"Very 'um'?" Summer demanded quizzically. "What's 'um'? Sexy? Good-looking? Intriguing? Irresistible?"
"Okay, so he's about the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen off a movie screen," Spring admitted abruptly, glaring at her sister's smug grin. "But I still think he's strange."
"I tried to fix him up with Autumn. I thought they'd make a terrific couple. They got along great when she was here for my wedding, but unfortunately, there was just no chemistry. He never even made a pass at her," Summer complained.
"Clay and Autumn?" Spring repeated distastefully, hating the suggestion but refusing to acknowledge why. "What a dumb idea."
"Oh, you think so?" Summer asked innocently.
"Yes, I do."
"Well, then, how about Clay and Spring?"
"An even dumber idea," Spring muttered, her flush deepening.
"You know, I would have said the same thing yesterday. Now, well, maybe it's not such a dumb idea, after all," Summer mused with a grin.
"Good night, Summer," Spring said pointedly, nodding toward the door.
Summer laughed, then sobered. "I'm glad you're here, Spring," she said again. "I know we haven't had much, in common in the past, but I love you, Sis. Besides, it's so nice to hear an Arkansas accent again—other than mine."
Spring chuckled, her mild irritation evaporating immediately. "I love you, too, Summer. I'm really looking forward to spending this time with you and Derek."
"It just might be interesting," Summer commented, then ducked out the door before Spring could ask what she'd meant.
* * *
Clay groaned, rolled over and promptly fell onto the floor. Cursing under his breath, he sat up, combing his hair out of his eyes with his fingers, and tried to orient himself. He'd searched for Thelma most of the night, coming home around dawn so exhausted that he hadn't even made it to the bedroom. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, still fully dressed except for his shoes. Pushing himself painfully to his feet, he noted that he looked like an unmade bed and smelled like a horse. A glance at his watch told him that it was close to 11:00 a.m. Tugging off his wrinkled shirt, he headed for the shower.
Half an hour later he felt somewhat more human. He dressed in loose, double-pleated black slacks, a black-and-white cotton shirt in a bold geometric print and a crisp winter-white blazer, pushing the sleeves up on his forearms as he dug in the closet for shoes. The ones he selected were canvas deck shoes, the uppers printed in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. He never considered wearing socks.
He went through the motions of dressing mechanically, hardly conscious of making decisions on what to wear. He was thinking about Spring. He had thought about Spring since the moment his abrupt contact with his living-room floor had awakened him. He hadn't stopped thinking about Spring since he'd looked up the night before and seen her standing in the doorway to Summer's den. Even when he'd walked the sleaziest back streets of San Francisco during the wee hours of the morning, doggedly searching for one frightened, defiant young black girl, he hadn't been able to rid his mind entirely of the beautiful blonde he'd kissed earlier.
His first impression of her—that she'd been a snob—just might have been wrong. By the end of the evening he'd found himself liking her. A lot. Oh, she was different from Summer; he'd grant that. Quieter, more inhibited, perhaps even a bit shy. Different, too, from the women he usually dated, but in a nice way.
There hadn't been many women in his life lately, other than friends. In fact, there hadn't been any special woman in his life since he'd stopped seeing Jessica Dixon some four months earlier. Jessica had been amusing, outrageous and beautiful, and he'd enjoyed being with her until she'd finally gotten tired of her undeniably second-place status in his life and had broken off with him in a rather ugly scene when he'd been called away from a party to bail one of his kids out of jail. He'd never made any pretense that their relationship was anything more than casual, nor had he apologized to her for the long hours he'd spent with the students and other young people he counseled. There had been times when he hadn't called her or seen her for days—sometimes for as long as a couple of weeks. He hadn't realized that she'd wanted more. He was rather ashamed to acknowledge that he hadn't really missed her.
But it couldn't be just an overlong period of celibacy that drew him so strongly to Spring Reed. After all, there had been other women during the past four months he'd found attractive, but he hadn't wanted any of them enough to do anything about it. And certainly none of them had interfered with his concentration while he was dealing with a crisis with one of his kids.
What was it about her that did this to him? It wasn't just her looks; he'd established that. Not just a need for a woman. So what? The slightly shy, intelligent glimmer in beguilingly uptilted eyes? The low gurgle of laughter that had escaped her so often during that lighthearted pizza dinner? The musical cadence of her Southern-accented voice? The way her rounded chin had firmed and lifted when she'd informed him that she didn't sleep around? Or maybe the way she'd responded so heatedly when he'd kissed her.
He wanted to see her again, find out more about the woman who'd intrigued him so. But right now he was going to continue his search for Thelma.
* * *
"Oh, my God, you've been mall hopping." Derek's voice was resigned as he took in the sizable stack of packages piled on the floor of his den.
The two sisters, both exhausted, looked up guiltily from their slumped positions in matching easy chairs. "We shopped a little," Summer admitted.
"A little?" Derek looked again at the tall, colorful mountain of packages. "I thought you were going sightseeing."
"We did," Spring said with a tired smile. "We saw every shopping sight in San Francisco and Sausalito."
"I suppose you both have smoking plastic cards in your purses?"
"Guilty as charged, your honor," Summer quipped. "We went nuts. But I did buy you a new tie, if it makes you feel any better."
"How very generous of you," Derek murmured, passing the knee-high heap of purchases on his way to the bar.