The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley) (10 page)

Clay’s first inclination was to say no, but in a way, he supposed he did know what she meant. His mom had had a lot of bad days, but some of them had been good. And on those rare occasions, his life had seemed normal, and he’d actually felt loved. Then, when her mood would swing to one of despair, he would have given anything to see her smile again, to feel her ruffle his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, “I know.” Then he returned to his work, only now he had to repair the cord he’d pulled out of the monitor.

If Megan realized how arousing he’d found their tumble to the floor, she didn’t let on, and neither did he.

Minutes later, when Tyler returned downstairs with the scrawny stray dog cuddled in his arms, Clay spotted a faint bruise under the boy’s left eye that he’d missed seeing before—and a scrape near his right ear. Something told him that chasing after Pancho hadn’t caused either injury.

Was someone still picking on the poor kid, even though school was now out and he’d started that enrichment program? If so, that sucked. At least Clay used to get the summers off.

When the kids left the room again, Clay said, “I think that bully still might be bothering Tyler.”

Megan glanced up, her lips parted, eyes wide. “How do you know?”

“Just a hunch. When I was a kid, I was small for my age and kids often teased me, too.” Like Tyler, Clay had been bright—a genius, actually, although his high IQ had gone unnoticed for a couple of reasons. For one thing, he’d had an undiagnosed vision problem that had made it difficult for him to see the chalkboard in class. And for another, his mom had moved around a lot, making him change schools before anyone could figure out what was wrong.

“But you’re not small any longer,” Megan said, her gaze skimming over him, caressing him in an appreciative way.

“I grew several inches taller after high school.” He’d also gained some weight and begun working out at the gym. With money, success and fame, he’d made some other changes, too—a new longer hair style, designer clothes and eyeglasses. And thanks to some state-of-the-art cosmetic dental work, he had a great smile. Or so he’d been told by some of the beautiful women who clamored to accompany him on his jet-setting lifestyle.

Yet deep inside, there would probably always be a geeky ugly duckling lurking, a kid who’d never had a real home or a place where he fit in.

And it was that kid who found the warmth in Megan’s pretty smile a heck of a lot more appealing right now than the smiles of the gushing beauties like Collette who flocked to his side at fancy cocktail parties, eager to tell a rich man anything he wanted to hear.

“If you don’t mind,” Clay said, “I could take Tyler aside and tell him that I know what it’s like to be bullied and tell him that things won’t always be like this.”

“Kids picked on you?” Megan asked. “That’s hard to imagine.”

It wouldn’t be if she could’ve seen him back when he’d attended Washington High in nearby Wexler.

“Well, believe me. It got pretty bad at times. I remember one day when I was a freshman in particular. During a pep rally in the gym, some of the football jocks grabbed me, hoisted me up and stuck me in a basketball hoop. Everyone assumed the stunt was part of the performance. Even the teachers laughed as I dangled there, kicking my legs and wondering if humiliation alone could kill a guy.”

“That must have been awful for you.”

It had been the worst. The star quarterback had been the ringleader. Clay had no idea why, with his popularity, the jock had felt the need to belittle someone to feel even more important than he already was. But he had.

“How long did the teasing go on?” Megan asked.

“Until a couple of new kids came along and put the bully in his place.”

Rick Martinez, who was now the Brighton Valley veterinarian, and his brother, Joey, had pretty much been keeping to themselves—until they spotted Todd Redding taunting Clay outside of school one day. When the bullying got physical, and Todd punched Clay, the brothers stepped in. Rick told Todd to back off and to pick on someone his own size.

Never one to back down from a fight, especially on his own turf, Todd left Clay alone so he could shove Rick. A fight broke out, and as was usually the case, Todd came out smelling like a rose—albeit one with a black eye, a split lip and a bloody nose.

The witnesses, all football players, claimed that the new kid had started the fight. Rick, who could have asserted a noble defense, clammed up. He got a three-day suspension for his silent heroism—and Clay’s undying loyalty.

An unexpected friendship began that day, and as long as Clay stuck close to Rick, who had a reputation for being a tough street punk, the jocks more or less left him alone.

Todd Redding graduated the following June, which was a big relief. Rumor had it he’d gotten some girl pregnant and had to get married. Good riddance was all Clay could say.

“One of the new kids took a liking to me,” Clay said. “And he went so far as to teach me how to defend myself if I ever got into a situation where I couldn’t outthink my opponent. If you don’t mind, I could show Tyler a few moves. It might help to make him feel better about himself—and to put the bully in his place.”

“I’ve never been one to promote violence, but I can’t stand the idea of my son being hurt. I’d certainly appreciate anything you can do to help.”

Clay nodded, then went back to work.

Twenty minutes later, as the day drew to a close, and while the kids were cuddled in the corner with Pancho, Megan reached for her purse.

“You know,” she said to Clay, “we’re not having anything fancy for dinner. Just pot roast and mashed potatoes. But you’re welcome to join us—if you’d like to.”

The invitation caught him off guard. For one thing, Clay Jenkins, who’d enjoyed meals in some of the fanciest hotels and restaurants in the country, had never eaten dinner on a farm before. But tonight, he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be.

Chapter Eight

L
ater that evening, Clay looked around the dining room at the quaint farmhouse, with its floral wallpaper, dark oak hutch, and matching table and chairs. He wondered if Megan knew what some of this rustic old furniture would be worth to those hotshot interior designers who were paid a small fortune to make some rich person’s second and third homes look exactly like her little family homestead.

In fact, if he hadn’t gotten to know her better or didn’t understand her shaky financial situation, he’d think that she’d paid a professional to make her house look like a spread in
Southern Living
magazine. But every room in the Adams house was the real deal.

Just as Megan was.

He looked over the enormous platter of pot roast with fingerling potatoes and baby carrots caramelized in the meat juices. She never ceased to amaze him with her talent. And while he’d thought she was beautiful when she worked at Zorba’s, here on the farm and in her cozy home, wearing a pair of tight faded jeans and a pink tank top, she was even more so.

Rachael Ray would probably give away her entire line of fancy cookware to look as sexy as Megan did right this second. And to be seated at her table, eating her homemade meal.

Did the kids realize how lucky they were?

Tyler was wolfing down the fresh yeasty rolls, while his sister, Lisa, snuck chunks of the savory beef to Pancho, who hid underneath the table.

“Can I get you some more cabernet?” Megan asked Clay.

“Sure. Thank you.” He’d never had a woman cook for him before. He’d always been the one to wine and dine them, especially if he’d wanted to impress them. But Megan, who’d pulled her pretty red hair haphazardly into a ponytail high on her head, her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen, wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Still, she’d snagged Clay’s interest in a way no other woman ever had.

His gaze skimmed over her, landing upon a streak of flour that rested right where her snug tank top tapered into her slender waist. And each time she got up from the table to get something else, he couldn’t help but watch her move effortlessly about.

There wasn’t an ounce of pretense to her, and Clay wished he could be more honest about who he was.

She poured his wine, then added a bit to her own glass. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m great. Everything’s great.” And it really was. Not knowing what else to say, he took a sip of the cabernet. He didn’t want to gush over a meal that appeared to be an ordinary, everyday occurrence at her house, even though it seemed to be a highlight for him this evening.

In the background, the kitchen radio played an Eagles song about taking it easy, and he decided it certainly fit the mood tonight.

“Guess what,” Lisa said. “I scored two goals today, Mom. Coach Patricia says I’m her best kicker, and she wants me to try out for the traveling team when school starts.”

Megan blessed her daughter with a smile, a spark of pride lighting her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You definitely are one of the best players. But why don’t we just stick with the regular soccer league this year. You’ll be busy with school, and I heard those travel teams take up a lot of time. They also cost quite a bit. Maybe when you’re older, we can talk about it.”

Clay figured Megan didn’t like having to tell her children no. And he imagined it might be difficult for her to imply that things were tight financially, especially in front of an outsider, but she’d handled the situation well—even if Lisa’s face had turned into a sullen pout that would rival any that Collette had ever thrown his way.

Hoping to distract the girl and turn the mood at the table back to a lighter one, Clay asked Lisa, “What other sports have you been playing at summer camp?”

“Basketball, tennis—which is
boooooring—
softball and everything. Flag football is my favorite, but Coach Patricia made me sit out of the game last time because I kept getting too many fouls for tackling.”

Tyler took a break from shoving bread into his mouth long enough to say, “Football sucks. And it’s not for girls anyway, Lisa.”

“Is, too. Just ’cause you can’t play as good as me doesn’t mean it sucks.”

Tyler clucked his tongue, then went back to eating.

“We have another game tomorrow afternoon at the park near Zorba’s,” Lisa said. “You want to watch me play football tomorrow, Mr. Johnson? If you come, I’ll try my best not to tackle anyone.”

Football, whether it was tackle or flag or whatever, had never been one of Clay’s favorite sports. But how could he resist the cute little pixie with big brown eyes, loose braids and a freckled nose?

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe I can close the shop early and walk over to the park.” Clay speared another crispy roasted potato from his plate and popped it into his mouth.

“Well, I don’t want to go to a stupid football game,” Tyler said. “But if you and my mom want to both go, I could watch the shop for you.”

Clay could certainly relate to the boy’s desire to hide out at Zorba’s rather than hang around a bunch of football players with their sports-fanatic parents yelling on the sidelines. “If your mom is okay with it, I don’t mind.”

“It’s all right with me,” Megan said, “but the shop stays locked up while you’re there, Tyler. I don’t want you dealing with any of the customers. And no messing around on the new shipment of laptops.”

Lisa pumped her fist in the air, and Tyler promised to be on his best behavior.

“And stop feeding Pancho under the table,” Megan added. “He has enough bad habits as it is.”

Clay couldn’t blame Lisa for passing food to the dog. The poor mutt had missed a lot of meals while he’d been on the run.

“Okay,” Lisa said to her mom. “Then can I be excused? There’s a special on ESPN about the best girls’ college basketball teams.”

What? No TV shows about a fairy or a princess or a bunch of pastel animals that could sing and dance?

Clay almost laughed at the thought of the little girl wanting to watch ESPN rather than the Disney Channel. But he supposed the precocious tomboy stood out in her class at school just as much as Tyler did. That made them both social outcasts—just as he’d once been.

“No way,” Tyler countered. “Mom, you said I could watch that Bill Gates interview tonight. And I need to learn more about him because of that report I have to do for that dumb summer enrichment program you’re making me attend.”

Megan blew out a sigh. “I forgot about that. But either way, you can both record your shows. You’re not going to watch anything until you wash the dishes and finish your other chores.”

There was some grumbling, but the kids picked up their plates and headed into the kitchen, Pancho following behind them.

“Sorry about that,” Megan said. “I wish I could tell you that they’re not normally like this, but they’re kids. And I have to admit that when it comes to dinnertime at my house, this is what you can expect to see most nights.”

“Don’t apologize. Lisa and Tyler are great kids with unique personalities. They’re also well-mannered. You’re a good mom.”

“Thanks. I try, but it’s hard sometimes.” She took a sip of her wine, as if she thought better about unloading her single-mom troubles on him. “So what were you like as a kid?”

“Well-mannered,” Clay responded. “With a unique personality.”

She smiled, and he leaned back into his chair. He didn’t know if it was the wine or his full stomach, the down-to-earth setting or the lovely woman seated next to him, but he hadn’t felt this warm and content in a long time.

Of course, that contentment waffled when the song coming from the kitchen radio switched to an old Rolling Stones hit, reminding him of his mother, who used to play the Stones when she was in one of her manic moods.

During those phases, she’d be flying over the top, but at least she’d been happy and smiling. It was when he’d come home to find her listening to Celine Dion that he knew she was coming down and heading into the spiral of depression.

“Seriously, though,” she continued, “where did you grow up?”

“I was born in Houston, but we moved around a lot when I was a kid.”

“Why is that? Were your parents in the military?”

“It was just me and my mom. And, well, she never really could hold down a job.”

Clay didn’t know why he was opening up like that with Megan. He hadn’t told anyone other than his mentor, retired detective Hank Lazaro, about his childhood, although plenty of social workers had access to the information in his case file.

But for some reason, he didn’t want to hold anything back. Well, other than his name and his occupation, which was big enough to be a whopper.

He’d clear that up in short order, though, and confess his reason for not being honest about his identity from day one. And while he knew her well enough to trust her with that information now, there was something else holding him back. Another reason to keep the truth under wraps for a while longer.

Megan seemed to be drawn to the real man inside him and not just to his money and fame, which was a first for him. So shouldn’t he give it some time to see where it went?

“That must have been really hard on you,” she said. “We moved just that one time when I was in high school, and it devastated me. I’ve always been one of those home-and-hearth kind of girls.”

As Mick Jagger sang on, the kindness in Megan’s big brown eyes encouraged him to continue.

Aw, what the hell. If he couldn’t be completely forthcoming about his name and true occupation, at least he could be honest about everything else.

“My mother wasn’t like the other moms, but I didn’t know why until I got older. She had bipolar disorder. I understand her illness now, but even though I knew she was sick and that she couldn’t help being the way she was, that didn’t make it easy for a scrawny and nerdy kid like me.”

“
You?
Scrawny and nerdy? That’s hard to believe.”

“Oh, you can believe it. In fact, when I first met Tyler, he reminded me a lot of myself at that age.” Clay tossed her a grin and a wink. “But he has a beautiful mom who looks out for him, even if he doesn’t always realize how lucky he is.”

Megan smiled at his attempt to change the subject and to compliment her, but tears welled in her eyes, threatening to overflow.

He didn’t like thinking that he’d had anything to do with putting them there. Nor did he want her pity. He was about to tell her so when she said, “That makes me angry.”

Whoa. Pity he’d expected, but not anger.

“I hate it that the other kids picked on you for being different. It’s so unfair. What about your dad? Did you ever see him? Didn’t he help you out?”

“Nope, he was her college professor. And he dumped her as soon as he learned she was pregnant.”

“He was her teacher? That was unethical of him to get involved with a student. I’d think she could have caused him some real trouble.”

“She loved him. Besides, she was too unstable to follow through on any charges. In fact, she had her first breakdown right after I was born. After she picked up the pieces, we moved to the next town. But things just repeated in the same cycle like that until I was a junior in high school. It was all I ever knew.”

“So what happened then? Did she get better?”

“She finally landed a job working nights at a medical lab. It was always easier for her when she didn’t have to interact with too many people, but it left me alone a lot. Anyway, one evening, before she went to work, she told me that she loved me and that she wished she could have been a better mother. She was always saying things like that when she was in her low moods, but for some reason, it struck me as odd that night. It was like she wanted to ingrain those words in my mind.”

And it had worked. Clay glanced out the kitchen window, saw the sun had gone down. And while he’d have preferred to shake the last memory he had of his mother, he figured he’d already come this far, already revealed so much.

He returned his gaze to Megan, who was watching him intently—not pressuring him to speak, as some of the social workers had, but just waiting for him to decide when and how much to share.

“The cops woke me up around midnight and told me that my mom had been in a single-car accident. The vehicle was found slammed into a tree. No skid marks from braking or swerving. It was never ruled a suicide, but deep down I knew.”

Megan shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I lost my dad when I was a freshman in high school, and it was really hard. But he died of natural causes—a heart attack.”

Silence stretched between them, buffered by something else. Sympathy maybe. Understanding? Friendship?

Clay wasn’t sure what it was, but sharing his dark and dreary past with Megan seemed like the right thing to do.

“Since I was still underage,” he added, “the state stepped in. I went to a foster home, but it wasn’t too bad. I kept to myself, finished high school and stayed out of trouble—for the most part, anyway. And I ended up... Well, I did okay.”

“You mentioned not meeting your dad until you were an adult,” she said. “Do you ever see him?”

“I’d just started Zorba the Geek— I mean I had just started
working
there.” Oops. That was a close one. “I’d gone through some of my mom’s old papers to find out his name and where he lived. Then I did an internet search and learned that he’d changed teaching positions and moved around to several different universities over the years. I figured my mom was so hurt she’d written him off and had never kept in contact with him.”

“Is that what happened?”

“I’d always thought or rather hoped that he’d wanted to know me and have a relationship but that we’d moved around so much that he had no idea how to find me. But no, that’s not what happened.”

Megan poured more wine into his glass as if knowing that his revelation wasn’t an easy one to make. But then again, she’d had children with a deadbeat who didn’t want the responsibility of being a father, so she probably suspected how a surprise meeting with a man and his unwanted child had gone.