and I certainly had no answers.”

“I suppose I was naive to think she wouldn’t remember Zoie leaving.”

“Maybe. Or possibly, she’s heard you and your mom talk. Mikala has often said kids are like sponges, soaking up words and feelings and vibrations that adults can’t even intuit.”

“You’ve talked to Mikala about this?” He didn’t seem angry, just curious.

“No, but she and I had a few discussions before I decided to become a surrogate.”

“I thought Zoie talked you into it.”

She remembered how her sister had pleaded with her, the lists of reasons why Celeste should do this for all of them. She also remembered Clay’s silence, his refusal to persuade her one way or the other. “I would do almost anything for my sister. But I had to make sure I was doing what I thought was right for all of us. The thing is, I didn’t have all the facts then. You and Zoie kept her affair from me. I didn’t know about that until she sent a long email, telling me the two of you were separating.”