Carolina Girl (17 page)

And so did he—feel good, that is—but she wasn’t
about to admit that. “You stink.” She pulled back, out of his
tempting hands. “What have you been into, skunk?”

“Baby puke.” Without missing a beat, he stripped
off his shirt, heaved it at a hamper of dirty baby clothes, and reached for her
again.

Confronted with all that lovely bare chest, Rory hastily
backed off. “We’re not going there, McCloud,” she warned.

“Yeah, I think we are, but I can wait. You taste too
good for me to give up this soon.” Catching her hips but giving her
space, he nibbled her ear again, kissed her nose, then looked down at her with
a wary expression. “You don’t have some other guy waiting back in
the big city, do you?”

Flustered, she inched out of his reach. “I don’t
have time for men. I don’t have time for
you
. Take my word for it,
McCloud, I’m outta here as soon as I have things back in order.”
Soon...if the cap was real.

“There’s no harm in living in the moment,”
he said without a hint that her objection had made any impression.

Of course it hadn’t. He didn’t care if she left tomorrow,
so long as he got what he wanted today.

She didn’t sell herself that cheaply.

Aurora hung up Cleo’s telephone with a sick feeling to
replace her earlier joy. “I sent Pops out to talk to Iris. She thinks
someone found out about Billy and he sold out.”

From his position on the floor, Clay gazed up at her with an
inscrutable expression, then returned to manipulating the controls of a
computer game, entertaining a newly awakened Midge.

Rory paced the heart-of-pine cottage floor, fretting over
the unfairness of fate. She might have a million dollars in her underwear
drawer, but she
still
couldn’t correct injustice. She should be
dancing in the streets. Instead she was worrying about a
swamp
. Her
friends back in the city would tell her that her head was definitely screwed on
wrong.

Maybe a lifetime of habit had taught her caution. Money
wasn’t real until she had it in hand. Anything that appeared too good to
be true probably was.

“The zoning meeting is Thursday night,” she
continued, thinking out loud. “This is Tuesday. If we can come up with
some charts and statistics before the meeting, showing what overdevelopment has
done in other areas—overcrowded roads, utilities, schools,
whatever—they might be concerned enough to put a moratorium on zoning
changes. We may not be able to stop the auction, but if we can halt commercial
zoning, developers might think twice about buying.”

She tried to concentrate on the problem at hand, but Clay
was too major a distraction. Sitting on Cleo’s living room floor in front
of a laptop with Midge slouched in his lap, he entertained the wide-eyed infant
with spaceships that shot colored stars, mushrooms, and balloons at each other.
Every once in a while, the game emitted a chiming version of “Love Me Do,”
Midge would coo excitedly, and Rory would swivel to see what new action crossed
the screen.

Every time she turned to look, Clay was looking back.

She’d never had that much blatant interest focused on
her. She didn’t at all understand the thrill chasing through her every
time she caught him looking. Just
looking
shouldn’t generate such
chills of excitement.

“I can feed statistics into a comparison program and
set projections,” he answered reasonably to her impassioned speech, his
hands working the controller without regard to any result but Midge’s
contentment. “If any school officials are at the meeting, they’ll
cringe at doubling their population almost overnight.”

She assumed he meant to generate the statistics from the
laptop he’d been working on before Midge woke, although for all she knew,
he could have been looking up her ancestry and credit rating. But she admired
his ability and willingness to use the computer as a weapon to bring down the
bad guys.

“Give me enough to create some charts,” she
said. “People like pretty pictures. I’ll make copies of the
petitions to hand out. Five hundred signatures in twenty-four hours is pretty
impressive. Maybe we can get another five hundred before the meeting.”

“We could easily collect thousands if we had
time.”

“We don’t have time,” she said
impatiently, continuing her pacing.

Clay’s controller produced a colorful explosion of
singing birds. Midge didn’t issue a sound, and he leaned over her little
head to check on her. “I think that one sent her off to
sleepy-bye.”

With athletic coordination, he set aside the laptop,
balanced the infant in his arms, and stood up. “Planning requires
patience and persistence.”

After shedding his smelly shirt, he’d apparently
stolen one of his brother’s. Aurora tried not to be distracted by the way
the bright Hawaiian print fell open across his tanned chest, but she
wasn’t certain she remembered the argument. “I hate waiting.”

“That’s because you’re a volatile
cocktail,” he said with a hint of amusement, rocking Midge lightly so her
eyes closed again.

She stared as if the top of his head had blown off. “A
what?” She supposed she should be insulted that he thought she
didn’t have patience, but he was probably right.

“Heady and explosive, but not lethal.” His mouth
curved in a little-boy grin that nearly turned her inside out. “We work
well together.”

That grin produced images of Cheshire cats, along with
wistful wishes of a steady balance to her more explosive tendencies, but a car
engine sounded far down the lane, saving her from any reply.

“There’s Jared. I haven’t gone into town
to buy the steaks yet. Will you take a rain check?” Expertly holding the
sleeping babe, Clay peered out the window to verify his brother’s
arrival.

“I’ll find something,” she answered, more
aware of the tenderness he showed Midge than the fact that she hadn’t
been to the grocery either. She couldn’t do this. No matter how many
fascinating facets Clay McCloud exposed, he was still the worst thing that
could happen to her.

She didn’t want to imagine what the best could be.

“I’ll create charts so pretty the commission
won’t know what hit them,” he assured her, heading toward the
nursery. “And then we’ll celebrate because the commission is going
to cave.”

She could hear Clay’s idea of celebration in the
sensual lowering of his voice, and knowing what was on his mind heated parts of
her best left cold. “You’re doing this for the turtles, right? And
your brother?” she called after him. And not for her, she reminded
herself.

“Yep. And for Kiz and her family. That’s their
land the surveyors are tramping around.” He disappeared down the hall,
leaving her thoroughly rattled.

Damn, even though he’d just verified that he
wasn’t doing this for her, he made his intentions sound altruistic rather
than selfish.

Clay returned to the front room just as a car door slammed
outside. Without any show of acknowledgment that his brother would walk in on
them any minute, he invaded her personal space by poking the frown forming
above her nose. “It’s not your responsibility to change the
world.”

“We need development.” Attempting to disregard
Clay’s broad chest and dangerous proximity, she stuck to her concerns.
“I don’t want condos, but I want the zoning only temporarily
postponed until we have a plan.”

“It’s a crime to turn paradise into hot-dog stands,
but we’ll argue over that when the time comes,” he acknowledged
with lazy grace, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger again, his
colorful shirt filling her field of vision.

They were still at odds, but Rory could almost feel flames
flickering along her skin everywhere Clay touched her with his gaze. He
didn’t understand the island and its inhabitants, and he probably would
be gone before she was. She’d better learn to use his expertise without
any of this touchy-feely business. She spun on her heel to open the door.

Jared looked surprised, then concerned as he glanced over
her shoulder to see Clay. “Where’s Cleo? Is something wrong?”

“I have it all under control, bro. Midge is asleep.
Cleo just called to say Matty is fine, and she’s heading home. You can
take up the baby-sitting duties. I have to see Aurora home.”

Clay caught Rory’s elbow, preventing her from fleeing
the moment Jared walked through the door. She thought about pulling away, but
she knew it would be futile. Besides, Jared didn’t appear to be noticing
anything except his empty house. She liked the way he looked a little shaken at
Clay’s insouciant recitation. Jared McCloud was a good family man, unlike
his sex-god brother.

Except the sex god knew how to take care of babies.

“What happened to Matty?” Jared demanded.

“Playground accident. I said he’s fine. Cleo
just got a little rattled.”

“Cleo called Aurora to look after Meg?” Jared
turned toward the hall leading to the nursery, apparently listening for infant
cries while attempting to sort out what had happened here.

“Nope, she called me. Aurora’s here ’cause
surveyors are tramping around the Watkins homestead. I’ll fill you in
later.” With studied purpose, Clay urged Aurora through the open door.
“Tell Matty I’ll tell him a turtle tale when I come back.”

“You’d better run that tale by me first!”
Jared called as Clay attempted his escape. “I want to hear how Meg fits
in.”

“She’s been fed, but you can have the dirty
diapers,” Clay called back, letting the screen door slam as he steered
Rory down the porch stairs. “I’ll never hear the end of
this,” he muttered. “Let me drive. I want out of here before Jared
follows me out.”

Still a little dazed, Rory handed him the keys. “He
was just curious. Wouldn’t you be if you came home to find someone like
you baby-sitting your kid and the rest of your family gone?”

“Just because I’m the youngest, Jared and TJ
think it’s their duty to look after me. I’m not exactly a kid any
longer.” Clay opened the passenger- side door and held out his hand to help
her in.

He certainly didn’t have to tell her that, but she
couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “I can’t say I
blame your brothers. I’d be afraid you oiled the baby and filled her up
with gasoline.”

She looked down at Clay’s helping hand. He was always
taking her arm or her hand and treating her as if she were a piece of dandelion
fluff. “You know, you have an unusual flare for old-fashioned
etiquette.”

He looked down at his outstretched hand and shrugged.
“Habit. Are you getting in or not?”

“Since I daresay you’ll leave me here if I say
‘not,’ I guess I’ll get in.” Before the words left her
mouth, he’d caught her elbow and all but shoved her into the seat.

He slid behind the driver’s wheel and took off before
she could decide whether to protest his manhandling. “I can do this
without your help, you realize,” she told him. “I only needed you
to back off on giving the state the names of the landowners.”

As the BMW shot out onto the highway, Clay grinned. “I
have the list the bank, the state, and the developers would kill for shoved
into my silverware drawer. If I’m foregoing monetary rewards for that
list, I want to be around for the fireworks.”

In his silverware drawer
.
Gads, they were a pair. She
had the stuff dreams were made of stashed with her underwear. He had the means
to blow her family’s dreams sky-high hidden among his forks and spoons.

Unless, of course, Iris’s brother, Billy, had
definitely sold his share of the swamp. Then all bets were off.

o0o

“If Billy has sold out, the realty company will never
give me what they offered the other day. We could be bankrupt.” Cissy
limped up and down the living room later that night after Clay left.
“I’ve never lived anywhere else. How would I pay rent? I
can’t even find a job. Your friend McCloud could up and disappear
tomorrow. That kind always does.”

“Will you sit down? You’re making me tired just
watching you.” Rory was sorry she’d brought up the zoning meeting
during supper. It had been an otherwise pleasant evening until then.

Everything had gone so well—Clay didn’t have to
be more than his undemonstrative self to make Mandy shine and Cissy dote on his
every word. When he exerted himself, he had them eating out of his hand. His
masculine energy had been like a breath—more like a tornado—of
fresh air in this all-female atmosphere.

Even Mandy had picked up a few pointers when Clay sat Cissy
down in front of the computer and eased her fears. He’d had the sense to
refrain from touching the keyboard himself. The way he manipulated those keys
would have intimidated Cissy for certain.

But now he was gone and all that energy had dissipated with
him. Cissy had reverted to fretting. Mandy had disappeared into her room. And
Rory was more restless than she’d ever been in her life, and given her
level of hyperactivity, that was going some. She really didn’t need
rampaging hormones and uncertain dreams for the future muddying her thought
processes.

“If we sold to Commercial, at least I’d get a
place nearby, where I know people,” Cissy said. “If we go bankrupt,
I’ll have nothing. If you go to that meeting on Thursday, the realty
company might withdraw its offer.”

“I thought we’d decided not to take the
offer?” Rory asked. She didn’t like the bad vibrations she was
picking up here.

Cissy threw up her hands in a gesture of despair and fell
into the nearest chair. “I just can’t stand this uncertainty! I
hate
living like this. I want a normal life with a job and money in the bank for
Mandy’s future. Tell me why I should care about turtles and our neighbors
if no one else does?”

She had a point. A rotten one, admittedly, but in this day
and age of “me first,” who was she to argue?