Carolina Girl (13 page)

She was feeling so lucky, she ought to buy a lottery ticket.

o0o

Deciding he was in no mood to go home and get ragged on by
Jared over that kiss in the park today, Clay motored down the road to the
beach. If he was insane enough to antagonize the state, rile the local establishment,
and become involved in the emotional chaos of the Jenkins family, he ought to
at least have some understanding of
why
.

He locked his bike to a wind-gnarled oak and strolled across
the boardwalk to the beach. The surf was out, but a breeze rippled his hair as
he gathered his bearings and judged the distance to the turtle nests.

Aurora had said he’d be lucky to see a turtle at all.
He’d run a search on-line, learned more about the primeval habits of
loggerheads, but he needed to learn more. Right now, though, he wanted the real
thing, not words. He wanted to know he was diving into a whirlpool for a
reason, if only a symbolic one.

Hurricane-ravaged trunks littered this part of the island.
Driftwood, brittle pine needles, and decades of dried grasses and leaves
gathered behind the roots of trees torn from their moorings. The drought of the
last few seasons had left dead trees and shrubs scattered throughout the
forested area. New growth interspersed the dead. A state park might revitalize
some of the natural habitat. Or not.

He strolled quietly in the gathering shadows of dusk,
looking for a likely spot to watch without disturbing nature. How many turtles
used this beach? How often did they nest? Was he talking a small population of
animals or a large one? Was there any point in fighting for a few of the
creatures?

Was there any point in fighting his attraction to a vibrant
bonfire of emotion wearing the cold armor of a business suit?

Locating a fallen tree trunk still sporting branches, Clay
found a seat where he could look out over the sand and ocean without being
seen. Moonlight might be useful. Did the turtles come out in moonlight?

Maybe this was a mistake. It gave him entirely too much time
to think. The flat screen of a computer focused his attention instead of
letting him drift through his empty life.

It didn’t hurt to take stock once in a while, he
decided, especially if he avoided his brother’s teasing by doing so.
Their dysfunctional family had taught them poor communication skills. TJ let
everything roll off his broad back. Jared reacted with laughter and taunts.
Clay figured he pulled his head in like a turtle and let the world pass on by.

He wasn’t certain he wanted to do that anymore.

Watching the shades of sunset darken to twilight, he contemplated
turtles, Aurora, and amazing kisses, not necessarily in that order.

By the time he’d reaffirmed his earlier decision that
sex was a desirable solution but a relationship probably wasn’t possible,
his ass was sore from the tree trunk, and his head ached from staring into
darkness. He hadn’t seen any sign of turtles.

Preparing to slide out from the branches without being
slapped in the face by them, Clay sought a safe purchase on the limb in front
of him. In that second he spotted the creature crawling from the sea.

In awe, he froze where he was, forgetting his awkward
position while he watched the immense loggerhead haul herself from the surf and
rise on four flippers to waddle determinedly across the hard-packed sand.

He tried to breathe quietly as she lumbered closer, her
destination the softer, drier sand farther up the shore, beneath his feet.
Settling back amid the branches, Clay prepared to watch the Jurassic age meet
the twenty-first century.

Studying dinosaurs was better than the movies any day. This
was the real thing—nature emerging from the primeval ooze for purposes of
procreation. Ancient history in Technicolor.

o0o

Rory dialed the number of McCloud’s cottage again.
Nothing. Could he actually be on the courthouse roof this early in the morning?
Or did he sleep late and just not answer phones?

Trying not to care, she clicked off the cordless and
wandered back to the kitchen. “He’s not in. I have to go over a few
more figures with the tourist commission this morning. If I run into him,
I’ll see what he says. He may only work on his computer in the
evening.”

Cissy offered a bleak smile. “Maybe he didn’t
mean it. If he packed up and ran last night, there’s still time to change
my mind. I haven’t told Commercial no.”

More inclined to fight than accept defeat, Rory figured
she’d go after McCloud with a butcher knife if he’d lied to her
sister, but Cissy didn’t need to hear that. “Don’t tell them
anything yet. No sense in warning them that their plans have been thwarted.
Give me a little time to get ahead of them.”

“Remember to stop at Cleo’s for another can of
red paint,” Cissy called as Rory headed out the door. “Daddy can
send that big order out next week if I finish the dwarves.”

“Will do.” Adding another mental note to the
growing list in her head, Rory hurried down the front steps into the early
morning sunshine. She stopped to smell the magnolia-scented air and admire the
sway of willow leaves over the peony bed. What would life be like out here if a
developer succeeded in changing the acreage behind them into a bustling hive of
apartment dwellers?

She enjoyed escaping on holidays to this slower life. It
wouldn’t be the same if she couldn’t amble back to Grandma
Iris’s to buy baskets for Christmas presents, or sit on the beach on lazy
summer nights and watch for the loggerheads. They’d lose the herons and
cranes that lived on the fish and crabs. She might as well stay in the city
without all that.

She supposed life would go on, but Cissy and her father
would hate it. They’d end up selling the land and living in some
development, where they’d get on each other’s nerves. At least they
each had their own space out here. She wanted to keep it that way.

Turning the BMW around in the gravel drive, she started
toward the road, only to meet a red Jeep entering. Her father had a separate
entrance with a sign for his business, but sometimes tourists took the wrong
drive. She pulled her convertible to the side of the road and cut the engine.

The Jeep did the same. This close, she recognized the
driver. Jared McCloud beamed at her and climbed out to admire her car.

“Nice.” He ran his hand over the powder blue
finish, obviously checking out the machine and not her.

“A fascination with vehicles runs in the
family?” she asked dryly, wondering what he wanted. “I’ll
sell you this one, if you’re interested.”

To her surprise, he looked interested, but then he shook his
head. “Love ’em, but can’t use ’em these days. Not
kid-friendly. Cleo says you have birdbaths out here. Is it too early to look at
some?”

“Nope. Pop’s already up and about. There are
some in the yard, but most of the inventory is in the next drive down. You can
park here and wander over if you want.”

“Thanks.” Lankier than his brother, with a shock
of dark hair that fell across his brow, Jared shoved his hands into the pockets
of his khaki shorts and threw an uncertain look up the empty drive.
“Don’t suppose you have a notion where Clay is? He told one of the
kids that he’d teach her his graphics program since it’s a school
holiday, but he never came in last night.”

Rory struggled with a kaleidoscope of emotion at this news.
She wanted to say,
So what? Alley cats stray
. But from the look on his
brother’s face, she thought maybe this particular cat hadn’t
strayed lately. She ought to be appalled that Jared thought maybe Clay had
spent the night here, but after what he’d observed yesterday, she really
couldn’t blame him.

She didn’t know how she felt about Clay being the kind
of homebody who caused people to worry when he didn’t show up, but she
recognized a quiver of fear at his disappearance. Surely no developer was
desperate enough to harm anything but the environment?

“He left here after supper last night,” she
said. “It was before dusk. I have no idea where he was headed.”

Or maybe she did. She was fairly certain her family had
unnerved him with their emotional turmoil. Clay didn’t strike her as the
type accustomed to living in a fishbowl of chaos. And he’d been so
totally fascinated by the turtles that he’d actually—grudgingly—agreed
to help in her crusade. The idea of his whereabouts grew a little more
feasible.

“The turtle nesting area is down the lane and up the
beach a way. He was pretty interested. Do you think he might have—”
She cut herself off at Jared’s skeptical expression. Okay, so maybe
she’d figured Clay wrong. “Have you asked the bartender at the
Monkey if he’s been in there?”

If Clay followed her father’s pattern, he’d
probably picked up someone at the bar. She didn’t know why she thought
McCloud might be different from any other man around here.

“I don’t want to embarrass him by asking,”
Jared said sheepishly. “I’ll go talk to your dad. Maybe he can nose
around for me. I’m sure Clay’s fine and just forgot about Kiz.
I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Watching Jared return to the Jeep, Rory wanted to call him
back, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. What did she know about
Clay McCloud, anyway? That he kissed with a hunger and loneliness that called
to all the empty places in her heart?

Or more likely, with a learned expertise that bowled over every
woman he touched. She didn’t want to know how he spent his nights or that
he hurt young kids with broken promises. If Jared was talking about Kismet
Watkins, that poor kid didn’t need any more rejection in her young life.

She didn’t want to believe she’d trusted a man
like that with her sister’s hopes and dreams. Watching in her rearview
mirror as Jared picked up a colorful concrete dwarf and grinned, apparently
unconcerned by his brother’s defection, Rory started her engine and roared
out to the road.

Instead of turning toward the main highway, she swung toward
the dead end by the beach. One of these days she’d quit believing in lost
causes and the inherent goodness of man, but she needed Clay McCloud right now,
and she didn’t want to give up on him already.

Parking her car in the makeshift lot formed by years of
beachgoers, Rory didn’t immediately see Clay’s Harley. Cursing
herself for a fool and an idealistic idiot, she climbed out, glad she’d
chosen platform sandals today instead of heels. She might wreck her hose but at
least she wouldn’t fall and break her neck.

The bike’s chrome glittered from a thicket of wax
myrtle at the base of a dead oak. Not knowing whether to be glad or very
afraid, Rory picked her way past the thicket, along the edge of the sandy dune
to the beach. Surely he wouldn’t have driven back to town, picked up a
twelve-pack, and passed out on the beach. She’d give the man credit for
some sense.

The dune gave way to sandy beach and hurricane-lashed
shrubbery and trees. She kept a sharp eye out for any turtle trails. The tide
was still far enough out not to have wiped away every trace.

She saw the track before she saw Clay. She halted, glanced
around to be certain she didn’t disturb any fragile nests buried beneath
the sand, and spotted a flash of blue on an old tree trunk behind the myrtle.

Telling herself she was insane, he was insane, and the whole
wide world wasn’t large enough for the two of them, she carefully trod a
path along the shrubbery’s edge. She halted when she could safely
recognize the man sprawled along the wide trunk of a fallen oak, sleeping like
the dead.

In repose, he was much safer to look upon than when awake.
Dark lashes fanned across bronzed cheeks, and a stubble of dark whiskers
colored his angular jaw. Sun-bleached hair rippled in the breeze, and she could
almost see the boy he’d been—curious, intelligent, always
seeking— maybe never finding?

Silly thought. He was a grown man, a loner who’d
chosen to fritter the rest of his life away in a beach shack and make a world
out of a computer. Nothing she could relate to. Spying on turtles was an
interesting side she’d not expected, but she wouldn’t fall victim
to hormones and look for excuses to believe a footloose loner could magically
turn into the caring, steady man she wanted.

“You’ll develop a serious crick in your neck if
you don’t get up from there,” she said loudly when his even
breathing broke into a small snore.

The snore halted, but he didn’t immediately wake, or
give any indication that he was awake.

“Your brother is looking for you, something about a
kid you promised to teach?” She hadn’t understood the part about
the graphics program, but that wasn’t important. In her book, breaking
promises to kids was on the same level as kicking cats.

One lid opened and a silver eye peered from under it. The
eyelid closed again, and a frown appeared between his thick eyebrows.

“I don’t see any beer cans, so can I assume you
make a habit of sleeping in trees?”

A deep sigh caused his broad chest to rise and fall.
“You’re not going to go away, are you?”

“Nope. This is almost as entertaining as watching
turtles nest.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He
didn’t move but seemed to be assessing the number and quality of aches
and pains from his uncomfortable resting place. “I take it the turtle
went back to sea?”

“One assumes. They usually don’t stay for
daylight.” With a disgruntled exhalation, she relented. She’d spent
many a night out here in the summers, watching for the turtles, awed by their
massiveness and determination. She couldn’t blame a stranger to the area
for experiencing the same effect. “Come back to the house and shower, and
I’ll fix you some breakfast before you go home. You’re likely to
have a kid waiting on your front porch, certain you couldn’t have
forgotten her.”

“Kismet.” He groaned and swung into a sitting
position. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her. “You won’t let me
hear the end of this, will you?”