Spring looked down at her aqua jeans, streaked with greasy dirt from the floor in that little room where she'd knelt by Thelma. Her brow creased into a frown.
"Spring? What's wrong?"
"Are there many kids who live that way?" she whispered, her violet eyes huge behind her smudged glasses. "All that filth..."
Clay released a long, weary breath. "Believe it or not, I've seen worse than what we found this afternoon. The streets are full of runaways, easy prey for every sleaze bag and drug dealer in town. Teenagers with unhappy homes migrate toward California, New York and Florida by the thousands. Too many for the authorities to handle, and the shelters available are sadly inadequate."
"Do you work much with runaways?"
"Some. Mostly I deal with the kids who are having problems at home, before they run. I try to prevent them from turning to the streets."
"I can see why Summer has joined your cause," Spring murmured. "It's heart wrenching to see a child like Thelma was today, when she should be hanging out at McDonald's, laughing and flirting with nice boys her age. It makes me wish there was something I could do to help."
"We can always use another volunteer," Clay told her, watching her more closely than his teasing tone seemed to warrant.
She forced a weak smile. "Maybe I'll look into it when I get back to little Rock. There may be a Halloran House there in need of an optometrist's spare time."
Clay frowned at her mention of
returning to Little Rock. Why the sudden hollow feeling? he asked himself. Surely he hadn't forgotten that she was here for less than two weeks. Without stopping to think about it he reached out and pulled her into his arms, ignoring that both of them were dirty. He hugged her tightly. "I'm glad you went with me," he said huskily.
She stirred restlessly in his embrace, aware of a desire to put her arms around him and return it. "I didn't help much," she protested. "I just did what had to be done."
"Always the brave, responsible big sister," Clay murmured, thinking of things Summer had told him about Spring. "It wasn't easy being the oldest, was it?"
She frowned a little, wondering what her childhood had to do with what had happened that afternoon, what was happening now. "I don't know what you mean."
He chuckled softly, reaching down to lift her chin so that he was gazing directly into her eyes through her smudged glasses. "You do what has to be done," he said simply. "You have this sense of responsibility that seems to give you strength that many people lack. Like this afternoon, you didn't panic when we found Thelma in such terrible shape. You didn't scold me for taking you into that situation or leaving you alone with her while I called an ambulance. You just calmly took care of her."
"I wasn't all that calm."
"No, but you hid your qualms long enough to do what had to be done. Thanks, love."
Love. There was that word again. She reminded herself that Clay was a demonstrative man, to whom such casual endearments were second nature.
Slowly, reluctantly, she eased herself from his embrace. "Yes, well," she faltered, not quite meeting his eyes. "Why don't you go ahead and take your shower?"
"I will. And you? My offer's still open for you to take one, too."
"No, I'll just wash up. I can shower when you take me back to Summer's. Thanks, anyway."
"Okay. The guest bath is down this hall on the left. I'll be in the bath in the master bedroom if you need anything. Or if you suddenly get an urge to wash my back," he added audaciously, wanting to see her smile again.
The smile broke loose despite her efforts to hold it back. "You're a big boy, Clay. I'm sure you can manage to wash yourself."
"Someday, Spring Reed, you are going to offer to wash my back," Clay told her, leaning over to kiss her before he pulled away and headed toward his bedroom.
"Don't hold your breath," Spring shot after him, then wished she'd come up with something more original. She heard his chuckle as he disappeared down the long, wallpapered hallway in the opposite direction of the bathroom he'd indicated for her.
Chapter Four
Spring cleaned up as best she could, washing her face and hands and reapplying a touch of makeup from the items she carried in her purse. She brushed out her hair and twisted it back into its customary knot. Her clothes were still soiled and disheveled, but at least she felt a bit fresher. She wouldn't have been comfortable showering or changing into anything belonging to Clay. Or were there women's clothes hanging somewhere in his house? Perhaps that's what he'd meant by offering to find her something to wear.
She tried to tell herself that she was suddenly depressed only because of all that had happened during the past few hours.
Spring was waiting in the living room when Clay joined her. She inhaled sharply at the sight of him. His hair lay in damp curls around his face, gleaming dull gold and almost crying out to be touched. His skin glowed from his hot shower, and his eyes were brighter and bluer than she'd ever seen them. He had pulled on a pale yellow cotton crewneck sweater and dark brown slacks that hugged his lean hips. Barefoot, he carried brown TOPSIDERS in one hand. "Don't you ever wear socks?" she demanded, because she had to say something and nothing else came to mind just then. Nothing she cared to say out loud, anyway.
"No, I never wear socks. Don't you ever wear your hair down?" he returned, lifting a hand to touch her neatly twisted tresses.