That's why I took the No-Doz."
"And then you drank on top of it."
"I didn't think a few beers would make any difference. And then..." She stopped because she couldn't explain, at least to their satisfaction, how her interview intentions had so easily turned into pool and dancing. Especially dancing. When she closed her eyes, she could still smell the scent of Clay's cologne and feel the strength of his arms around her, guiding her body in perfect rhythm with his.
Dale set the newspaper aside. "And then?" he encouraged when her words dwindled away.
She figured the less she said, the better. "When I needed a ride home, Clay was kind enough to offer."
"You think he was being nice? " Dale said.
"Yes."
"Shows how naive you are!"
"How do you know he wasn't simply being nice?" she challenged, irritated by the whole Inquisition routine.
"Because I'm familiar with his reputation."
"So am I. Most people in Stillwater keep a list of every mistake he's ever made!"
"Yet you got into his car, knowing he could be dangerous."
Clenching her jaw, Allie began to tap her spoon against the side of her bowl. "If you think he's dangerous, why won't you support me in my investigation? Officially reopen the case? Don't you want to know if he's really the one who murdered Lee Barker?"
Her father rattled his paper as if he had a lot to say but was deliberately holding back.
"Dad?"
"I told you, we have more important issues to worry about," he snapped. "You should spend your time on something that matters."
"Why don't we ask Madeline if this matters?"
"You have no business with Clay Montgomery." His face turned even redder than when he'd caught her necking on the porch after her junior prom. "You've chosen poorly once. I'm not going to stand by while you do it again."
"Dale," her mother warned, but it was too late. Allie shoved her cereal bowl aside and got up.
"How dare you!"
Gripping the table, he pulled himself to his feet and loomed over her. "I dare because I'm your father!"
Allie refused to let him intimidate her the way he used to. "You wouldn't be treating Danny like this."
"He's a man."
"So? We're all adults, and you're being ridiculous." She glanced between her parents.
"You're making a big deal out of nothing."
"Just stay away from Clay, from all the Montgomerys," he said.
"Mommy? Are you in trouble?" Whitney asked, her eyes round.
Allie glared at her parents. "No. I'm old enough to make my own decisions," she said and stalked out of the room.
Chapter 7
Clay reserved most weekends and weeknights for working on the vintage cars he restored in his barn. It was a solitary occupation, but most of his activities were. He didn't mind being alone.
He took his time with each car and generally enjoyed the change of pace.
Today, however, he hadn't been himself. He felt listless, bored, preoccupied. Again and again, his thoughts drifted to Allie. At first, he tried to convince himself that he was merely searching for the best way to neutralize the threat she posed. Holding his enemy close and all that.
But by midafternoon he was ready to admit that his desires didn't stem from a motivation nearly that subversive. He wasn't strategizing about how to protect himself or his family. For once in his life, he wasn't even thinking about the past.
He wanted to take her to dinner. To go out as though he wasn't harboring any dark secrets, as though he was just like any other man.
After wiping his greasy hands on a towel, he began putting away his tools. There was no point in working on the Jag today; he wasn't making any real progress. He kept staring off into space, remembering the expressions that had flitted across Allie's face the night before, and repeating the same thing: Forget it. Why would she ever go out with you?
He could think of one very obvious reason: she still wanted to talk about Barker. She'd go if she believed he'd provide her with some detail she didn't already know. But he was reluctant to entice her with such an irresistible hook. He wanted her to go because she wanted to be with him. It was that simple--and that complicated.
"Clay? Where are you?"
Recognizing his sister's voice, he poked his head out of the barn to find Grace standing on the steps of his back porch, her extended stomach clearly defined by her dress. New life. He was fascinated by her pregnancy, loved hearing her talk with so much enthusiasm about the coming baby. Her husband's gaze trailed after her wherever she moved; Heath and Teddy cuddled up to her at every opportunity.
A yearning for the things that really mattered in life grew so strong in Clay that it momentarily stole his breath, and he halted in mid-stride. In the glare of the afternoon sun, which was unseasonably hot for mid-May, he could easily imagine another woman standing where Grace stood now. A woman waiting for him, big with his child.
"What's wrong?" she called.
Shaking his head to clear away the silly daydream, he started forward again. He couldn't bring a woman--a wife--to the farm and expect her to fight the same negative sentiments he did, couldn't claim her heart and then leave her husbandless if the truth ever came out.
"Nothing." He shaded his eyes with his hand as he approached. "How's the baby?"
"Fine. Getting big, as you can see. I feel like a moose."
"Don't," he said. "You've never been prettier."
She smiled when he reached her. "You're sincere about that?"
"Would I lie to you?" He offered her a lopsided grin. "Besides, how can I not think you're beautiful? You look just like me."
She gave him a playful slug, then settled into the porch swing.
"Would you like a cold drink?" he asked.
She'd pulled her thick black hair into a ponytail, but several strands fell loose around her face, framing eyes the same blue as his own. "No, thanks. I had a late lunch."
He needed to wash up, but ridding himself of the grease on his hands required heavy-duty soap, a stiff-bristled brush and ten full minutes of scrubbing. Because Grace never stayed at the farm very long, he decided he'd get to see more of her if he waited until she left to start that routine.
He sat next to her. "Where're the boys?"
"Fishing with their father one last time before the baby gets here."
"What if you go into labor while they're gone?"
"They're not far, just down at the old Hatfield pond. And Kennedy's got his pager with him." Kicking off her sandals, Grace tucked her feet beneath her and leaned her head on his shoulder.