Unexpected Bride (16 page)

"Hey, why did you stop by tonight?" Rory asked, his face tensing as if he feared punishment for some crime for which Clayton had yet to catch him. Instead of avoiding his older brother, however, Rory walked closer to him, meeting his gaze head-on.

Clayton wasn't sure why he'd come over to his mom's tonight. He'd simply been drawn to the house, to Abby, for some reason. Probably because once again he needed to apologize to her for misjudging her. Maybe he was as judgmental as she'd accused him of being.

"Don't you like ice cream?" Lara asked incredulously.

"I like ice cream," he admitted. In fact, since he'd kissed Abby at the wedding, he'd developed quite a craving for sweets. But that wasn't why he'd stopped by. He had no intention of kissing her ever again. They brought out the worst in each other.

"I think he stopped by to talk to your mama," his mother teased.

Catching the matchmaking gleam in his mom's dark eyes, Clayton shook his head. "No. Not at all."

Lara's small hand patted his cheek, turning his attention back to her. "Don't you like my mommy?"

A while ago he might not have spared the child's feelings and answered with a quick and unequivocal no. But now that he'd gotten to know Abby Hamilton—not the rebellious teen but the accomplished woman—he couldn't answer that question, not without lying to himself.

His mother, staring at him as intently as Lara did, chuckled. "I think he likes your mother a lot, sweetie."

Lara leaned around Rory's shoulder and pressed her mouth to Clayton's cheek. "Good. Because I like you, Clayton." But she wouldn't have admitted her feelings if he didn't like her mother. Smart and loyal. While, before, he'd wondered how Abby had raised a child such as this, now he was beginning to understand. The little girl hadn't just inherited her mother's looks.

"You like me even though I didn't find the bride for you?" he teased.

Letting go of Rory, she wrapped an arm around Clayton's neck and hugged him. "You tried."

If only her mother were that forgiving.

"I like you, too, sweetheart," he said.

"Here," his mom said, pulling the little girl off Rory's back. "Let's visit the bathroom before we head out for our walk. Clayton, why don't you look in on Abby and see if she's done with her calls yet."

"Subtle," Clayton murmured as he watched Lara and his mother disappear from the kitchen.

"Don't worry about Mom trying to match you up with Abby. Everyone knows she's too cool for
you,"
Rory said. His bright eyes gleamed with a hint of lust. "Not to mention way too hot."

For once Clayton couldn't argue with his kid brother. Well, not about Abby. Apparently, she
had
had an effect on the hormonal teenager, just not the one his mother believed. "Hey, I've dated plenty of hot women."

Rory snorted. "Yeah, right. You date old chicks."

"Old?"

"Yeah, you know, your age." Rory grimaced as if totally disgusted—like he'd drunk half a gallon of milk before noticing it had gone sour. "And boring."

"Responsible." That had been one of his first dating rules. He only dated responsible, independent women, so maybe they tended to be his age or older. He hadn't been looking for anything serious or lasting, but he hadn't wanted a mess, either, which might have resulted from dating someone immature or romantically optimistic.

"And Abby isn't that much younger than I am." Only four years.

Rory pushed his curly hair out of his eyes, as if he needed to see Clayton clearer, and then he shook his head. "You've been old as long as I remember."

Maybe he had been. Clayton sighed with resignation.

"It's okay. I get why," Rory said. Then, in a sincere tone, he added.
"Thanks."

Clayton lifted his chin, almost as if his brother had slugged him. He reeled at Rory's change of attitude. "What?"

"For stepping in." The boy's throat moved as he swallowed hard. "For Dad. You took care of stuff. I get that now."

What the hell had Abby said to him?

"You're a pain in the ass sometimes, but I understand why," Rory said, nodding as if in approval. "I know I've been one, too, lately. I'm sorry."

Clayton resisted the urge to make him repeat his apology, but he didn't need to hear it again to realize his brother meant what he said. The boy's eyes were damp with regret. "You're a good kid."

Despite the hint of tears, Rory grinned. "No, I'm not. But I will be. People change."

Like Abby Hamilton had. "Yeah, people do."

"Abby isn't much older than me," Rory continued as if he'd never apologized. "She's got the rep for being a rebel. Think she'd mind that I'm jailbait?"

Exasperated but amused, Clayton laughed out loud. "I think she'll mind."

Rory raised his eyebrows dramatically. "Maybe she'll wait for me."

"We're ready." Lara said as she skipped back into the room. "Can we go now?"

"Did you check with Abby, to see if she's done on the phone?" his mom asked.

Clayton shook his head. "No, but go ahead. I'll tell Abby where you went."

Rory narrowed his eyes and leaned close to Clayton to whisper menacingly, "So you want to be alone with her? Don't try to make time with my woman, big brother."

Obviously Rory hadn't seen the kiss at the reception.

"We should probably wait," his mom said. "I don't want to take Lara to town without Abby's permission." She was aware of Abby's antipathy toward Cloverville.

"I'm sure she won't mind." Clayton insisted. And his brother was right. He did want to be alone with her, no matter how dangerous that had proved. Hell, it hadn't mattered when they'd been in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He hadn't been able to control himself then.

But he would now. He had to. Since marriage and fatherhood were not in his plan, he had to resist Abby for her sake, for his sake, and most especially for Lara's sake. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

Abby hung up the phone, then pressed a hand against her sore ear. She needed to set up a proper office and bring in some extra help. Checking in with the managers from her Detroit and Chicago offices took too long and kept her away from Lara. She needed a nanny, too. Someone who'd care for her little girl the way Miss Ramsey had in Chicago. She pulled her hand from her aching ear, the throbbing conturning in the back of her eyes, and pushed herself up from Mr. Mick's desk.

Memories of his final days ran through her mind, in this room, his body, once so big and strong, wasting away in a hospital bed. Despite the pain he'd suffered, he'd kept his cheerful, loving demeanor until the very end.

No matter how much Clayton had resented her presence, every other McClintock had welcomed her as a member of the family. And no one more than Mr. Mick. She blinked hard, clearing the teary mist from her eyes. The room hadn't changed. Knotty pine paneling still lined the walls. The same beige commercial carpet covered the floor. Only the hospital bed was gone. His old metal desk and low-backed leather davenport sat where they always had.

Unnerved by the sudden quiet in the room, which was echoed by an eerie silence emanating from the rest of the house, Abby scrambled for the doorway and nearly collided with the man loitering just outside the den. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, preventing her from walking into a solid wall of muscled chest.

"Thinking about kneeing me again?" he asked, his deep voice a low rumble.

"Thinking about it," she admitted, stepping back until his hands fell away. She didn't want him touching her, and she sure didn't trust herself to touch him.

"I have it coming," he said. "I'm sorry."

For what? Kissing her?

"It doesn't matter." she said, trying to convince them both that she spoke the truth.

"Yes, it does. I realize now that I shouldn't have made any assumptions about you. Eight years ago or now."

"Especially now." She drew in a deep breath. "I don't know what I have to do to convince you that I'm not the screwed-up kid who ran away from here eight years ago." Not kissing him would probably help. But her lips tingled, and she was hungry for another taste of him. This morning he'd reminded her of coffee rather than champagne. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"So were you on the phone with the airline?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no. I'm not leaving yet."

Clayton's heart lifted with relief, and he fought the urge to cross the few short steps of hallway separating them and pull her back into his arms. She'd changed out of her running shorts and tank top, but she looked no less sexy in a denim skirt and gauzy pink blouse, the sleeves slipping from her shoulders while the neckline dipped, revealing just a hint of the shadow between her breasts. Clayton's mouth went dry as he looked at her.

"I'm not disappointed that you're staying," he said.

Anger flashed in her eyes. "I wouldn't want you accusing me of leaving you in a mess, if I left now, before Molly comes home."

"I can't blame you for Molly's actions," he said, realizing how unfair he'd been to his sister. He'd acted as if Molly didn't have a mind of her own. "She wouldn't have let you talk her out of something she really wanted to do."

"Not even the tattoo?" she asked, teasing him a little.

"Not even the tattoo," he agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets. He couldn't touch her, because if he did, he might not be able to stop at one kiss.

Abby sighed. "I know when Molly makes up her mind she sticks to her decision. But maybe that's why she's confused. She doesn't really want what she always thought she wanted. Or maybe she realized she wants what she always thought she
didn't
want."

"What are you talking about?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know. I just... I understand her being confused. But still, it's surprising, her taking off the way she did."

"Through the window." Abby must have had something to do with that. Molly wasn't the type to slip out a window.

"Speaking of taking off, where is everyone? The house is so quiet." She said the last word with such disbelief, as if the house were never quiet.

Clayton remembered only the silence toward the end of his father's life, how he and his mother had worked hard to keep the house quiet so that his father could rest. Then after he died, the house had stayed silent. He glanced toward the doorway behind Abby.

She followed his gaze. "You're not happy that I used Mr. Mick's den."

He shrugged. "It's just that no one uses that room."

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "It must be hard to go in there and not remember."

"I wouldn't know."

She lifted her gaze to his face, her eyes narrowed. "You've not been in there since..."

He shook his head. "No."

"Clayton."

He didn't want to talk about his feelings, because then he might have to actually acknowledge them. "You asked where everyone is. They're in town, getting ice cream."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Mrs. Mick took Lara without asking me?"

"I told her it would be fine."

Abby didn't lake this well. "You're not Lara's parent." No matter what her little girl might wish for. "You have no right to give permission for her to go anywhere. Only I have that right."

"I'm sorry," he said with sincerity.

Somehow she suspected the apology wasn't just for telling his mother to take Lara to town. She thought she understood why he had given his permission as if he had the right. He was used to assuming responsibility for everyone around him. When would he realize she could take care of herself and Lara?

Never. Because he didn't respect her.

"As well as an apology. I guess I owe you a thank-you," he said.

"Clayton McClintock thanking me?" She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, careful to not knock off any of the framed photographs of McClintocks that lined the walls as if the hall were an art gallery. She was in a few of the pictures, along with Colleen, Molly, Brenna and Eric.

"Mom says you talked to Rory."

She drew in a breath, clearing her lungs and her mind of the smell of smoke there'd been when she'd caught the boy outside with a cigarette. Despite owing Rory for having snitched all those years ago about the tattoo parlor, she refused to rat him out for his latest transgression. "I hope he listened."

"What did you say to him?" Clayton asked, his jaw tense with stress.

As she'd suspected. Rory had been giving him a hard time. And as she suspected, Clayton would rather have straightened the boy out himself than have had
her
help him.

Among other things, she'd told Rory how damn lucky he was to have people who loved him like his mother and sisters and especially his big brother. Her face flushed as she recalled the things she'd told Rory about his own brother, things he should have known but didn't seem to be aware of. The sacrifices Clayton had made; the responsibilities he'd taken upon himself when his father died to keep the family afloat financially and emotionally.

"Nothing much, really."

Clayton's eyes narrowed, as if he knew she'd omitted something from her answer. "My mom seems to think you've completely turned him around."

She shrugged, causing her blouse to slip farther off one shoulder. Her bra strap slid down along with the gauzy cotton, but she fisted her hand on her hip, refusing to straighten her clothing for Clayton's sake. "I don't know how long my little speech will stick with him." She hoped until he grew up.

"So you have a speech for wayward teens? Do you give it at school assemblies?"

She laughed at his dubious tone. "I just told him how hard I made things for myself when I was a teenager."

"I'd like to hear this speech," he said.

"So you could say I told you so?"

He crossed the short distance between them and swiped his thumb along her cheek. "I worried about you, you know, when you ran away."

Her breath caught in her throat as a result of his gentle touch and his words. "I couldn't stay." Not with her drunken mother. "Eric had left right after..." The funeral. "For the Marines. And in a couple of months Molly and Brenna were leaving for college. There weren't many people left in Cloverville who wanted me here."