Clay (Texas Rascals Book 11) Read online

  Once the hostess had seated them and taken their order, Mom placed her hands on the table, palms down.

  “What’s up?” Tobie asked, feeling a little leery.

  Her mother grinned. “Brace yourself, honey.”

  “Well, you’re smiling, so it must be good news. What gives?”

  Mom opened the envelope and removed some legal documents. “This.” She pushed the papers across the red checkered tablecloth to Tobie.

  Frowning in the dim lighting, Tobie quickly scanned the papers. “Treasures recovered from the clipper ship, Calypso, sunken off the coast of Brazil in 1778,” she read out loud. “It took seventeen years of hard work and dedication by the diving crew to resurrect the ancient sailing vessel.”

  She scanned the rest of the document. It was an itemization of the bounty discovered. Gold medallions, silver tankards, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds. The catalogue went on, detailing one unbelievable treasure after another. They estimated the total value of the recovered haul at forty-six million dollars.

  Tobie looked up at her mother’s animated face. “What does this mean?”

  “Keep reading,” her mother urged, barely able to contain her excitement. She shifted in her seat, drumming her fingernails against the table.

  Shrugging, Tobie turned the page and found a list of investors. She scanned the roster. Suddenly, one name leapt from the page to command her attention.

  Thomas Delaney Avery.

  Her father.

  Tobie gulped. Her hands trembled. She felt the color drain from her face. “What does this mean?”

  “Do you remember the year your father invested our last two thousand dollars with a group of divers trying to raise a sunken ship?”

  Tobie frowned. “Was that before or after the Arizona turquoise mine?”

  “Before. But it was after the emu farming.”

  Tobie shook her head. “Dad had so many crazy schemes cooking, I couldn’t keep them straight.”

  “Well, this one turned out to be not so crazy.” Her mother tapped the document. “It took Michael Fisher seventeen years to raise that ship, but now that he’s done it, we’ll be rich.”

  Tobie’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Yes!” Mom clapped her hands. “He contacted me last month about your father’s share of the proceeds. I had to consult a lawyer to make sure everything was on the up and up.”

  “And?” Tobie leaned forward, unable to believe her father’s long-held dream of striking it rich had come true fifteen years too late.

  “Your father’s share comes to seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” her mother whispered. “Can you believe it?”

  Stunned, Tobie gripped the table edge with both hands. All those years of struggling and suffering for her father’s far-fetched fantasies had finally paid off.

  “I always believed in him, always.” Her mother clasped her hands to her chest and sighed as tears slipped down her face. “I’m just so sorry Tom never got to see this day. I know he felt like a failure, but he was always a success to me.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Tobie sighed. All those wasted years she held a grudge toward her father, blaming him for her unhappiness. Oh, to erase the past and live it again. How different things might have been if only she had believed in her father as honestly and truly as her mother had.

  “Honey?” Her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “Mom,” Tobie said. “I’m dating this guy, and he’s a lot like Daddy. Sweet, kind, a dreamer.”

  Her mother’s smile widened. “That’s wonderful news, honey. Tell me about your young man.”

  She twisted the red cloth napkin between her fingers. “Clay’s an inventor. A struggling inventor.” She emphasized the word struggling. “He’s gone to Houston to see a patent attorney about getting a patent for this marvelous recycling machine he’s invented.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m afraid to let myself fall for him, Mom. I keep remembering what life with Daddy was like. The erratic highs and lows, the financial insecurity, and I just couldn’t let my guard down with Clay. But somehow, despite my best intentions, he’s captured my heart. I can’t stop thinking about him, Mom.”

  “Love matters most, Tobie Lynne. Money is nice, but it doesn’t make up for not having love. I know your childhood was not a happy one, and I also know how guilty your father felt for dragging us through the dark fields of his dreams. But he was right.” Her mother waved the paper. “He pursued his heart’s desire, and I followed him. Perhaps we shouldn’t have had children. But we both loved you so very much.”

  “I know,” Tobie whispered. “And with me and Clay, things are different in one important way. I can support a family. Clay could stay home, watch the kids, and work on his inventions while I practice medicine. It’s a new millennium. Why can’t I be the breadwinner?”

  “As long as you’re both happy with the arrangement,” Stella said. “You will never have to worry about security again, Tobie. Your father left you that legacy, and I’m investing it wisely.”

  Yes. Things could work between Clay and her. All her life she’d searched for stability, had taken the cautious approach, weighing each risk, calculating her moves. She supposed she’d developed her prudence as a backlash to her father’s wandering, carefree ways, schemer-dreamer.

  “Go talk to him when he gets back,” her mother counseled, “and tell him exactly how you feel. Life is too short to waste one more minute without love.”

  On Tuesday evening, excitement and anxiety fizzed inside Tobie like bubbles in the champagne bottle cooling in a bucket of crushed ice.

  Clay was due home any minute. She’d taken off work early, driven her new minivan to his cabin, and conned one of the Trueblood’s ranch hands into letting her into Clay’s place to prepare their celebratory feast.

  Smiling, she surveyed her handiwork.

  The table was swathed in a white linen tablecloth. Slender white candles cast romantic shadows. A vase of yellow roses served as the centerpiece. Delicious aromas invaded his small kitchen. Filet mignon sizzled under the broiler. Homemade bread sat cooling on the counter alongside a fresh apple pie.

  For the hundredth time that evening, Tobie consulted her watch. It was seven p.m. Where was he? He should be home by now.

  She’d parked her minivan around back so it wouldn’t give away her surprise. She’d dressed in a gauzy white dress and had spent the afternoon at the hairdresser. Her nails lacquered, and her makeup perfectly applied.

  If everything went according to plan, she’d make love to him tonight.

  Her heart thudded with expectation. She’d never purposely seduced a man before. Then again, no man had ever made her feel the way Clay did.

  “Oh, Clay.” She sighed and sat down at the table. “Where are you? I’m dying here.”

  Her heart raced at the thought of their kisses. If his lovemaking was half as potent as his kiss, she was in a luscious kind of trouble. Shivering in anticipation, Tobie placed a palm to her forehead. If she kept this up, she’d be delirious by the time he arrived.

  She heard a heavy thud on the steps outside his door. A thrill ran through her. What should she do? Pose provocatively? Meet him at the door? Be at the stove?

  More thuds echoed. She frowned, then realized he was dragging the recycler up the porch steps.

  Relax, she told herself. Take a deep breath. But her good advice went unheeded. Her lungs refused to expand. Her muscles coiled like taut bedsprings. The closer the noises grew, the hotter the sensations in her lower abdomen burned.

  Waiting, she crossed her legs and fluffed her hair. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she heard the key turn in the lock. She clenched her fists, swallowed back her anxiety, and as soon as the door opened, yelled, “Surprise!”

  Clay stopped in the middle of wrestling the recycler over the threshold. The scowl on his face told the story. He looked surprised and none too ha
ppy to see her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked curtly.

  His cold, distant tone cut her to the quick. She had not expected that reaction. She’d come here to apologize for her behavior on Saturday after Anne and Holt had taken Molly home.

  She’d planned to tell him of her father’s belated good fortune. Tell him she’d reconsidered. That she knew she could love him although he was not a typical nine-to-five sort of guy. That his quirky personality made her love him all the more. That she didn’t care what secret he harbored. She was falling for him, and they could work through whatever problems he was dealing with.

  But instead of being pleased to see her, he seemed angry.

  She started toward him. “I... I planned a welcome home dinner,” she stammered, unnerved by the scowl on his face. Where was the jovial, understanding Clay she knew and respected? Who was the brooding man standing just inside the doorway, his hands on his hips, the recycler on the floor in front of him?

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Something’s happened, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about us.” She paused, jittery and uncertain now.

  His gaze raked over her, took in her attire. Shutting the front door behind him, he walked toward her.

  Tobie backed up, disconcerted by the dark look in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you save us both a lot of heartache and leave now,” he growled.

  “Clay, what’s wrong? This isn’t like you,” she exclaimed.

  “How do you know? You barely even know me.”

  Tears welled behind her eyelids. This wasn’t going at all like she’d expected. She planned a lovely dinner, a celebration of his patenting the recycler, then a long, slow romantic seduction.

  “I... I cooked supper,” she said, her bottom lip trembling as she struggled not to cry.

  “Turn the oven off. I’m not hungry.”

  She raised a hand to her mouth. Had she made a big mistake? Was his secret that bad? Tobie whirled around, her gauzy skirt swirling around her legs. Heading for the oven, she clicked off the heat.

  His shoes shuffled against the wooden flooring as he came to lean against the kitchen wall. Turning, she watched him fold his arms across his chest and just stare at her. She felt like a germ under a microscope.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Tell me. I’d like to help.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.” He looked so forlorn it broke her heart.

  She could comfort him, take him in her arms and soothe whatever tragedy had befallen him. His sorrow was plain to see.

  “Tell me,” she said, wanting to go to him but afraid he’d reject her.

  He plowed a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Is Molly okay?” she asked, suddenly alarmed that something might have happened to the baby.

  “She’s fine as far as I know.”

  So the problem wasn’t with his niece. Tobie fingered her chin, then tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. He should have arrived jubilant over the success of patenting his recycler. Instead, he was broken.

  Then it hit her. How many times had she seen these same mood swings in her father? As a child, she’d learned to make herself scarce until after his dark disposition had passed following a major failure. From the joyful highs of heightened expectations to the bitter lows of dashed hopes and shattered dreams. Clay must have received bad news at the patent attorney’s office; there could be no other explanation.

  She went to him then, no longer afraid. Now that she understood. “Talk to me, Clay. Stop holding back.” She reached for him and wrapped her arms around him.

  His gaze softened, but he did not hug her back. “Four years of my life,” he mumbled, “completely wasted.”

  “What happened?”

  He let out a harsh laugh. “Clay Barton, big-time inventor, would save the world’s trash problem with his wondrous recycling machine.”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Tobie said, using the tough love approach her mother used on her father whenever his spirits dived.

  “I’m a failure.”

  She squeezed him tighter. “You are not.”

  “Yes, I am.” He snorted and shook his head, his arms still crossed tightly across his chest despite the fact she held him in a bear hug. “Can you believe it? Someone patented a recycler very similar to mine three weeks ago.”

  “Oh, Clay, I’m so sorry,” she said. “But it shows you were on the right track.”

  “A lot of good that does me. What if I were married with a family to support? Four years spent on an invention and someone beat me to it.”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. It doesn’t matter that you’re an inventor with no job security. I have enough security for both of us,” she said.

  Clay shook his head. “No. You were right all along, I’m just like your father. Irresponsible, daydreaming, self-delusional.”

  “I was wrong about my father, too,” she said. “I saw him through a child’s perspective. I only thought about the things he did not provide. Clay, the important thing is, he was doing his best, and he loved me.”

  “But he didn’t provide for his family.”

  “My father was a visionary ahead of his time. Mother realized that, but I couldn’t see it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tobie released her grip on him and stepped back. She took a deep breath. “One of the harebrained schemes my father invested in turned out not to be so harebrained after all. It took seventeen years to come to fruition, but his investment in salvaging a sunken clipper ship has paid off.”

  “Well, Doc, you’ve made quite an about-face. First you were leery of getting involved with me because I’m an inventor, and now you’re offering to take care of me. That’s a switch.”

  “I’ve learned a lot after getting to know you and Molly,” she murmured.

  “I wanted your respect, not your pity, Tobie.”

  “So don’t be a quitter. Try again.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  She had to snap him out of this pity party. She’d come here to show him how much he meant to her. She wasn’t about to abandon him when he needed her the most. Standing on tiptoes, she angled her head upward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  At first, he did not respond.

  Undaunted, she pried his hands apart, unfolding them from his chest. She took one of his arms and placed it around her waist, then lacing her fingers together at the back of his neck, she kissed him again. “Does that tell you what I think about you?”

  “You’re out of your mind, Tobie. You’ve no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m twenty-nine years old; it’s time I stopped being afraid of living.”

  “What are you saying?” he rasped.

  “I came here to make love to you, Clay Barton.”

  17

  Clay groaned. Things were not yet right between them. He had a lot of disappointment to resolve. He needed to come clean with her, tell her the truth about his family. But how could he now, when he had nothing to offer her beyond his family’s name and fortune?

  He hadn’t succeeded on his own merits. His failure had decimated the one thing that had defined him for the past four years in a matter of minutes in the patent attorney’s office.

  He wanted her.

  Oh, yes!

  The thought of their bodies entwined drove him to the brink, but this was not the best time to make love to her. Mentally, he knew that, but physically, his body had a mind of its own. Despite his best intentions, he pulled her closer and returned her kiss.

  It had surprised him when he’d opened the door to find her in his cabin. The way she’d acted the last time he’d seen her had him thinking things were over between them. Yet he’d stepped into his cabin to find her waiting for him with dinner in the oven and a romantic table setting. Tobie clothed in the hottest outfit he’d ever seen.

  Groaning low in his throat, he kneaded her b
ottom with his fingers, enjoying the feel of her soft flesh. She made it so hard to turn her down, but he could not in good conscience take her to his bed. Not until he told her who he was.

  Breathlessly, he pulled away from her. She clung to him like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a raft.

  “I want you, Clay,” she murmured, “here, now… please.”

  “No,” he mumbled, taking her wrists and breaking her hold on him.

  She looked up, hurt in her big blue eyes. Her bottom lip trembled. “You don’t want me?”

  “I want you, but not like this.”

  “What did I do wrong?” She looked down at her sexy dress. Her lips were kiss-swollen and tempting. “Was I too forward? Did I come on too strong?”

  He realized with a start that she was unsure of her own sexuality. In the beginning of their relationship, her kisses had been timid and had gradually grown bolder. “It’s not you, sweetheart. You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “Please, Clay, don’t turn me away.” Tears gathered at her eyelids. “I want you.”

  “Tobie, I can’t. I’ve had a bad day, and I’ve got to rethink the plans for my life. It wouldn’t be right to jump into this. I’d just be using you to make myself feel better.”

  The hurt look in her eyes almost made him change his mind. Swallowing hard, he said the one thing he did not want to say. “I’m sorry, Tobie. Please go away.”

  Shame flashed through Tobie. Somehow, she stumbled out of the cabin, around the back of the house, and into her minivan. She didn’t even register the trip home. Heartbroken, she staggered into her townhouse and collapsed across her bed, uncontrollable tears staining her new dress.

  What a fool!

  She’d flung herself at Clay like some desperate woman. She’d thought he was simply feeling discouraged about his invention and that she could ease his pain with sex. Obviously, that wasn’t the case. He simply hadn’t wanted her, and she’d been too stupid to notice. Finally, he’d come right out and asked her to leave.