"I'm only inviting you to a play, Spring, not an orgy," he told her with mock impatience. Then he added with a near smirk, "Although I'd be happy to arrange the latter, if you like."
"I think we'd better stick with the play," Spring answered hastily.
He grinned. "Okay, I'll pick you up at six-thirty. It starts early."
She'd just agreed to a date with him, Spring realized belatedly. She started to tell him she'd changed her mind, then stopped as she focused again on those tiny, weary lines at the corners of his eyes. Damn her soft-heartedness, she thought with a resigned sigh. She wouldn't change her mind. "Fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to freshen up for dinner."
"Okay." He dropped a kiss on her lips as he passed her. "See you Monday."
Her entire body tingling from that too-brief contact. Spring spoke before he was completely out of the room, detaining him. "Aren't you joining us for dinner?"
He looked back at her. "Not tonight. I'm going back out on the streets."
"But—" She stopped, then shrugged slightly and continued, "You look so tired. And you have to eat."
His handsome face softened and his mouth dipped into a warm smile, as if her concern pleased him. "I'll grab a sandwich. And I'll try to get more sleep tonight. But I have to find Thelma, if I can."
She nodded, aware of her acute disappointment and annoyed with herself for feeling it. "Good luck."
"Thank you, Spring." He looked at her for a moment longer, then left, closing her door behind him.
Spring stood so long staring at that closed door that she was almost late for dinner.
* * *
Derek's secretary, who'd been on maternity leave for the past month, had her baby Saturday night. Summer and Derek felt obligated to pay a brief visit to the hospital on Sunday. They invited Spring to join them, but she begged off. She had always been a person who needed time alone occasionally, and knowing that, Summer did not press her to go. Promising to be back soon. Summer and Derek left shortly after lunch.
Spring relished the time to herself. As much as she was enjoying her visit, it felt good to kick off her shoes, stretch out on a lounge chair by the pool on this unseasonably warm March afternoon and dive into the pages of a book she'd brought with her from home. She had dressed more casually than was her habit in a long-sleeved aqua-and-white-print cotton pullover and snug, matching aqua jeans. Her hair was in its usual soft knot on top of her head, and she wore a minimum of makeup. She was comfortable, contented and relaxed.
Until a rich male voice interrupted her solitude and shattered her peaceful idyll. "Now this is a lovely picture."
Spring jumped, dropping her book, and jerked her head around. "Clay!" she exclaimed, her pulse racing—because he'd surprised her or because he looked so incredibly sexy? She didn't choose to analyze. He wore jeans, washed-soft Levi's worn almost white at the knees and seat and button fly. Red tennis shoes matched his old-fashioned red suspenders. The sleeves of a blue chambray work shirt were turned up on his forearms, and a battered tweed cap completed his outfit. "You startled me," she accused him breathlessly.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to. I thought I saw someone back here when I drove up, and when no one answered the doorbell, I decided to come around and see."
She eyed his clothing. "You look like the president of the Roy Underhill fan club," she told him.
Clay's blond eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Now how do you know who Roy Underhill is? Are you into woodworking?"
"Not really. But I am into remodeling old homes—theoretically, anyway—and Roy Underhill's The Woodwright Shop comes on PBS just before Bob Vila's This Old House on Sunday afternoons at home. So are you an Underhill fan?"
"As a matter of fact, I have both of his books at home in my workshop," Clay confessed. "I love working with wood."
"Are you any good?" she asked curiously.
"Oh, I'm good," he replied audaciously. "I'd be happy to demonstrate at any time."
She just managed not to blush at his innuendo by busying herself with swinging her legs over the side of her chair and sliding her feet into her white flats. "I'll let you know if I'm interested," she informed him coolly, her tone implying that the time would never come.
"You do that," he answered, his eyes telling her that it would—and sooner than she expected. "Summer's not home?"
"No, she and Derek went to the hospital to see his secretary's new baby. They should be back in another hour or so."
"What did she have? Boy or girl?" Clay inquired as he draped himself into the chair beside Spring's.
"Boy."
"That's nice."