He left with his grin still in place, though inside he was praying fervently that the teenager would recover. She deserved a break.
* * *
Exhale. Clay lowered his chin almost to the floor, his forearms straining under his weight. Inhale. He pushed himself up so that his body was on a slant, mentally counting, forty-nine.
Exhale. He lowered himself again, sweat dripping down his forehead. Inhale. Fifty.
With a grunt he abruptly threw himself onto his back, crossing his hands on his bare, sweat-slick chest. He really hated exercising, he thought ruefully. That's why he never did it. Good thing he stayed in shape through his usual frenetic activity.
So why was he trying to turn himself into melting Jell-O with push-ups? Good question. And he knew the answer. He was trying not to think of Spring. He'd been trying not to think of her all day, since his early-morning visit with Thelma. He'd tried not to think about her during his hours at work, during lunch with his friend Frank from Halloran House, during seventy-five sit-ups and fifty push-ups.
It wasn't working. It seemed as if she'd been on his mind
since the moment he'd set eyes on her.
Okay, so he was in love with her. He'd known before Thelma had made him admit it that morning; had, in fact, known since he'd seen her in her "funky" outfit Monday evening. And it was going to hurt when she left next Wednesday. It was going to hurt bad.
He'd never felt quite like this before. The few times he'd flirted with love in the past had usually been pleasant, sometimes passionate, but never permanent. And he'd never particularly regretted that fact. He'd always put his work first. Something told him he wouldn't get over Spring as easily. The same something that told him that his work wouldn't be quite enough when she was hundreds of miles away from him. He almost resented her for that.
Six days. She was flying out of his life in six days. His stomach clenched with dread.
He'd known a lot of emotions in his thirty-four-plus years. Despair, disillusion, hopelessness, rage. Later he'd discovered fulfillment, hope, love and happiness. He'd rarely known fear. But he was scared now. He'd tried so hard to make his life work, to fill the emptiness that had yawned inside him through the lonely, unhappy years of his youth. He lived alone now, but he hadn't consciously been lonely. He was pretty damned sure that he would be lonely in seven days. And in ten, and maybe even in one hundred, and more. Lonely for Spring.
He'd never loved this way before; he couldn't imagine loving like this again. Couldn't imagine himself making love to any woman but Spring. It had never been like this before.
Maybe he should back off a bit. Start preparing himself for being without her. Stop thinking about her all the time, counting the hours until he saw her again. Stop wondering what it would take to make her stay with him in six days.
Grinding a rare curse between clenched teeth, he flipped onto his stomach and flattened his palms on his bedroom carpet. His arm muscles bulged.
Inhale. Exhale. Fifty-one.
Six more days.
Inhale. Exhale. Fifty-two.
Chapter Six
Halloran House was a fascinating place, Spring decided. The twenty-odd residents were young, between the ages of eleven and sixteen, had been in trouble, but not too serious trouble yet, and wore defiant expressions that seemed to refuse intimacy yet pleaded for love all at the same time. Clay informed Spring that because the home, which had been established by a wealthy industrialist who had lost a son to a drug overdose, was funded primarily by donations, several major fund-raising events took place each year. The residents had put on a talent show last fall, which was how Summer had gotten involved. Clay had drafted her to direct the show.
The current effort was an open-house reception for patrons and potential patrons. An informal buffet had been set up in the former ballroom-turned-recreation room, and a presentation was made to outline the home's purpose. Dressed all in white—shirt, coat, vest, pants, shoes and, yes, a white tie—Clay was a highly visible participant in the program. Spring couldn't take her eyes off him, but her fascination with him had little, if anything, to do with his clothing. Instead, she watched the way the light played on the golden highlights in his blond hair, the way his laughter made his eyes sparkle, the flashing dimples that appeared as deep grooves at the side of his mouth when he smiled. It seemed that every time she saw him, he was even more beautiful.
"What do you think of my kids?" he asked Spring at one point as he snatched a moment of semiprivacy with her by crowding her into a corner.
Spring turned her head to look past him. Many of the guests had gone by that time, leaving mostly staff and residents gathered in small clusters in the recreation room. "Some of them look pretty tough," she remarked. "And impressively big for their ages. Do you ever have trouble with them?"
"Sure, sometimes. Fights, threats, whatever. We've learned to deal with it."
"How does Summer deal with it?"
"Very well." Clay's lips quirked upward. "Not that she has that much trouble. The kids think she's really 'hot,' in their vernacular. They tease with her, but they're actually quite respectful to her. Protective, even. And then they have one little extra incentive to be nice to her."
"What's that?"
Leaning against the wall behind him, he caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "A couple of months ago we were having some real problems with one of our larger, more troubled kids. He's fifteen, and big. Anyway, Summer directs some drama classes, improv, readings, and so on, because we feel it's good for the kids to express themselves creatively. Most of them like it; some don't. This guy started making trouble during one session, making fun of the smaller kids until he finally had one of them crying. Then he made fun of him for being a crybaby. Summer got mad and told the guy off. He decided to show everyone how bad he could be, so he gave her a shove."
Spring frowned, instantly the protective big sister. "Did he hurt her? Was he punished? He's not still here, is he?"
Clay laughed, his hand tightening reassuringly around hers. "It's okay. The kid made a bit of a mistake. Derek happened to walk into the room just as the guy pushed Summer down."