"No, not like this." Spring smiled ruefully. "Though God knows why I've chosen to fall in love—really in love, for the first time in my life—with Clay McEntire, of all people. I always thought I wanted a nice normal person. You know, one from the same planet?"
Summer chuckled, her blue eyes dancing with pleasure. "It has to be the way he dresses," she managed brokenly. "You just couldn't resist the pink suit."
That did it. Both of them fell back in their chairs and laughed hysterically at Clay's expense. And Spring felt much better when they'd finished. She found herself clinging to a foolish hope that she and Clay were going to be together long past the end of her vacation.
* * *
It wasn't going to work, Clay had decided by Monday morning. He shoved his fingers through his already disordered hair and stared glumly at the stacks of papers on his desk. His relationship with Spring wasn't going to work. He might as well acknowledge that now and start trying to accept it. Actually, he'd started accepting it yesterday, when he'd been away from her long enough to clear his love-clouded mind and take a long look at the situation. He was angry with himself because he hadn't even called her, as he'd promised. But he couldn't be objective when he was with her or even talking to her on the phone.
Spring loved her home state. She was happy there, happy with her career, her friends, having her parents within visiting distance. She'd made a success of her practice, and she'd worked hard to do it. She wouldn't be interested in giving it up and moving to San Francisco, where she'd have to start from scratch.
Besides, he asked himself honestly, leaning back in his comfortably worn desk chair and staring at the Mickey Mouse poster on his office wall, what did he have to offer her? He wasn't the most stable, settled person. He liked taking life one day at a time, living impulsively. He was unofficially on call at all hours for any troubled teenager who needed him; it wasn't unusual for him to receive calls in the middle of the night that had him jumping out of bed and running to help. His love and his energy were spent on his kids, and he wasn't sure how much was left over. Hadn't that been his reason for staying single all along? How did he know what kind of husband he'd make, assuming that he decided he wanted to marry Spring or she him?
He leaned his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands. He loved her so much. He'd never imagined loving anyone this much. She was going to rip a part of him away when she left on Wednesday. But there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't feel right about asking her to stay, asking her to risk her future on him.
Another thought hit him, making
him lift his head and rest his chin on his fists, frowning fiercely at old Mickey, as if the cartoon mouse had made the suggestion. Go with her? To Little Rock, Arkansas? He was California born and bred, quite comfortable with the fast lane. What was there for him in Little Rock? He wouldn't even be able to communicate with the kids there, much less help them. Would he? And what made him think she'd want him to go with her? She'd never said that she loved him, only that she was attracted to him. And that wasn't enough.
No. He slowly shook his head at Mickey, whom he fancied was beginning to wear a look of sympathy. Mick knew it wasn't going to work, too, he decided, trying to find his always present sense of humor. Even that didn't help. He didn't feel like laughing or even smiling. He felt like crying. Or going after Spring, kidnapping her to a desert island somewhere and making love to her thirty times a day until they both succumbed to exhaustion. Since he wasn't going to do either of those things, he decided to get back to work.
It was a long day. Students were in and out of his office in a steady stream. He'd heard from those who claimed their teachers picked on them, those whose parents didn't understand them, those madly in love and wanting advice or approval. Only now that school had been dismissed for the afternoon did he have some time alone to clear his desk. He pulled a file folder in front of him and began to go over the records of a recent transfer to the school, a boy who'd been in trouble at his former school in Oregon. And for the first time in years Clay found another person's problems having to compete with his own for his full attention.
Chapter Eight
Spring had just pulled the hem of her soft blue sweater over her slacks Monday night, in preparation for an evening at Connie's and Joel's, when her sister knocked, then peeked cautiously around the bedroom door. "Spring, Clay's here," Summer said almost hesitantly, knowing that Spring was upset because she hadn't heard from Clay since the wee hours of Sunday morning. "To be honest, he seems to be in a lousy mood."
He was in a bad mood? Spring was the one who was annoyed—with him, for the mixed signals that were so hard for her to understand, and with herself, for allowing things to become so awkward. Her heart curled up and whimpered, afraid it was about to be kicked. "Okay, I'm ready," she said impassively, hoping that her cool expression hid her anxiety.
Clay was waiting for her in the den. Summer and Derek had tactfully disappeared. Clay's smile was a bit strained when Spring entered the room. She clenched her hands in the pockets of her pleated slacks, hiding their trembling. "Hello, Clay."
"Hi, Spring." Even his voice sounded different somehow.
Only then did she notice what he was wearing, a bright turquoise leather bomber jacket over a baggy, multipocketed air-force-styled jumpsuit in neon yellow. Odd, she mused absently, how she noticed his clothing now only as an afterthought. She stood where she was, unsmiling, watching him. She had no intention of making things easier for him.
Clay made a sharp, impatient gesture, and then he was across the room and she was in his arms. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, holding her so tightly that it hurt.
She didn't complain but burrowed into his shoulder, her hands clutching his back beneath the buttery-soft jacket. "Sorry about what?"
"For not calling you yesterday."
She shook her head against him. "You don't owe me explanations."
"I promised I'd call," he replied flatly. "At the very least, I owe you an apology."
She wanted so badly to ask why he hadn't called, but she couldn't, and he didn't volunteer the information. It wasn't as if he owed her anything or didn't deserve time away from her, she told herself. But he'd promised he'd call.
He kissed her rather roughly and set her a few inches away from him. "I thought you and I could follow Derek and Summer in my car to Connie's tonight, if that's okay with you," he said with obviously forced airiness.
Why are you acting so strangely? "Of course that's all right with me."
He nodded and turned to stare out the huge window of the den. He seemed distant, as if his thoughts were turned so deeply inward that he was having to make an effort to concentrate on anything going on around him. He'd been so open with her until now. It hurt to be shut out.
"Did you see Thelma today?" she asked him, struggling to make conversation.
He nodded. "Yes. They're moving her into a regular room tomorrow."
"That's good, isn't it? It means she's better." Talk to me, Clay. Tell me what's bothering you.