There was a moment of stark pain, then an explosion behind Clay’s eyes. Clay staggered back.

And then, at last, he was set free to act. His body broke the reins of his iron control.

With a guttural cry, Clay sent his own fist flying. Flesh and cartilage gave way. Jeff grunted in pain.

Clay kicked him before Jeff could recover. Jeff stumbled back. Clay jumped on him and brought him down.

The two men rolled, struggling, over and over in the sand. Above, the gulls cried and soared. The waves tumbled in and slid away again, on and on, without end.

Eventually, when pain and exhaustion finally conquered them both, the two men dragged themselves to their feet and reeled back to Clay’s rental car.

Clay drove Jeff to Brentwood and dropped him off under the wide canopy of the magnolia tree in front of the gracefully sloping lawn. Then he went to the airport to wait for a return flight.

It was well after midnight when he finally fell into his bed.

 

“Good Lord, Clay,” Andie demanded when he walked into the office the next morning, “what happened?”

He gingerly touched the purple bruise on the side of his jaw. “What, this?”

“Yes. And that and that.” She indicated his black eye and the cut on the bridge of his nose.

“I fell off my tractor.” Clay owned a miniature tractor the size of a riding mower that he used to move dirt and tree stumps around on his ten acres of land.

Andie wasn’t convinced. “Fell off your tractor, right. You’ll lose your Eagle Scout badge telling lies like that. Now what is going on?”

Clay lied some more. “Nothing.” He had already decided she was never going to know the truth about this. “I went out for a drink last night and I chose the wrong bar, that’s all.”

“That’s not like you, Clay.”

“What? Going out for a drink or going to the wrong bar?”

“Neither. It’s something else. What?”

“God, you’re nosy.” He peered at her more closely. “But you’re looking good. Really good.” It was true. The shadows beneath her eyes were gone and there was color in her cheeks again.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

“No, I’m not. As I said, it’s nothing. And you are looking good.”

She was quiet for a moment. He knew she was making up her mind whether to keep after him about the source of his injuries. He was relieved when she gave a small shrug and admitted, “I’m feeling much better. Since we talked last week, a lot of what was worrying me isn’t worrying me anymore. It’s amazing what a few good nights of sleep will do.”

“Well, great.” He realized he should probably get his coffee and move along to his own office down the hall. But he didn’t move.

While he leaned on the reception counter and grinned at her, Andie mentioned that one of the bigger accounts he’d inherited from his father had left a message on the service. “He said he’s dropping in this morning some time.”

“Nice of him to let us know.”

“I pulled his file. It’s on your desk.”

“You are incredibly efficient.”

“Maybe I should get a raise.”

“Maybe I should get to work.”

She laughed. “Fine. Get to work. But I’m not giving up about that raise. And Clay…”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Really. Though I’ve got to admit I’m kind of dreading facing Mrs. Faulkenberry looking like this.” Mrs. Faulkenberry had been coming to Barrett & Co. to have her tax return prepared for as long as Clay could remember. Every year, she brought in her receipts in a shoe box and handed them over to Clay’s father personally. This year, she’d agreed to hand over the precious shoe box to Clay. She was due in at one that afternoon.

“Don’t worry about Mrs. Faulkenberry,” Andie reassured him. “She’s seen worse things in her time than a beat up accountant, I’m sure.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Good.” She swiveled in her chair and faced her computer screen again.

Clay looked at her delicate profile for a moment before he finally went to pour himself some coffee and get to work.

 

When Clay arrived home that night, there was a message on his answering machine from Jill Peters, a woman he’d dated a few times last fall and during the holidays. In fact, Jill had been his date on New Year’s Eve, the night Jeff and Andie had—

Clay cut the thought off before it was finished and forced himself to keep his mind on Jill. Jill had tickets to a Kings game for Friday night and wanted Clay to go with her.

Clay played the message twice, thinking that he’d enjoyed being with Jill and realizing that more than two months had slipped by since the last time he’d talked to her. He probably should have called her.

But he hadn’t. And now he knew that he was going to get back to her and tell her he appreciated her invitation, but it was no go.

He didn’t know why, exactly.

He called her quickly and made his excuses and then wondered for a moment or two what was the matter with him, to turn down a pleasant evening with a nice woman.

But then he shrugged and forgot about it. There was no sense in dwelling on it. It was just one of those things.

He thought of Andie right then, for some reason, and realized he was looking forward to going to work tomorrow. The confrontation with Jeff was behind him and Andie was feeling better. Things should be more pleasant at the office from now on.

 

And they were. All that week, things went smoothly.

Andie told him in a private moment that she knew her father and his father had ganged up on him.

“But you were steadfast, as always,” she jokingly praised him. “You didn’t give out or give in.”

He actually put on a wise-guy voice. “I told you I was no snitch.” He was careful to add offhandedly, “Not that there was anything I could have told them. I mean, what do I know, anyway?”

She gave him an odd, pensive look. “That’s right. What do you know, anyway?”

Something tightened down inside him. He felt a twinge of guilt. But what was the point of telling the truth here? Jeff was out of her life and Clay’s life, as well. Dragging it all out now would only cause her more pain than she’d already suffered.

One of her sleek eyebrows lifted slightly. “Something is bothering you. Isn’t it, Clay?”

But then the door buzzer rang, telling them there was someone out front.

“Better see who it is,” he said softly.

She gave a little sigh and left.

The subject did not present itself again—not immediately, anyway. And that was fine with Clay.

The work load seemed to get heavier every day. They were managing fine, but there wasn’t a lot of time for anything but the job. As the first week of March faded into the second, they fell into the habit of ordering take-out food and eating dinner together right there at the office after the last appointment of the day. Then Andie would get to work on the day’s time sheets, while Clay would dig into the next tax summary. They’d say good-night at eight or so and start all over again twelve hours later.

Andie said she didn’t mind the long hours at all. She was feeling better every day, and she did need the extra money.

Clay believed she really was feeling better. Her eyes were clear and bright now, and though the soda crackers were still ready at her desk, her appetite had definitely improved. Some evenings, he had to watch out or she was likely to eat half of his dinner as well as her own.

It was Wednesday night in the second week of March when Clay’s mother called him at home.

“Clay, dear, Saturday is Andie’s birthday. Did you remember?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Clay had remembered. He’d been planning to use the event as an excuse to take Andie out to dinner and present her with a nice big check that would be part bonus and part birthday gift.

But the family, evidently, had plans of their own. “We thought we’d have a little party. Just the family and a few close friends.”

“I see.”

“You sound guarded, dear.”

“I’m not. The truth is, I already had something planned for Andie’s birthday, that’s all.”

“You did?” His mother’s voice was suddenly bright.

“It wasn’t anything important. I was going to take her out to dinner.”

“Why, I think that sounds lovely. Maybe you could do both.”

“What do you mean, both?”

“Come to the party and buy her a nice meal.”

“I’ll think about it. Tell me about the party.”

His mother launched into the plans. It was to be at Thelma and Joe’s on Saturday afternoon. “You will come, won’t you, Clay?”

Clay promised to attend.

“And don’t tell Andie. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Good. Come at one-thirty, no later. We want everyone there to yell ‘Surprise!’ when she walks in.”

“I’ll be there.”

His mother rambled on again, about how Andie’s best friend, Ruth Ann Pardo, was going to go to Andie’s apartment early Saturday morning, to make sure Andie didn’t go anywhere. Then Aunt Thelma was going to call Andie at the right time with a trumped-up emergency and beg her to come right over.

“I think it should work, don’t you, Clay?”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Oh, and do get her something extra nice. She needs all our love and affection right now.” His mother’s tone was heavy with meaning.

Clay smiled to himself. Slowly, as Clay had known they would, the family was coming to grips with the reality of Andie’s pregnancy. Everyone was still speaking in low tones and oblique phrases about it. But that would pass. By the time the baby actually made his or her appearance, they’d all be lined up at the observation window in the hospital nursery, jockeying for their first glimpse of the newest member of the clan.

He promised his mother he’d get Andie something nice and then he said goodbye.

 

Clay ended up doing as his mother suggested. He planned to attend the party and he also took Andie to dinner on Friday night and gave her the bonus check.

Her eyes misted over a little when she looked at the amount. “I should tell you it’s too much.”

“But you won’t.” He raised his wineglass and toasted her with it. “Because you know it’s not only a birthday present.”

“It isn’t?”

“Hell, no. It’s also a bonus check.”

“Ah. For the terrific job I’m doing at the office.”

“Exactly.”

“Then you’re right. It’s not too much. I’m worth every cent.”

Andie ate all of her salmon and had chocolate mousse for dessert. Clay watched her with satisfaction, thinking that she was doing a pretty good job of eating for two.

When they left the restaurant, which was on one of the two major streets in downtown Meadow Valley, a light snow was falling. Andie put out her hands to catch a few flakes. The bracelet of linked hearts that she always wore gleamed on her wrist as it caught the light of the streetlamp beside her. “Snow. In March.”

“It happens. Sometimes as late as April.”

“Yes.” Her smile was so womanly—knowing, and yet shy. “But spring is near. I can feel it.” She flipped up the collar of her winter coat. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Clay flipped up his collar to match hers and they set off up the sidewalk. When they reached the corner, they instinctively moved closer together against the chill of the wind that swept between the buildings. Since the restaurant’s small lot in back was full, they’d both parked on the street.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Clay suggested.

Andie sent him a smile that seemed to warm the icy air between them. “Thanks.”

Andie’s car, a little red compact that had seen better days, was waiting two blocks away. When they reached it, she turned to him.

“Thanks, Clay. It was lovely.”

“You’re welcome.” He stared down at her.

The snow caught on her eyelashes and sparkled like tiny diamonds in her nearly black hair. She always pulled her hair back for work, so it looked like a sleek cap on her head. But it had a lot of curl to it and the moisture in the air was working on it. Little tendrils were curling now around her face.

It occurred to Clay, in a dazed sort of way, that something was happening here.

“Can I drive you to your car?” she offered.

“No. It’s okay. The walk will do me good.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She rose on tiptoe. Her lips brushed his cheek, right above the pale remnant of the bruise where Jeff’s first punch had landed.

Clay felt the warmth of her breath, smelled the fresh sweetness of her skin. Inside his trousers, his manhood stirred. The pleasant ache shocked him for an instant.

And then something deep inside him gave way. And it was okay. He could allow himself to desire her.

“Good night, then,” she said.

“Yes. Good night.”

She ran around to the driver’s side, unlocked the door and got in. The car started up with a grumbling whine. She pulled out and drove away. Clay watched her go. She’d disappeared around a corner before he shook himself and started for his own car.

 

The next day at two o’clock, Clay jumped out from behind his Aunt Thelma’s couch and hollered “Surprise!” at the top of his lungs. The only thing that kept him from feeling like a complete idiot when he did it was that everyone else around him was doing the same thing.

If Andie wasn’t surprised, she did a good job of acting the part. She jumped backward, put her hand to her throat and squealed, “Omigod!”

And then everyone was laughing and hugging her and shouting, “Happy Birthday!”

Clay stood back from all the commotion a little, watching Andie smile and laugh, seeing how she charmed everyone. And feeling thoroughly charmed himself. “She’s a captivator, our Andie is,” his great-uncle Jerry whispered slyly in his ear.

Clay gave the old man a smile. “Yes. She is.”

Uncle Jerry ran his liver-spotted hand over the crown of his head, as if smoothing his hair back, even though he was totally bald. “If I were thirty years younger…”

“You’d still be married to Aunt Bette,” Clay reminded him.

Uncle Jerry guffawed. “Damned if you ain’t right, my boy. Damned if you ain’t right. And where is that wife of mine, anyway?”

Clay pointed to a chair by the wall, where Great-aunt Bette was sitting with another of the great-aunts. Uncle Jerry tottled off in their direction.

“She is looking better, don’t you think, dear?” Clay’s mother, who’d appeared at his side out of nowhere, asked him in a hushed tone.

Clay nodded.

“Did you get her something nice?”

“Mother.”

“What?” Della’s eyes widened in an expression much too innocent for a woman who was almost sixty years of age. “What did I do?”

Clay just looked at her, a look of great patience.

“Well, I was just checking.”

“I gave her a huge bonus.”

His mother beamed. “That’s wonderful. She can use that.” But then she frowned. “But it’s not very personal.”

“Mother,” Clay said again.

“Oh, all right. All right. I’m minding my own business. Starting now.”

“That’s good news.”

“But Andie is looking lovely…”

“Yes, she is.”

“And I…oh, never mind.” She shook her head distractedly and wandered away to talk to her own mother, Granny Sid Santangelo, who was sitting on the couch, holding forth to anyone who would listen about how things used to be and ought to be again.

For the next couple of hours, Clay wandered from room to room, listening to the conversations, answering his relatives when they asked him questions and following Andie with his eyes.

She was so many things to him. His cousin. The passionate rival of his youth. His crackerjack, indispensable office manager.

And now there was more.

He’d always known she captivated people. People called her appealing and engaging and fun. He’d seen the way she charmed everyone, so they let her get away with things that Clay would never have been allowed to do. He’d resented her for her ability to enchant—at the same time as he’d called himself immune.

But now, he realized as he watched her opening her presents, oohing and aahing over each and every one, he wasn’t immune. He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened—something about the baby probably, and all the buried pain and memories the baby’s existence had stirred up.

Whatever. The point was, it had happened. It was as if he had spent twenty years keeping an invisible wall between himself and the awareness that she was someone he could desire. And then, last night on a side street in his hometown, he’d suddenly discovered that the wall was gone. He didn’t even know exactly when he’d let it crumble. But it wasn’t there now.

The facts ran through his mind.

There was no blood tie between them. They were a great team at the office. If they married, the family would be thrilled and the baby would have a father.

Hell, for the baby’s sake alone, it was certainly something to consider.

“Deep in thought as usual,” a rough voice behind him remarked.

Clay turned, already smiling. “Johnny.” Johnny Pardo still wore his hair too long and preferred black leather jackets and battered jeans to respectable clothing, but other than that he was all grown up now. Ten years ago, he’d shocked everyone at Meadow Valley High by marrying Andie’s best friend, Ruth Ann Pagneti. Everyone had said that the marriage would never last, that Ruth Ann was a smart-mouthed, sheltered schoolgirl who knew nothing about real life, while Johnny was surly and troubled and would never settle down.

A decade later, they were still going strong. They had two boys. Johnny owned and ran a franchise convenience store and coached little league in his spare time.

“I gotta have a smoke,” Johnny growled.

“I thought you quit.”

“I did. I quit more than any guy I ever met. Come outside with me. If Ruth Ann sees me, I’m gonna get the look.”

“What look?”

“The how-can-you-hurt-yourself-this-way-you’re-hurtingall-of-us-who-love-you-too look. I can’t take that. I just want a puff or two.”

Clay went out in the chilly backyard with Johnny. He watched as Johnny lit up, and tried not to smile at the absurdly ecstatic smile on the other man’s face as the hazardous fumes filled his lungs.

“We are talkin’ nirvana, man,” Johnny remarked. “So what were you thinkin’ about in there?”

“Hell. Life.”

“That deep, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Your cousin looks good.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. I think so. I think she looks great.”

Johnny blew out smoke through his nose and then chuckled. “Remember that time I took her riding on my motorcycle and you got all hot and bothered about it?”

“I remember.”

“I always thought you had a thing for her.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.” Johnny dropped his cigarette to the grass, stepped on it and then carefully stowed the smashed butt in his jacket pocket. Then he launched into one of his favorite subjects: the Bulls and the Suns. A few minutes later, Ruth Ann appeared.

“There you two are. I’ve been looking all over.” She marched up to her husband and put her arm through his. “P.U. Cigarettes.”

“Gimme a kiss.”

Ruth Ann groaned, but she did lift her mouth. Her husband lightly pecked her lips. She turned to Clay, her dark eyes dancing, her pointed chin high. “He adores me.”

“I can see.”

“Come on inside now. Both of you. Andie’s going to cut the cake.”

 

There were twenty-eight candles on the chocolate fudge cake that Aunt Thelma had baked. Andie’s hair was loose, in a dark cloud around her face. She had to gather it up in a fist, and hold it at her neck so it would be safe from the lit candles.

Aunt Thelma urged, “Hurry up, they’re melting.”

Andie’s face glowed as she bent over the yellow flames. She closed her eyes.

“Andie…”

“Shh, quiet, Mom. Let me make my wish.”

A hush fell over the room. Clay watched Andie’s wish take form as a slow, secret smile made her glowing face shine brighter still.

“There,” she said, with quiet satisfaction, her eyes still shut. “I see it. Just the way I want it to be.”

“Then hurry…”

“All right, all right.” She opened her eyes and sucked in a huge breath. And damned if she didn’t get every last candle at one try.

Everyone applauded and Andie cut the cake.

Clay took his piece and sat in the living room near enough to Granny Sid that he had to listen to a long diatribe about the youth of today and how there was very little hope for them. When he’d finished his cake, he got up and solemnly told her that she was absolutely right—things were not what they had once been.

Then he kissed her wrinkled cheek. “See you later, Granny Sid.”

Her little black eyes impaled him. “You’re a smart boy, Clay.”

“Thank you, Granny.”

“Maybe too smart for your own good.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, Granny?”

“Stop thinking so much,” Granny advised. “Give your heart a chance to talk.”

He chucked her under her wattled chin. “What would a heart say, Granny, if it could talk?”

Granny cackled. “See there, see what I mean? You don’t even believe that a heart can talk, now, do you?”

He considered teasing her some more, but decided to answer honestly. “No, Granny. I’m afraid I don’t.”

She shook her head. “Then what more can I say? We’re talking different languages. But that’s all right. You just go on. I know you’re in a rush. Young people. Always in a rush.” She patted him on the arm, dismissing him as if he were still ten years old and waiting for her permission to go outside and play.

He found his aunt Thelma before he left.

“Great cake, Aunt Thelma.”

“Have another piece.”

“No, I’ve got to go.”

“What’s your hurry?” Andie was suddenly beside him, grinning up at him, her midnight hair a halo around her face, the scent of her like roses and peaches combined. How could he have known her all these years and never noticed the enticing, wonderful way that she smelled?

“I’ve really got to go.” He cringed at the lame sound of his own voice.

Andie leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “You’ll be sorry. Aunt Bette’s going to be getting out her ukulele any minute now.”

The same thing that had happened on the street last night occurred again. He felt himself growing hard. It took all the will he possessed not to turn his head and capture her mouth.

Somehow, he managed to remember himself enough to back away from her a little and give a low groan. “That settles it. I’m outta here.”

Thelma patted his shoulder and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for coming, Clay.”

“I enjoyed it.” He turned to Andie. “Walk me to my car?”

She blinked and her soft lips parted in mild surprise. The request had been just a fraction out of the ordinary. He was only one guest of many, and she saw him nearly every day.

“Oh, go on with him, honey,” Aunt Thelma said.

“All right.” Andie’s face was composed again. She smiled and hooked her arm through his. “Let’s go.”

Clay felt the warmth of her against his side. It was good, he decided. It was right. It was as it should be.

They walked down to the foot of the street, where Clay’s car waited. Whatever snow had clung to the ground from the night before was gone now, melted away to nothing by the afternoon sun. Andie held on to his arm, her step in time with his.

He wondered what the hell to do.

He could kiss her. He could stop right there on the sidewalk and turn her to him. He could pull her soft body close and lift her chin with his hand.

Or maybe he should say something, something that would let her know what he was feeling, something that would communicate to her in just a few words everything that was going through his mind.

They reached the car too soon. He still hadn’t figured out quite what to do, or what to say.

He turned and leaned against the passenger door. “Andie, I…”

“What?”

“Well, I…”

“Yes?” She folded her arms over her breasts and shivered a little. But she was wearing a huge, soft sweater and leggings and the sun was out. If she trembled, it wasn’t from cold.

“There’s something I…”

“What?” She bit the inside of her lip. Her nostrils flared, just slightly. He thought of a soft, vulnerable animal scenting a predator.

“Hell.” He only breathed the word.

“What? Clay, what is it?”

He had no words. He wanted to touch her. He dared to reach out and cup his hand over her upper arm. Her sweater was as soft as it looked. Beneath that softness, she was firm and warm. Her arm tensed under his fingers.

“Clay, what?” She backed away, out from under his touch.

“Andie…”

Clay couldn’t help himself. He reached out and took her arm in a firmer grip. She stared at him, stunned. He pulled her to him.

She came, falling against him with a tiny exhalation of breath. He felt the soft fullness of her breasts against his chest.

“Clay, what is it?” She lifted her head to search his eyes. “What do you want?”

He said it. “You.”

He watched her face, watched for the signs. There would be nothing, of course, if she gave him no sign. But the signs were there. She didn’t—or couldn’t—hide them. There was that little hitch of breath, the quickened heartbeat against his own. And most important, he saw the way her dark eyes went cloudy and her lips grew suddenly soft. He took the signs into himself, hoarding them.

It was okay. She hadn’t rejected him.

Very slowly and deliberately he lowered his mouth and tasted her, as he’d wanted to do back there in the house.

She sighed. He felt that sigh all through him, felt her body giving, pressed to his. He thought of roses and peaches again, thought that she tasted just the way she smelled. Her mouth, softly parted, allowed the questing entrance of his tongue.

It was silky and hot inside her mouth. So good, and so exactly what he’d imagined it might be. Yes, he did want her. Badly. He swept the sweet, moist inner flesh of her mouth with his tongue.

She moaned, low and hungrily.

And then she stiffened.

“No.” Andie breathed the word against his lips.

She gripped him by the arms and pushed herself away from him.

Clay wanted to grab her and pull her back, to take her mouth again, to savor the taste of her just a little bit more. Desire was an ache in him. But he controlled it. He was good at controlling himself, after all. And he’d found out what he needed to know.

There was a long, gaping moment of silence between them. A bird squawked at them from a wire overhead. On the street, a pickup rolled by. Clay wondered if anyone else had driven by while he was kissing her. If they had, Clay never would have known it. He’d been oblivious to everything but the taste and feel of her.

Andie had her arms folded protectively over her breasts again. Her lips were red and full from the kiss. Her face was flushed.

“Why did you do that?” Her voice was tight.

He felt irritated at her suddenly, for pulling back, for trying to avoid what was going to happen eventually anyway.

“I told you.” His voice was harder, perhaps, than it should have been. “Because I want you.”

Her mouth had no trace of softness about it now. “Just like that.” She flicked a hand in the air. “Out of nowhere. Because you want me.”

He looked down at his shoes and then back up at her. “You want me, too.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“This is the subject. I want you. You want me. It’s simple, if you’ll only—”

“It is not.” She tossed an indignant glance heavenward and then glared at him once more. “It’s impossible.”

“No.”

“Good Lord, Clay. We have to work together.”

“I am very well aware of that.”

“You could have fooled me. What’s gotten into you?”

You! he wanted to shout at her. You and your black hair and your wide brown eyes and your scent like flowers and ripe summer fruit.

But he didn’t say that. He said, “I want us to be married.”

She stared. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I want to marry you. Right away.”

She took another step back from him. “Clay, this is ridiculous. It would never work.”

“Oh, yes it will. It will work out just fine.”

“Clay.” She pitched her voice low, but its intensity made it sound like a shout. “I’m pregnant, Clay. And it’s not your baby.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons, probably the most important reason. For the sake of the baby.”

Andie shook her head.

Clay nodded.

She backed away, up the street. “I…this is impossible. I can’t talk about this now.”

“When, then?”

“Don’t do this.”

“When?”

She glared at him. “I just…right this minute, I hate you, Clay Barrett.” She sounded very much as she had when they were kids.

Clay was firm, he did not revert to childish taunts. “But you want me. And you’ll marry me.”

“Not now. I can’t think about this now.”

“Fine. Tonight, then. We’ll talk about it more tonight.”

“Oh, God. Tonight.”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Where?”

“I’ll come to your place.” No way he was going to tell her to come to his. In the state she was in, she might not show up.

“I can’t…”

“Say you’ll be there, Andie. Just say that.”

“All right.” She gave a little frustrated moan. “Oh, how can you do this to me? Everything was worked out. It was all going just fine.”

“Say it.”

“Damn you.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll be there.” And then she turned and ran up the street, all the way to her mother’s house.

 

Andie moved through the rest of her birthday party in a daze, trying to smile and be gracious as the guest of honor, when all she wanted to do was go home.

Go home to her apartment and close all the blinds and sit on her bed and hug her tattered old teddy bear that she’d had since she was a baby.

Clay had kissed her.

A real kiss. A man-and-woman kiss.

It wasn’t possible.

But it was true.

And, Lord forgive her, she had liked it. Liked it more than any kiss she’d ever had in her life.

And then, after that incredible, unforgivable kiss, he’d told her he wanted to marry her.

Marry her.

All her life she’d thought that her watchful, cautious cousin was like a sleeping volcano. Now and then she’d wondered what it would be like if he woke up some day and started spewing fire.

Well, now she knew.

She’d been licked by the flames, swallowed by the heat. It couldn’t be true. But it was. Just as Clay had said. She wanted him.

It was just a little eerie, actually. Because when she’d blown out the candles on her cake, she’d wished for a good man to stand beside her.

And then, not half an hour later, Clay had asked her to marry him.

Weird. Very weird.

And impossible. Even if Clay was a good man. Even if, as he’d so blankly pointed out, she desired him, nothing could come of it. Nothing but trouble.

There was her job to consider, a job she needed and loved. For a woman to desire her boss rarely led to anything but heartache and the unemployment line. And worse than the way her job was suddenly in jeopardy, there was the truth about the baby’s father. She could never tell Clay the truth about Jeff. It would kill Clay to know that his best friend was the one.

And Andie knew very well that the family was involved in this. She could read them all like the open books they were. Andie was pregnant and Clay was single and reliable and only related to Andie by adoption.

How perfect, they were all thinking, Clay and Andie can get married and everything will be fine. Andie was also reasonably certain, judging by a few oblique remarks her mother had made, that they’d even tried to convince themselves that Clay was the baby’s father.

Which was ridiculous, if they’d only open their eyes. If Clay had been the baby’s father, he would have married her in a minute. If she’d refused him, he would have bullied and prodded, reasoned and pleaded. He would have kept after her relentlessly until she gave in. Clay was like that. He always faced his duty and did the right thing.

And now, with a little subtle goading from the family, Clay had decided that the right thing would be for him to marry her anyway—even though the baby wasn’t his.

Oh, she could gladly strangle each and every one of her loving relatives.

Oh, go on with him, honey, her mother had said when Clay had made that strange request that she walk him to his car. As if Andie hadn’t seen the gleam in her mother’s eyes.

It was too crazy. And impossible, just as she’d tried to tell Clay.

But Clay wouldn’t listen to her.

That was always the problem. Clay had never listened to her. Once he decided what he thought was right, he acted on it. And everyone else just had to go along.

Well, Andie had never gone along. And she was not going to go along now.

Tonight, when he came to see her, she would be better prepared. They would have a real discussion of this, like the two adults they were now. Somehow, without revealing the awful truth about Jeff, she would make her pigheaded cousin see reason.

And then, please God, they would go back to the way things had been before.