Allie yawned, guessing that instant alertness came from a lifetime of standing vigil over the farm. Couldn't Clay ever truly relax?
"What's wrong?" she asked when he didn't respond.
"Nothing."
Immediately standing up, he started gathering the leftovers of their picnic while Allie tried to stretch the kinks from her muscles. "Do you always wake up going a hundred miles an hour?"
"What?" he said.
"Never mind." With a final stretch, she stood, too, and began to help.
"So, did you learn any deep dark secrets last night?" he asked as he carried the basket out to his truck.
She followed with the tablecloth. "Are you kidding? You know I didn't. You got off pretty light."
"How'd I manage that?" he said with a boyish grin.
She liked the way his hair stuck up on one side, the dark shadow of beard growth covering his prominent jaw. He looked rumpled--and sexy. "You went to sleep. What was I supposed to do, wake you?"
They both knew she could've done exactly that. But Allie was no longer so anxious to badger Clay for details about that long-ago night. She was beginning to hope, really hope, that he'd had no part in whatever had happened. And it was easier to avoid the answers to certain questions if she didn't ask them in the first place.
"What makes you think Lucas has been back to Stillwater?" he asked.
After loading the picnic supplies in the back, they'd both gone to the driver's side. Clay opened the door and waved Allie in, then got in after her.
Allie slid over a few feet so he could drive, but not all the way. She had the oddest desire to sit close to him. Probably because she wasn't quite ready to return to regular life.
"He acted kind of suspicious when I talked to him on the phone," she said.
Clay's face was unreadable. "In what way?"
"He claimed he didn't know anything about Barker. Yet, a few seconds later, he accidentally revealed that he knew it'd been nineteen years since Barker went missing."
Clay said nothing.
"That's strange, don't you think?" she prompted.
"Anything's possible with my dad."
"I guess he could've heard about the investigation through the media," she went on, "but it wasn't that widely publicized. And he's been living in Alaska for two decades."
"He has some distant relatives here in Mississippi."
"Do you think he stays in touch with them?"
Clay shrugged. "He could."
His dad might have maintained contact. But that didn't explain why Lucas had jumped to the conclusion that Barker was dead, when only the guilty party, and anyone the guilty party might have told, really knew for sure. And it didn't explain why Lucas hadn't simply told her that he'd heard about Barker from family or friends.
"Do you know much about Eliza?" Allie asked, gazing out the window as they turned onto the highway and began to travel at a greater speed.
"Eliza?"
She glanced over at him. "Barker's first wife."
"Not really. Besides what Madeline's said."
"Barker never talked about her?"
"No. I found some old pictures in his office, but I gave those to Maddy when I finally dismantled the place."
"When was that?"
"Last summer."
"Why haven't you used the office for something else?" she asked.
He had one arm slung across the back of the seat, his hand so close he could've touched her hair, but Allie could tell he wasn't as relaxed as he appeared. "I don't need the space."
What Clay had done to the office was extreme, considering the fact that he had no real reason for gutting it. But Allie didn't want to ask about that, for fear of getting too close to details she'd rather not know.
"Can you tell me why Jed Fowler might have hated your stepfather?" she asked, changing the subject.
Clay took a little longer than he should have to answer, as though he was warring with himself over whether or not to be truthful. "No," he said at last.
Evidently, he'd decided he couldn't. Which set Allie's cop instincts buzzing. Clay had too many secrets. They frightened her. For him.
"We can never be completely honest with each other, can we?" she asked earnestly.
He took his eyes off the road long enough to stare across the seat at her. "That depends on what you want."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
Was he acknowledging that he felt a spark between them, the same spark she felt? That the truth, once known, would stand in the way of what they both secretly wanted? She could've asked for clarification, but he wasn't a man who spelled out his feelings. And she was too confused about her own emotions to press him on his. So she let him drive the rest of the way in silence.
As they neared her parents' property, Allie couldn't help glancing nervously at the clock. It was only six-fifteen. She should arrive before Whitney woke up for school, which usually didn't happen until seven. But Allie's father was likely pacing the floor, waiting. Or maybe he'd gone to the guesthouse looking for her.
Fortunately, when Clay pulled down the back road, the guesthouse looked as empty and dark as they'd left it. If Dale was awake, he'd be expecting Allie at the main house. "I don't think we should see each other again," she said as she grabbed hold of the door handle.
"Neither do I."
His quick, decisive rejoinder caused a painful jab. But Allie was determined not to show her disappointment. "Right. So we agree."
She opened the door, but he caught hold of her jacket before her feet could touch the ground.
"What is it?" she asked.
He cursed under his breath but didn't release her.
"What?" she said again.
"When are we going back?"
Allie didn't ask where. He was referring to the cabin. They'd acknowledged what they thought they should do; now they were addressing what they wanted to do.
"I'm on graveyard all week," she said.
She could tell he believed she was turning him down.
With a nod, he let her go.
"But Friday would work," she added, lingering of her own volition.
His eyes fastened on hers. Agreeing to see him again confirmed that she wanted to be with him enough to go against her better judgment.
"We're at the part where you say okay," she told him when he didn't respond.
He nodded, looking somber. "Okay. I'll pick you up here."
Allie knew she'd be crazy to nurture the romantic feelings she was beginning to have for Clay Montgomery. And yet the temptation to return to her father's fishing shack, to spend another evening with him, was too enticing to resist. She'd stop seeing Clay after next weekend. One more outing would be okay. He didn't want her sexually, she told herself, or he would've made a move when they'd shared the bed. He needed company, a friend.