A Little Bit Country: A Little Bit Country / Blackberry Summer

“But—”

“I’ve been injured often enough to know when a cut needs a doctor’s attention.”

She hesitated, then conceded that he was probably right. She filled the sink with warm tap water and took care to clean the wound thoroughly. All the while, Rorie was conscious of Clay’s eyes moving over her face, solemnly perusing the chin-length, dark brown hair and the big dark eyes that—judging by a glance in the mirror—still displayed a hint of vulnerability. She was tall, almost five-eight, her figure willowy. But if Clay found anything attractive about her, he didn’t mention it. Her throat muscles squeezed shut, and, although she was grateful for the silence between them, it confused her.

“You missed your vocation,” he told her as she rinsed the bloody cloth. “You should’ve been a nurse.”

“I toyed with the idea when I was ten, but decided I liked books better.”

His shoulders were tense, Rorie noted, and she tried to be as gentle as possible. A muscle leaped in his jaw.

“Am I...hurting you?”

“No,” he answered, his voice curt.

After that, he was an excellent patient. He didn’t complain when she dabbed on the antiseptic, although she was sure it must have stung like crazy. He cooperated when she wrapped the gauze around his arm, lifting and lowering it when she asked him to. The silence continued as she secured the bandage with adhesive tape. Rorie had the feeling that he wanted to escape the close confines of the bathroom as quickly as possible.

“I hope that stays.”

He stood up and flexed his elbow a couple of times. “It’s fine. You do good work.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“The coffee’s probably ready by now.” He spoke quickly, as if eager to be gone.

She sighed. “I could use a cup.”

She put the medical supplies neatly back inside the cabinet, while Clay returned to the kitchen. Rorie could smell the freshly made coffee even before she entered the room.

He was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of the fragrant coffee, waiting for her.

“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” she murmured, adding cream and sugar to the mug he’d poured for her.

A certain tension hung in the air, and Rorie couldn’t explain or understand it. Only ten minutes earlier, they’d walked across the yard, spellbound by the stars, and Clay had laid his arm across her shoulders. He’d smiled down on her so tenderly. Now he looked as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

“Have I done anything wrong?” she asked outright.

“Rorie, no.” He set his mug aside and gripped her shoulders with both hands. “There’s something so intimate and...earthy in what we shared.” His eyes were intense, strangely darker. “Wanting you this way isn’t right.”

Rorie felt a tremor work through him as he lifted his hands to her face. His callused thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks.

“I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” he whispered hoarsely, his expression uncertain.

“It’s...been the same for me, from the moment you stepped out of the truck.”

Clay smiled, and Rorie thought her knees would melt. She put her coffee down and as soon as she did Clay eased her into his arms, his hands on her shoulders. Her heart stopped, then jolted back to frenzied life.

“I’m going to kiss you....”

He made the statement almost a question. “Yes,” she whispered, letting him know she’d welcome his touch. Her stomach fluttered as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

Rorie had never wanted a man’s kiss more. His moist lips glided over hers in a series of gentle explorations. He drew her closer until their bodies were pressed tight.

“Oh, Rorie,” he breathed, dragging his mouth from hers. “You taste so good... I was afraid of that.” His mouth found the pulse in her throat and lingered there.

“This afternoon I thought I’d cry when the car broke down and now...now I’m glad...so glad,” she said.

He kissed her again, nibbling on her lower lip, gently drawing it between his teeth. Rorie could hardly breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She slumped against him, delighting in the rise and fall of his broad chest. His hands moved down her back with slow restraint, but paused when he reached the curve of her hips.

He tensed. “I think we should say good-night.”

A protest sprang to her lips, but before she could voice it, Clay said, “Now.”

She looked at him, dazed. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him. “What about my coffee?”

“That was just an excuse and we both know it.”

Rorie said nothing.

The silence between them seemed to throb for endless minutes.

“Good night, Clay,” she finally whispered. She broke away, but his hand caught her fingers, and with a groan he pulled her back into his arms.

“What the hell,” he muttered fiercely, “sending you upstairs isn’t going to help. Nothing’s going to change.”

His words brought confusion, but Rorie didn’t question him, didn’t want to. What she longed for was the warmth and security she’d discovered in his arms.

“Come on,” he whispered, after he’d kissed her once more. He led her through the living room and outside to the porch, where the swing moved gently in the night breeze.

Rorie sat beside him and he wrapped his arm around her. She nestled her head against his shoulder, savoring these precious moments.

“I’ll never forget this night.”

“Neither will I,” Clay promised, kissing her again.

* * *

Rorie awoke when the sun settled on her face and refused to leave her alone. Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled contentedly, basking in the memory of her night with Clay. They’d sat on the swing and talked for hours. Talked and kissed and laughed and touched...

Sitting up, Rorie raised her hands high above her head and stretched, arching her spine. She looked at her watch on the nightstand and was shocked to see that it was after eleven. By the time she’d climbed the stairs for bed the sky had been dappled with faint shreds of light. She suspected Clay hadn’t even bothered to sleep.

Tossing aside the blankets, Rorie slid to the floor, anxious to shower and dress. Anxious to see him again. Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way down the stairs.

Mary, who was dusting in the living room, nodded when she saw Rorie. Then the housekeeper resumed her task, but not before she’d muttered something about how city folks were prone to sleeping their lives away.

“Good morning, Mary,” Rorie greeted her cheerfully.

“’Mornin’.”