Heart of Clay

by

Heart
of Clay

Copyright ©2011 by Shanna Hatfield

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Shanna Hatfield

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.

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To
my husband -

You are an amazing person and I’m
grateful

every day for the blessing of loving
you.

My life with you is better than anything

I could have dreamed.

Thank you for slowing my run down to a
walk,

for supporting my endeavors,

believing in me,

and loving me unconditionally.

Callan Matthews struggled to fall asleep,
tormented by the sounds her husband made as he obliterated the
peaceful quiet of the night with his nocturnal serenade.

Somewhere between a snore and a whistle, she
wondered if he intentionally made such an annoying racket. If so,
he had perfected it to an art.

Even though he created the horrendous noise,
she had no idea how he could sleep through it. A childhood accident
left Clay with a severely impaired ability to breathe through his
nose and absolutely no sense of smell, but right now, she didn't
care.

She turned to look at him, releasing a long
sigh. A tiny sliver of moonbeam snuck through the parted drapes to
caress the hollow of his cheek, giving Callan the ability to see
that Clay looked peaceful.

How could he do that? How dare he do that?
How could he turn off all the turmoil of daily life and sleep
peacefully?

Rising on one elbow, she debated if it would
be better to put a pillow over his face and end her suffering, or
put it over her own and end the suffering of them both. Incapable
of committing murder or suicide, she instead punched the pillow,
rolled over, and tried to block out the noise. To relax. To give in
to the fatigue that had plagued her for months.

After a few more minutes of restless
turning, Callan quietly rose from the bed, pulled on her chenille
robe, and wandered through the darkened house to stand at the
kitchen window. She moved aside the ruffled chintz curtain and
stared out at the backyard. Moonlight washed the snow-patched lawn
in shades of silver and gray.

She hated winter, hated the cold, hated the
weeks of dark gloom that filled her days and pervaded her very
being. Ironically, it seemed fitting that the bleakness of the
winter nearly matched the bleakness of her spirit.

Briskly rubbing her hands on her arms,
trying to ward off the chill, she let her thoughts tumble.

What am I doing here? In this house, in this
life, in this marriage?

What was in that heart of Clay’s? She used
to know like she knew what was in her own, but not anymore. Not
since he’d gone from being everything she’d ever dreamed of to a
stranger she barely recognized and all too often didn't even
like.

She couldn’t believe they’d just celebrated
their anniversary. At least, she supposed it could be considered a
celebration if take-and-bake pizza and noncommittal conversations
about work counted.

How had the two of them taken thirteen years
of marriage and made such a mess of it? It hadn’t happened
overnight, that much was certain.

Callan thought back to the first time she
saw Clay during the summer she graduated from college. After
returning home to Tenacity from Oregon State University with a
degree in marketing and no immediate career prospects, she took a
part-time job working at the local newspaper. With an abundance of
free time on her hands, her aunt Julie recruited her to help with
the sorority club’s booth at the county fair, selling ice cream
cones and sundaes.

She looked up from dipping what seemed like
the millionth vanilla cone that first day of the fair and into a
pair of the warmest blue eyes she'd ever seen.

Clay was masculine and rugged, standing well
over six feet. The tips of sandy curls peeked out from the brim of
his cowboy hat while his blue-striped western shirt accentuated the
breadth of his shoulders.

Her undoing, however, came when he smiled,
flashing not only white teeth, but dimples that should have been
positively illegal to brandish without advance warning.

Frantically gathering her wits, Callan
asked, a bit breathlessly, if she could get him something. He
ordered a plain vanilla cone, gave her exact change, thanked her
and left. Fascinated and speechless, she watched him walk away,
entranced by the way he filled out his jeans. She wished she at
least knew his name.

He came back three more times to order ice
cream and showed up again the next day, looking just as
unbelievably handsome as she remembered.

"You must really like ice cream." Callan
handed him another vanilla cone. "Since you've been my best
customer, I should at least introduce myself. My name is Callan."
She gave him what she hoped was an engaging smile.

"I'm Clay," he said quietly, accepting the
cone from her outstretched fingers. "Clay Matthews. And honestly, I
don't like ice cream at all." He turned and strode away, seemingly
unaware of the trail of cold confection dripping from the cone and
down his hand. She gazed after him until he disappeared around the
corner of the big barn.

When Aunt Julie nudged her from behind with
her elbow, she jumped. “Callan, if I didn’t know better, I’d think
that incredibly good-looking young man is sweet on you. Either
that, or he is extremely fond of vanilla ice cream cones.”

Completely flustered, she anxiously waited
for him to return. It didn’t help that Aunt Julie and her friends
teased Callan relentlessly.

She didn’t see him again the rest of the day
and decided he probably wouldn’t come back. As she helped close up
the booth for the evening, Clay suddenly appeared.

"Hello, Callan. I wondered if you might be
interested in going for a walk." Clay stared down at his dusty
boots or glanced behind her instead of making eye contact.

"Sure. Just let me finish a few things here
and I'll be ready to go." Her voice sounded calm although nervous
fluttering filled her stomach and made her a little
lightheaded.

She turned to help pack up the last of the
things for the night, but Aunt Julie caught her hand and whispered
in her ear. "Callan, girl, quit wasting your time here. Go take a
walk with that handsome cowboy."

With a pat on the shoulder, Aunt Julie gave
her a playful nudge out of the booth.

Callan and Clay strolled along the promenade
looking at the variety of booths and making comments about who sold
the best lemonade, the great job the FFA kids were doing with the
barbecue wagon, and how old Mrs. Biggs made the best doughnuts.

They discussed the odd shapes of vegetables
in the produce display in the big barn and the huge dahlia the
county judge brought in for the floral competition. It not only
took first place but also drew a small following of bees that
terrified the women watching over the flower display until someone
decided his dahlia had to go.

As they slowly sauntered along, Callan took
the opportunity to watch Clay. He smiled easily, seemed polite and
mannerly, and appeared oblivious to the attention he drew from many
of the girls who looked at him with interest. She could tell he was
shy, but that was one more thing she liked about him.

Callan had never believed in love at first
sight. Then she'd looked up into Clay’s warm blue eyes yesterday
and the world tilted off-kilter. She felt like the wind had been
knocked out of her, and she’d gone numb all over, followed by the
oddest tingling sensation. That had never happened to her
before.

To the very depths of her being, she knew
with unwavering certainty she would spend her life loving Clay.

Since that was the case, she sincerely hoped
he would ask her out. It would be hard to consider any sort of
future together if they never got around to a first date.

They stopped in front of a booth that sold
little figurines made out of polished stones. Earlier in the day,
Callan admired one fashioned to resemble a small brown puppy. Still
included among the selections, she rubbed the head of the tiny dog
then withdrew her finger. She turned away and started to meander
again, only to realize Clay was no longer beside her. She looked
back and saw him paying for the little dog figurine.

With a shy grin that did his dimples great
justice and turned her knees to jelly, he handed her the dog. When
their fingers brushed, she wasn’t sure she could continue to stand
on her own.

"I thought you might like to have this, you
know, as a keepsake. Something for you to remember this year's
fair, in addition to your role as champion ice cream scooper."
Clay’s smile drew her gaze to his dimples and tempting mouth.

Callan took the little figurine in her hand,
holding it carefully. “Thank you.” Completely caught off guard by
this unbelievably sweet guy, she wondered if he could possibly be
for real. Thoughtful, masculine, adorable, funny, and kind men
didn’t typically come in such a nicely presented package.

Leisurely wandering back in the direction
they had come, they returned to the ice cream booth. Aunt Julie and
her cohorts were absent, so Clay offered to walk Callan to her
car.

As they strolled through the parking lot,
the sun painted the sky in brilliant shades of swirling pink and
orange. Callan couldn’t recall ever seeing such a gorgeous
sunset.

“So, um… thanks for, um, taking a walk with
me,” Clay managed to force the words out of his mouth as he held
open her car door. “Would you maybe want to, I mean if you don’t
have anything…could I…”

“Yes!” Callan interrupted him, hoping to end
his suffering and his stammering, as he shut the car door. “I’ll be
here through the rest of the fair. Stop by anytime. I get a couple
of breaks during the day and we’re closed up by eight each
night.”

“Great.” Clay leaned on the car, gazing in
the window. “I’ll see you around then.” He looked her straight in
the eye with a big dimple-filled grin then started to walk
away.

Callan grabbed his hand as it slid off the
car, sending tremors up her arm, right to her heart. Clay stopped
and looked back.

“Thanks for the dog. I’ll treasure it
always.” Callan released his fingers. “See you later.”

The two of them spent as much time together
as they could during the next few days. Whenever Callan had a
break, Clay appeared at her side. He arrived at the booth a few
minutes before eight each evening to lend a hand in closing it up
before they went for a stroll. One night they attended a concert
and another evening they bought tickets to the rodeo. Callan
couldn’t remember ever having so much fun.