Heart of Clay (3 page)

Stuffing that list back inside her purse,
she pulled out her list of the top five things that needed her
attention at work that morning. She picked up the phone and
immersed herself in her job. No matter how hard she worked, there
never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything
accomplished.

At noon, she sat at her desk eating a cold
lunch when the phone rang. She hurried to swallow the bite of
sandwich in her mouth and answered the phone.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for calling River
Garden Convention Center. This is Callan, may I help you?” Her
voice held a cheery brightness in stark contrast to her true
feelings. If anyone needed a lesson in perfecting a fake sense of
cheer, Callan could provide an excellent example.

“Callan, its Laken. How are you? We haven’t
talked for a while and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Callan smiled as she heard the voice of her
best friend come across the line. She met Laken Johnson years ago
when they were both working at the local newspaper. Even though
they ventured off in different career directions, they remained
close.

Laken and her husband, Tyler, and their two
children, Alex and Brant, would be among those gathered around the
Matthews’ table for Christmas dinner.

“Hey, Laken,” Callan said with genuine
warmth. “It is so good to hear from you. I could use someone calm
and friendly on the other end of the line for a change.”

Laken laughed. “That bad, is it? How many
more events until you get time off for good behavior?”

“We’ve got three more days of parties and
frivolity here at the center and I have an event tonight and
another tomorrow. Then I can collapse into a mindless heap before I
have to make Christmas dinner. How about you? Are things crazy at
the store?” Callan often admired Laken for following her dreams and
opening a successful gift shop at the Tenacity Mall.

“Yes. But I decided I needed to talk to
someone who wasn’t demanding a better price, free gift wrapping, or
something I don’t carry in stock.” Laken laughed before taking on a
more serious tone. “Callan, why don’t you call off Christmas
dinner? No one will mind. I know you’re worn out and it’s going to
be too much for you.”

“Absolutely not!” Callan sat up in her
chair, unwilling to cancel plans made weeks ago. “I’ve got this
down to a science. It’ll be fine. Besides everyone expects dinner
as usual and I can’t disappoint them. You’re still coming aren’t
you? Just having you and Jenna there is a huge help to me.” Jenna,
married to Callan’s younger brother Josh, was close to Callan and a
great support to have when the family all descended at her
home.

“Of course we’re still coming if you still
insist on having everyone over.” Laken didn’t mask the exasperation
in her voice. “You know I’m completely hopeless in the kitchen, but
what can I bring?”

“You aren’t hopeless. Look how far you’ve
come in the last year or two. You’re at least trying to learn to
cook and I’m very proud of you.” Callan tried not to laugh thinking
about all the disastrous failed recipes Laken had made before she
found a few things she could successfully prepare. “It would be a
big help if you could bring your raspberry punch. I’ll make mulled
cider and that should keep everyone happy.”

“Just so you know, I plan on kidnapping you
after Christmas so we can have some girl-time,” Laken said with a
note of authority that did not foster any argument.

“As long as it includes some decadent
dessert we shouldn’t eat, I’m in.”

“Agreed! I’ll check in with you in a day or
so. Don’t work too late.”

“You know me.”

“Yes, I do. That’s the problem.” Laken
sighed, envisioning Callan working herself into a state of complete
exhaustion. “I’m serious. You need to take better care of yourself.
You work way too hard.”

“You worry too much.” Callan felt
uncomfortable with the direction the conversation headed. “Thanks
for calling, Laken. I have to run. Talk to you soon.”

Callan hung up the phone and finished eating
her sandwich between client calls. She spent a few minutes
answering emails before deciding to take a quick break to stretch
her legs.

She walked around the entire circumference
of the conference center. With more than thirty-thousand square
feet of meeting space, they could accommodate a wide variety of
events, meetings, celebrations, and conferences.

The center really was beautiful, located on
a little knoll above a creek. Terraced lawns provided the perfect
setting for brides striving to create a dream wedding. White lights
draped the bushes outside, creating a fairyland at night,
particularly when they glistened through the snow.

As Callan rounded the corner nearest to the
business offices, she almost plowed over Arty.

“Sorry, sir,” Callan said, trying to breathe
through her mouth to avoid inhaling his mid-day reapplication of
cologne.

Arty stared up at Callan, appearing dazed
and confused, before he took a step back and wandered down the
hallway.

It hadn’t taken Callan long to figure out
she intimidated Arty simply because of her size. He seemed to have
a genuine problem with women who exceeded his height, encompassing
a good portion of the female population. At least his issue worked
in her favor because he avoided her if possible.

When she returned to her office, she noticed
Arty left some papers for review on her desk. She decided to save
herself irritation down the road and look them over right away. She
reached out for her favorite pen, but couldn’t find it.

Irritated, she tugged open her desk drawer
and started digging around for it. If that idiot Arty pilfered it
again, she would scream. The drawer stuck partway open. She gave it
another yank and noticed a slip of paper wedged in the side.
Carefully pulling it out, she unfolded the creases and recognized a
note Clay wrote eons ago. Back when they still liked each other
enough to use nicknames.

Laney, you are the best. I love you!
Brick

Callan sat back in her chair and wondered if
Clay still had any of those feelings. She'd done a good job of
destroying them the past few years.

Regretful, Callan thought back to the first
time Clay had called her Laney.

They’d been dating about a month and were
out at his parents’ ranch when Clay decided they would pack an
impromptu picnic and eat it at the pond. They made some sandwiches,
grabbed a bag of chips and a few cans of soda pop, then rode horses
out to the pond.

The summer heat bore down in waves that
shimmered in the sunlight. Even as it neared late evening, the air
was stifling.

The pond sat at the bottom of a hill that
rose from the back of the ranch house. From the hill, Callan could
see for what seemed like forever. The Matthews’ men and crew had
been busy that morning cutting hay. The sweet scent of alfalfa
still filled the air along with the smells of warm earth and
ripening wheat.

She had the hardest time concentrating on
anything other than Clay as they rode down the hill to the
pond.

Unaware that he looked like he belonged on
the cover of a western magazine, he sported a deep summer tan and
straw cowboy hat, along with dusty boots. His navy blue T-shirt
molded to his sculpted chest while snug-fitting jeans outlined the
thick muscles in his thighs. He was larger than life to Callan.

As they neared the pond, the temperature
cooled a few degrees. A big tree cast shade on one side of the pond
and a tiny island covered in cattails provided a great hiding spot
for the ducks that swam in the water.

Clay dismounted and tied his horse to a post
set for that purpose then came over to offer her assistance. They
both knew she didn’t need help, but that didn’t matter. After she
swung her leg over the saddle, he grabbed her waist and slowly let
her slide to the ground. His warm lips melted into hers with a
long, soft kiss.

He spread a blanket under the tree. They
settled in with their picnic and talked about everything and
nothing, basking in the glow of new love. Clay discovered her
middle name was Alane, she loved to read historic romance novels,
and considered chocolate a food group. She learned that he hated
coconut and tomatoes almost as much as his middle name of Langdon.
He loved football and liked to read books by humorist Pat
McManus.

When they finished eating, Clay stood and
pulled Callan to her feet. They wandered around the edge of the
pond, strolling hand in hand until they came to the dock where
generations of Matthews’ youngsters had jumped into the pond and
fished.

“Come on, Callan.” He tugged her toward the
end of the dock. “Come sit on the dock with me.”

She let him pull her to the end of the dock.
They took off their boots and socks, rolled up their jeans, and
hung their feet in the pond. The water was warm, but still
refreshing compared to the oppressive heat. Side-by-side, they
trailed their toes in the water and watched the beauty of day’s
end.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, it
painted streaks of golden fire across the water and lit the hill in
a blaze of glorious color. Crickets and bullfrogs chimed together
to create a symphony of summer song around them.

“Oh, Clay, this is beautiful,” Callan
whispered, taking in the landscape that looked like something from
a painting. She turned and looked into his eyes, lost in the warm
pools of liquid blue that grew increasingly darker. Her eyes
widened in response to the desire burning in his.

“Yeah, it is.” Clay tipped back his hat to
look not at the sunset, but at Callan. Shards of pink and gold
reflected off the water, bathing her in a golden light.

He drew in a ragged breath and looked away,
trying to gather his unraveling composure. Finally, he hooked a
strong, solid arm around Callan’s waist while playfully giving her
a shove forward.

“Clay!” she shrieked, grabbing a handful of
his shirt as she fell forward, unaware of his arm holding her
safely on the dock. “I can’t swim!”

He swung one leg around her and scooted
close behind her, reveling in the feel of holding her close to him.
“Don’t worry, girl, I’ve got you.” His voice sounded deep and
husky.

Clay had no idea how true that statement
was, in every sense of the phrase.

Callan rested against his broad chest and
savored the closeness they shared. His heart pounded wild and fast
against her back. She was sure her own heart matched his beat for
beat while she struggled to remember how to breathe normally.

A soft fluttering of air teased her ear as
Clay placed a kiss on her neck. When he wrapped both arms around
her, he whispered, “Laney, I couldn’t dream anything this
good.”

Incensed, Callan sat
straight up, pulled away, and turned to look at him.
Great. He brings all his girlfriends down here
and can’t even remember my name.

“Laney?” She glared at him indignantly.
“Who’s Laney?”

“You.” Clay gave her a shy grin. “When it’s
just the two of us, I’m going to call you Laney. What do you think
of that?”

Callan didn’t know what to
think. In fact, she found it increasingly difficult to focus on
anything other than Clay. His nearness combined with his rugged
good looks and alluring scent scattered her thoughts.
What was the question?

“If you get to have a special name for me,
then I certainly need one for you.” She regained a bit of her
equilibrium and humor. “I hereby dub you Brick.”

Clay tipped back his head and laughed. He
pulled her snug against him and nuzzled her neck. “Brick? Where did
you come up with that?”

Callan turned her head and gave him a saucy
smile. “Brick means something that starts as clay that is solid,
lasting, and strong. That is most definitely you,” she
whispered.

“Well, then,” Clay lowered his lips to hers.
“Brick it is.”

Troubled by her memories,
Callan stared at the wrinkled paper in her hand. The holidays must
be making her sentimental, or at the very least
mental
. I don’t have time for these trips
down memory lane
.

She folded the note and started to toss it
into the garbage can, but instead stuffed it into a pocket of her
purse. Digging deeper in her desk drawer, she finally fished out
her pen. The only reason it meant so much to her was that it was a
gift from Clay. The pen was beautiful and expensive, and he’d gone
to the trouble of having her name etched on it in a lovely
script.

Since Arty had joined the staff the
convention center, he’d walked off with it a dozen times. It never
failed to infuriate Callan to retrieve it from him.

Determined to set aside her thoughts of the
past, she got back to work.