

Women of Tenacity Series, Book 1

by

USA Today Bestselling Author

### SHANNA HATFIELD

Heart of Clay

Women of Tenacity, Book 1

Copyright ©2011 by Shanna Hatfield

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, transmitted, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, now known or hereafter invented, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request" at the email address below or through her website.

Shanna Hatfield

shanna@shannahatfield.com

µshannahatfield.com

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

Cover Design: Shanna Hatfield

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. Although this is an ebook, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Recipe

Heart of Hope

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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.

# Chapter One

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.

The last night of the fair, they wandered through the promenade before stopping to get some doughnuts from Mrs. Biggs. The old gal herself sat outside, waving one of the free fans the insurance companies passed out by the hundreds, stirring a little breeze, while several of her granddaughters scurried around inside the booth. The sound of sizzling dough and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon floated out on the evening air.

"Well, look at you two." Mrs. Biggs cackled, giving them a gap-toothed smile. Clay and Callan smiled at her in return. "It does an old heart like this a world of good to set eyes on a young couple so in love. It's not often you see people your age so devoted to each other. God bless you both."

Clay's ears turned the color of the candied apples they'd passed earlier and Callan's cheeks burned from embarrassment. The old woman was obviously off her rocker.

"Thanks, ma'am." Callan offered a tight smile while attempting to move away from Mrs. Biggs and her crazy proclamations. "Oh, gosh," she said as they walked out of earshot of Mrs. Biggs, carrying the bag of fresh, hot doughnuts. "I wonder what she was thinking. I can't..."

Clay squeezed her hand, took a doughnut, and flashed one of his dimpled grins. "I think Mrs. Biggs is one smart woman."

Callan shivered from both the cold and her memories, dropping the curtain back into place. Ultimately, she wasn't sure old Mrs. Biggs was as smart as Clay thought.

After the fair, Callan and Clay began dating seriously. Engaged a couple of months later, they wed just before Christmas. It was all exciting, wonderful, and romantic.

Their first few years together had been so happy and carefree. Everyone talked about them being the perpetual honeymooners.

She had loved Clay so much then. It seemed like she only felt complete when they were together. Gradually, they started to drift apart. It was impossible to pinpoint the day they had become distant and not always polite strangers.

Maudlin, Callan wondered how love could just disappear. Then again, she wasn't sure it had, at least not completely.

Confused and exhausted, she knew it was best to clamp the lid on those thoughts. She excelled at closing down her emotions to keep things neat and orderly.

On silent feet, Callan returned to the bedroom, pausing at the door to release another beleaguered sigh. Quietly removing her robe, she climbed into bed, careful not to disturb Clay. At least the snoring had stopped.

The cool sheets gave her a chill and she fought down a shiver. Refusing to scoot closer to Clay's warmth, she turned onto her side, willing sleep to come.

Unable to get warm, she debated putting on a pair of socks or freezing. Callan started to slide out of bed when Clay rolled her direction and threw an arm around her waist, bringing welcome heat and security.

Callan relaxed for a moment, enjoying the weight of his arm around her and the feel of his strong body pressed against hers. His warmth and proximity threatened to open the box of emotions she worked so hard to keep tightly sealed.

Too exhausted to fight her conflicting feelings, she finally drifted into a less than peaceful slumber.

#  Chapter Two

Callan awoke to the sound of the alarm blaring. It took her a moment to register that Clay let it continue resonating in the early morning quiet.

She felt across the bed. No Clay. As she opened her eyes, she realized she was alone in their big bed. Nothing unusual about that. Rolling over, she silenced the alarm and tossed back the covers.

Hurriedly jumping into the shower, she mentally ran through her to do list, dreading the meetings and deadlines ahead.

It took just minutes for her to blow dry her hair and twist it up on her head then apply a coat of mascara. After brushing her teeth, she selected a skirt, blouse and blazer from the closet. It didn't really matter what she choose to wear since most everything was black. She disliked her current wardrobe almost as much as everything else in her life. Even if her selections seemed somber and depressing, she maintained a respectable and professional appearance.

Between bites of cold cereal, she threw together a lunch. She shoved her feet into shoes, snapped on her watch, slipped on her coat, and headed toward the front door. Clay left a note taped to the glass in the door's window.

Had an early meeting. See you for dinner.

"I seriously doubt that," Callan muttered. She tugged on her gloves then hurried outside to start her car and scrape the windshield before running back inside the house. In the days when Clay was madly in love with her, he would have scraped her windshield when he did his. Recollections of the past only served to add fuel to the fire of irritation burning a hot blaze through her, despite the early hour of the morning.

Snatching Clay's missive off the door, she slammed it down on the counter and added her own note.

Working late, don't wait up. Please do the dishes!

Angrily stomping out the door, Callan slid in her car and headed off to work. As she turned into the parking lot at the convention center where she worked as the creative director, she knew the sink would still be full of dishes when she got home late that night.

The only dinner she'd been home for in the past week was last night's pizza. They'd eaten it on the good china because all the other plates were dirty... in the sink. Perhaps Clay thought she joined in the spirit of celebrating because she'd brought out the china.

The dirty dishes had definitely become another hot button with her that Clay seemed all too eager to press.

Their rule of thumb had always been the first one home was responsible for dinner. If she made dinner, she made it as quickly as she could with as few dishes as possible. When Clay cooked, she was surprised there was a pot, pan, or plate left clean. She couldn't fathom how he created such a mess making something as simple as soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Unfortunately, Callan and Clay rarely ate a meal together. When they did, it more often than not involved them sitting in separate chairs in front of the television with Clay watching sports or hunting programs while Callan quietly seethed that he always controlled the remote.

She would spend the remainder of her evening in her home office, working to get her own business off the ground. At bedtime, she'd return to the kitchen expecting Clay to have done the dishes. Disappointment always washed over her to find them still piled on the counter, covered in dried-on food.

Instead of addressing the issue, she'd say nothing and start loading plates into the dishwasher. Clay would wander into the kitchen and ask if she needed help. Rather than responding, she'd send him a heated glare that would have fried lesser men and continue slamming dishes. Clay wouldn't say anything, retreating to their bedroom. By the time Callan climbed into bed, she would be in a snit because he always left the dishes for her to do. She was the one who cleaned house, purchased groceries, paid the bills, and did all the laundry. She didn't think it was such a big deal for him to take responsibility for the dishes. Especially when she worked two jobs and wasn't home most nights.

In addition to her full-time job at the convention center, Callan ran her own event planning business. The board at the convention center fully approved of her second job because it brought in a respectable amount of additional revenue. Callan always suggested the meeting space there to her clients who searched for a place to hold an event. Too bad Clay didn't appreciate it as much as her employers did.

When she started the event planning business four years ago, Clay half-heartedly agreed to her trying it. It was the ideal career for her. She loved to socialize, was known for her attention to detail and organization skills, and she possessed a unique creative flair. Event planning was her passion.

Callan attended some small business classes, put together a business plan, took out a loan, and started her business. She ran it out of her home office and spent any free moments during her evenings and weekends meeting with clients and organizing their events. She dreamed of growing the business to the point she could do event planning full-time and quit her job at the convention center.

The first few years in business had been rough as she sought to establish herself and gain a client base. The business was like a, "black hole of debt, sucking money left and right," or so Clay said in one particularly unpleasant conversation.

He didn't want to incur any debt and instead thought it better to borrow the money from his parents to start her business. Callan refused. They had never borrowed money from relatives and she wouldn't start just because Clay acted hardheaded. Clay quickly went from offering unenthusiastic support to being actively annoyed at any mention of her business, Elegant Events. They finally agreed not to discuss it at all.

Due to that fact, he was unaware that her business had recently experienced remarkable growth or that she had made a sizeable dent in the debt. If the growth continued like it had for the past two years, she should be debt free in another eighteen months.

Callan pulled her car into the parking space she had used for the past eight years. It was hard to believe she'd been at the convention center that long, but she did enjoy her job. The only fly in the ointment was the general manager the board hired to replace the last in a long line of incompetent general managers.

Arty Bierwagen was in his late sixties, short, overweight, and a prime candidate for a study on the early stages of dementia. He took a daily bath in cologne that smelled like a cheap motel's lounge and walked as if his hips might come unhinged at any moment. A tacky comb-over graced his shiny bald dome, creating a vision similar to limp, greasy gray noodles stretched across the top of his head.

Callan had yet to decide if Arty was an improvement over the last general manager. Jane was a shrewish woman in her fifties, in cahoots with the receptionist, Bev. She disappeared for weeks at a time while she had something else tucked, lifted, or sucked and Bev had an unlimited supply of excuses for Jane's absences. Fortunately, the two women managed to tangle their stories one day with some of the board members and that was the end of Jane and Bev.

The new receptionist was a big improvement over Bev. Although she was young, Rachel worked hard, was professional, punctual and sweet. They had a good management team and a strong staff.

Except for Arty.

Callan knew, though, that given enough time and rope, Arty would hang himself. However, in her current state of fatigue and stress, she didn't know if she could wait that long. Arty constantly pushed her closer and closer to the edge of a complete breakdown.

She entered the conference center and pasted on a smile, offering a friendly greeting to Rachel. Briefly, she popped her head into the sales manager's office for a sincere hello. Jill Taylor, a fiery redhead who didn't take flack from anyone, had become a good friend.

As she strolled toward her office, she took a moment to admire how beautiful the convention center looked, decked out for the holidays.

Callan just needed to make it through the next week. After that, Christmas would be over, her schedule would calm down, and she could try to make some sense out of the mess her life had become. In addition to her full schedule at the convention center and her own clients' events, she and Clay were hosting all their family Christmas Day. Out of a sense of duty or guilt, she wasn't sure which, she had agreed for both her family and Clay's to converge at their house for Christmas dinner again this year.

Callan walked into her office, set down her purse then took off her coat and hung it up. Quickly perusing the stack of messages waiting for her return call, she turned on the computer and sat down in her chair. She removed a to-do list from her purse and gave it a glance.

Christmas dinner invitations were issued. Most of the baking was completed and in the freezer waiting to pull out and defrost. She'd purchased the last gifts from the shopping list last week. She still had several gifts to wrap and a few last-minute treats to make, but other than one major haul from the grocery store, she felt confident the to-do list was manageable. If a Christmas miracle took place, Clay would muster some spirit of the season and help her finish the final details.

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 had written years 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 hunger 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, while she scrambled to grasp onto the fraying threads of her unraveling composure.

Playfully, he shoved her forward, but wrapped a strong, solid arm around her waist, keeping her from falling in.

"Clay!" she shrieked, grabbing a handful of his shirt as she lurched toward the water, 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. She reveled in the feel of being so 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.

In the time since Arty joined the staff the convention center, he'd walked off with it a dozen times. It never failed to infuriate Callan to have to retrieve it from him.

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

When Callan finally started for home, snow covered the roads and fell with unrelenting force. Carefully maneuvering on the slick roads, she wondered what caused Mother Nature to decide they needed weeks of a winter wonderland in Tenacity. They rarely had more than an inch or two of snow the entire season, but this year looked like it would be a record-setting snowfall.

When she turned off the main road, the car slid several feet before she got it under control and headed straight again. She hated driving on slick roads and pulled into the driveway with a tense neck and white knuckles from gripping the steering wheel in a tight grip.

At least Clay left the yard light on and shoveled the walk. She appreciated his consideration. Even if they didn't see eye to eye these days, she felt like they still respected each other, at least most of the time. An unspoken pact existed that neither one of them would air their dirty laundry anywhere except at home, with each other. The problem seemed to be that instead of airing it, they packed it away and all the baggage grew unmanageable.

Near the front door, Callan slipped on a patch of ice and her backside hit the pavement before she even had time to blink. Caught by surprise, she let out a gasp as Clay stuck his head out the door.

"Callan, are you okay?" he asked with real concern in his voice. "With the roads growing steadily worse, I've been watching for you. I thought I saw your lights in the driveway." He hurried out to where she tried unsuccessfully to stand. Her long coat and skirt hampered her attempts to gain footing.

"Give me your hands." Clay bent over to help her rise. He grasped both her hands and pulled her to her feet then, with an arm around her, led her inside the door.

"Thank you." Tears filled her eyes as she looked down at her hands. Clay glanced down and saw her palms were scratched and raw. A cut near her thumb bled. He wondered why she wasn't wearing her gloves or her snow boots. Knowing Callan, she'd probably been too absorbed in her work to bother with putting them on before she left her office.

"You hit the sidewalk pretty hard, didn't you?" Clay gently removed her coat, throwing it across the couch. He put his arm around her and led her to their bathroom where he rinsed her hands under a stream of warm water, poured disinfectant on her cut, and finished it off with a bandage.

Callan remained mute while he worked, keeping her head down. The sensations he stirred with his closeness left her unsettled while the scent of his aftershave teased her nose. She'd missed the feel of her soft skin against his work-roughened palm and wanted to keep the contact as long as possible.

"All better." He offered her a teasing grin. "If you were so tired you couldn't make it into the house, you could have called on your cell and let me know you needed help. You didn't need to just plop down on the sidewalk."

Callan tried her best to keep from getting emotional, but she released a choppy laugh and gave Clay the first real smile he'd seen in a while.

"That patch of icy, cold sidewalk looked so comfy and inviting, I just couldn't resist." She offered him a sassy grin.

Clay ran his hands up her arms and looked her in the eye, attempting to ensure she wasn't just pretending to be fine. "Are you sure you're okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I'll be fine. I think my pride received the most damage. Good thing it was dark out or I would have provided quite a show for the neighbors."

"If you give a repeat performance, let me know. I'd like a front row seat." Clay winked and hugged her lightly. "Have you had any dinner?"

"I had some crackers and an apple." Callan stepped away from him, moving into the bedroom and kicking off her shoes. "I think I'm ready for bed. I'll just get a glass of water and turn in."

"Okay." Clay walked through the house, turning off lights and locking doors.

Stiffly, Callan shuffled into the kitchen, partly because of her still smarting backside and partly because she dreaded seeing the pile of dishes in the sink. To her surprise, the dishes were gone, and the sink and counters had been scrubbed.

She removed a clean glass from the cupboard and looked around, pleased and surprised. After admiring the clean kitchen, she carried the glass of water to the bathroom. She took some pain reliever, changed into her nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and quickly braided her long hair before slowly climbing into bed.

Clay was already sprawled across his side of their king-sized bed. His idea of sharing was to give her one-third to his two-thirds of space. He had operated on the same space-sharing theory when they had a queen-sized mattress. Unintentionally, he'd pushed Callan out of bed more than once. The last time she awoke as she hit the floor was when she decided they had to get a bigger bed. She wondered how they would have managed their current state of cold-shoulder if there wasn't such a wasteland of sleeping space between them.

As she slid between the cold sheets, she couldn't suppress a shiver. Clay was always warm at night and liked to sleep in a cool room. She was always cold and slept with an extra blanket on her side of the bed.

Inexplicably chilled, Callan worried her teeth would chatter if she didn't get warm soon. She contemplated getting up to put on a pair of sweats and socks when Clay rolled over and gently pulled her up against him, sharing his body heat.

In recent months when he attempted to draw near to her, she'd stiffened and moved away. Tonight, she reveled in the feel of his arms wrapped around her. Sinking into the security and warmth he offered, she released a tired yet contented sigh, eager to rest in the haven he provided.

For the first time in a long while, she drifted into a deep sleep.

#  Chapter Three

Clay awoke before the alarm blared. Callan remained in his arms, sleeping peacefully for the first time in months. She must be exhausted to let her guard down and snuggle up to him without any hesitation.

He remembered her fall right before bed and wondered if she wasn't hurt more than she let on. She excelled at hiding her physical pains as well as bottling up her emotions. He tried to remember when that had changed.

When they had first wed, Callan seemed as emotional as any female, or so he assumed. Other than his even-tempered mother, he'd never lived with one before and he wasn't sure what to expect. That first year or two they were married, he never knew if he'd find her laughing or crying because odds were high it could go either direction at a moment's notice. She was all fire and spirit, light and warmth back then. He wondered, not for the first time, when that girl had disappeared.

Slowly shifting, he brushed her auburn hair back from her face and felt a rush of longing engulf him. What had happened to the passionate, happy girl he had married?

She still had the dusting of freckles across her nose that kept her from ever looking too serious, despite her attempts at always being professional. Her eyelashes were thick and curled up at the ends, creating feathery shadows across her smooth cheeks.

He wished, as he had so many times, that he could inhale her scent. He imagined it was soft, enchanting, and lovely, just like Callan. At least, like she used to be before she turned cool and distant.

Clay noticed that even while she slept, fatigue seemed to bracket her mouth and hang in the dark circles under her eyes. He contemplated just how much more Callan could take and why she continually shut him out.

It seemed like she attempted to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. He supposed he hadn't been much of a help, either. If he cared to admit it, he'd been resentful and jealous of her event planning business, even somewhat childish the past several months.

She put in long, stressful hours almost every day but managed to keep the house nearly spotless. His clothes were always clean, ironed, and neatly put away. She also took care of paying the bills and did most of the shopping. Things she could order and control.

His wife held the reigning title as queen of organization and detail.

Emotions and feelings were the things she had trouble handling. He wished he could remember when she had changed or think of the reason that might have caused her to close herself off from him. She hadn't always been this way. He'd never have fallen for her if she'd been so controlled, so detached.

After giving Callan one more longing glance, Clay placed a tender kiss on her forehead and got out of bed.

He took his time to getting ready for work, ate breakfast, then went out to start his pickup. Several inches of snow accumulated during the night, so he took the extra time to brush off Callan's car and scrape the windshield, then shovel the snow and spread de-icer on the walk before running back inside.

Clay decided to make a little effort at mending their broken fences. He put a bag of her favorite tea in her favorite mug, which was now clean, and set them next to the toaster along with the sugar bowl, a bag of English muffins Callan liked, and the butter dish. He couldn't wait to see if his battle plan was a tactical error or would provide an opportunity for advance.

Quietly leaving the house, it wasn't until he sat at the stop sign, ready to turn onto the main road, when he realized he didn't have to go to work. Clay was dean of the agriculture department at the community college and classes had finished earlier in the week. Yesterday was the last day any of the staff would be at school until after the holidays.

Amused by his error, he decided to go into town and complete his Christmas shopping since he was already headed that direction. With his thoughts so entangled with his wife, he had completely lost track of time and place.

Cautiously driving into town, Clay let his thoughts drift back to the first time he saw Callan. She thought it was at the county fair where her aunt Julie was in charge of the sorority club's ice cream booth.

He'd never bothered to set her straight, but the first time he saw her was about a month before the fair. Clay happened to be at the community college looking into a job opening for a teaching position in the agriculture department. He'd finished all his teaching credentials the previous year and filled in as a substitute teacher whenever he could to gain experience. Eventually, he wanted to land a position that would lead to something more permanent.

As he sauntered toward the parking lot after dropping off his application, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, causing him to turn his head. Clay stopped and watched the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen walk beneath the shadows of the trees lining the sidewalk.

She was tall and curvy with long tanned legs that seemed to go on forever. A gentle breeze stirred her skirt around her knees with every step she took. Her hair, appearing brown in the shade, turned into a fiery temptation of auburn shot with gold when she moved out into the sun. It hung in a long cascade of curls down her back that practically begged for Clay's fingers to bury themselves in the shiny strands.

Quickly moving behind a tree so he could continue spying on her, he watched as she stopped to speak to another girl. She waved her hands around while she talked and he caught the bright glimmer of a white-toothed smile. Although the dark sunglasses she wore kept him from seeing her eyes, an aura of passion and excitement surrounded her.

Clay was awestruck.

She turned and continued to the parking lot with the other girl. Before he could gather his wits, she was gone. Panic tightened his chest. The girl of his dreams had just waltzed right in front of him and he didn't even know her name.

He hurried to his pickup and thought maybe he could follow her, or at least find out where she was going. By the time he got onto the street, she was nowhere in sight. The only thing he knew was that she drove a red car.

That tidbit of information wouldn't prove extraordinarily helpful in tracking down the girl he had taken scant minutes to decide he would someday marry. It looked like half the cars on the campus were red. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his truck toward home.

His home, also known around the area as, "The Ranch," was nearly twenty-thousand acres of wheat, hay, and cattle that had been in the Matthews family for more than a century. The original little homestead sat on the back of the property, maintained with loving care. Clay's grandparents built a huge sprawling house that sat on a hill overlooking a pond and rolling pastures not long after they wed. Steve and Bobbi Matthews, Clay's parents, moved into the homestead cabin when they first married. Clay even had a few sketchy memories of living there when he was a little buckaroo. As an only child, Steve inherited the place when his parents died in an automobile accident and moved his family into the big ranch house.

Clay drove down the tree-lined drive of the ranch feeling bereft and alone, wondering if he would ever see the girl in the red car again. His dad waved to him from the shop so he pulled in and noticed Big Jim Carver worked to repair one of their tractors.

Everyone liked Big Jim, although his name was misleading. The man stood about five-foot-four if he stretched, and was thin and wiry. He had a smattering of freckles across his weather-creased face and the hair he had left was a combination of carrot-red and silver.

From what Clay understood, the nickname came from Big Jim's easygoing attitude and giving heart. If someone needed help, Big Jim was usually one of the first to show up and among the last to leave. He had been coming out to fix their equipment ever since Clay could remember. Big Jim loved to tell stories almost as much as he loved to mechanic. From the looks of things, it appeared he told Steve Matthews a whopper. Clay parked the truck and got out, grinning as his dad bent over in laughter.

When his dad saw him, he waved a hand his direction. "Clay, Big Jim's telling the funniest story. You've got to hear this one."

Clay walked over with a smile and shook hands with the mechanic. He listened to him tell a wild tale about scaring one of his buddies out of six years of his life with a strategically placed dead snake he'd found on the road. It was impossible not to laugh or be drawn into the humor and fun Big Jim seemed to spread everywhere he went.

Big Jim cast a glance in his direction that looked serious. "Say, there, Clay, my little girl just came home from OSU with her fancy degree in marketing. She's working part-time at the newspaper in town, but she's looking for something that offers more hours. Don't suppose you know anyone needing some summer help?"

"Sorry, sir, I don't." Clay didn't like the direction this train of thought was headed. If Big Jim's daughter looked anything like her dad, she wouldn't be on his short-list of dating prospects. Warning bells clanged loudly in his head. He decided to derail the ride before it ever left the station. "If I hear of anything, I'll be sure to let you know."

"That's right neighborly of you, Clay." Big Jim smiled as he gathered his tools and set them into a portable toolbox. "Your tractor is almost as good as new and ready to roll, Steve."

"Thanks for coming, Big Jim. I really appreciate you running out on such short notice." Steve turned to his son. "Clay, would you give Big Jim a ride back to town? The service rig had one too many calls to make today, so they dropped him off here on the way to the Robertson's."

Clay turned and looked at Big Jim. It was guaranteed he'd be entertained all the way to town with the man's humorous stories. "I'd be happy to give you a ride, sir."

"No need." Big Jim good-naturedly thumped him on the shoulder. "I called my little girl before we headed out here and asked her to come get me at four o'clock. She should be here any minute."

"All right, then." Clay looked for a fast getaway before Big Jim's daughter arrived. "I better mosey on up to the house."

"Don't run off like your tail's on fire, son. I'd be pleased as anything for you to meet my Callan. She's got to be the sweetest little girl on this earth," Big Jim said, packing the last of his tools away and wiping the grease off his hands on a rag.

"Oh, well, sure." Clay wondered who named a kid Callan. What kind of name was that, anyway? He'd be willing to bet she was a freckled-face, short-legged, buck-toothed girl with a weird laugh and bottle-bottom glasses.

"Dandy," Big Jim said with a huge grin. He turned to Steve and started in on another story while he waited for his daughter to arrive. "Say, Steve, did I ever tell you about the time..."

Clay hurried to the shop and hoped his absence wouldn't be missed until after Miss Carver came and went. He left the door open while he checked over the supply list Steve kept in the shop. Uncertain how long he would need to hide out, he heard a car pull up and a door open. He couldn't miss Big Jim's booming voice.

"Hello, sweet daughter. Thanks for coming to get me. Have you ever met Mr. Matthews?" Clay heard a soft voice respond but couldn't make out the answer. Then he heard Big Jim again. "Well, where did that boy of yours get off to? Callan, I want you to meet Mr. Matthews' son, Clay. He's what you'd call a big, strapping lad." He heard another soft reply that wasn't distinguishable and the closing of a car door followed by another. His dad's voice carried in the open door, thanking Big Jim for coming and expressing his pleasure in meeting Callan.

Clay stuck his head out the shop door as Callan backed the car around and started down the lane. He dropped the supply list and entirely forgot himself as he barreled out of the shop, running full tilt toward the departing car.

Big Jim's daughter was none other than the girl who had left him love struck that very afternoon.

Callan Carver. What kind of name was that, anyway? A wildly beautiful name that would roll off his tongue when he asked her to be his wife.

Frustrated, he stopped next to his dad and watched her little red car head down the lane. Steve dropped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze, then flashed a big smile. "I know you can be shy around girls, Clay, but you really should have met Miss Carver. I think you would have been pleasantly surprised." He slapped Clay on the back and began to chuckle. "Don't think I couldn't see the wheels spinning in your head. You pictured a shorter, homelier version of Big Jim, didn't you? Serves you right for hiding out in the shop." Steve continued laughing as he walked off.

Clay spent the next few weeks alternating between working up his nerve and losing it, plotting the best way to meet Callan. He dropped a few subtle hints with his mom about Big Jim's daughter. His mother, the proverbial social butterfly, liked to volunteer and be involved in different functions of the community. If anyone could find out about Callan, Bobbi Matthews was the woman for the job.

A few days before the county fair began, she waltzed in the door from one of her many committee meetings and announced she heard Big Jim's sister had enlisted Callan's help with a booth at the county fair.

It took Clay all of a minute to decide it was time to make his move. He'd spend the week at the fair anyway since he promised to help with the 4-H kids and do some judging. Odds were high that he would run into Callan at some point, and he would make it a point to see that it happened.

As the first day of the fair got under way, Clay provided assistance in the cattle barn. He got a kick out of watching all the first-year 4-H participants with their projects. He seemed to recall his first time showing a steer ended with him dragged across the arena by the stubborn beast.

Clay noticed an overwhelmed 4-H advisor and offered to help get people entered into the right areas. He prayed his nerves would calm down before he worked up the courage to find Callan.

After spying the ice cream booth earlier in the day, Clay stood in the cool shadows of the big barn watching Callan dip cone after cone for what seemed like a never-ending line of humanity. She smiled as she served and a couple of older women in the booth kept up a conversation that made her laugh.

From his vantage point, Clay admired the pink blouse she wore and her shiny hair pulled back in a ponytail. In the heat, a halo of tendrils had escaped their confines and surrounded her face. A smear of chocolate syrup highlighted one cheek.

Callan was breathtaking.

Clay inhaled a fortifying breath and walked up to the booth before he completely lost his nerve. He stood in line behind a group of giggling pre-adolescent girls. Callan quickly had them on their way. She stopped to rinse off her hands and the scoop before looking up at him with huge, sparkling green eyes.

Acute pain hit him as his heart flew out of his chest and into her hands. He was sure if he looked down, he could see it beating in her long, capable fingers.

She gave him a smile and asked what he'd like to order. Unable to say he wanted her by his side for the rest of his life, he numbly asked for a cone, paid for it, and walked away. Tongue-tied and temporarily incapable of remembering his own name, he felt like the world's biggest idiot.

Not allowing himself the luxury of looking back at her, he charged around the corner of the big barn, ice cream dripping down his hand. He spied his six-year-old cousin Jake and thrust the cone into his hands.

After repeating the process three more times that day, Clay went home in defeat. He also expected Jake's mother, his aunt Maggie, to call for a serious talk about how much ice cream a little tummy could hold in one day.

He had no idea why it was so hard to ask Callan out on a date. He'd asked plenty of girls out without any problem. Unable to put his thumb on what caused the challenge, Clay walked into the house and headed for the kitchen. His mom sat at the table drinking lemonade and flipping through a magazine.

One look at his face and Bobbi knew things hadn't gone well. Quickly rising from the table, she poured Clay a glass of cold lemonade and placed it across from her. "Come on, honey, tell me what happened."

"I'm such a loser, Mom." He released a deep sigh and slumped into a chair with a look of defeat.

"I can't believe she said no," Bobbi said, mindlessly flipping through the magazine in front of her. "From what I've heard she is really a sweet girl."

"She didn't exactly say no." Clay refused to make eye contact with his mom.

"Well, what exactly did she say?" Bobbi set aside the magazine and intently studied her son. It was out of character for Clay to seem so flustered and unsure of himself.

"'What would you like? Here you go. Thank you'... Four times." Clay sighed again, tracing a pattern on the tabletop with his finger.

"What?" Bobbi asked, confused. Clay wasn't making a lick of sense. Maybe he'd been out in the heat too much that afternoon. "Tell me again. What did she say to you?"

"I went to the booth, ordered an ice cream cone and left without asking her out... four times." Clay dropped his forehead to the table in misery.

"Wait, I only heard part of that," Steve said, rushing around the corner from the family room. "Let me get this straight. You went to the ice cream booth to ask out a girl and ended up buying four cones. You hate ice cream."

"I didn't buy them all at once. I went back three times. Jake was happy because he got to eat all four cones." Clay kept his head pressed against the table, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Why did his dad have to be home now? Maybe if he just kept staring at the floor, his parents would leave him alone.

Steve couldn't subdue his chuckles. "Well, that would explain the call I answered from Maggie a bit ago. She made it quite clear you are not to purchase any more ice cream for Jake, ever."

"Clay, you've got to ask her out tomorrow." Bobbi did her best not to laugh. "I can't stand to your suffering."

It amused her to watch her full-grown son act like a lovesick teen. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so distraught over a girl. Clay had never been in a serious relationship, choosing instead to treat most girls like pals.

Although he never lacked for dates, she knew the girls had done most of the asking. As good looking as he was, it would have been easy for him to be shallow and self-centered. Instead, Clay was sweet and kind with a huge heart, even if he was a terrible tease.

However, now that the ball was in his court, Clay wasn't rising to the challenge with even a modicum of grace or surety. For all his brawn and brains, he acted like a big baby. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No!" Clay's head shot up from the table at the thought of his mother taking him by the hand and asking the girl of his dreams if she'd go on a date with her pathetic son. "No, Mom. I've got this. I can do it."

"Yes, you can." Bobbi nodded her head and sipped her lemonade to hide a smile. "You will do it tomorrow. Just ask her. The worst she can do is say no. Besides," his mother added with a cocked eyebrow, "weren't you voted stud-muffin of your dorm two years in a row. I'm sure she won't be able to resist you with that knowledge. Why don't you lead with that?"

"Stud-muffin!" Steve howled with laughter as he sauntered back toward the family room.

Clay didn't know if he could die of embarrassment, but if so, he was sure his demise would happen any moment. He flushed four shades of red and felt the heat of humiliation sear his entire face.

Bobbi rose to her feet and placed her glass in the sink. On her way out of the kitchen, she patted Clay's arm. "Just ask her, honey. If it is meant to be, it will be."

Clay arrived at the fair early the next morning, but soon figured out seeing Callan would have to wait. He helped judge livestock until nearly noon. When he finished with that, one of his former high school teachers stopped for a chat and invited Clay to lunch.

Finally, he walked toward the ice cream booth. Callan was there, working hard like she had been the day before. Her hair hung in a thick braid down her back and already the heat of the day caused a few tendrils to dance around her face. She wore a blouse that looked all soft and fluttery. Soft and fluttery?

Clay decided he was going soft in the head as he got in line.

Callan smiled, recognizing him as he ordered another cone. When she handed it over to him, she introduced herself and gave him a warm, friendly smile.

He accepted the cone and introduced himself, then blurted, "And honestly, I don't like ice cream at all."

With that inane proclamation, he turned and strode away. The fire of embarrassment burned up his neck and into his ears. He hustled around the corner of the big barn and dumped the cone into the garbage can, convinced he'd turned into a blithering idiot.

Clay started back toward the ice cream booth, but his stomach tied in knots and for a moment, he questioned if he'd be able to keep down his lunch. He made a detour back toward the cattle barn to hide out for a while.

He managed to stay busy and away from the booth for the remainder of the day. He'd noticed a few of the vendors started to close up shop for the evening, so he took a deep breath and walked toward Callan. She and her aunt Julie, whom he met on one of his many trips to the booth yesterday, along with a couple of older women, were cleaning up and putting things away.

Clay stepped up to the counter and Callan saw him. He managed to stutter out a request for her to join him on a walk and, amazingly, she agreed. Her aunt gave her a smile and a nudge before sending them on their way.

As they strolled along the promenade, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful inside and out Callan seemed to be. She was so easy to talk to as well as friendly, polite, and funny. From what he observed, she had no idea how attractive she looked or that her graceful walk drew many interested glances. Instinctively, he knew she was innocent, sweet, and genuine. On top of that, every time she looked at him, it made his stomach feel odd, his heart pound wildly, and gave him the strangest tingling feeling. He'd definitely never before had that experience with a girl.

After seeing Callan eye a trinket at one booth, he bought it for her, surprised at how grateful she seemed over the silly thing. When they arrived back at the ice cream booth to find everyone gone, Clay offered to escort her to her car.

On the way to her car, he tried to think of some witty way of asking her out, but nothing came to mind. Feeling like the biggest dolt in the world, he held her car door for her. Callan got in and agreed to see him tomorrow if he stopped by. Just as he turned to walk away, he felt her hand on his and it sent tremors all the way to his toes. He wondered if she felt it, too.

Callan thanked him again for the trinket then drove off with his heart.

Clay closed the door on his memories as he pulled into one of the last parking spaces at the mall. He hated shopping and especially disliked shopping during the busy Christmas season. Curious how there could be so many people at the mall this early in the day, he decided suffering through the crowds would be worth it if he could find a special gift for Callan.

Although she used to love Christmas, the past few years had been different. She ran the holidays like another event instead of a personal celebration. Admittedly, it was a hard time of year for her.

Three years ago, they had to have their dog put down just a few weeks before Christmas. On the heels of that, Callan's mother was diagnosed with cancer. Margo barely lasted into January. Callan and her mom were never close, but he knew it was tough on her to lose her mother. He assumed that was what started Callan in her downward spiral. He hoped that she had reached the bottom and was ready to climb back up to a happier future.

Clay strolled into the mall, shaking his head at the hordes of shoppers. He shed his coat and wandered into a gift shop called On a Lark, owned by Callan's friend Laken. He didn't know it the day he'd first seen Callan, but Laken had been the girl walking with her across the campus.

Laken's infectious laughter rang through the store from her spot behind the counter where she rang up customers. When she glanced up, she caught Clay's eye and gave him a wide smile. With a raised index finger, she signaled that she'd be with him in a minute.

He studied some holiday displays while waiting for Laken to finish the sale. Before the next customer stepped up to the counter, she called one of her staff away from stocking a shelf to take over the register. She hurried up to Clay and gave his arm a squeeze.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Clay?" Laken asked, smiling up at him. "You wouldn't be shopping for Callan, would you?"

"Possibly." Clay knew Laken already had a few things in mind that he should buy.

"You better put that coat behind the counter and prepare to whip out your hard-earned money." Laken tugged the coat out of his hands, handing it to one of her sales girls to set behind the counter and headed toward the back of the store.

A short while later, Clay left his coat and purchases with Laken. She offered to wrap Callan's gifts while he finished his shopping.

He entered one of the new clothing stores he'd heard advertised on the radio but wasn't impressed. When a young sales girl leaned against him inappropriately not once but twice, he exited the store, disgusted. He could never understand why some women assumed all men were interested in short skirts and tops that were too tight. The only woman who held his interest also held his heart, just like she had for the last thirteen years.

Clay made his way to Callan's favorite clothing store and quickly surmised the courteous sales woman would be a great help in finding a gift for his wife. Callan had made off-handed comments about not being pleased with her appearance. He thought she looked as amazing now as she had the first day he'd seen her.

She still had long legs that went on forever and a small waist. The only difference he could see from when they first married was that her curves were fuller. Maybe I need to tell her I think she is even more beautiful now than she was as my young bride. Clay tucked the notion away to explore later before continuing his shopping.

With the help of the sales clerk, he chose a beautiful green silk blouse that would bring out the emerald sparkle in Callan's eyes. He hoped she would like it. At least it would go with all the black she insisted on wearing. He didn't know if she'd taken being professional to an unhealthy level or was just stuck in a rut. Either way, he wished she'd put some color back into her wardrobe and her life.

As he sat in the food court, drinking a Dr Pepper and ignoring a group of giggling high school girls desperate to get his attention, he came upon the idea for the perfect gift for Callan. Eager to get started on it, he dropped his cup into the trash, gathered his purchases, and returned to Laken's store. He needed to make a few more stops before he enlisted his mom's help with the project.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary," Laken said as he walked up to the counter. "What's up?"

"I just thought of the perfect gift for Callan and I need to get busy on it," Clay said, in an obvious hurry to get out of the mall and onto his idea for Callan's gift.

Laken set the gifts he'd already purchased, all neatly wrapped and in a fancy bag, on the counter. "Well, are you going to share the details? Spill the beans, already!"

Clay grinned at her as he shrugged into his coat. "Nope. You two are incapable of keeping secrets from each other." He picked up his bags and started out of the store. "Thanks again, Laken. You were a big help. See you Christmas Day."

After quick stops at the craft store and the office supply store, Clay drove out to the ranch.

He pulled into the drive, excited to tell his mom about his idea. A blast of warmth hit him in the face as he walked inside the house, carrying in all his purchases.

"Mom? Are you home?"

"In here, Clay," Bobbi answered from the kitchen. "I need a taste-tester and your dad is down at the shop."

Clay entered the kitchen to find every counter surface covered in cookies, cookie dough, and cookie sheets. After placing his packages on the floor by the table, he removed his coat, washed his hands, and snatched a gingerbread cookie off a cookie sheet just out of the oven. Juggling the hot cookie from one hand to the other and blowing on it, he took a huge bite. The entire cookie was gone with the next bite.

He poured a glass full of cold milk, sat at the counter, and ate another cookie. Bobbi plopped dough onto a cookie sheet.

"The cookies pass muster," Clay said, taking a sugar cookie and smiling sweetly at his mom.

"Good to know." Bobbi shook her head at her son and his antics. For being such a big man, he often acted like an ornery little boy. She glanced at him as she dropped cookies on the sheet and noticed he looked rather pleased with himself. "What are you up to today?"

Clay laughed and told Bobbi about forgetting he didn't have to work and going shopping instead. "I've got an idea for a great present for Callan, but I need some help with it. Would you be willing?"

Bobbi smiled at him then turned to take a sheet of cookies from the oven. "Sure, honey. Can you come over tomorrow or do you want me to come to your house?"

"No, I'll come here. That way I know Callan will be surprised." He shared his ideas for the gift and Bobbi gave him some good input.

"Can I leave the rest of Callan's presents here? I don't want her to accidentally find them."

Bobbi nodded as she frosted sugar cookies shaped like trees and topped them with green and red sprinkles. "Put them in your old bedroom. You can pick them up when you come for Christmas Eve dinner."

Clay set the gifts in the bedroom then returned to the kitchen. He emptied his glass of milk, set it in the sink, and pulled on his coat then kissed Bobbi's cheek. "See you tomorrow. Thanks, Mom."

"Anytime, Clay." Bobbi set another sheet of cookies in the oven. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Mom." Clay grabbed a handful of cookies to go. "Bye."

On the way out to his pickup, as he munched on cookies, Clay wondered if his parents ever hit any rough patches in their marriage. They always seemed happy. He supposed to the casual observer, he and Callan seemed happy as well. He was determined for them both to get back to being happy.

He barely made it in the door at home when his cell phone rang. The ringtone announced it was Callan. Since she rarely called him, he immediately worried something was wrong. In an attempt to hide his concern, he dropped his voice to a seductive growl as he answered her call. "Hi, beautiful."

"Hi, yourself."

The smile in her voice carried through her words. She seemed to be in a good mood. After the past months of enduring her frosty distance, he wasn't sure what to think.

"What's up?" Clay asked as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it across the couch, followed by his hat. He'd pick them up before Callan got home. It always annoyed her to find his stuff sprawled all over the house.

"Thank you so much for this morning. I really appreciated you leaving everything out for breakfast and for cleaning off my car, and for shoveling and sanding the walk, and for last night and for..."

Her rambling meant she wasn't focused on work. She hadn't done that in a very long time. Pleased, he interrupted her. "Callan, it was my pleasure. Are you sore today? You're doing okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Just clumsy."

Clay wasn't convinced she was fine, but Callan continued with the point of her call. "I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated everything. Also, I couldn't remember if I told you I have an event tonight, so I'll be home late. This is the last evening event until New Year's Eve."

"No, you hadn't mentioned it. I know you're really busy this week, though." Although he was thoroughly disappointed she wouldn't be home for dinner, at least she'd called to thank him for the effort he put forth that morning. If he wasn't mistaken, a warm front seemed to be moving in where she was concerned and he planned to have her all to himself as soon as she left work. "Where is the event?"

"It's here at the center, which makes it easier on me. I only have to stay until things get rolling, so I should be out of here by seven or so." Callan cleared her throat, sounding a little nervous. "Would you like me to bring something home for dinner?"

"No, don't worry about dinner. I'll take care of it," Clay said, as he began planning a surprise.

"Are you sure?" Callan sounded wary.

Clay grinned. She probably envisioned the newly scrubbed kitchen turning into the disaster area it did anytime he cooked. She was in for a surprise, though. A big surprise.

"Yep, I've got it under control." Clay rapidly sketched out details for the evening in his mind.

"Oh, no. Arty's wandering toward one of the conference groups. I need to run interference." Callan's words spilled out in a rush. Clipped, hurried footsteps on the tile floor of the center echoed in the background. "Thanks again, Clay. See you tonight."

Blast Arty. Clay had no doubt he'd have Callan wound up and back into all business mode in a matter of minutes.

He dropped his phone on the couch and settled into his recliner. There was time for a nap before he needed to put his plan into action. If things went like he wanted, he needed to be rested up for an evening with his wife.

An hour later, Clay awoke. He polished his best pair of boots, brushed off his black sports coat, and dug a royal blue shirt out of his closest. Callan once said the shirt made his eyes look like liquid pools of blue. He was sure that meant she liked it...a lot. Since he needed all the help he could get, he'd use any ploy or trick at his disposal.

Clay took a quick shower and shaved. In his preoccupied state, he nicked his chin. After dabbing it with a tissue, he slathered on some aftershave Callan purchased for him. She always seemed to appreciate it when he wore it. He had no idea what type of fragrance it was because it smelled like everything else to him — nothing.

Carefully dressing, he combed his hair, grabbed his coat, stuffed his phone in his pocket and headed out the door. He had just enough time to run a few errands before surprising Callan.

Clay pulled into the convention center's parking lot at a quarter to seven. He parked on the back of the building close to Callan's car and walked around front. As he entered the facility through the big double doors, the sounds of a party spilling out of one of the big ballrooms filled the foyer.

Not wanting to intrude, he casually strolled to the ballroom door. Inside the room, it didn't take him long to find Callan. At her height, she was easy to spot in the crowd.

He leaned against the wall and watched her graceful movements. Callan looked amazing in a simple yet elegant black cocktail dress and heels. He knew she sometimes attended the events she planned and dressed up, but he was most often in bed when she got home, so he rarely saw her in anything but her business attire. She still had her hair up, but a few curls fell down her neck, softening her appearance.

She chatted with two women who looked important and official. Callan shook their hands, nodded her head, and turned toward the door. When she noticed him leaning against the wall, her eyes widened in surprise but she sent him an appreciative smile.

Although she kept a cool, professional demeanor in place, she hastened her pace as she headed his direction. As she stepped in front of him, a look of genuine pleasure lit her features and her emerald eyes twinkled.

"Clay, what a surprise! What are you doing here?" She looked him over from head to toe, clearly pleased with what she saw. He knew he looked his best. His black boots, jeans and sports coat along with his royal blue shirt had him feeling punchy. The way Callan gazed at him made him think his idea to surprise her was on the verge of brilliant.

"I wanted to take my best girl out to dinner tonight. Will you come with me, please?" Clay gave her one of the dimpled grins that used to make her agree to anything he wanted. He felt downright smug as he watched her eyes sparkle with excitement.

"I'd love to." Callan slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. She'd forgotten how seeing Clay across a room could make her stomach flutter anxiously. He looked so handsome and enticing leaning against the wall with his blue eyes glowing from an inner light. When she took a deep breath, his aftershave teased her senses, making her legs feel languid. "Let me get my coat."

Clay led her to her office and helped Callan into her coat before they walked across the street to Giovanni's, her favorite Italian restaurant. He'd stopped in earlier and made a reservation for a private corner booth. As the host showed them to the table, he slid in next to his wife instead of letting her sit across from him. Despite her noticeable surprise, she didn't move away.

They chatted about holiday plans, about Clay forgetting he didn't have to go to work that morning, and recalled fun memories from past Christmas celebrations. After an amazingly pleasant dinner, Clay walked Callan back to the convention center. They sauntered through the building with their fingers entwined, enjoying the beautiful decorations, towering trees, and twinkling lights.

When they exited through the back door close to the gardens, Clay saw all the landscape lights creating a warm glow through the snow. It looked like a lacy wonderland.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked Callan, hoping she would say yes. She nodded her head in agreement and he put one arm around her waist, holding her hand in his free hand as they walked along the newly shoveled pathway. He didn't want her to slip and fall, or so he offered as an excuse to hold her close.

Although neither one of them said anything, they strolled along in a companionable silence, taking in the beauty and wonder of the chilly night. The moon peeped out from behind the clouds and washed the gardens in a cloak of silvery light.

The picturesque scene could have been right out of a fairytale. It brought back memories to them both of a similar night they enjoyed not long after they wed.

Swept up in the moment, Clay turned Callan to face him and gave her a slow, tender kiss.

Callan started to step back, struggling to keep her emotions in check with Clay acting so attentive and looking so devastatingly attractive. Before she could back away, he pulled her close and her body melted against him. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss, reveling in the feel of his lips moving on hers.

Afraid to break the spell she seemed to be under, Clay rubbed her back and held her close, never wanting the moment to end.

"I've missed you so much," Callan whispered as she rested her forehead against his jaw. Her grip on her emotions slipped and another affectionate move on Clay's part would push her over the edge. One lone tear rolled down her cheek.

Leaning back, Clay wiped the tear before he nudged her chin up with his finger and kissed her again. "I've missed you too, Laney. It's okay. Let's head back to the car."

When they returned to the parking lot, he opened the passenger door of his pickup for her. "Let me drive you home, girl. I'll bring you to work in the morning." She nodded her head and climbed in with his assistance.

Clay got in and started the pickup before handing her a single pink rose. Pink was her favorite. He gave her a shy smile when she buried her nose in the bloom. On the ride home, they didn't say anything, just held hands and listened to the Christmas station on the radio. It was a comfortable silence, so unlike the cold quietness they had become accustomed to enduring.

After parking in the driveway, Clay hurried out of the pickup to open Callan's door. He noticed the sidewalk looked icy again. He silently wished he'd taken time to put out more de-icer.

He offered to carry Callan and earned a disbelieving stare. She accepted his outstretched hand and slid out of the truck. He settled his arm around her waist and pointed out that with her heels on she needed to be cautious about not falling again. So busy reminding Callan to be careful, Clay lost his footing and took them both down into the snow piled next to the sidewalk.

Afraid that he had hurt her or, even more unforgivable, completely ruined the mood of the evening, he glanced over as Callan laughed.

Hastily jumping up, he clasped both her hands and pulled her to her feet, then gently brushed the snow off her coat.

"If this is going to be a nightly event, I'm going to have to get a padded coat," she said with a smile, cautiously taking the few steps to the door and unlocking it while Clay tried to dislodge the snow that clung to his sports coat.

Once inside, she walked into the kitchen, flipped on the light and laid their coats over chairs to dry. Before she could turn around, Clay stepped behind her and slipped his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck.

Mindful that she should pull away and put distance between the two of them, Callan couldn't muster the will to do it. It felt too good to have Clay's arms around her, to sink into his strength and breathe in the wonderful scent of him. Unable to fathom what had gotten into him, she wondered if he realized when he kissed her like that, it turned her knees to a gelatinous mass and made her as giddy as a schoolgirl.

If he didn't behave himself, she'd have a hard time keeping the lid on her box of churning emotions.

Clay had no intention of behaving himself.

After taking Callan's shoulders in his hands, he turned her around and gave her a deep, passionate kiss that left them both breathless and undone. With determination set in his jaw, he reached over and tugged the clip out of her hair, tossing it onto the nearby table. Gently, he ran his hands through her hair, letting it fall down her back and over his arms.

He stepped back and drank in the sight of her. "I haven't seen your hair down for a while. It's beautiful and so are you."

Callan looked into his eyes and watched the blue depths grow darker, stormy with longing. Didn't he realize how good that color looked on him? What was he thinking, showing up looking and smelling so irresistible?

When she saw him leaning against the wall at the party, she couldn't help thinking some woman was very blessed. Then she realized it was her Clay. It still amazed her that he had chosen her to marry, especially with all the girls who would have jumped at the opportunity.

With his hot blue gaze locked intently on her sparkling green eyes, he stirred sensations in her that made her feel like this could have been their first date, not a lovely evening enjoyed by a couple long married. In actuality, it had been a while since they'd been this close and interested in each other.

As she continued to drink in the sight of him, she noticed the nick on his chin that hadn't been there last night. Without thinking, she took a step forward and put her fingertip on the spot before pressing a light kiss to his chin.

Clay closed his eyes and savored the feather-light kiss on his skin for the second it lasted. He was afraid to hope but couldn't wait any longer to know if Callan would return his amorous feelings. With a deep groan, he pulled her close and buried his face and hands into her hair. Tremors of desire race through his entire body and raised his temperature to the boiling point. His plans to take things slow rapidly dissipated.

"Callan..." His voice in her ear was husky, deep, and full of longing. "Let me love you tonight."

She nodded and wrapped her hands around his neck, turning her face against his solid chest.

He swept her into his arms, obliterating the need for more words.

#  Chapter Four

Clay stretched lazily in bed, not quite ready to open his eyes, not quite willing for a new day to begin. Although yesterday had been wonderful, thoughts of last night made a satisfied smile cross his face. He'd almost forgotten how amazing it could be to hold his wife in his arms.

When he reached out his hand to touch Callan, all he felt was an empty bed. Quickly coming fully awake, he looked around. The open bathroom door let him know Callan wasn't in there. He jumped up and tugged on his robe. He didn't think she'd take the truck and leave him without a vehicle. He charged into the kitchen and pulled up short. Callan sat at the table, drinking tea and eating a muffin.

A becoming blush stole over her cheeks as she glanced at him with a shy smile. "Good morning," she said, absently running a hand up to her hair, making sure it was in place.

Clay grinned. Callan was back to business mode this morning, looking all proper and professional. She wore a berry-red blouse with her black suit, though. An indisputable chink in the all-black armor had been rendered.

"Mornin' Callan," Clay drawled, bending to kiss her cheek. Cautious not to say anything that would make her blush more, he decided to give her an easy out. "Give me a minute to take a quick shower and then I'll take you to work."

"That would be great." Callan hid her face behind a cup of tea. "Would you like me to make some breakfast for you?"

"Nah. I'll get something later. I'll just be a minute." Clay turned back to the bedroom and hurried to the bathroom.

After taking a shower in record time, he was soon dressed and ready to go. On his way out to warm up the pickup, he noticed Callan placed the pink rose he gave her in a vase on the counter. He started the pickup and scraped the windshield then returned inside the house. In the kitchen, he watched Callan root around in her purse, digging out one of her many lists.

"Laney, give me one of those lists," Clay said, holding out his hand. His tone warned her not to argue.

"What?" Callan's head snapped up and she looked at him as if he'd sprouted horns.

"I've got time to do some errands today. Give me one of your lists and I'll take care of it for you." Clay waggled his fingers at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You'd really run errands?" Callan scrambled to decide which list Clay would be least likely to bungle.

"You bet." Clay winked at her and waggled his fingers again. "Now what have you got that I'm capable of doing?"

Callan ended up giving him the grocery list. If he forgot anything, she'd still have time to go to the store before Christmas Eve.

Clay dropped Callan off at work with a smile and a kiss that left her completely befuddled. As she fumbled to open the pickup door, she dropped her gloves then entangled herself in the seat belt.

Clay wanted to burst out laughing. He loved seeing her flustered and barely held back a comment that would no doubt bring the blush back to her cheeks. Instead, he said, "See you tonight. Have a great day, girl. Love you."

Callan had been halfway out of the pickup when he spoke. She stopped mid-slide off the seat and turned back to him. "I love you, too. Thank you so much, Clay." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then climbed out and shut the pickup door. She straightened her shoulders, mentally shifting into business mode, ready to take on the day as she walked into work.

Clay ran by the grocery store and got everything on the list. He made it home in plenty of time to find the files he needed from Callan's office before going out to the ranch to work on her Christmas present.

He disliked being in her office and spent as little time in it as possible. At least being married to someone incredibly organized made finding things simple. She had a file for everything and everything was in its place.

Clay couldn't keep from having a huge smile plastered across his face as he drove out to see his mom and work on Callan's present. Things went even better than he'd planned last night.

If a little effort won the battle, he contemplated what a big effort on his part could accomplish. As he drove down the ranch's lane, he hummed a rather boisterous rendition of "Holly, Jolly Christmas."

Callan sat at her desk, staring out the window, marveling at what had happened to Clay. The pouting, resentful, sometimes childish guy had disappeared and left the husband she used to be completely infatuated with in his place.

He'd been so sweet and attentive last night, just like the man she fell in love with all those years ago. She still couldn't believe he'd showed up last night, looking like he belonged in some western advertisement and smelling like a million bucks.

She'd already had to suffer through a handful of teasing remarks from the girls in the office.

Once the story caught fire that Callan left the event with some tall, gorgeous man, the rumor mill worked overtime throughout the morning. Callan continued to assure them the mystery man was Clay. He rarely came by the center and most of the time when the girls saw him it was outside in his pickup.

Callan wondered, again, what brought about the change. Baffled by his behavior, she could barely concentrate on her work. Thank goodness, she could leave at a decent hour that night and tomorrow was a short day. Then she had a week off.

She just had to get through Christmas with the family first.

The next two days passed in a blur of activity. Callan and Clay both had projects they worked on, secret gifts they were hiding, and much to get ready for Christmas Day. Callan made a quick visit to see Aunt Julie and Uncle Ralph before they left for an extended holiday with one of their two boys in sunny Florida.

After a fun Christmas Eve dinner with Steve and Bobbi at the ranch, along with what seemed like half the county, Callan and Clay were as ready as they could get for Christmas.

Clay planned to wake up first and make a nice breakfast for Callan. When he pried open his eyes at an hour no one should be awake, he found her already dressed in jeans and a holiday sweatshirt, elbow deep in a turkey, getting it ready to put into the oven.

"Callan, what are you doing up this early? It's barely four-thirty." His yawn nearly cracked his jaw while he rubbed sleep from his bleary eyes.

"I know, but I've got to get the bird in the oven if everything is going to be done on time." She wrestled the turkey into a browning bag and placed it in a roasting pan. Expertly twisting the bag shut, she put the bird in the oven then washed her hands.

Quickly drying them, she tossed aside the dishtowel and walked over to Clay. She leaned against his chest and kissed his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Brick."

Even in his sleep-dazed state, he registered that she used his nickname. He hadn't heard her say it for a long time. She couldn't begin to know how much he appreciated hearing her say it.

Clay kissed her softly, reverently on the lips. "Merry Christmas, Laney. I hope it's going to be a happy one for you."

"It's off to a good start." Her impish grin turned his heart to mush, especially when she excitedly squeezed his hand. "I can't wait to see what Santa brought!"

Clay wished he could throw Callan's brother Bob and his family out into the snow. Bob was eighteen years older than Callan and the polar opposite of her and their brother Josh. Not only did he look nothing like his younger siblings, Bob was also arrogant, bad mannered, and one of the most negative, unhappy people anyone could meet. From what Clay observed over the years, Bob took after Margo, Callan's mother. She had never been happy either. Bob's wife, Donna, wasn't much better. It seemed they took pleasure in trying to make others miserable.

Their only child, Melanie, and her husband, Ted, were every bit as awful as Bob and Donna. Known for her negativity, Mel was whiny, rude, and demanding.

The two bright spots to come out of that muddle were Audrey and Emma, Melanie and Ted's children. At six and three, they were wiggly, giggly spots of sunshine. Callan was absolutely loopy over the two girls. Clay had to admit he was fond of them, too. The only downside was dealing with Mel and Ted when they wanted to see them.

Josh and Jenna, Callan's younger brother and his wife, were always fun to see. Since Jenna and Callan were close and he and Josh were good friends, Clay mulled over the reasons why they didn't spend more time together. Probably because Jenna had to commute to Portland for her job and Josh was busy with his farm.

Callan and Josh bore a strong resemblance to each other. Hard workers, they both were tall, had a great sense of humor, and a dimple in their left cheek. Although no one seemed to know where their height came from, Clay thought they both must take after the Carver side of the family. Some old family pictures their dad had once shared with him showed a few tall branches in the family tree. Josh was nearly as tall as Clay and liked to joke around every bit as much.

He wondered that Josh and Jenna, like he and Callan, had not trooped down the road to parenthood yet.

Callan's dad, Big Jim, was like a one-man show of Christmas joy. Callan worried about him, now that her mother was gone, but Big Jim seemed to do well. He sold the house he'd shared with Margo for almost fifty years and moved to a retirement village in town. In his seventies, he decided it was time to slow down and enjoy the life left in his years. Clay could only imagine how Big Jim kept the clubhouse at the retirement center hopping.

Clay's folks, Bobbie and Steve, were also there, along with his aunt Maggie and uncle Tom and his cousin Jake, who took classes at the community college where Clay taught. Jake and Clay loved to harass each other and never missed an opportunity to get in a teasing zinger.

Laken, Tyler, and their two kids, rounded out the motley crew. Alex, who did not like to be called Alexis, was fast friends with Audrey. Brant decided with a lack of other prospects, especially boys, Emma would do for a playmate.

Aware of Bob and Donna's efforts at upsetting Callan, Laken and Jenna attempted to serve as buffers between their unkind barbs and their friend. She had smiled and ignored their hurtful comments as much as possible. Clay grinned as he thought about finding Callan hiding out in the laundry room following lunch.

After the dishes were finished, Callan took the dirty linens to the laundry room and was gone longer than she should have been. Clay found her sitting on the dryer, worrying a helpless dishtowel into a knot.

"Callan, what are you doing?" Clay asked, sticking his head inside the room, shocked to see her on the dryer.

"It's not as if that idiot Bob and snarky Donna aren't bad enough, but Mel and Ted are just too much," she whispered hotly. "They are all so mean to those sweet little girls. I could wring their necks. Just give me a minute. I needed a breather."

Clay shut the door behind him and moved to stand in front of Callan. He wrapped his arms around her and gently rubbed her back. "I'll hold them if you want to wring," he said with a teasing smile.

"You're sweet." Callan leaned into Clay and let out the breath she'd been holding.

Clay felt her relax against his chest. She turned her face up to him and asked, "Have I told you how much I love my present?"

"Hmm. You may have mentioned it five or six times," Clay said, continuing to stroke her back. "But go ahead, tell me again."

"It is so wonderful, Clay, truly it is. It was such a wonderful surprise and I'll use it all the time. Thank you so much." She planned to give him a kiss on the cheek, but he turned his head at the last second and made sure it landed on his lips.

Clay was thrilled Callan liked the gift. He put together a portfolio with photos and memorabilia she filed away from past events she had coordinated and assembled it into a leather-bound album she could take with her to client meetings.

On the outside of the album, his mom helped him work Elegant Events by Callan Matthews into the leather in a nice script with some scrolls and embellishments around the edges. It turned out well, if he did say so himself.

Callan had shown it to everyone — well, everyone she liked. He was certain it had resulted in at least a half-dozen kisses of thanks so far. Just to make sure there would be plenty more, he tucked a piece of mistletoe into his shirt pocket and pulled it out whenever no one looked their direction.

Suddenly jumping off the dryer, she threw down the dishtowel and squeezed his hand. "Let's go slay a nasty dragon or two."

By the time she got back to the gathering, she had a smile on her face and walked over to Big Jim. "Daddy, why don't you tell everyone about the time Santa got stuck in the chimney while I set out dessert."

Callan shot Clay a wink before disappearing into the kitchen, knowing they wouldn't have to listen to any of Bob's family for a while. Once Big Jim got started with a story, there was no interrupting him.

Hours later, as everyone left, Steve and Bobbi were the last out the door. Callan gave Bobbi an extra hug. "Thank you so much, Mom, for helping Clay with the portfolio. I love it. Thanks, too, for the wonderful gift card. I'm really going to enjoy finding something fun to buy with it. You guys are the best."

Bobbi hugged her back with a big smile. "You are so welcome, sweetie. Why don't you come out to the ranch one day while you're off? I'd love to catch up on things. I haven't had a good visit with you for a long while."

"Great, I'll plan to do that. Maybe we can bring the girls sledding one day," Callan said, already making a mental list of things to accomplish on her days off.

"I'd love that. It would be great fun," Bobbi said, tugging on Steve's coat sleeve. "Come on, Frosty, let's head for home."

"Yes, dear." Steve gave Callan a quick hug and Clay a thump on the back then escorted his wife out to their car. "Thanks for a great day, kids. Merry Christmas."

Exhausted after cleaning up all the trappings from the gathering, Clay rested on the couch as Callan walked into the room. He motioned for her to come over and she stretched out with him, resting her head on his chest. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her closer.

It was the best Christmas he could remember for a while. He watched her look above the patio door to where he'd hung her gift to him that morning.

Clay owned a long saw blade that had belonged to his great-grandfather. It had been gathering dust and rust in the barn for years and Callan thought it might be nice to have it painted with an outdoor scene. One of her event clients was a talented artist who agreed to take on the project. It turned out even better than Callan had hoped. She gave the artist some copies of outdoor photos Clay liked and Sally turned them into one amazing collage. Callan was so excited about the gift, she had a terrible time waiting until Christmas morning to give it to Clay.

"So you like your saw?" she asked.

"Yep. I can't believe anyone could make that old rusty thing look that good. It's a wonderful present, Callan. Thank you."

"You're most welcome. Thank you for a wonderful Christmas." Callan sounded happy and content.

Clay tipped up her chin and gave her a kiss that made her toes tingle. When he declared it past her bedtime, Callan didn't argue, eagerly following him to bed.

During her week off, Callan couldn't remember having so much fun, laughing so hard, or enjoying Clay so much for a long time.

The two of them took Audrey and Emma sledding out at the ranch twice and Callan caught up on all the news with Bobbi.

She and Laken drove into the city one day to have lunch with Jenna and do some after Christmas shopping.

Best of all, she and Clay spent some time together, becoming friends again. All too soon, though, her week of play was over and it was back to work. She dreaded the coming of January, but she'd make it through somehow.

The alternative wasn't an option.

#  Chapter Five

January, with its gloomy gray skies, dirty snow, and barren landscape seemed like it would last forever. By the middle of the second week, Callan felt like a worn-out rag. Concerned she might be coming down with something, she didn't have time for sickness.

She dug another roll of antacid tablets out of a drawer, tore off the wrapper and popped two in her mouth. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd use them again, but it had arrived. The ever-present knot in her stomach had added a burning sensation to the mix that only a few dozen antacids a day seemed to help.

Callan had vowed as a young teen that another antacid would never touch her lips after years of having them stuffed down her by her mother. She was only seven when horrendous stomach pains kept her out of school more often than she was in class. After many inquiries about the problem from her teacher, her mother finally took her to the doctor.

She could still remember the smell of Dr. Andrews' office, an odd mix of antiseptic, crayons, and the lingering fruity scent of orange and grape from the lollipops everyone got as they left.

After giving her an examination, the doctor concluded that she was on the verge of an ulcer, ridden by anxiety. When he asked what caused her to worry enough to create such unusual symptoms in a child, her mother assured him she had no idea. He suggested giving Callan antacid tablets and avoiding stressful situations.

Her mother followed the antacid advice to the extreme and bought rolls of the pills. She fed them to Callan like most youngsters would go through candy. However, her mother completely ignored the stress part of the advice from the doctor.

Callan finally refused to take the pills when she started high school and hadn't had one since — until last week.

She took a deep breath and peeled off another pill.

Short-tempered and irritable, it seemed everyone at work got on her nerves, particularly Arty. That week alone, he'd managed to offend two clients with his inane ramblings and inappropriate comments to the point they had canceled their events and moved them elsewhere. Callan and Jill did their best to win back the business.

Callan found it nearly impossible to keep up her cheerful façade at work. She didn't even make an effort at home. She'd been nit-picky at Clay since the previous week and couldn't think of a good reason why. The more dejected he looked, the more she pressed. As soon as she walked in the door at night, she vented her frustrations from the day. Unwillingly, he listened to her tirades every evening. When his attention wavered, she turned her wrath on him, accusing him of not caring about her.

As she sat at her desk mid-week, Callan spiraled down into a place of bleak desolation.

She placed a hand to her forehead to make sure she didn't have a fever. Her head felt fuzzy and a dull, thumping headache had been beating at the back of her skull for days.

A glance at the calendar made her stomach tighten. She needed to go visit her dad. Today was the three-year anniversary of her mother's death and it always hit him hard.

Thoughts of her mother made Callan's head pound fiercely and caused an ache in the region of her heart. Many, many times she'd contemplated why her mother had given birth to any children, much less three. It made no sense to have had two of them so late in her life when she clearly never wanted them.

Callan didn't remember her mother's parents, but she wondered if they were as cold and cruel as her mother had always been.

The way she felt, Callan wasn't going to accomplish anything at work the rest of the day anyway. Resolved to cheering up her dad, she turned off her computer and put on her coat. After picking up her purse, she let Rachel know she was leaving for the day and drove to Big Jim's apartment in the retirement village.

She knocked on his door and hid her surprise when he opened it wearing a big smile.

"Hello, sweet daughter!" he said, giving her a warm hug. "What are you doing out and about in the middle of the day?" Big Jim took her coat and hung it in his little entry closet as Callan set her purse down by the door.

"Can I get you something?" Big Jim hustled into the kitchen.

"Sit down and rest, Daddy," Callan said, following him to the kitchen. "I'll make tea. Are you hungry? Can I fix something for you?"

"Tea would be dandy. If you wouldn't mind whipping up a batch of oatmeal cookies, I would surely enjoy that." Big Jim smiled and sat down at a bar stool pulled up to the kitchen counter.

Callan put the teakettle on to boil, removed her suit jacket, and took out ingredients to make cookies. While the butter softened, she dug around in the fridge to see what her dad had on hand and if she needed to run to the store. He was well stocked for food.

"Do you want me to put something on for your dinner, Daddy?" she asked with her head still in the refrigerator, exploring the options available.

"Nope. I'm going to eat at the clubhouse tonight, but thanks." He walked over to the coffee table and picked up a photo album. "I've been looking at photos of Margo and thinking about our years together. Would you like to look with me?"

The last thing Callan wanted to do was look at photos of a woman she wished nearly every day she could forget, but she sensed her dad needed her to want to see them. She finished mixing up the cookies, dropped them onto a cookie sheet, and placed it in the oven. After taking two mugs out of the cupboard, she put in tea bags, added hot water from the now whistling teakettle, and stirred sugar into both mugs. Callan and her dad shared the same sweet tooth.

With the spicy scent of the cookies filling the apartment, they settled at the counter with the album between them. Callan couldn't remember ever seeing it before. "Daddy, I don't think I've ever seen these pictures. Have you always had this album?"

Big Jim got a far-away look on his face before he returned his focus to Callan. "Your mother hated these photos and I thought she'd thrown them away. When you kids were helping me clean out her things, I found the pictures stuffed in the bottom of her sock drawer." He laughed and shook his head. "That was just like her. I shouldn't have been surprised to find them."

The photos showed Margo when she was a young girl, looking happy and carefree. One photo in particular caught Callan's eye. It was a picture of her mother with Aunt Julie, beaming a beautiful smile and looking like a model in her stylish 1950s attire. Margo's dark hair was short and curled, she had on lipstick, a long, formal dress with a smattering of sequins across the shoulders, and a pair of the cutest heels Callan had ever seen.

She never remembered her mother caring about her appearance or her clothes. Margo always looked neat, but often frumpy.

As Callan turned the pages, it showed a young Margo and Jim getting married, then Margo looking heavy with child. That would be Bob. The remaining photos were of Margo and Jim with Bob as a tiny baby. She never realized what a homely little thing he'd been. It seemed odd she and Josh looked so much alike while Bob looked nothing like either of them.

Glad she hadn't voiced her thoughts, she turned back to the photo of Margo and Julie. She sensed a story lingering in the shadows that no one wanted to discuss.

Callan stood and took the cookies out of the oven, placed two on a plate, and slid it over the counter to her dad, then returned to her seat next to him.

"Daddy, in this picture Mother looks so happy and young. I don't ever remember her looking like that." Callan pushed the album closer to her dad.

"She was then. That was out at my folks' home, just before we got married." Big Jim stared at the photo with a wistful gleam in his eyes. "Those were some happy times. They sure enough were. We went to a grange dance that evening. Boy, she was something back then."

Big Jim turned a few pages and Callan studied the look on her mother's face in the photographs. With each page that turned, the joy seemed to evaporate until there was none left.

"What happened, Daddy? What happened to make her so unhappy with life?" Callan had often wanted to ask the question, but was concerned for her dad's feelings. He had loved her mother with unwavering devotion, even though most people who knew them couldn't figure out why.

Big Jim didn't answer right away. First, he took a cookie and bit into it. The smile on his face told her he appreciated the treat. After finishing the cookie, he looked Callan in the eye.

"Callan, your mother had some big hurts in her life and they came pretty young. Some folks might have been able to forget and forgive then moved on with their lives. Margo couldn't let it go. Those hurts grew and festered over time until they squeezed out every happy thing, every good thing, every joyful thing until that hurt was all she had left." Big Jim stopped, took a deep breath and went on. "I know she didn't do right by you kids and I'm truly sorry. I didn't fully realize how hard she was on you until it was too late to change anything. I'm not making excuses, Callan, but if I had known, I'd like to think I'd have done things differently."

"But, Daddy," Callan said, trying to swallow the tears that were now filling her eyes and throat. "Why did you stay with her? She treated you awful, too. She must have made every day miserable. Yet, you still seemed to love her."

"I did love her, sweet daughter." Big Jim wiped a tear from his own eye. "I loved her from the first time I saw her until her last breath, but I would be lying to say it was easy. Being married to her was hard. Oh, she had her moments when she'd be sweet or sassy. Sometimes you remind me of her back when she had some spunk."

Big Jim stopped talking to eat another cookie and Callan refreshed their tea. Remaining silent, she knew there was more her dad wanted to share.

After taking another sip of tea, Big Jim continued. "Bob was just a little tyke when I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I told Margo she was going to have to change or I was going to leave. She informed me that I'd made a vow and she'd never known me not to be a man of my word. For better or worse, I promised to stay with her unto death. So I stayed. Instead of Margo changing, I was the one who changed. I learned some hard lessons. With my thick skull, it took time for them to sink in, but they are what gave me the ability to stand by your mother all those years. You can't change anyone else, Callan, only you. You can't depend on anyone else for your happiness, only you. You have to make the choice every day to be the very best person God intended for you to be. But you have to make the choice, every single day."

"But, Daddy..." Callan closed her mouth when Big Jim held up a hand to stop her then he clasped her hand in his.

"There is one more story I want to share with you Callan. You do with it what you feel you must, but you have a right to know what happened to your mother. When I met Margo, she was just a few weeks pregnant. She didn't even know it yet. The first boy she'd ever loved filled her full of empty promises including one to marry her. Instead, he up and disappeared." Big Jim got a faraway look in his eyes then cleared his throat.

"She was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen and full of sass. I was smitten in an instant. I know she never felt the same way. When she realized she was pregnant, she talked me into marrying her, which I gladly did because she was all I could think about. I didn't really care that the baby belonged to someone else. I planned to raise him as my own and I did. Your mother never got over that boy breaking his promises. I think Margo expected him to show up one day and save her from the mundane life she felt she'd sentenced herself to with me. He never came, she could never forgive or forget him, and that is what changed her."

Callan stared at her dad, unable to form a coherent thought. He took that as a signal to continue his story.

"As for that baby, I raised Bob as my own. I know how he is, Callan. I do. I also know that I got more than I ever hoped for when Margo gave me you and Josh. After Bob was born, she flatly refused to have more children. I tried talking her into having just one. As much as I cared for Bob, I wanted a child of my own flesh and blood. After a few years, I gave up asking. Eighteen years later, she decided she was way too old to worry about it. Then you came along. You looked like a little angel dropped down from heaven and I've thanked our Father every day for sending you and Josh along, to bring such joy to your ol' daddy. Margo decided it would be much easier to raise two kids together rather than one alone and that is why you and Josh are so close in age."

Callan felt rooted to the barstool. All this was too much to take in, especially in her current state.

Big Jim got up and poured their now cold tea down the sink. He could see Callan's emotions flitting across her face and gave her a hug.

"Now, sweet daughter, I know I've given you a lot to chew on. I want you to remember you have to leave the hurts in the past, give and accept forgiveness, or you're going to end up as bitter and lonely as your mother. Let it all go, Callan, and move on. You've got too many wonderful things in your life to not focus on the good and positive."

Callan couldn't speak, so instead nodded her head. She put his cookies into a resealable bag, hurriedly washed the dishes, and gave her dad one last hug on the way out the door.

"Bye, Daddy." Callan kissed his weathered cheek. "Call me if you need anything."

He gave her another hug and patted her back. "Remember what I said Callan. Let it go and enjoy what you've got right in your hands today."

Callan drove home in a state of shock. How could her dad drop a bombshell like that on her, today of all days, and not expect it to upset her? She didn't understand what he meant when he kept telling her to let it go. Let what go?

What did she hold onto? The past? The pain? The fact that she never had a mother's love? The fact that she wasn't a mother?

Callan pulled into the driveway, and noticed Clay's truck. She promised herself to be civil, if not kind, to him this evening. As she got out of her car, she tried to decide if she wanted to share what she'd learned with him.

She opened the front door and sighed. Clay's coat was thrown across the living room couch and his boots were discarded in the middle of the floor. After removing her coat and hanging both hers and his in the closet, she stuck his boots in the closet and quietly walked into the kitchen. He'd tossed his gloves onto the kitchen counter, left his insulated lunch bag on the floor by the sink, and scattered assorted papers across the dining room table.

The entire house reeked of the sausages he loved to eat and knew she hated. The smell made her headache pound in triple time. Clay sat in his recliner, eating his sausages, watching some hunting show as if he hadn't a care in the world. He didn't even look up when she walked into the room.

Before she said something she would later regret, which happened almost daily, she went to their bedroom. Annoyance riddled her to find his sock drawer hanging open, his work clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, and his Stetson tossed on the bed. The urge to throw his hat on the floor and stomp it to pieces nearly overwhelmed her.

Instead, she put it on his dresser, shut his drawer, changed her clothes, and placed all the dirty clothes in the laundry room on the way to the kitchen. Upset, she took his gloves to the coat closet and stuck them in his coat pocket. She picked up his lunch bag, emptied it, and wiped it out before setting it in the pantry. She retrieved several jar candles and set them around the kitchen, hoping the candle scent would override the hideous sausage smell.

As she looked in the fridge for something to eat, she realized they were out of nearly everything. It looked like cold cereal for dinner. Callan poured herself a bowl and checked the expiration date on the milk before adding it.

Not wanting to sit among the piles of paper in the dining room or with Clay in his room of sausage stench, she went into the living room. Silently fuming, she turned on the big gas fireplace and sat in front of the fire. She ate the cereal and nursed a cup of hot chocolate when Clay wandered into the room.

Cautiously, he moved closer to her, as if he prepared himself to stick his toe in shark-infested waters — afraid to jump in but knowing he'd receive a bite no matter what he did.

"Hi." Callan didn't know how she did it, but that one word held all the annoyance and irritation she'd felt with him since she walked in the door. She didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, but it did.

"I, um, was wondering if you were doing okay." Clay looked into the fire instead of at her. "I know today is the day your mother..."

"I'm fine. Thanks." Callan's reply was curt and brusque, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. "I went to see Daddy to make sure he was fine."

When she failed to elaborate, Clay looked concerned. "And... was Big Jim fine?"

"Yes... no...well, he..." Callan stood and started pacing the room. She set her mug of chocolate on a side table and clasped her hands together. She knew if she didn't tell Clay what she'd learned, she'd probably explode. "You better sit down, this could take a while."

Clay didn't like the sound of that, but sat down in the only chair in the room that fit his big frame. The way Callan decorated the living room, it could have come straight out of a home décor magazine.

The whole thing looked like it was ready for a fancy tea party with rose-print upholstered furnishings, fluffy pillows, and polished cherry tables. The only redeeming feature in the room, in Clay's opinion, was a huge overstuffed Queen Anne recliner that sat next to the fireplace. Covered in a deep forest green fabric, the hulking chair was surprisingly comfortable.

Clay took a seat, pushed up the footrest of the recliner, and settled into the chair. He decided he might as well get comfortable for whatever was coming. "So you went to see your dad and he was upset."

"No, he was in a good mood," Callan said, still pacing.

At this rate, they'd have to replace the carpet after she wore a groove in it. Clay wisely refrained from making any comments, though.

Callan sighed and continued pacing. "He planned to meet some of his retirement buddies at the clubhouse for dinner. He was looking at a photo album I'd never seen before when I got there. It was full of photos of Mother. You wouldn't believe it, but there were photos of her as a young woman, all happy and carefree."

She sat down on the fireplace hearth and started twisting her hands together. "There was even a photo of her and Aunt Julie together. Daddy said it was taken out at my grandparents' home just before they got married. She looked like a model, Clay. She had short curly hair, lipstick, a formal gown, and heels. Can you ever remember my mother trying to be stylish? Ever?"

Clay shook his head and held his tongue. In the ten years he and Callan were married before Margo passed away, the only thing he could remember Margo ever trying to be was difficult. Most of the time, she succeeded.

"We were looking at the photos and I couldn't help noticing that with each page Daddy turned, Mother seemed to look more like the Margo we knew until there wasn't any happiness left. The last photo in the album was taken when Bob was pretty small." Callan turned and stared into the flames for a moment before she spoke again. "You wouldn't believe what Bob looked like as a baby. He must take after his father's side of the family. That's another thing. He's not even my real brother. Well, technically, I guess a half-brother."

Clay started to nod his head and instead clanged the recliner upright. "What did you say?"

Callan jumped to her feet and returned to pacing. "According to what Daddy said, Mother was in love with a boy who promised to marry her and then ran off before she realized she was pregnant. Daddy was smitten the first time he met Mother a few weeks after her boyfriend disappeared. Daddy said he was in love with her and thought it was a great idea when Mother talked him into getting married. They were somewhat happy at first, but Mother couldn't get over the fact that the boy had disappeared or that he hadn't come to rescue her from her boring life. Mother never got over the bitterness. Daddy said she let it consume her. I guess he threatened to leave her when Bob was small, but she pulled the honor-your-vows line on him. You know Daddy. He'd never break a vow or do anything that was less than honorable."

Callan looked at Clay. "You two are a lot alike that way. Anyway, he stuck it out and learned to live with it and her." Tears began dripping down Callan's face. "Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard? What if there was someone who could have brought Daddy true happiness and he spent his whole life being miserable with Mother?" Callan sobbed so hard she could hardly speak.

Clay hustled into the guest bathroom and grabbed a box of tissues, then took it back to Callan. A couple of months ago, he would have welcomed an emotional eruption from her. She had clamped the lid so tight on her emotions, nothing leaked out. She was all business; never raised her voice, never cried, never showed anything that could be construed as a feeling. He did things he was sure would make her mad just to see some little spark of the fire and passion inside her that she held under a tight rein.

The past week or so had taken him to the opposite end of the spectrum. The tiniest little thing set Callan off. She was either yelling or crying, sometimes both at the same time. He didn't know what to think. The notion that his wife may be having a mental breakdown entered his thoughts with alarming frequency.

She yelled at him about things that happened at work and then she yelled at him for whatever he didn't know he was supposed to have done before she got home. Worn out from attempting to please her, he decided just that evening he was through trying. He hadn't bothered to put anything away when he got home, intentionally cooking the sausages for dinner he knew Callan hated. Childish, maybe, but it had been wildly satisfying at the time.

Clay tried to pretend the wonderful week during the holidays hadn't happened. Things between he and Callan had been like old times when they were so in love with each other.

He couldn't get enough of her, of seeing her, spending time with her, talking to her, loving her. It seemed like a long-forgotten dream instead of the reality of just a few short weeks ago.

Callan had suddenly stopped being his loving wife and morphed into a screeching maniac that he didn't much like.

"Callan," Clay said, unsure whether touching her would set her off or calm her down. He opted to stand by the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. "Think about your dad. He's one of the happiest people I know. Not only is he happy, but he takes it with him and spreads it around. How do you know he wasn't supposed to be married to your mother? That being married to her didn't make him into who he is today. You wouldn't want to change that, would you?"

"No," Callan sniffed. "But it's still just so sad. He even apologized for letting Mother treat us so awful. He said if he'd known, he might have done things differently, but I'm not sure he would. As crazy as it sounds, he truly loved her. I think he still loves her. He said I sometimes remind him of her. I can't believe he said that."

"I can," Clay mumbled under his breath.

Unfortunately, Callan's hearing wasn't the least bit impaired by her current state of distress. She turned on him with a look of pure disgust. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Clay looked anywhere but at Callan, instantly aware of what a trapped animal must feel like.

"You meant something by it, didn't you?" Callan marched over to him and started poking him in the chest with her finger. "You think I'm turning into her, don't you? That I'm going to be a bitter, mean, self-centered woman who makes everyone miserable."

Fast losing his patience, Clay took her finger in his hand so she'd stop the aggravating poking, and looked her in the eye. "I didn't say that and it isn't fair for you to put words in my mouth. Just stop it, Callan. What is this really about?"

Callan jerked her hand free and returned to her pacing. "What's this about? This is about our life, or what's left of it. This is about being miserable and turning love into hate. It's about killing our..."

Callan suddenly stopped ranting and pacing. No sound came from her at all. Concerned, Clay looked at her. She couldn't breathe. Callan couldn't get any air into her lungs.

Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her down on the couch. "Stay with me, Callan."

He ran to their bathroom and started digging through the medicine cabinet for her inhaler. She hadn't had an asthma attack for years. He hoped the inhaler would still work. He rushed back to Callan and held it for her. Nothing. He pumped it again and heard it spray.

"Breathe, baby." Clay pleaded on his knees in front of Callan, terrified his wife might die in his arms. "Breathe for me, Laney, please breathe."

After what seemed like an eternity, she took a shuddering breath, then another. Clay let out the breath he'd held and stood. Gently picking up Callan, he sat on the couch and held her close to his pounding heart. Still shaking with fear, he brushed the hair off her face and kissed her forehead. Callan continued taking shallow little breaths and he could hear the rattle deep in her chest.

"Just keep breathing, baby."

With a calm he was far from feeling, he rubbed her back and murmured soft reassurances that she would be fine. Huge tears rolled out of Callan's eyes and down her cheeks, soaking the front of his sweatshirt, but he didn't care.

"I don't deserve for you to be so nice to me," Callan finally whispered.

"I know." Clay turned her head so she could see his face. He smiled at her and handed her a tissue. "You're just lucky to be married to Mr. Wonderful."

"Yes, I am," she agreed, dabbing at her cheeks and nose. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"No problem, girl." Clay kissed her temple and drew her close against his chest. "But for the sake of my own ticker, let's not do this again anytime soon. I was afraid I was about to lose you."

"I'm too stubborn and mean to die, yet." Callan offered the first glimpse of a smile Clay had seen since the holidays ended.

"I'm not quite ready to test the theory." Clay gave her a quick kiss before setting her down. He stood and pulled her up beside him. "I think we should call this a day and get you to bed."

While she went to ready herself for bed, Clay turned off the TV and blew out the candles, wondering what Callan had been about to say before the asthma attack. What did she mean when she said killing our... what? What did she think they'd killed? Their love? Their future? Their dreams?

He knew she was in no shape to continue the conversation tonight, but he planned to find out exactly what she started to say.

Soon.

#  Chapter Six

Callan made an effort to keep her ranting and crying to a minimum at home, but she struggled to hold herself together. If anything, she felt progressively worse each day. Truth be told, she thought it was entirely possible that she would fly into pieces at any given moment.

She promoted her event planning business at three regional bridal shows since the first of the month. That afternoon, she'd fly with Jill for a two-day trade show for the convention center. The last thing she wanted to do was get on a plane and fly out of town, but duty called.

Hurriedly finishing a few last-minute details, she turned off her computer, put on her coat and gloves, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door.

She tried to remember if she told Clay she'd be gone for a few days. He was asleep when she arrived home late the previous evening and gone before she awoke that morning. Never forgetful, the fact that she couldn't recall telling him about the trip added to her irritation. It went against her need to be in control, organized, and on top of all details.

After arriving at the airport, Callan checked her bag and quickly made it through security. She found her gate and noted the flight should arrive on time. Jill sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, reading a book to pass the time. Callan waved her direction then decided to call Clay before the plane began boarding.

She found a quiet corner and dialed his cell number. No answer. She tried his office number. No answer there, either. Looking at her watch, she realized he had a class starting in a few minutes. She called his cell number again, prepared to leave a message when he answered.

"Hey, Callan." Clay spoke quietly as the sound of students chatting filled the background. "I'm heading into a class. Did you need something?"

Callan felt her temper rising even though she didn't know why. "No, I don't need anything," she said, anger coloring her voice. "I'm calling to remind you I'll be at the trade show with Jill the next few days. We'll be back on Friday."

"What trade show?" Clay's frustration came through loud and clear as his voice raised considerably. "You never mentioned being gone. Where are you headed?"

"The trade show in Las Vegas. Jill and I are ready to board our plane. I left the hotel info on my desk at home, if you want to talk later. I have to go. Bye." Callan disconnected the call before he could say anything further. Regret filled her at being snippy with Clay as well as the obvious fact that he had no idea she was going to be gone.

Callan turned off her phone, dug out her boarding pass, and braced herself for the next few days of faking the persona of a happy, upbeat professional.

Three days later, Callan couldn't wait for the plane to land. She just wanted to go home. It was an idiotic error in judgment to think she could pull off this trip in her current frame of mind.

By the end of the first day of the trade show, the dull throbbing headache she'd had for weeks had turned into a full-fledged migraine. Lights, sounds and smells made her queasy and cranky. Rather than give in to it, though, she'd pasted on a smile and shaken what seemed like hundreds of hands. The second day of the show didn't go any better and she'd taken so many pain relievers along with the antacids, she wasn't sure what would happen if she exceeded her limit.

Thankfully, the trade show ended early so she and Jill could fly home instead of spending another night away. Arty repeatedly called both their cell phones. Jill finally returned his call. He insisted they stop by the convention center with a report of the event before they headed home that evening.

To make matters even worse, Clay hadn't called her or answered the two times she'd called him.

Once they got through baggage claim, Callan and Jill walked outside. Jill's husband was supposed to pick her up, but was nowhere in sight. After one last look around to make sure he wasn't there, Callan smiled at her friend and placed a hand on her arm. "Come on. You can ride to the office with me and maybe by then John will be available."

"Thanks, Callan." Jill called and left a message for her husband to pick her up at the office instead of the airport.

As she pulled into the conference center parking lot, Callan braced herself mentally for the meeting with Arty. She had no doubt sitting across from the incompetent man, discussing the trade show, would tax what little patience she had left.

She and Jill both rolled their eyes as they walked into his office, finding him asleep in his chair. Callan cleared her throat while Jill gently tapped on the doorjamb.

Snorting, Arty woke up and looked at them with glazed eyes.

Jill stepped forward. "Hello, Mr. Bierwagen. We just got back from our trip. You said you wanted us to stop by and let you know our thoughts about the trade show."

"Oh, well, yes, I, um, yes," he stammered, sitting up and adjusting his tie. "Sit down. How did it go?"

"Excellent," Callan said, trying to look out the window instead of at Arty. He wore the remnants of his lunch on his chin. "We made some great contacts and developed several fantastic ideas for generating more revenue."

"And all the ideas are simple and affordable to implement. Isn't that great?" Jill asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Yes, I suppose so, but don't be spending any money yet. We've got numbers to meet you know." Arty twirled a pen in his hand. Callan happened to notice it was her pen.

Without even thinking, she reached over and jerked it out of his hand.

"Mr. Bierwagen," she said, punctuating every syllable. "Jill and I work very hard to make the convention center successful. We are well aware of the budgeted numbers as well as our need to meet them. We'll continue to work to secure additional business. A prepared report will be available for you and the board next week. However, I must ask that you refrain from pilfering through my office in my absence. This is my personal pen, as you can see by the inscription. It was in my desk drawer when I left on Wednesday. My personal property is not yours for the taking."

"Well, I never," Arty said, leaning forward in his chair with his double chins wagging. "You better just watch your smart mouth, missy, or you'll be looking for a new job. Take that as a warning. Now, both of you get out of here."

She and Jill stood and left Arty's office. Neither one said a word as they walked outside to Callan's car. Jill glanced up as her husband parked next to them. Callan quickly took Jill's suitcase from her trunk and passed it over to John.

"Thanks for the ride, Callan," Jill said, offering an encouraging hug. "Don't worry about Arty. He's bluffing and you know it. If you want, I'd be happy to go with you to talk to the board about him. This is beyond ridiculous."

"Thanks, Jill. I may take you up on that offer. Enjoy your weekend." Callan gave Jill's hand a squeeze.

She watched as John ran around the car to open the door for Jill and put her suitcase in the trunk. He gave her a kiss that made sure everyone knew he was glad his wife was home. Callan absently hoped Clay would be half as excited to see her.

On the drive home, she couldn't stop thinking about Arty and how violated she felt knowing he'd been rifling through her office while she was gone.

She had nothing to hide, and would gladly show the board anything they wanted to see in print or computer files. However, the thought of Arty sitting in her chair, going through her things was completely unacceptable. It made her livid to think of him threatening to fire her.

Callan's anger multiplied at a rapid rate. She had no idea how she would keep a clamp on her roiling emotions. Accelerating her car, she zipped through traffic, anxious to arrive home. She hoped to have time to clear her thoughts before Clay walked in the door.

Clay sat at a stop light waiting to turn onto the main highway toward home when he saw Callan's car streak through traffic. As soon as his light turned green, he hoped to catch up with her, but she drove way too fast, zooming in and out of cars like a lunatic. It had snowed earlier in the day and a light sheen of ice covered the road.

Convinced his wife had gone completely mad, he'd never known her to drive recklessly. Fast, yes, but not irresponsibly. He sent a prayer heavenward that she would get home without causing an accident.

Just as he said "amen," he watched her car fishtail across both lanes of traffic. Clay saw cars brake and slide, trying to avoid a collision with Callan's out-of-control vehicle. Afraid she was about to die or kill someone else, he watched in terror as her car spun back to the right and slid on the shoulder before she gained control and continued down the road, seemingly oblivious to the danger she had caused.

Not even aware he'd been holding his breath, Clay let it out as he clenched the steering wheel tighter, trying to stop the trembling in his hands and the galloping of his heart.

She could have just died.

She could have killed someone.

Clay had reached the end of his patience. He'd put up with her changing moods, her frosty attitude, her screaming, crying, and pouting. She'd left town without telling him she planned to be gone until her cranky call from the airport. Now, she drove like a woman possessed, trying to kill herself or get someone else killed on the road.

He'd let her have her way far too long and not said anything. Tonight, Callan would get an earful when he got home. For once, she'd sit and take it.

Although he was generally a laid back and easygoing kind of guy, once Clay lost his temper there was no denying the fact. He didn't think he'd ever been so angry in his entire life.

What if she had killed herself with her carelessness? Clay couldn't even let those thoughts register. If he did, he'd soften too much to confront Callan and finally say what needed to be said.

When he parked in the driveway, he surmised Callan was already in the house. From the tracks in the snow, she'd pulled in her suitcase.

After slamming his pickup door shut, he barreled into the house and for good measure, slammed the front door as well. One of her picture-perfect doodads fell off a shelf and hit the floor with a crash. Clay yanked off his coat and threw it down as he charged into the kitchen looking for Callan.

He found her in the bedroom, unpacking her suitcase and tossing things on the bed, muttering under her breath.

Startled, she turned when Clay stomped into the room. Despite the fact that his knees still felt wobbly and he wanted to pull Callan into his arms and hold her to make sure she was safe, he turned on the full force of his anger. He stopped just inches away from her and pointed his still-shaking index finger in her face.

"If I ever," Clay hollered, his face turning red from long-repressed anger, "and I mean ever, see you drive like that again, I will personally cut your driver's license into shreds. Do you hear me?"

Shocked by his outburst, Callan slapped his hand out of her face and took a step back. This was nothing like the welcome home greeting she'd imagined. She'd scared herself half to death when her car slid around on the highway and still seethed over the whole Arty incident.

Callan needed Clay to take her side and give her some encouragement. Obviously, that wouldn't happen.

Indignant and already angry, she boiled over.

"My hearing, along with my driving, is fine, thank you," she said so slowly and coldly, she hoped Clay experienced frostbite.

When she started to walk past him, his hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. "Oh, no you don't, Callan. You aren't going to walk away from me this time. You aren't going to yell, cry, pout, or do anything but listen to what I have to say."

"Let go of me." Callan brushed at his hand. The more she pushed, the more he tightened his grip. "Clay, let go! You're hurting me."

He finally gave her arm a shove and took a step back. In the thirteen years she'd known him, she'd never seen him this angry and it frightened her.

Clay seemed huge and intimidating when he was mad. His face was red, and a vein near his temple throbbed riotously. Uncertain about what enraged him, she decided she wasn't sticking around to find out the cause.

With plans for escape, Callan ran toward the front door. She'd give Clay time to cool down while she went to Aunt Julie's for a while.

Clay chased after her, easily catching her in the living room. After grabbing her around the waist, he set her down on the couch and pinned her in with one of his strong arms on each side of her while his legs kept hers from moving. "I said you're going to listen to what I have to say, so just sit still."

Callan could never remember wanting to slap Clay across the face before but she battled an uncontrollable urge to smack him. How dare he manhandle her! Had he lost his mind?

She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head, hoping he would stop leaning so close. "I'm listening."

"You were driving like a crazy person out there." Clay placed a hand over her mouth when she started to protest. "Callan, I saw you streak through the light on Alameda then weave in and out of cars. You had to be doing at least seventy in a fifty-five zone. In case you haven't noticed, we had snow today and the roads are slick. I saw you almost wreck the car. You could have really hurt someone. You could have hurt yourself. What is wrong with you? What would you have done if you'd caused an accident and killed someone? I've never known you to be so irresponsible or so careless."

The lump in her throat and the stinging of tears in her eyes prevented Callan from being able to answer. Clay was right. She had driven recklessly. Was she trying to get herself killed?

Maybe.

The truth in that answer both frightened and shocked her. Is that what her life had come to?

No.

She wanted to live, just not her life right now. It was full of misery, pain, and unrelenting darkness.

Clay saw her struggle to hold back her tears. Saw fear fly through her eyes. He wasn't caving in this time and hardened himself against her emotions.

"Don't think tears will get you out of this, Callan. They aren't going to work this time. You might as well get comfortable because we aren't moving until we've come to an understanding. I want my wife back. My real wife. I don't want the silent, stoic, unemotional wife. I don't want the crazed, screaming, out-of-control wife. I don't want the cold, distant stranger who huddles on the edge of the bed. I want my sweet, loving, passionate, fiery wife back — all of her. I won't settle for anything less." Clay continued leaning over her, his face just inches from hers.

Callan sat as silent and still as stone. "What if she doesn't exist anymore," she finally whispered, furiously brushing away tears.

"She does." Clay sat next to her, ready to grab her if she tried another escape. He spoke quietly, trying to calm down. "She came back for a holiday visit and I liked seeing her very much. It made me realize just how much I missed her. I want her back full-time. Where is she, Callan?" Clay picked up one of her hands and started rubbing the back of it with his thumb. "Can't we find her again? Can't we try?"

She continued to sit without speaking.

Clay shook his head. "I think you've taken on too much and you're going to have to let something go. You've stretched yourself too thin, worn yourself out. I know you don't want to hear it, but I insist you give up this crazy event planning business. Nothing has been right since you started it."

Callan pulled her hand out of his grasp and glared at Clay. How dare he try to take away her dreams? His dream was to teach, and she encouraged him every step of the way from his part-time teaching position right on through becoming dean of the Ag department at the college.

"That's not fair, Clay. You know that business is my dream. You know I'm good at it. You know I can make it work," she said with as much calm as she could muster, which was next to none. "You can't take it away from me."

"I can and I will. Even if it wasn't a money pit, it sucks up all your time. I'm tired of you always being gone or busy. You never have time for me. If I'm on one of your to-do lists at all, my name is at the very bottom."

"That's completely untrue. We could spend more time together if I didn't have to do everything around the house. You don't do laundry, you don't clean, you rarely do the shopping, and you don't pay the bills. When you cook, you leave me with all the mess to clean up. Instead of helping me, you go sit in front of the television and watch your stupid sports shows. You make the choice of watching television over spending time with me when I am home." Callan's temper continued to rise.

"Maybe I'd be more interested in spending time with you if you weren't always so cold and detached, Miss Ice Queen." Clay regretted the flash of pain he saw in Callan's eyes, but the truth in her words both wounded and angered him. He lashed back at her. "You hide out in your office and ignore me. Besides, you're a control freak. You want to be in control of everything. You refold the laundry when I do it. You reload the dishwasher when I put dishes in. You're convinced I'm incapable of running the vacuum correctly. In fact, you don't trust me to pay the bills. With me not seeing them, it makes it convenient for you to keep your business expenses quiet."

"Come with me." Callan jumped off the couch and stormed into her office, opening a desk drawer. She pulled out a ledger and slammed it on top of the desk.

"Sit," she barked and pointed to the office chair. Opening the ledger, she tapped her index finger next to a number on the first page.

"This is the amount of the original loan I took out for my business. I accrued these credit card bills because you wouldn't co-sign for a larger loan. This number here is the total debt I've accumulated with my business," Callan explained in a flat voice, devoid of emotion. She could talk business without having a meltdown.

Clay gawked at the numbers in front of him. Ready to blow his stack, he realized the amount of debt was worse than he imagined. He knew she'd opened a credit card account just for the business, but when had she charged up so much? They'd be paying this off until they were well past retirement years.

"Before you say anything, let me show you the last entry," Callan said as she flipped through pages. "This is the amount of debt I owed at the end of last month."

As he looked at the last number in the ledger, Clay could see that Callan had made sizeable dents in the debt. Impressive dents in the debt. Maybe he wasn't reading it correctly.

"So this number, here, is your total debt left to pay? For everything? Loan, credit card, other bills?" Clay asked pointing to the number.

"Yes." Callan pulled a bound report from the drawer. "This is my business plan. If you care to look through it, you'll see that I project paying off the debt in a year to eighteen months, if my business continues to grow as it has the past two years. If you had the tiniest bit of interest in it, you'd know that. Instead, you use it as the excuse for everything about me you don't like. As soon as I refused to borrow money from your parents, you shut the door on my business and my dreams. You act jealous of the time I invest in it. You've not supported it or me at all. I finally quit talking to you about it, because you wouldn't listen. I had to do this on my own, Clay. I didn't want to borrow money from your folks because we both know they wouldn't have made us pay it back. I needed to do this on my own, to make it a success from the ground up. With or without your help I'm going to make it happen."

Clay stood up and paced around her office. Her statement left him unsettled and tense.

"Isn't that what it always comes down to, Callan? With or without me, you do what you want. Do I mean so little to you? Has it really been so terrible being married to me? Can you just cast aside the last thirteen years that easily and choose your business over us?" Clay knew his words cut deep. He could see it in her face, but he plunged ahead.

"There was a time when I knew without a doubt that you loved me. I'm not so sure any more. You're angry all the time. You turn every little thing into a reason to be mad or hurt. Seriously, Callan, what have you got to be that miserable about? Is it that awful having a husband who loves you, a job you like, a business you apparently manage very well?" Clay waved his hand around the office for emphasis. "To have friends you enjoy, a father who adores you, a nice home to live in? Is that what makes you so miserable? Having a life many people only dream of?"

Clay stopped pacing and stared at Callan. She appeared desperate to escape as remorse and misery flooded her face. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "What is it? What's making you so unhappy? Tell me, Callan. Tell me, once and for all, what's making you so miserable?"

"Killing our baby," Callan whispered, pushing past Clay as she ran out of the office.

There. She'd told Clay her darkest secret, the one that had plagued her for three long years. Now he'd leave, never come back. She would deserve it for destroying the precious little life that would have been a constant reminder of the depths of their love.

A love Callan was now convinced no longer existed.

Clay caught her in the kitchen and swung her around to look at him, holding her bent elbows in his hands. "What did you say?" He was sure he misheard her.

Callan couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, she looked over his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. "Killing our baby," Callan whispered again.

"What baby?" Clay felt like he'd been punched in the stomach as all the air rushed out of him. He couldn't believe Callan had been pregnant and not even bothered to tell him.

"I didn't plan on it, Clay, honest I didn't. I wasn't feeling well, having some problems, and went to the doctor. She confirmed I was expecting. I was about four months along when I miscarried." Callan stared down at the floor and spoke so quietly, Clay had to strain to hear her. "You won't have to worry about having kids because not only did I lose our baby, there won't ever be another."

They both stood quietly for a moment, neither knowing what to say.

"When, Callan?" Clay finally managed to ask, tightening his grip on her as she began to shake. "When did it happen?"

Callan remained silent, looking anywhere but at him. Finally, she drew in a ragged breath.

Clay knew if he hadn't been holding onto her, she would have collapsed to the floor. "Callan, when did it happen?"

She took a breath and lifted anguish-filled eyes to his. "Two weeks after Mother died." She turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door.

Clay stared at the closed bedroom door. He could hear Callan's sobs, but was unable to move. Unable to go to her, to give her the comfort he knew she desperately needed.

Two weeks after her mother died was that very week. No wonder she'd behaved so erratically.

Callan, how could you not tell me?

#  Chapter Seven

Clay pulled onto the road and drove with no direction in mind. He was so angry — with himself and with Callan. How could she keep something so heartwrenching, so intimately painful from him?

He worked hard to swallow down the lump in his throat. When he and Callan first wed, neither one of them had been ready to start a family. They had career ambitions to pursue. Truth be told, the two of them had been so wrapped up in the wonder of their love, they selfishly didn't want to have to share it with anyone.

The years started to tick by and Clay didn't think a lot about it. He wasn't in a hurry to be a father. He assumed that when the bug bit Callan to become a mother, she'd say something. Only she never did.

Clay couldn't imagine life without Callan in it, but he also couldn't imagine life continuing like it had the past several months. Looking back, he realized the problem had been growing for years.

He'd been such an idiot. How could he have been so clueless? Surely, there had been some signs he must have overlooked. How had he missed the fact his wife was pregnant and then lost the baby? How had he managed to ignore the fact that she blamed herself and shut everyone out? The loss of the baby must be why she dreaded January and grew so despondent during the winter months.

"Oh, Lord, what am I going to do?" Clay prayed, hoping for divine direction.

All the harsh, hurtful things he'd just said to Callan echoed in his ears. Some of them were true, but others were unfair. Like her hiding the bills. If they depended on him paying them on time, they'd end up living in a cardboard box under a bridge.

When they first wed, it was a mutual agreement for Callan to handle all the monthly bills and paperwork. He also knew she wasn't hiding her business information from him. He hadn't wanted to know. If he'd been aware she did so well with the event planning, he wouldn't have been able to lay the blame on her business for all that was wrong in their relationship.

Clay couldn't believe he'd raised his voice like that to Callan. He never yelled. Rarely lost his temper.

Had he really just manhandled her?

In all their years of marriage, he'd never once done that.

Of all the times to choose to confront her, why had he picked today of all days? The sight of her stricken face as he pressed her to tell him what was wrong lingered in his mind.

Killing our baby.

Those three words and the raw desperation in Callan's eyes were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Surprised by where his wandering took him, he drove down the street toward Aunt Julie's house. She knew Callan as well as anyone. Maybe she'd have some insight for him.

As he pulled into the circular drive, he could see Julie at the kitchen table through the well-lit window. He walked to the kitchen door and knocked. Julie was quick to answer.

"Clay, what a nice surprise," she said pulling him inside and into a warm hug. She looked behind him expecting to see Callan, but soon surmised he was alone. "What brings you by this evening?"

"Callan and I just had a really ugly fight. I was hoping you could maybe shed some light on a few things for me." Clay was unable to look Julie in the eye as he took off his ball cap and toyed with the brim.

"I thought I heard voices," Uncle Ralph boomed as he sauntered in from the workshop attached to the back of the house. "Clay, come back here and see what I'm working on."

Julie gave his arm a pat and motioned toward Ralph. "Go see what this crazy old man is working on now," Julie said with a wide smile. "We'll talk when you get back."

Clay followed Ralph to his workshop where he had every kind of woodworking tool anyone could want. Ralph spun a beautiful piece of birds-eye maple on a lathe, creating a large bowl.

"Whew, Ralph, that is a beaut." Clay ran his hand alongside the outside of the bowl and admired the simple but artistic lines.

"The neighbor lost a tree last winter in that big windstorm and was going to burn this trunk, so I told him I'd take it off his hands," Ralph said, starting up the lathe. "You wouldn't believe the great pieces of wood that you can reclaim after a big storm. Most people are glad to have you haul it off, thinking it isn't worth saving. I'm kind of glad they don't realize what they are throwing away, otherwise I'd be paying a pretty penny at the lumberyard for wood like this."

Clay sat down on a stool and quietly watched Ralph turn the wood.

"You look like you just lost your best friend," Ralph casually commented, looking over his shoulder at Clay.

"I think I may have." Clay watched Ralph work the wood. "Callan and I just had the worst fight of our entire marriage."

"I've never known you two to fight. I bet you could count on one hand the times you two have gone at it."

"Possibly."

"You know working this wood is a lot like marriage." Ralph gave Clay a sideward glance, pleased to see he had his full attention. "You start out with a whole lot of promises and dreams and ideas of what it could turn into. You start working with it, turning it, and smoothing it. But eventually you're going to hit a knot or a flaw. If you're careful in your craftsmanship, you can work through and around those problems and come out on the other side with something that is uniquely beautiful. If you let the knots draw a halt to the work, you'll never know what would have emerged if you'd kept working at it. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, Ralph, I get it. But what happens if no matter how you turn it, the knot seems to get bigger and bigger?"

Ralph laughed and slapped Clay on the back. "That's when you step away, take a breather, and come back ready to work at it again. I guarantee you'll know just how to work out that knot when you get started again. You go on back to the kitchen. Julie will be waiting for you."

"Thanks." Clay stood and shook his hand. "I appreciate it."

"No problem, son. Why don't you come back someday when you don't have heavy thoughts weighing you down and we'll work some wood together?" Ralph invited.

"That would be great." Clay offered the older man an appreciative nod. "Thanks, Ralph."

He walked back to the kitchen where Julie sat working on a puzzle at the kitchen table. As long as he had known her, when she wasn't busy working around the house or volunteering on a committee, she put together puzzles, read mystery novels, or did fancy stitching on pillows and the like.

"Can I get you something, Clay?" Julie asked, already rising from the table. She didn't wait for his nod, but filled a mug with hot chocolate, topping it off with a few marshmallows while he removed his coat and laid it along with his hat on a chair.

After setting the mug down on the table along with a plate of sugar cookies, she patted the chair next to her. "Suppose you tell me what has you driving around our neighborhood on a cold night like tonight."

Clay sat down, took a sip of the chocolate, and started tracing a pattern on the edge of the table with his index finger. "I don't know what to do, Julie. You know I love Callan and I'd do anything for her, but I can't keep on like this. She's so angry, so distant. I can't do anything to make her happy. Tonight, I decided to have it out with her and in the process, I think I've gotten to the root of the problem. She kept a secret from me she had no right to keep and I don't know how I'm going to get past it."

He sat back and sighed, staring up at the ceiling before looking at Julie. She appeared to struggle with her emotions as she waited for him to continue.

Clay cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Callan had a miscarriage three years ago. I had no idea. I finally pushed her enough she told me tonight. How could she keep something like that from me? Didn't I have a right to know?" Pain filled both Clay's face and voice.

"Oh, Clay." Julie took his hand in both of hers. "She never told you? Oh, honey." Julie started to cry. She dabbed at her tears and took a deep breath. "Do you remember when you had to put down Callan's dog after she got run over? Callan loved that dog so much. She had literally just found out she was expecting. The only reason I knew was that it was my day to volunteer at the clinic when Callan came in to see the doctor. She was so afraid because she was still taking birth control pills and worried about what affect that would have on the baby. The doctors told her years ago getting pregnant wasn't a good idea. She was also frightened about what you would think. Neither one of you were planning on a baby right then. It wasn't a week or so later that Margo was diagnosed with cancer. She went so fast."

Julie took a deep breath and wiped at more tears. "Shortly after the funeral, you had that out-of-town training. I know you told Callan you'd stay home with her but she kept insisting you go. In the end you went, thinking that everything was fine. No one could have known what would happen."

"I had no idea, until tonight. She never said a word about any of it." Clay worked hard to keep from coming unglued in front of his wife's favorite aunt. A mixture of anger, disappointment, regret, fear, and grief tore through his head and heart. "I was on my way home tonight when I saw Callan driving like the hounds of Hades chased her. She could have caused a wreck or killed herself. I was already irritated at her for leaving town this week. For months, she shut herself off from me. She went through all the motions of her life without any emotion. By some miracle, the Callan I first fell in love with seemed to come back for the holidays. I was hopeful that things were going to get better, but it didn't last beyond New Year's. The past few weeks, she's been overly emotional, crying all the time, yelling at me for hours on end about things that normally wouldn't bother her at all. Tonight, I saw red. I couldn't believe she would endanger herself and others like that. When I got home, I gave her a piece of my mind and kept pressing her to tell me what's been bothering her."

Emotion threatened to choke the air from Clay's lungs, but he felt the need to share this with Julie. He swallowed the pain and continued. "I kept pushing her and finally asked what was making her so miserable. She said 'Killing our baby.' She thinks it was all her fault, Julie. Is that why she didn't tell me?"

"Yes," Julie whispered, unable to curtail her tears. Callan had always been her little girl. With two boys nearing their college years when Callan was born, Julie poured all the love into Callan she would have given a daughter if she'd had one.

Callan had needed it with a mother who resented her very existence. She and Callan were close. How could she have missed this? Missed the agony Callan had been in since she lost the baby.

Julie sighed. "I was there, Clay. The doctors told her stress and fatigue may have accelerated the process, but with her preexisting health problems, the pregnancy most likely would have terminated before it reached full-term."

"What health problems?" Clay looked intently at Julie, wanting to know exactly what had happened. "What do you mean you were there?"

"When she was seventeen, Callan experienced a lot of pain and bleeding. The doctor discovered tumors and ended up removing one of her fallopian tubes and an ovary. He told her she would have trouble conceiving and if she did, there could be complications. She never told you about this?" Julie was shocked Callan hadn't shared the information with him.

"How could she not tell me?" Clay asked brokenly. Callan had never once even hinted that she had any problems that would keep her from carrying a child. "Wasn't that something she should have mentioned before we got married?"

"She's an incredibly private person. It doesn't excuse her not telling you the truth, but you know she doesn't talk about anything like that unless forced."

When he nodded his head in agreement, she forged ahead. "As for being there, it was the day you left for your trip and..." Julie stopped to think for a moment. "Oh, Clay, it was three years ago... today."

Clay groaned and put his head in his hands. Julie placed a comforting hand on his back and went on with the story.

"Callan didn't feel well that morning, as you probably remember. She told you she thought she was getting the flu. You called and asked if I'd check on her. She kept insisting she was fine, but you were right to be concerned. By the time I got there, there was no doubt something was wrong. I rushed her to the hospital. When she miscarried, she nearly bled to death. She had what they call a placental abruption and they couldn't get the bleeding to stop. That's why they performed an emergency hysterectomy. I've never been so scared in my life. Callan stayed several days at the hospital and called you every day so you wouldn't know anything was wrong. She said she didn't want to ruin your trip and swore me to secrecy. Even Ralph doesn't know. You were gone for nearly three weeks. By the time you returned home, she was getting back on her feet."

Julie wiped her tears. "Imagine being Callan. How do you suppose she felt? She lost so much in such a short time. Knowing our girl, she was desperately afraid of losing you, too. Callan has had a lot of hurt in her life, Clay, and some of those hurts run so deep, she'll have them with her always. It was a crying shame that a little girl with such deep feelings was saddled with that mother of hers. Margo was a perpetually unhappy, selfish person. She constantly beat Callan down, convincing her that she was worthless, that no one cared about her, that no one would ever love her. Callan has such a soft heart and tender spirit, but she learned to keep her emotions hidden to survive her childhood."

Julie took a deep breath and patted Clay's arm. "You know she used to have such a passion and zest for life that even her mother couldn't completely subdue. It's still in there somewhere, Clay. You've got to help her find it again. I knew you were the one for her because she let you into her heart. She opened herself up to you. That's why you're the one who brings Callan the most joy and the one who can wound her heart the deepest."

Clay couldn't breathe. If what Julie said was true, he'd carved chasms in Callan's heart tonight. He needed to leave, needed to stay, needed to know that everything was going to work out.

"What should I do, Julie?" Anguish filled his voice.

"I think you and Callan would do well to give each other some space until you get your thoughts sorted out. Go spend the weekend at the ranch and I'll visit Callan tomorrow."

Clay got up and put his mug in the sink. After giving Julie a hug, he put on his coat and hat. "Thanks, Julie. I don't know what either one of us would do without you."

As Clay started out the door, Julie put her hand on his arm and he turned around. "You have every right to be angry, Clay, and every right to be hurt, and every right to grieve. Take care of your feelings then you can help Callan work through hers."

Clay drove home and sat in the driveway for a while before going inside the house. He quietly closed the front door then took off his coat, hung it in the closet, and tugged off his boots, leaving them by the door.

Softly walking to the bedroom, he opened the door. The light was on, but Callan curled into a sad little ball in the middle of the bed, clutching his pillow to her chest, crying in her sleep.

She must have been like this since he left. Her suitcase, and the contents she'd partially unpacked, still sat on one corner of the bed.

Clay put her things back in the suitcase and set it off to the side on the floor. He pulled off Callan's shoes, lifted a thick quilt from the closet shelf and covered her. He turned off the light and backed out of the room. For tonight, he'd sleep in the guest room.

# Chapter Eight

The sound of a car door shutting awoke Clay the next morning. Lifting the blind on the window, he watched Callan back out of the driveway and head down the road while bright sunlight shimmered across a coating of new snow.

If he didn't feel like his chest constricted into ever-tightening bands, he may have noticed what a beautiful day it promised to be. Although he wondered where she was going, relief flooded through him that he wouldn't have to face her that morning.

He went to their room, showered and dressed. Callan's suitcase remained where he'd left it last night. After tossing it up on the bed, he decided to empty it for her before he left for the ranch.

Clay couldn't say why he felt compelled to unpack it, but he needed to do that for her. He dumped the dirty clothes into the laundry room, set her makeup bag on the bathroom counter, and pushed the suitcase under the bed. He placed the assorted paperwork on the dining room table, hung her clean blouse in the closet and looked at a small pile of clean underclothes — all black. He had no idea where they went. How could he not even know where to put away Callan's things?

He turned to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer, staring down in surprise and shock. His neat, organized, orderly wife had a drawer that looked like a whirlwind had blown through it.

Clay proceeded to open all her drawers and found the same disheveled state in each one. It wasn't like her to have things in disarray. Clay thought about the clothes precisely folded, socks perfectly matched, that sat in his own dresser drawers. He certainly didn't care how neatly things were put away as long as he had clean clothes when he needed them, but Callan made the effort to create order for him.

Intrigued, Clay went through the entire house, opening every drawer. All the kitchen, bathroom and storage drawers were neat and organized. Why would Callan take such time and effort to bring order to everything except her personal things? Was it her way of saying she didn't matter, wasn't important?

He ventured into Callan's office and looked around. In the past, he'd hated this room because he assumed it was where Callan went to hide. Now, he knew better.

Beautifully decorated, it offered a great view of the backyard. The sage green and white color scheme created a calming and soothing atmosphere.

No wonder Callan spends so much time in here.

Despite the feeling that he invaded her space, he sought answers for questions he couldn't yet voice as he opened drawers, the filing cabinet, and cupboards.

He sat down and read the business plan she'd shoved in his face last night. Her business savvy and success didn't surprise Clay in the least.

Callan had always been smart, driven, and detail-oriented. Clay picked up the ledger and went through it page by page. An entry posted in payments dated in the spring nearly three years ago caught his eye. A payment to the hospital, made out of Callan's business account. They both had good insurance, so the total wasn't staggering, but the thought that she wouldn't even use his money, their joint account, to pay the bill for the miscarriage made his jaw clench.

Why, Callan, girl? Why did you hide this from me?

As he stared out the window without seeing anything, Clay knew that at any time, he could have talked to Callan. He could have asked about her business, about the bills, about the debt and she would have shared everything with him. She wasn't hiding anything.

Irritated at her for not taking the loan from his parents and jealous of the time she spent on her business, he wanted to make her suffer a little. He made barbed comments about her dreams, ignored her success, and hurt her deeply. Clay realized how childishly he'd behaved.

Regret weighed heavy on him as he rose to his feet and placed the ledger and business plan back in the drawer Callan pulled them from last night. Contemplative, he went out to start his pickup and scrape the windshield.

On his way back through the living room, he noticed the broken vase that fell to the floor when he'd slammed the front door. Carefully cleaning up the pieces, it seemed ironic that of all the things he could have broken, the heart-shaped crystal vase he'd given Callan for their second anniversary was the one that hit the floor.

A broken heart beyond repair, thanks to him.

He hoped Callan's heart was in better shape than the one he just dumped in the trash.

Hurriedly returning to the bedroom, he grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and packed it with a change of clothes and things he'd need for an overnight stay. After writing Callan a note, he left it on the kitchen counter then went out the door.

A short while later he arrived at the ranch. He took a deep breath before opening the back door.

"Hey, there, Clay," Bobbi said as he walked into the kitchen and tossed his bag on the floor. "What are you doing out here on this gorgeous Saturday?"

Clay removed his hat and sank down onto one of the bar stools at the counter. "I need some space and time to think. Do you mind if I spend the night, Mom? Please?"

Bobbi turned off the water she'd been running into a saucepan, concern causing her brow to wrinkle. Callan and Clay never fought and she didn't know what to make of Clay's request. She wiped her hands and leaned across the counter, looking Clay square in the face. "What did you do?"

"It's kind of complicated," Clay said, not yet willing to share the details with his family.

"Does Callan know you're here?"

"She will when she finds my note. She wasn't home when I left." Clay stared at the countertop, avoiding his mother's direct gaze.

Bobbi gave him an accusing glare. "So you took the coward's way out and left when she wasn't home to stop you."

Clay's head snapped up and he started to make a smart remark. Instead, he sighed dejectedly. "Mom, I just can't talk about it right now. Can I stay or not?"

Bobbi walked around the counter and put her arms around her son. "You don't need to ask, honey. Is Callan okay?"

"No. Julie is going to spend the day with her."

In an effort to lighten the mood, Bobbi gave him a teasing smile. "You do know I told Callan a long time ago that if you two ever split up, we were keeping her and you were the one hitting the road."

Clay couldn't help but offer a grin in return. "Thanks, Mom. That really makes me feel better."

After tossing his bag into his old bedroom, Clay caught his favorite horse, saddled Doc, and decided a long ride would give him plenty of time to think. He rode off in the direction of the old homestead cabin. It looked lonely and forsaken against the winter snow.

He tied Doc to a hitching rail that had held the reins of countless horses over the years then opened the door and walked inside. He used to like to play "pioneers" in the cabin when his friends came to spend the night. It was a great place for boys to roughhouse and wrestle.

Made out of huge logs, the cabin was weathered but solid. There were two original rooms: the great room that housed the kitchen, dining and living area, as well as one bedroom. In the 1920s, another bedroom and a bathroom were added, making the cabin much more modern. He knew before his parents moved in as newlyweds, much of the cabin had been updated and renovated. A massive rock fireplace kept the cabin toasty on cold nights.

As Clay wandered around, looking at old family heirlooms, he wondered how much love and how many heartaches the old cabin had seen. If it could talk, he was sure it would have plenty of stories to tell.

He remembered bringing Callan to the cabin for the first time. She thought it was wonderful, full of the history of his family. "It's a wonderful thing to be able to pass on to future generations, Clay," she'd said. Yet, she'd known then there wouldn't ever be a future generation.

Clay sank down on a sheet-covered chair with the weight of the world resting across his broad shoulders.

Up until yesterday, he hadn't given much thought to fatherhood. It was something he hadn't gotten around to yet. Now that he knew there would never be a child of his own flesh and blood, he suddenly felt cheated. He had no idea how he could mourn something he never had, never even knew he wanted, but grief clutched relentlessly at his chest.

He wondered if Callan had been about to tell him the truth the night she had an asthma attack. She started to say what was bothering her and blurted out the word "killing." Would she have told him then if she could? Not that it mattered now.

Clay let his thoughts wander back three years. When he'd returned home from the training trip, Callan told him she had an emergency appendectomy and didn't want to worry him. He didn't question it, accepting her explanation for her pale cheeks, fresh scar, and weakened state.

How could she keep a secret like that to herself? Why hadn't he noticed? How could he have missed it? How had he overlooked the fact that she had been four months pregnant? Wouldn't she have been showing by then?

Admittedly, he'd been wrapped up in his job at that point in their marriage. He taught extra classes, worked with the competitive teams as an assistant, and did whatever he could to further his career. Evidently, he'd managed to stay so involved in his work he missed the signs from Callan that something was terribly wrong.

When she needed him most, he'd let her down.

Clay could see that Callan had spent the last three years sinking down to the point where she could no longer bear the burden of her secret. A secret she wouldn't have felt necessary to keep if he had been supportive of her or paid the least bit of attention to what happened in her life and heart.

Julie said Callan nearly bled to death when she miscarried. What if he'd lost her then? Clay's throat clogged on the emotion and fear generated by that thought. Shaken, he took off his hat and raked his hands through his hair. Finally, he leaned back and let out a shaky breath.

"Lord, I'm going to need your help to get through this," Clay prayed, his heart filled with pain. "Help me to forgive Callan. Help me to help her. Help me to be the husband she needs me to be."

Clay didn't know how long he sat in the stillness of the cabin, letting his thoughts and emotions tumble. The sound of Doc whickering and another horse answering drew him off the chair and to the door. He watched his dad dismount and walk toward him.

Steve gave him a hearty handshake and pat on the back. "Your mom was worried about you," he said, walking inside and closing the door. "It isn't much warmer in here than outside. Why didn't you build a fire or turn up the heat?"

"I didn't think the chimney had been cleaned for a while and didn't want to burn the place down. I completely forgot about the electric furnace," Clay said absently. "It would have been a waste to heat it up for a few minutes anyway."

"You've been out here for hours. No sense in freezing. Besides, I have the chimney cleaned every fall when we do the one at the house, just in case someone wants to use the cabin." Steve looked around before taking a seat on the chair Clay vacated. He removed his cowboy hat and hung it from his knee. "I figured I'd find you hiding out here. You sure did that a lot as a young buck."

Clay leaned against the fireplace mantle and glanced at his dad. "I did? I guess I don't remember."

Steve smiled and nodded his head. "Anytime you had some problem to think through or wanted to hide, you'd come to the cabin. It always seemed to be a good thinking spot for you. Is it helping today?"

Clay rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't think so. I can't get my thoughts into any kind of order let alone make sense."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"I don't know what happened between you and Callan, but I do know you two love each other way too much not to work at making things right. Sometimes marriage is fun and games but sometimes it is hard work. Really hard work. You know your mom and I are both ready to listen whenever you need us." Steve stood and settled his hat back on his head. Playfully throwing an arm around Clay's neck, he tugged him toward the door. "Let's get home and enjoy the dinner your mother made. I'm too old to sit out in the cold like this."

Callan awoke still curled into a ball on the bed. The quilt under her cheek was soaked from her tears and she clutched Clay's pillow tightly in her hands. She realized he must have come home last night at some point. Her suitcase was no longer on the bed, she was covered, and he'd removed her shoes.

Unhurriedly rolling onto her back, she sighed.

Heartsick.

That's what was wrong with her. She was heartsick — over the losses from the past, the loss sure to come when Clay left her. As sure as she regretted the last three years, he would never forgive her.

Callan got up, took a shower, and pulled on a sweater and jeans — something she rarely allowed herself to wear, always in business mode. She brushed her hair back into a ponytail, put on waterproof mascara, and opened the bedroom door.

All was quiet.

Silently walking into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator only to find it nearly empty. Dill pickles, flour tortillas, and cottage cheese were not her ideal breakfast. After making a shopping list, she tugged on her snow boots and coat.

As she opened the door to leave, she noticed her crystal heart vase lying in pieces on the floor. She couldn't deal with it at that moment and would clean it up later. Maybe she'd have some idea what to say to Clay by the time she got back.

When she returned home, Clay's truck was gone. The note on the counter caught her eye as she carried in groceries and set the bags down.

Callan,

I've got to have some time to think.

We both could use some space.

I'm staying tonight at the ranch and will be home tomorrow night.

I love you,

Clay

Well, at least he hadn't left her entirely. He was probably holed up in the cabin, wondering why he ever got mixed up with her.

The sound of a car door closing made Callan tense as she finished putting away the last of the groceries. Resolved to facing Clay, she waited in the kitchen for him to appear.

"Halloo," Aunt Julie called, walking inside and stomping snow from her boots. "Anybody home?"

"Aunt Julie!" Callan hurried into the living room and embraced her beloved aunt in a hug. "What are you doing out today?"

"I decided to spend the day with you, unless you have other plans." Julie shrugged out of her coat and boots.

"No, I don't have any plans." Callan stared intently at a speck of lint on the carpet, not looking her aunt in the eye.

Julie hooked her arm through Callan's and headed into the kitchen. "Wonderful. We'll have all day to talk and get caught up."

Callan made cups of tea and managed to find a few cookies in the freezer left over from the holidays. After putting everything on a tray, she took it into the living room and flipped on the gas fireplace. The two women sat in facing chairs, sipping their tea, neither one talking.

Finally, Julie broke the silence. "Clay came to see me last night."

"Oh. What did he say?" Callan fidgeted with her cup.

"Generally, he's a man of few words, but he seemed in the mood to talk last night. You two may have said some things you both wish you hadn't. Is that right?"

"Maybe."

Callan tried to pull the lid down on her emotions but Julie wasn't about to let it happen.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened and why you never told Clay about the baby. I kept your secret only because I thought you would tell him when he got home. I never dreamed you'd never tell him. That was so wrong, honey, and so hurtful. You also should have told him about your surgery when you were younger. It was unfair not to tell him you might never be able to have children, Callan. He feels completely shut out of your life."

Uncertain where to begin, Callan fidgeted in her chair. "I was afraid of him leaving me, Aunt Julie. I meant to tell him before we got married that it could be a challenge to have kids. Then I got scared he'd leave me. After the miscarriage, he wouldn't have forgiven me for losing the baby and destroying the opportunity to have another. I always knew he'd leave me someday, I just kept hoping to postpone the inevitable."

Julie set her tea down on the table with a clank. "Leave you, Callan? Why in the world would Clay leave you? He loves you, honey. Loves you more than I think I've ever seen a man love a woman."

Callan shook her head. "It can't be true."

Julie got out of her chair and knelt in front of Callan, pulling her niece's cold, trembling hands into her own. "Why can't it be true? Why can't Clay love you that much? Why, Callan? There has to be a reason."

"Because I'm me," Callan whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. "I'm not good enough."

"Good enough? For what? For who? Callan, you're not making any sense," Julie said, trying to understand what Callan still held back.

"For Clay. I'm not good enough for Clay. I never could understand what he saw in me and knew it was a matter of time until he figured it out."

"Figured what out, Callan?" Julie knew she was pushing, but needed to know what Callan wasn't saying.

"That he could do so much better without me. That he could have a better life with someone who isn't too emotional, with someone pretty, someone smart, someone who isn't selfish and pathetic, someone who can keep their thoughts and feelings under control, someone who could give him a baby, someone..."

Julie grabbed Callan's arms and gave her a shake. "Stop it, Callan! Stop it right, now. Your mother was a sick, vindictive woman. All those things she said to you over and over again are not true. Not one bit. You have to let it go, Callan. You've got to let go of the past if you want any chance at having a happy future."

"But, Aunt Julie..."

"No. I mean it Callan. You can't let what your mother said ruin your happiness. What she did was wrong and cruel, but you have to take responsibility for yourself. That means you are one hundred percent responsible for your own happiness, for your choices, for everything that happens from here on out. You are also responsible to allow yourself to feel your emotions, Callan. To approve of yourself. To love yourself. To let your adoring husband love you. Don't push people away, honey. Let them in."

Callan took a shuddering breath and wiped her tears. "I don't know how or where to start."

"Let's start with this... Callan is smart, funny and beautiful," Julie said with a big smile. "Now repeat it with me."

Callan glared at her aunt as if she'd lost her mind.

Julie laughed and patted her leg. "Come on, let's hear you say it. Callan is..."

"Going to die of embarrassment. Really, Aunt Julie, I can't." Callan looked as if she might crawl under the chair and hide.

"It's just the two of us and yes you can. So here we go..."

They spent the rest of the day together. There were many more rounds of tears, but also some laughter. Julie helped Callan straighten every drawer in her dresser before she went home.

On the way there, she called Josh and Jenna and asked them if they would pop in to visit Callan. She didn't give them any details, just said that Callan could use their company. They offered to take over some dinner and spend the evening with her.

The next morning, Julie called Clay and let him know what Callan shared with her. He was even more shocked than Julie had been to hear what Callan thought.

"But Julie, how could she think I'd ever leave her? I'd never do that, ever. She's everything to me," Clay said as his parents sat at the table, listening to the conversation.

"I know, Clay. It's going to take some time, but our girl is going to come around. Just be patient with her, love her, and forgive her," Julie said.

"Thanks for staying with her yesterday. I felt better knowing you were there."

"No problem, Clay. Bye."

Clay hung up the phone and turned to see his mom and dad looking at him expectantly. Resigned to telling them the whole story, he sat down with a heavy heart.

He explained about Callan's surgery, the pregnancy and miscarriage. He described her lack of emotions and the tailspin that resulted in their fight. He told them about going to see Julie, and the surprising revelation Callan shared with her yesterday.

When he finished, Bobbi mopped at tears and Steve cleared his throat several times.

"What can we do to help, Clay?" Steve finally asked.

"I don't know right now, other than to keep praying for us both," Clay said as he gathered his things and put on his coat.

"That we can do," Steve promised.

#  Chapter Nine

Callan could hardly bear the quiet of the empty house. Being alone with herself and her thoughts was a form of miserable torture she felt ill prepared to face.

After doing laundry, cleaning the house, putting a pork roast in the slow cooker, and making cookies, she didn't know what else to do. In her office, she glanced through her day planner, relieved she didn't have any events for the next two weeks. She needed time with Clay to try to work through their problems.

She felt very thankful to Aunt Julie for coming yesterday and saying the things she said. Callan finally realized she had to move past the horrible things her mother had conditioned her to believe and work on living what was true.

Aunt Julie had promised to bring her some books to read that would help her get started down the road to self-improvement and had brought them by that morning. She stayed around for a while to talk, but Callan needed time to think.

It would be hard to silence the negative commentary that ran non-stop in her head, but she knew she had to try. For her sake and for Clay's.

Tears came afresh as she thought about Clay and the look on his face when she finally told him about losing the baby. She should never have kept it from him.

Clay deserved to know. He had a right to know. He had a right to grieve every bit as much as she had. Yet, she let her fear overwhelm the truth of the matter. Now she wondered if he would ever forgive her or trust her again.

Uncertain as to what she should do, Callan went into their bedroom, slid a box from the back of the top closet shelf, and sat on the bed. As she opened the lid, the smell of old papers and dried flowers rose from it, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

Digging into the box, Callan found the first card Clay had ever given her. It was a birthday card and had a funny line about eating too much chocolate. She placed it on the bed, pulling out a stack of notes tied with a ribbon. For a long time, anytime Clay wrote her a note or scribbled anything to her, she saved it. She didn't think she was ready to read those yet and set them aside.

Callan stuck her hand back into the box and connected with a bunch of dried flowers tied with a pink ribbon. It was the first bouquet Clay had given her — pink roses floating in a sea of baby's breath. They had been so beautiful. Callan remembered she had pulled out the baby's breath and carefully dried the roses. More than thirteen years later, they still looked lovely.

Clay had always been good to send her flowers for every anniversary, Valentine's Day, and her birthday. He used to pick out different shades of pink roses, select a special vase, and personally write the card for the florist to deliver.

The past few years, he still made sure the flowers were delivered, but they were always red, in a standard glass vase with a note that simply said, "Clay," written by the florist. Callan wondered why he even bothered.

Instead of bringing her joy, those flowers had become a mocking symbol of all that was wrong in their relationship. A reminder of all that Callan had done to destroy Clay's love, whether intentionally or subconsciously, and drive him away.

Reflective, Callan realized she had been overwhelmed with grief, guilt, and pain the last few years. Instead of sharing it with Clay and moving forward, she'd pulled it around herself like a shield and drug it with her every day until the weight was too much to bear. All the horrible things her mother had led her to believe were true only added to the burden.

When she'd first fallen in love with Clay, she pushed the negative thoughts aside because she was so filled with the wonder and joy of his love. For the first few years, they were blissfully happy. Then her mother's words started trickling back into her thoughts. With the losses coming all at once as they had three years ago, they bore down on her with full force. She knew if she and Clay were going to have a chance for a future, she had to bury the past.

As painful as it was, as hard as it was going to be, she was glad Clay finally knew the truth. She was also grateful beyond words to think that he might still love her enough to stay. Callan knew she'd spent a long time angry at God, but it seemed right today to pray for forgiveness, healing for her heart and Clay's, and for God's keeping of their lost baby.

When she stuck her hand back into the box, Callan pulled out ticket stubs from movies and concerts they'd seen, programs from plays they'd attended, and silly pictures they'd taken in a photo booth one day at the mall. Her hand connected with a lumpy piece of tissue paper. Carefully unwrapping it, she rubbed the little dog statue Clay had bought her the day she'd fallen in love with him.

"Oh, Clay," she cried, curling up on the bed, the little dog clutched in her hand. "How are we ever going to make this right?"

After parking next to Callan's car, Clay took a cleansing breath and walked to the front door. Hesitantly stepping inside, the house seemed quiet. He hung up his coat, took off his boots, and wandered into the kitchen.

Snickerdoodles, his favorite cookie, sat on a plate. He bit into one, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the rich cinnamon flavor. They were so much better than the cookies his mom made. He lifted the lid on the slow cooker and saw a pork roast, surrounded by potatoes and carrots. His wife was an amazing cook when she had time to do more than slap together something fast to eat.

Callan wasn't in the family room so he checked their bedroom where he found her sleeping. Tears clung to her eyelashes and dried on her cheeks. He was beginning to wonder if she wouldn't suffer from dehydration if she didn't stop crying.

A box sat on the floor and all sorts of papers and things were scattered around her on the bed. He noticed she held something in her hand. Bending closer, he saw it was the little dog trinket he'd bought her at the fair that long-ago day when he fell completely head over heels in love with her. He had no idea she'd kept it or that it meant so much to her.

Gently taking it out of her hand, he set it on the nightstand, picked up all the other remnants of her memories and tugged a quilt over her.

Clay realized there was a lot he had to learn about his wife. He placed everything back in the box and took it with him into the family room. He settled into his recliner and gave thoughtful attention to each item. Some he remembered, some he didn't recognize.

When he pulled out the dried bouquet, fresh pain constricted within his chest. Callan loved pink roses. She'd treasured the special vases and loving notes he sent her to mark special days. He started sending her the red ones out of spite when things between them went south. How those flowers must have irritated and wounded her.

As he rubbed his hand across his eyes, Clay began to think there would be no end to the things he would regret doing in the past few years. It had all started when Callan began her event planning business.

Maybe if he'd been supportive when she'd wanted to start the business instead of fighting her every step of the way, she would have felt like she could trust him enough to tell him she was pregnant, to share her grief and her loss.

It was easy to blame Callan for the mess their lives had become. In effect, she'd lied to him by not telling him she may never be able to have children from the beginning. However, Clay knew he had a hand in creating many of their problems.

There was no good reason why he'd so completely rejected her business. He knew she would excel at it, knew she loved it. It could have been jealousy that Callan would have less time for him. The way he behaved, it was no wonder Callan had shut herself off and pushed him away.

If he'd known how she really felt about herself and how afraid she was of losing him, he would have handling things so differently, would have treated her so differently. He would have made it clear he meant forever when he made that commitment to her.

Clay made a vow to himself at that moment to make sure Callan knew every day going forward just how precious she was to him.

Riffling through the box, he discovered a plain envelope in the bottom and opened the flap. The grainy black and white image made no sense to him at all. He turned it this way and that then finally flipped it over. On the back, someone had written, "Baby Matthews, 14 weeks."

He turned it over again and studied the ultrasound photo of a baby. His baby. Fresh pain tore through his heart. Not just for the baby he never had the opportunity to know, but also for the pain Callan forced herself to bear alone.

Clay stared at the photo and finally distinguished the outline of a head, arms, and legs. The loss of the baby suddenly seemed a hundred times more real, more devastating. A tear rolled down his cheek as he prayed for help to get through this heartache.

Leisurely stretching as she came awake, Callan felt better than she had for a while. Her spirit, while tender and hurt, didn't feel beaten and abused as it had for so long.

With her thoughts centered on Clay, she rolled onto her side. She was ready to talk to him, to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze connected with a pair of deep blue eyes, studying her intently. Startled, she gasped and slid back. Before she leaped off the bed, she realized Clay had stretched out beside her, watching her sleep.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi."

"I came home early." Clay scooted closer to Callan.

"I'm glad." She reached out a hand and touched his.

"I'm sorry," they said in unison. Clay wiped her damp cheeks while she clung to his other hand as if it was a lifeline.

"I think we've got some things to talk about." Clay was afraid to move, hoping Callan would keep her defenses down. He decided to jump in and ask the tough questions first. Slowly sliding the ultrasound photo across the bed, he tapped it with his finger. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? Why didn't you show me this?"

Callan studied the grainy photo. Another wave of pain ripped through her chest. Every time she looked at it, she relived the awful experience of the miscarriage.

Despite that, she couldn't make herself throw it away. It was the only link she had to their lost baby. Gently brushing her fingers across the image, she took a deep breath.

"I didn't know how to tell you, Clay. It took me a while to figure out I was pregnant and then there were so many complications. We'd never talked about being ready to have kids, and I never shared with you that I probably couldn't have any. I wasn't sure how you would feel about it. How you'd react. I kept putting off telling you. When I found out I was expecting, I desperately wanted to have our baby. I wanted our son."

"Our son?" Clay choked on the words.

Callan nodded her head, finding it extremely difficult to speak. "A nurse let me hold him for a while. I named him Zach Clayton. He had all his fingers and toes. He was so tiny and perfect. It hurt so badly to lose him, especially without you there. I wanted you to notice I was pregnant and say something, but you didn't. I wanted to tell you so many times, Clay. I thought you'd notice something was wrong. I just... I..."

"Callan," Clay whispered, his voice filled with pain and regret as he clasped her hand tightly in his own.

Callan looked into his eyes, willing the love she'd seen there so many times to still be strong. Relief washed over her when she realized it was. "I never meant to shut you out. The day I found out I was expecting was the day we had to put Sassy down. The timing didn't seem right. I thought I'd tell you at Christmas, but mother was sick and went so fast. Then you had the trip planned and I didn't want you to be distracted, so I decided to tell you when you got home. By the time you came back, I wanted to forget it had ever happened. I was so afraid of telling you I'd not only lost the baby, but I couldn't ever give you another."

"Why, Callan? What were you afraid I would do?" Clay rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, trying to keep them both calm.

"Deep down, I was always afraid you would leave me someday and I thought the baby would be the thing that pushed you out the door." Callan stared at their joined hands, wishing they'd never gotten to the point where they'd let go of each other and gone their own way.

As deeply and as completely as he loved Callan, Clay couldn't believe she'd think, even for a minute, that he would ever leave her. He sat up, placed the ultrasound photo on the nightstand then pushed some pillows against the headboard. Leaning against them, he bracketed Callan with his legs and gently pulled her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, resting his cheek against her temple.

"We've spent a large part of the past few years not being very good to each other. Part of it is my fault, part of it's yours, but no matter what, I never once thought about leaving you. I love you, with all my heart. I always have and I always will. Until I draw my last breath, you are stuck with me."

"I'm so glad, Clay," Callan whispered. "I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I never told you. You had a right to know I might never be able to have a baby. You had a right to know I was pregnant. You also had a right to know about the miscarriage. Since you didn't know I was expecting, I thought it wouldn't matter if you knew that I lost Zach. If I'd only taken better care of myself, if I'd not gotten so stressed, if I'd only..."

Clay interrupted her. "It wasn't your fault. It just happened. You didn't kill our baby. God had other plans. You have to believe that. If we never have a baby of our own, then so be it. None of that changes my feelings for you."

"I still should have told you," Callan said. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong and even though I can't change what happened, I would do it all so differently if I could. Someday, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Clay kissed her temple. "Callan, girl, I forgive you. I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt or that I'm not still angry, because I am. What you need to understand is that I'm sorry as well."

"For what?" Callan swiped at the tears that once again trailed down her cheeks. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"For not seeing your pain. For not supporting you. For not letting you know how amazing I think you are. For not protecting you. For not making you feel secure enough to be yourself. For not telling you every day how much I admire you and love you."

"Oh, Clay." Callan turned, burying her face into his shoulder while he held her close. "I wish I could take it all back. I wish we could start over."

"Who says we can't?" Clay pushed her back enough he could look into her face. "How about a clean slate going forward? Do you think you could work with that?"

"Yes." Callan let out the breath she held. Maybe they had a second chance after all.

#  Chapter Ten

Callan slid a chicken and rice casserole she prepared for dinner into the oven as the doorbell rang.

Too emotionally drained and exhausted to think about entertaining unexpected company, she wondered who in the world it could be. Anyone close to them knew it wasn't a good time to visit.

Hastily plastering on one of her fake smiles, she opened the door. Suddenly, the smile became genuine.

Clay held a beautiful bouquet of baby pink roses in a heart-shaped crystal vase, looking eager to please.

He stuck out his hand and gave her a dimpled smile. "Hi. I'm Clay. Clay Matthews. You must be Callan. Sorry I'm late for our date. May I come in?"

Grateful to him for being playful and keeping the mood light, Callan went along with the pretense. She grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. "I'm Callan. It's very nice to meet you. I just put dinner in the oven, so you aren't late. Please come in."

Clay handed her the flowers and took off his coat, hanging it in the closet. After removing his boots, he set them inside the closet along with his hat then shut the door.

"Nice place you have here," he said, looking around the living room. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Kind of girly, but nice."

"Why don't you go sit in the family room while I finish preparing dinner? You'd probably be more comfortable in there." As they walked into the kitchen, Callan placed the bouquet on the dining table. "The flowers are beautiful. Pink roses are my favorite and I love the vase. Thank you."

"I'd like to hang out in here with you, if that is okay." Clay washed his hands at the sink and glanced around. "What can I do to help?"

They worked together to get dinner ready and on the table then sat down to enjoy it. It was hard to carry on a normal conversation. When they'd wounded each other so deeply, it was a struggle to find something to say.

Callan was very thankful to Clay for trying to make the situation less stressful by pretending they were on a first date.

"So what are some of your favorite things to eat," she asked Clay, passing him a plate of warm biscuits.

"Meat and potatoes, meat and rice, meat in general." Relieved that Callan was willing to play along, he knew they had to do something to get into the habit of talking again. This seemed like an easy place to start. "What are a few of your favorites?"

"Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate." Callan shot him a saucy smile.

"So are we having chocolate for dessert?"

"No, carrot cake. I hope you like it." Carrot cake was Clay's all-time favorite dessert.

"That sounds great. I'll make sure I save room." Clay helped himself to another serving of chicken casserole. It had been weeks since Callan had cooked a real meal, other than last night's pork roast, and it all tasted so good.

She stayed home from work that day. However brief, he was glad she was taking some time for herself. Although he hadn't expected her to slave away in the kitchen, his stomach was very happy she'd made an effort. Cooking was one way she showed her remorse and let him know she cared.

While they ate, they continued asking silly questions, like favorite colors, favorite movies, favorite football teams, and what they wanted to be when they grew up.

It was Clay's turn to ask a question. "Tell me something about you that no one else knows. Something you've never told anyone."

Callan put down her fork and looked thoughtful before she answered. "Well, I don't think anyone knows this, but when I was growing up, I wanted to have a horse more than just about anything. I cut pictures of them out of magazines and I watched them anytime there was an opportunity. My favorite movie was The Man from Snowy River. I was giddy when one of our neighbors bought a horse. They let me ride it once in a while. When I was twelve, I wanted a pair of cowboy boots so bad, I spent the whole summer doing odd jobs to make enough money to buy a pair. I never did get the boots or a horse. I finally realized I wasn't in a position or a place to have my own horse and let that dream go. It was an unexpected bonus when I fell in love with a cowboy. Occasionally, he lets me pretend I'm a cowgirl with my pick of horses to fawn over out at the family ranch." The warmth of her smile melted Clay's heart.

"Your cowboy is plenty glad you fell in love with him. You can be a cowgirl anytime you want." Clay squeezed her hand and gave her a teasing wink.

"What about you?" Callan asked. "Do you have something you've never shared?"

"The day I put in my job application at the college, I was walking across the campus and fell in love with the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I remember watching her stroll down the sidewalk and thinking that she walked right out of my dreams. Her hair bounced in curls down her back and the breeze blew her skirt around her legs. If I hadn't been rooted to the spot and terrified to speak to her, I might have thrown myself at her feet and begged her to be mine right then and there." Clay smiled at Callan.

"She stopped to talk to a girl named Laken and the two of them left in her little red car. When I took my sorry self home, her dad just happened to be there working on my dad's tractor. He wanted me to meet her. I was still so awestruck by the girl I'd seen that afternoon on campus, I couldn't think about meeting anyone else, so I hid in the shop until she left. She was just backing around in the driveway when I stuck my head out the door and realized his daughter was the girl I'd seen that day. I ran out of the shop so fast, I think two of the dogs got whiplash, but not fast enough to catch her before she left. I spent the next month trying to work up my courage to ask her out. Then the opportunity presented itself to see her at the county fair. I stood and watched her dishing up ice cream for half a day before I talked myself into going to meet her. The first time she said hello, this ol' heart of Clay flew right out of my chest and into her hands."

He patted his chest and offered Callan one of his trademark grins. "Of course, she couldn't resist my good looks or charm."

Callan abandoned all effort at eating, staring intently at Clay. She had a hard time digesting what he shared. All this time, she thought Clay had wandered up to the booth at the fair and they just happened to meet. She had no idea he had wanted to meet her, that he knew her name, that he thought she was the girl of his dreams.

Tears tightened her throat and blurred her vision. "Oh, Clay." After placing one hand on top of his, she let out a shaky breath. "Truly?"

"Honest and true." He pressed a warm kiss to the palm of her hand and gazed into her green eyes. "I knew the first time I saw you I wanted you to be mine forever. It just took me a while to work up to asking you out."

"I'm so glad you did. I can't believe you never told me that before. It is a beautiful, wonderful story. I had no idea."

"I know. But every word of it is true. You've had me wrapped around this lovely little finger," he kissed her pinky, "since the very first time I saw you."

Callan couldn't stop the tears as big, fat drops rolled down her cheeks. She raised her hand to Clay's cheek and held it there a moment before leaning over and giving him a soft, tender kiss. "I love you, Clay Matthews, so very much."

"Thank you for making time to meet with us today," Callan said to the convention center board a few days later. "Jill and I feel it is imperative we share this information with you."

"Please, Ms. Matthews, proceed with your report. We would very much like to hear what you have to share," said the board president. The woman also happened to be a personal client of Callan's.

Callan and Jill spent the next forty-five minutes providing copies of memos, emails, and written communications from both staff and clients detailing the wake of destruction Arty had caused. It was clear the board had no idea what was happening right under their noses.

Jill spoke up and mentioned the incident in Arty's office the day they returned from the trade show and how Arty had threatened to fire Callan.

"What you choose to do with the information we provided is entirely up to you and we will respect your decision," Jill said, looking at each member of the board. "However, should you decide to act on this information, the staff is in agreement that we are sufficiently capable of managing while time is spent finding a replacement that is better suited to our facility."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Matthews, and Ms. Taylor, for bringing this to our attention. We will let you know when we make a decision."

Jill and Callan gave each other a quick hug on the way back to their offices. Callan decided if she wanted to make major changes in her life, she would start with trying to make some positive changes at work.

The most positive change she could imagine was not having to deal with Arty Bierwagen and cleaning up the messes he made. That afternoon, the board fired Arty and gave him an hour to clear out his personal belongings. They also asked Jill and Callan to serve together as interim general managers, much to their delight.

Callan was ecstatic when she arrived home. Running inside the house, she didn't even stop to take off her coat. She charged into the family room where Clay kicked back in his recliner, watching a hunting show.

"You'll never guess what happened today," she said, trying her best to stand still and not dance with joy.

Clay rose from his chair and stood in front of Callan, pleased by the look of excitement on his wife's face. "You're right. I won't be able to guess so you better tell me what happened before you burst."

"They fired Arty!" She grabbed Clay's hands and did a little jig around the room. "They asked Jill and me to serve together as interim general managers until they find someone suitable for the position. Isn't that great?"

"That is fantastic, girl. I'm so proud of you!" Clay swept her into a huge hug and swung her around. "I think this is reason to celebrate. Where would you like to go for dinner?"

"Can we get takeout and go to Aunt Julie's? I'd love to tell her in person."

"You bet!" Clay said. He hurried to turn off the television and tug on his boots, then grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

In the following days, Callan worked hard at making changes in her life. Aunt Julie checked in with her constantly to remind her to shut out the negative thoughts and focus on the positive. She even bought Callan a plaque for her office that said, "Friends — so much cheaper than a shrink!" to remind her to call on her friends to help her through her challenges and celebrate her successes.

As a result, she'd been getting closer to both Laken and Jenna, and was learning to be more open with friends at work like Jill and Rachel.

Some days were easier than others, but Callan was determined to change. Clay's words, "What have you got to be so miserable about?" frequently echoed in her head.

Those words reminded her to focus on the good things in her life. She truly was blessed.

Clay had been trying hard as well. Sometimes she still sensed his hurt, but he'd been making an effort for them to start over without dragging along the past.

Clay sat at his desk in his classroom, preparing for the first class of the day when Jake sauntered in. His cousin was no longer the little shadow that followed his every footstep. He'd grown into an admirable young man — intelligent, fun, and outgoing.

Despite the fact he tried to keep Clay on his toes during class, he really was a good kid.

"Hey, Clay. I haven't seen Callan in what seems like forever. When's she going to stop by for a visit?" Jake plopped down on the edge of Clay's desk.

"I don't know. She probably stays away due to the fact that there are so many characters of questionable reputation in my classes."

"Right. It isn't because she's so glad to get rid of you for the day she wouldn't want to extend her suffering by showing up here. One of these days, she's going to realize she should have waited and married me after all," Jake said with a teasing grin.

Clay chuckled. Jake had been the recipient of all the ice cream cones it took Clay buying at the fair to work up the courage to ask Callan out on a date. He'd taken to her immediately. He even served as the ring bearer at their wedding. During the rehearsal, Jake had broken into uncontrollable sobs when he realized Callan was going to marry Clay, not him. Callan stopped the rehearsal, held him on her lap, kissed his cheek, and told him he was going to find just the right girl to marry when he was a big boy like Clay. Then she gave him a piece of candy and they went on with rehearsal.

Callan would have made a great mother.

As he looked at the tall young man perched on his desk, Clay wondered if their son would have grown up to be like Jake.

That line of thinking caused a brutal ache in his chest. For someone who hadn't been particularly interested in raising a child, Clay found himself consumed with thoughts of never having the opportunity.

Although he was no longer mad at Callan, Clay battled regret and an overwhelming sadness from time to time. Mindful of thoughts better left alone, he looked back at Jake and sighed.

#  Chapter Eleven

Callan felt her spirits rising as the calendar rolled closer to spring and the winter snows began to melt. She no longer spent an excessive number of hours at the convention center. Without Arty there causing problems, things ran smoothly and efficiently.

Her event planning business picked up again and she worked hard to schedule her appointments so she was only gone a few evenings a week. She tried to coordinate her evening meetings on the days Clay taught a night class, so they could spend their free evenings together.

On a sunny day in late February, Callan felt so restless, she wasn't sure she could stand it. Leaning back in her office chair, she looked outside at the lawn, now bare of snow, and saw her reflection in the window.

Dressed in black, with her hair pulled into a twist at the back of her head, she decided it was time for a complete change.

As an idea took root, she picked up the phone and dialed Laken before she could change her mind.

"On a Lark, Laken speaking. May I help you?"

"You bet you can!"

"Callan, what are you up to?" Laken detected something in Callan's voice that meant either trouble or fun — or maybe both.

"I've had a most wickedly wonderful idea and I wanted to know if I could count you in?"

"Yes! Whatever it is, yes!" Laken laughed. This sounded more like the Callan she used to know.

"I know this is short notice, but can you find someone to cover for you Friday and part of Saturday?"

"Absolutely. I was planning to take Friday off anyway. I'll trade shifts with my assistant manager. I'm sure she would be happy to have Saturday afternoon free. Tyler can pick up the kids from the sitter Friday and he'll be home Saturday, so the timing is perfect. What are you planning?"

"It's time for a makeover. I want you and Jenna to help me. Bobbi and Steve gave me that wonderful gift card for Christmas and it is positively burning a hole in my pocket. I thought the three of us could check into one of the new boutique hotels in Portland on Friday and shop, enjoy dinner, then head home Saturday afternoon. What do you think?"

Laken squealed. "I think that is the best idea you've had in a long time. This will be fantastic!"

"Great! I'll pick you up Friday morning. Around ten?"

"I'll see you then."

Jenna was Callan's next call. They agreed to meet for lunch Friday then get started on the makeover.

The timing couldn't have worked out better. Clay planned to take a van load of his students to a competition Friday and they wouldn't return until late afternoon Saturday. Although it was hard to hide her excitement from him, Callan didn't tell him about the makeover because she wanted it to be a surprise.

After picking up Laken Friday morning, they drove toward the city, laughing and chatting about the latest styles in clothes and hair.

They met Jenna for lunch across the street from her office building. Josh drove her to work that morning so she could ride home with them Saturday.

The first stop was a well-known trendy hair salon where Jenna went to get her hair done. Callan closed her eyes and held onto both of their hands as the stylist chopped her nearly waist-length hair to just below her shoulders then cut it into fun, swingy layers. The natural curl in her hair sprang to life.

Although the first snip caused a moment of panic in Callan, she tossed her head and felt so much lighter, in both body and spirit, than she maybe ever had.

Next was a manicure and pedicure for each of them. Laken was the adventurous one emerging with flaming red fingers and toes while Jenna and Callan stuck with paler hues.

After that, they went to a recently opened boutique hotel and checked into a suite. It had an inviting sitting area and two bedrooms, one with a king bed and the other with two queen beds, perfect for the three of them. Laken and Callan decided to share a room and gave Jenna the king room. Hurriedly refreshing their makeup, they headed out to the mall.

The three friends tried on clothes, giggled, and joked until they could barely stand up. Anyone watching would have thought they were teens, instead of women in their thirties.

Although Jenna and Laken did purchase a few things, they were intent on making sure Callan went home properly outfitted. They refused to let her even look at anything black and kept bringing in piece after colorful piece for her to try on.

The girls chatted about their fun day as they lingered over a leisurely dinner at a popular restaurant. They'd barely stepped outside of the restaurant when a group of men in a passing car whistled loudly at them, making them laugh.

Not wanting the evening to end too soon, they returned to their suite and enjoyed sappy movies their husbands refused to watch with them. Callan decided they needed some refreshments and ordered three pieces of chocolate cake from room service.

As they sat enjoying their treat, Laken asked the question that she and Jenna had both been thinking. "What brought all this about?" She waved her fork around the suite for emphasis.

Callan hadn't shared the story of her miscarriage with her two very dear friends and decided it was only fair to let them know what had really been going on in her life. They had both stuck with her through it all and she was grateful for their unquestioning support and love.

"I was sitting in my office looking outside the other day and noticed my reflection in the window. I didn't like what I saw. It reminded me too much of where I've been the last few years and I don't want to go back there, ever. So it's time for some major changes in my life."

"I know you've been so busy, Callan, and had a lot of challenges at work, but is there something else?" Laken set down her cake and placed a hand on Callan's.

"Yes. I should have shared this with you both a long time ago. Goodness only knows you two would have probably saved me from myself." Callan took a deep breath and smiled at them. "Do you remember when Mother died and we had to put the dog down? There was something else. Something no one except Aunt Julie knew. I was pregnant. Clay was out of town for a great training opportunity. The day he left, I knew something was wrong, but I encouraged him to go anyway. He called Aunt Julie and asked her to check on me. By the time she got to my house, I was already losing the baby. I miscarried and ended up having a hysterectomy. I let the grief and the anger and the bitterness eat away at me. I kept it a secret from Clay because I was afraid he would leave me."

Callan held up her hand as Jenna started to say something.

"I know it was crazy and wrong and it hurt us both very deeply, but we're working on getting past it all. Aunt Julie helped me understand the things my mother led me to believe are completely untrue. I'm working very hard on changing everything: my thoughts, my actions, my words, and my appearance. Everything. Except, of course, my wonderful friends and fabulous husband."

By this time, all three girls were crying. "Callan, I can't believe you never told us. We would have helped you through it," Laken said, giving her a loving hug.

"You've got to promise that you won't shut people out like that again. We love you and we want to help you with your struggles as well as celebrate your achievements." Jenna wiped at her own tears. "You know, your brother also has some issues stemming from things your mother said and did, but we're learning to get through them."

"I know. That's what this weekend is all about. If I make this change, it will be a very constant reminder that I'm now a different, much improved person."

Jenna smiled and lifted up a glass. "I propose a toast. To a future of happiness, love, friendship, and blessings."

The next morning, they made one more pass through the mall to pick up a few more things before venturing home. A stop at a makeup counter resulted in Callan leaving the store looking like a model ready for the runway.

After dropping off Laken at her store in Tenacity, Callan drove Jenna home.

"You've got to come inside and show Josh," Jenna urged when they pulled up in front of her house.

"I don't know." Callan experienced a sudden uncertainty about her spontaneous makeover.

Encouragingly, Jenna tugged on Callan's hand. "Come on. Josh is going to be surprised."

Reluctantly, Callan got out of the car and walked to the door, helping carry Jenna's things.

Inside, Jenna set her purchases on a bench by the door. "Josh, are you home? I've got someone I'd like you to meet."

"Hey, Babe," Josh answered, sauntering out of the kitchen and down the hall. He gave Jenna a peck on the cheek and then stuck his hand out toward Callan. "Hi, I'm Josh."

Callan glared at her brother.

Josh cast an innocent look at his wife and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't pretend you can't recognize your own sister." Jenna shook her head at him.

Josh grinned, giving her a teasing wink before studying his sister. "Callan? Is that really you? You look so.... so...."

"Different? Weird? Scary?"

"No." Josh shook his head, still grinning. "I was going to say beautiful. Modern. Chic."

"Chic, indeed. Where did you learn that word, Josh Carver?" Callan couldn't hide her pleasure or her smile at his compliment. "Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely!" Josh hugged her then stepped back, laughing as something struck him as funny. "Has Clay seen you yet? What does he think?"

"Actually, I wanted to surprise him."

"Oh, boy! Wait until Clay gets a load of this. Is he home?" Josh asked. When he began rubbing his hands together, Callan knew trouble was brewing.

"No. He took the kids to a competition yesterday and they won't be back until late this afternoon," Callan explained, not at all pleased by the mischievous grin on her brother's face.

"Can we come over for dinner?" Josh pleaded, looking very much like a little boy begging for a cookie. "I want a front row seat to see his reaction."

"Josh Carver!" Jenna smacked his arm, glaring at her husband. "What has gotten into you?"

Blatantly ignoring Jenna, Josh grabbed Callan's hand, his gray eyes twinkling with humor. "Come on, Cal, you've got to let us come over. Please? You know Clay is always getting the best of me, and this time I've got the upper hand."

"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have some company in case he really hates it." The more Josh carried on, the more skeptical she became about her husband's reaction to her new look.

"Great! What time is he supposed to be back?" Josh continued to rub his hands together in anticipation.

"The kids are supposed to be back at five-thirty. It always takes a while to get everything unloaded and put away. He probably won't be home until six-thirty or so."

"We'll be there by six, won't we Jenna?" Josh looked at his wife and gave her a nudge.

"Since you don't seem to be taking no for an answer, we'll be there." Jenna turned to Callan. "What can we bring?"

"I've got plenty of groceries at home to whip together dinner. Why don't we make it a real dinner party? I'll invite Steve and Bobbi, too." Callan decided the more people at the house to deflect Clay's possible displeasure, the better. "Let's dress up. I'm dying to wear something new!"

Jenna grabbed Callan's hand and smiled. "Pink, Callan. Wear something pink."

Callan laughed as she pulled open the door. "See you both at six."

On her way home, she called Bobbi and invited them for dinner, and asked them to dress up. "Just for fun. Jenna and Josh are coming and we thought it would be nice to do something a little different," Callan explained.

"It sounds like a great evening, sweetie," Bobbi said. "We'll be there at six and I'll bring dessert."

"Perfect, I've got something I'm excited to show you when you get here," Callan said, then hung up.

Her last call was to Clay.

"Hi, handsome," she said when he answered the phone.

"Hi, yourself, beautiful." Clay muttered something she couldn't hear before he came back on the line. "Are you having a good day?"

"The best." Callan was excited about her new look and yet extremely nervous for Clay to see it. "I thought it would be nice to have a little company for dinner tonight. Your folks and Josh and Jenna are coming over."

"It sounds like fun."

Callan heard Clay tell someone to leave him alone, and assumed it was Jake. "Tell Jake I said hello."

"I will. That boy is nothing but trouble, I tell you."

Callan laughed, imagining Jake trying to pry the phone away from Clay. "I better run. What time will you be home?"

"We're just getting ready to leave, so I should be home a little after six." Clay's voice faded and she heard him grumble "knock it off". She pictured him giving Jake a warning glance. He made a growling noise then came back on the line. "I'm already looking forward to dinner, Laney. Love you."

"Love you, too, Brick. Bye."

Clay smiled as he disconnected the call with his wife. She sounded extremely happy and excited. He hoped part of it was because she missed him and was glad he would be home on time.

He hummed to himself, looking quite smug as the last student boarded the van. Callan called him Brick. That was always a good sign in his favor.

He couldn't wait to get home and see her. As soon as the company cleared out after dinner, he planned to spend the remainder of the evening running his hands through Callan's long hair and enjoying a little time alone.

#  Chapter Twelve

Callan couldn't stop laughing at her brother. He and Jenna arrived at half-past five and he continued to behave with all the grace of a five-year-old anxious to open his presents Christmas morning.

Clay had played plenty of jokes on them all over the years and it was extremely hard to get him back. Josh clearly anticipated watching Clay's reaction to Callan when he arrived home.

"Your brother is completely obnoxious." Jenna shook her head as she and Callan worked in the kitchen. "I don't know when I've seen him this excited to play a joke on someone. He barely gave me time to get dressed. I hope you don't mind we came early."

"No worries, Jenna. Besides, the joke isn't on just anyone. Clay deserves it after all the jokes he's played, so we'll let Josh have his fun." Callan sincerely hoped Clay would be a good sport about the whole thing.

When Bobbi and Steve arrived, Josh opened the door and ushered them inside.

"I'll just set down dessert before I take off my jacket," Bobbi said, walking toward the kitchen.

"Why don't I take that for you?" Josh offered, not wanting Bobbi to drop the plate and ruin a perfectly good pie when she saw Callan. Bobbi and Steve removed their coats then walked into the kitchen.

Jenna and Callan stood with their backs to the door. Jenna insisted Callan not look up until Bobbi got closer.

"Hello, Jenna. How are you?" Bobbi asked. "Who do we have here? Callan didn't mention any other guests."

Callan turned around, beaming. "Surprise!"

"Oh, sweetie!" Bobbi gasped, clasping her hands beneath her chin. "You look amazing! When did you do this?"

"Jenna, Laken, and I went into the city yesterday. They helped me pick out some new clothes and a hairstyle. We even got our nails done." Callan wiggled her fingers at her mother-in-law. Bobbi grabbed her hands and admired the manicure.

"Has Clay seen you yet?" Steve asked, hugging his beautiful daughter-in-law. It had been a while since he'd seen her eyes spark with such life and excitement.

"No. He took the kids to the district competition last night. He'll be home in about twenty minutes."

Steve started laughing and slapped Josh on the shoulder. "Oh, this is too good. I want to see his face when he comes through that door."

Josh shot Jenna and Callan a "see, I told you" look while he and Steve went into the family room to wait for Clay's arrival.

The hug Bobbi gave Callan was almost as big as her smile. "Callan, you just look radiant. I've never seen you look so beautiful!"

"I have you to thank, Mom. I put that gift card you gave me for Christmas to good use yesterday. It made it so easy to do this. I want you and Dad to know how much I appreciate it." Callan hugged her mother-in-law again, giving her an extra squeeze.

"Don't thank me," Bobbi said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I think Steve would pay money to be able to watch Clay tonight."

Jenna and Callan joined in her laughter.

Purposefully ignoring the comments from his students about hurrying them off the van, he encouraged them to get everything put away when they returned to the school. The sooner he got dinner over with, the sooner he could shoo the company out the door and enjoy an evening with his wife.

The students finally left and he locked up the building, then rushed home. Clay hummed a tune known only to him as he opened the front door and walked inside the house. Voices in the kitchen and family room trickled out to greet him.

"Hello, everyone," he called as he hung his coat in the closet. A rush of quick footsteps sounded from the kitchen, as if someone ran into the room.

"Hello, Clay. We're in the kitchen," Callan called to him. "How did it go today?"

"Fine." He tugged off his boots and chucked them in the closet. He might as well be comfortable. It was just family, after all. "The kids did a great job. They placed first in one competition and second in two others."

As he walked into the kitchen, Clay looked around at the occupants. Everyone was dressed up, but he didn't see Callan anywhere.

His dad and Josh leaned against the counter with big grins on their freshly shaved faces. In dress shirts and nice jeans with polished boots, they looked like they were ready for a night on the town. Jenna wore a pretty dress and heels while his mom had on dress pants and a sparkly blouse.

Clay tried to recall if Callan had mentioned inviting anyone else. An unfamiliar woman stood at the sink between his mom and Jenna with her back to him. Annoyed by the unexpected company, he didn't want to have to be on his best behavior.

"Is Callan in the bedroom?" he asked, starting that direction.

"No, I'm here."

Clay spun around. He heard her voice, but still didn't see her. Something was going on, of that he was certain, especially with his dad and Josh struggling to contain their laughter.

With all eyes on him, he grew uncomfortable. Something was definitely not right. The woman standing between Jenna and Bobbi slowly turned around. He absently stuck a hand out her direction in welcome while continuing to look around the kitchen, trying to locate Callan.

The woman grabbed his hand and started pulling him close, as if she planned to hug or kiss him. Irritated and appalled, he turned his attention to the woman while his eyes grew. Shocked, he jerked his hand away and stepped back.

"Whoa, there! I don't know what..." Clay finally let his gaze rest on the woman.

His woman.

Callan looked like she'd walked right out of a fashion magazine. For a moment, he felt sick, wondering what inspired her to cut off her gorgeous auburn hair.

He frowned as everyone laughed, unable to find any humor in the situation. However, his wife sported a huge smile while her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"Callan?" Clay asked in a sheepish tone. He felt out of sorts and confused, as though someone had yanked the rug right out from beneath him. He certainly hadn't seen her makeover coming.

"Yes." She nodded her head as her smile slowly melted and uncertainty crossed her features.

Clay forced himself to smile, although it fell short of reaching his eyes. "Well, I guess this joke's on me."

Josh slapped him on the back good-naturedly.

The fact Callan made Salisbury steak with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and homemade rolls for dinner almost helped alleviate the shock and embarrassment Clay endured. It was one of his favorite meals. After grabbing another roll and slathering it with butter, he bit into it savagely.

Although he shouldn't pout, he couldn't help himself. He'd played plenty of jokes on every person seated around the table, but this seemed unfair.

He hoped taking a shower and shaving would give him time to get into a better mood before dinner. Unfortunately, it hadn't helped at all. If anything, getting dressed up to eat dinner in his own home with family made him more annoyed.

As a final act of rebellion, he refused to tuck in his shirt or put on shoes, coming to the dinner table in his sock feet. Callan only raised one shapely brow in his direction before shaking her head at him.

Clay acknowledged it wasn't the joke they'd played that made him angry.

The unbelievable transformation in Callan and his inability to pinpoint exactly what was different caused his irritability. He got the feeling much more than Callan's outward appearance had changed. Something within her had shifted, altered, and he struggled to make sense of it all.

Discreetly, he studied her as she chatted with his mom and Jenna. She looked amazing. More beautiful than he could ever remember. Once he recovered from the shock of her hair being shorter, he could see how flattering the style was on her. She had on more makeup than her usual quick swipe of mascara, but it looked nice.

Clay worked to carry on a conversation with Josh and his dad, but his mind and eyes kept wandering to his wife.

His gaze lingered on the pink sweater Callan wore. Since it flawlessly glided over every curve, he assumed it was new. Otherwise, he would have remembered seeing her wear it.

Jenna said something to make her laugh and Callan leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other. Her slim gray skirt and strappy heels were about to drive him to distraction.

When she absently placed a manicured hand on his thigh and patted it gently, Clay stifled a groan. Convinced the dinner would drag on forever, he couldn't wait to get Callan alone.

While he ate a generous slice of the peach pie his mom made, he practically jiggled his foot in irritation. He felt more like a lusty teen spying on his current crush than a married man in his mid-thirties. At that very moment, he couldn't recall ever wanting his wife so much.

Clay needed everyone to leave.

Now.

The waiting was nearly unbearable.

Despite his turbulent longings, Callan appeared to have a wonderful time. She and Josh told a story about their dad that had everyone laughing. Clay wasn't sure he had ever seen her so open and relaxed around others. For her sake, he would tamp down his impatience and let her enjoy the evening. As he continued to watch her, he realized there were depths to his wife that he hadn't even begun to plumb, let alone understand.

Maybe that explained why he felt so odd. Unless he was getting sick or experiencing exhaustion from the long trip, nothing else could explain his growing sense of agitation and expectation, or the tightness in his heart. Perhaps indigestion from eating too fast caused him to feel such strange stirrings inside his chest.

Or maybe it was because Clay had fallen head over heels in love with his wife, again.

Callan was glad everyone stuck around longer than Clay obviously wanted. She knew he thought he'd been ambushed when he arrived home. His displeasure filled both his face and his voice all through dinner. On top of that, she was certain he hated her new look.

As Jenna and Bobbi helped with the dishes, they both teased her about the effect she had on her husband.

"I haven't seen him this pathetic since he first tried to ask you out, Callan," Bobbi said with a laugh. "This is just too much. He looks so ferocious. I suppose he's ready to throw us all out in the cold by now."

"It is pretty entertaining, Cal," Jenna added with a smile, scooping leftovers into smaller containers and setting them inside the refrigerator. "His act of trying to be irritated isn't hiding the fact that he looks completely infatuated with you."

"Really? You think so?" Callan snuck a glance at Clay through the kitchen doorway. He pretended to look interested in Josh and Steve's conversation about spring farm work and failed miserably. "I'm afraid I might not have thought this out as much as I should have. What if Clay hates my hair shorter?"

"Oh, phooey." Bobbi waved her hand in the direction of the men. "What do they know about anything? I've never seen you look lovelier, honey, and that is the truth. We're going to clear out of here and let you deal with your out-of-sorts husband all by yourself." Bobbi kissed Callan on the cheek and patted her encouragingly on the back. "I'm so proud of you for making so many positive changes in your life, sweetie. You just keep at it."

"This was such fun." Jenna looped her arm around Callan's and strolled into the living room where the men sat around the fireplace. "Let me know the next time you have a rash idea that will push Clay over the edge of reason. I wouldn't want to miss out on anything."

"Great. Thanks, Jen," Callan said dryly. "You're really making me feel better about this whole situation." After helping Jenna slip on her coat, she gave her a hug. "Thanks for coming with me. It was so nice to have you and Laken there. It meant so much."

"Anytime!" Jenna squeezed her hand. "I had oodles of fun. And Bobbi's right. You've never looked more beautiful."

Josh gave his sister a hug then waggled his eyebrows at her while tipping his head toward Clay. Everyone except Clay laughed.

He sat in his chair by the fireplace moping as she closed the door behind their departing company. She wasn't sure if his dour mood was because of the fact he'd been teased and the butt of their jokes, or because he was upset with her.

Second-guessing herself, she worried that she had rushed into this whole makeover thing without thinking it through. Maybe she should have asked Clay for his opinion first.

Then she remembered how good she felt after getting her haircut. How liberating it felt to change how she looked as she worked to change her attitude and outlook on life. Deep down, she knew what she'd done was a good decision for her. She hoped Clay would eventually agree.

Callan decided to leave her grumpy husband alone for the moment and went into the kitchen. She turned on the music she'd been listening to when she first got home and finished cleaning up from dinner.

Clay sat by the fire, trying to get his thoughts and feelings under control. The baffling female in the kitchen left him unsettled yet intrigued. He had no idea how to go about understanding a woman, especially one he'd loved for more than a decade but suddenly felt like he didn't know well at all.

When he heard her begin to hum, he smiled. Callan used to love to sing and always had music playing. For years, it had been too quiet. She'd recently dug out all her favorite music and had been playing it whenever she was home or in her car.

Tonight was the first time he'd heard her hum along to the music.

Lost in her own thoughts and the music playing, Callan hung the dishtowel up to dry as Clay wandered into the kitchen and turned off the lights.

Without saying a word, he took her hand in his and tugged her into the living room. The only light came from the fireplace, casting a warm glow around the room. Slowly releasing her hand, Clay took a step back and studied her. Beyond the brooding look he maintained, she couldn't read his thoughts or intentions.

"Dance with me, Callan," he rumbled, holding out his hands, knowing she wouldn't, couldn't refuse.

Clay hated to dance. Avoided it at all costs. Claimed he had two left feet. Now, he wanted to dance in their living room, to music playing in the kitchen they could barely hear.

Still wary of his current mood, Callan appeared inclined to humor him. She stepped forward and accepted his hand with hers while she slid her other hand onto his shoulder. At that moment, he couldn't begin to explain what had gotten into him. Other than his wife.

Every nerve in his body stood at attention as he held Callan close and they swayed in time to the music.

Tomorrow, he'd ask about this wild and exciting transformation.

Tomorrow, he'd tell her how surprised he was by the joke they'd pulled over on him.

Tomorrow, he'd tell her how proud he was of her.

Tonight, just for tonight, he wanted to enjoy the wonder of holding a mysterious stranger he'd loved for thirteen years close to his heart.

He could barely comprehend Callan doing something so bold — completely changing her entire appearance in twenty-four hours. Clay had the feeling his future would be incredibly interesting if this was a preview of what was to come. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she changed direction and pulled him off kilter.

The more he saw of the new Callan, the stronger his interest grew. In all truth, he was mesmerized.

Gently moving his hand up and down her back, he enjoyed the feel of the luxurious knit against his work-roughened palm and fingers. Her sweater was even softer than it looked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her wear pink. She looked altogether feminine and alluring, especially as her hair rippled in waves of rich auburn shot with gold from the firelight. The way it swished around her face as they danced left him utterly entranced.

When he dropped her into a deep dip, he kissed the fluttering pulse in her neck, drinking in the look of bliss that swept across her face. If only he could smell her scent, he knew he'd be completely intoxicated. Lifting her up out of the dip, he twirled her around, tugged at her sweater sleeve, and pulled off the cardigan.

Just like unwrapping a beautiful package, Clay thought as his mouth began to water.

The sleeveless shell Callan wore fit her to perfection. Clay took great pleasure in trailing his fingers lightly up and down her arms. He watched goose bumps rise on her soft skin. Finally taking her hand in his again, he continued their dance.

In her entire life, Callan couldn't remember ever feeling like this. Her legs would have buckled beneath her if Clay hadn't held her so closely in his arms. He stirred wondrous feelings and emotions she'd never experienced.

Even though she had always loved Clay, a part of her was afraid to love him completely, without reserve, in case he ever left her.

All these years, she'd kept a part of herself shut away, not ever letting him fully scale all of the walls she'd built around her heart. Now, most of those walls were rubble and the last of the barriers loomed dangerously close to crumbling under his tenacious determination to love her.

Vividly aware it was time to overcome her fears, she asked herself what she was afraid of, why she kept holding a part of herself back from Clay. He deserved to have her love, her life, her very essence completely, without any restraint or reservation.

Callan took a deep breath and felt the last wall tumble. Defenseless, she surrendered willingly as Clay took her to the point of no return.

She started to sing along to the love song playing in the kitchen. While she sang, she unbuttoned his shirt then placed a tender kiss in the hollow of his neck.

"Callan," Clay whispered, putting a world of emotion into that one word. He pulled her closer and gave her a long, passionate kiss that left them both breathless and wanting.

Unhurriedly sliding her arms under his shirt, she clung to his back, to his strength and ruggedness. She held him so tight, his heart pounded wildly against her, keeping time to her own frenzied pulse.

Slowly raising her mouth to his, she whispered against his lips. "Don't wake me up, Clay. I don't want this dream to ever end."

"Never, Laney, never," he whispered as he kissed her again. Quickly sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to their bedroom.

The next morning, as he sat at the table watching her make breakfast, Clay still couldn't get over the transformation in Callan.

"So tell me, beautiful wife of mine, what inspired you to chop off your hair and make me look like an idiot yesterday?" With his good humor restored, he was back to his usual teasing.

"Oh, you know, we have that ongoing conspiracy to humiliate you but this time all the pieces fell into place." Callan tossed him a saucy grin as she removed muffins from the oven, placed them on a plate, and set it in front of him.

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Seductively nibbling her ear, he made her giggle. "Well, don't get used to it. Walking in here and finding a stranger had taken over my wife threw me off balance enough that you could get away with your trickery."

Callan stopped smiling and looked at Clay with real concern on her face. "Do you really like the changes? Are you mad I cut my hair?"

"I admit it was a shock at first, but I think I'm getting used to it." Clay ran his hand over her head and studied the luxurious waves that wrapped around his fingers. He wondered if she'd always had such thick hair because it seemed to have taken on a life all its own. "You look amazing Callan and I'm so proud of you for making big changes in your life. I know it isn't easy and I'm glad Jenna and Laken went with you. It's great you have such good friends."

"It is good," Callan said with a warm smile. She kissed his cheek then started to get up. "Eat your breakfast, Brick."

Clay growled and pulled her back into his lap. His hand rubbed against her side before he slipped it inside her robe. Starved for more of her kisses, he teased and tempted until she took a gasping breath. "I'm suddenly not in the mood for breakfast, but I'm definitely hungry."

#  Chapter Thirteen

Almost to his classroom, Clay ran into Jake in the hallway and thumped his cousin on the back.

"Did you forget to comb your hair this morning or did you fall under a weed whacker on your way here?" Clay reached out and mussed his hair. "I'm going to have to talk to your mother about your slovenly appearance. This just won't do at all."

Jake took great pride in his appearance, spending a considerable amount of time making sure his clothes looked just right with crisp shirts, pressed jeans, and polished boots. Every strand of his hair fell into place.

Clay found the whole thing entertaining and loved to tease Jake about his vanity.

"Well, at least I make an effort. You look like you rolled out of bed in that shirt. Did Callan finally come to her senses and leave you to your own defenses?" Jake poked him in the arm and shook his head. "You seriously have no idea how fortunate you are she continues to take pity on you and remains married to such a disgusting lunkhead."

Clay chuckled as he opened the classroom door and they walked into his domain. Jake stopped just inside the door and sniffed appreciatively.

"Callan was here," Jake said, glancing around the room. "Bring on the cookies, Clay. You're holding out on us."

The other students in the classroom stopped talking and looked at Clay with interest. Cookies from Mrs. Matthews were always a welcome treat.

"How do you know she was here?" Clay was suddenly interested in what Jake had to say.

"Dude, you can still smell her perfume. Callan is the only one on the planet who smells all flowery and girly like that." Jake stared at Clay as if he was clueless. "Besides, I can smell the cookies. Between the perfume and the cinnamon, I don't need any further evidence that she was here. Now, hand over the cookies."

Clay glared at the mouthy young man. He didn't know if he should be more irritated with Jake for noticing the way Callan smelled or with himself for not being able to. Even his students could enjoy the lovely lingering scent left by his wife, but with his lack of smell she could wear the essence of skunk and he'd not know the difference.

As he rubbed his hand along his jaw, he noticed a cookie tin and note on his desk. Hastily tucking the note into his desk drawer, he grabbed the first cookie and passed the tin to Jake.

"Make sure you share," Clay warned, eyeing his cousin.

At his first break, Clay pulled out the note and fingered Callan's handwriting.

Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you this morning. Sorry I missed you, Brick.

Have a great day.

Love you! Laney

Since the weekend of Callan's big makeover, he'd found notes in all kinds of interesting places. One day it was in with his lunch, another in his boot. She'd left love notes in his pickup, in his work gloves, even tucked into the band of his cowboy hat. She definitely scored points for creativity. Clay enjoyed finding the notes and eagerly looked for them. Even a few words that conveyed her feelings spoke volumes from her heart.

Callan put a lot of effort into changing. She laughed more, seemed more inclined to share from her heart, and in general appeared to be growing daily into the person she was always meant to be. He was so proud of her, so excited to watch her change, so happy to be the one on the receiving end of her unconditional love.

He decided to send her a quick text message.

Great cookies. Jake's a pig. Love you!

Clay sat back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head and smiled as he thought about Callan's perfume. She started wearing it shortly after they began dating. Struggling to remember what it was called, he thought maybe it was True Love. No, that wasn't it. Something true. True Romance. No, that wasn't it either.

He knew she had a terrible time finding it and purchased several bottles of it on eBay a few years ago. That might be a handy little gift to have on hand. It never hurt to have a trump card to play. Clay made a mental note to do some searching online after class.

His phone beeped as a reply from Callan arrived.

Free for lunch?

Clay quickly responded.

Yes! 11:45? Cafeteria?

It wasn't long until she sent another message.

It's a date!

Greatly looking forward to his lunch date with his wife, Clay rolled through the morning in a good mood with a goofy smile on his face that drew comments from his students. He ignored their teasing and at a quarter to noon he hustled his class out the door then strolled to the cafeteria where students gathered for lunch.

He walked inside and spied Callan sitting at a table. She looked so young and pretty in a navy-blue skirt with a navy and white sweater, she could have easily fit in with the crowd. He sauntered up behind her and placed a kiss on her cheek.

She turned around and gave him a smile full of love and affection. "Hi."

"Hey, girl." Clay pulled her to her feet and walked her toward the counter. "I'm glad you had time for me today. Am I moving up on one of your lists?" he teased as they selected their food and took trays back to the table.

"Possibly." She gave him a sassy grin, then looking around the cafeteria. "I hoped to catch Jake and say hello. I haven't seen him for ages."

"You aren't missing much."

Callan's raised eyebrow and indulgent smile made Clay chuckle as he rested his arm along the back of her chair. "He certainly likes your cookies, though. He made a complete hog of himself first thing this morning. As many cookies as Jake devoured, he probably won't need lunch."

"Oh, give him a break. Your mother told me about all the cookies you used to snitch from her kitchen — and still do." Callan shot him a knowing look. "Ha, see I do know a few of your secrets."

He grinned. "What other secrets do you think I'm hiding?"

"I don't know. If I did they wouldn't be secrets, would they?" Callan forked her salad and took a bite while Clay went to work on his sandwich. She loved spending time with him in the middle of the day. Their schedules didn't frequently mesh, but when they did, she appreciated the opportunity to share lunch with him.

When they finished eating, they discussed their afternoon plans when Callan saw Jake with a couple of friends. He seemed to be having a good time.

"Jake just walked in and I have an idea," Callan said, looking at Clay with a devilish gleam in her eye.

Clay loved the playful look on Callan's face.

"I'm listening."

Callan grinned. "He hasn't seen me since I cut my hair. Do you think he'd recognize me from the back if you were to give me a hug? I think..."

"That is a perfectly rotten and wonderful idea." Clay turned to watch Jake. "He's been giving me grief in and outside of class for weeks. It's his turn to squirm. Just follow my lead, okay?"

"I'm right behind you." Callan stood as Clay dumped their trash then walked behind him so Jake wouldn't see her.

Once Clay caught Jake's eye and waved, Callan stepped out with her back to Jake. Clay turned, threw an arm around her and headed out the door. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear. "He's taking the bait."

Jake looked ready to combust with anger as he followed them out of the cafeteria. Clay stopped outside the door and wrapped Callan in a close hug, hiding her face against his shoulder.

"Clay! What are you doing?" Jake grabbed Clay's arm and pulled it away from Callan. "How could you do this to Callan? What is wrong with you?" Agitated, he turned to Callan with a sneer. "Do you know he's married? His wife is the sweetest lady I've ever met. I'm not going to stand by and..."

Sudden awareness caught him by surprise and Jake's jaw dropped open.

"Oh, Jake, you're adorable when you're fuming." Callan patted his arm, as both she and Clay laughed.

"Callan? Wow! What did you do? You look hot!" Jake blushed from the roots of his dark hair past the collar of his shirt.

"Just remember who she married, Jake," Clay growled, slapping him on the back.

A blush tinged Callan's cheeks at Jake's statement. Quickly recovering, she kissed his cheek. "I think that is the best compliment I've had yet, Jake. Thank you. I hope you aren't mad we were teasing you."

"Nah," Jake said, still red in the face. "I may have had it coming." Turning to Clay, he shook his head. "I was thinking a lot of things about you and none of them nice. I'm glad to know they were mostly untrue. You know, if I'd been a few years older when you met her, I'd have given you a run for your money, old man." Jake offered his cousin a cheeky grin. Throwing an arm around Callan, he gave her a sideways hug. "Thanks for making me cookies this morning. It was a great snack to tide me over until lunch. You'll have to make more next time if you want me to share."

"Sure, Jake," Callan said, glancing at her watch, surprised by the time. "Well, boys, I've got to go. Behave yourselves this afternoon." She gave Clay a quick kiss, patted Jake on the arm again, then rushed out the door as both men watched her leave.

"You are so lucky, dude." Jake punched Clay in the arm before rejoining his friends.

You bet I am, Clay thought as he walked back to his classroom, grinning from ear to ear.

#  Chapter Fourteen

Young voices blended with Callan's from the vicinity of the kitchen as Clay walked inside the house and closed the front door.

"Are there little strangers in my house?" he called as he tugged off his boots and left them in the coat closet.

"Uncle Clay! Uncle Clay!" Audrey and Emma shouted as they ran toward him. He hunkered down, holding each of them in an arm and picked them up. Although he was being strangled from both sides, he loved every minute of it. A few sticky kisses later, he stopped next to the dining table where the girls and Callan had a mess of monumental proportions. "What are you ladies working on?"

"Auntie Callan made us play glow," Emma said with a nod of her head and a toss of her blond curls. "We's making lots and lots of pretties, aren't we, Auntie Callan?"

"We most certainly are, sweetie. We are making all sorts of shapes with our play dough." Callan beamed at the girls. "When you get done making all the things you want to create, we'll put them in the oven and dry them out so they'll last forever. How will that be?"

"Goodie," Audrey said, squirming to get down.

Clay set both the girls down and raised a questioning eyebrow at Callan. "So are you two going to be Auntie Callan's helpers all weekend?"

"Yes!" Emma said, nodding enthusiastically. "We gets to help tonight and 'morrow and we gets to sleep here. Right, Auntie Callan? For one sleeps or two?"

"You get to stay for two sleeps," Callan said with a warm smile. "Uncle Clay and I are so happy to have you come visit us. Aren't we Uncle Clay?"

"You bet." Clay placed a kiss on each little curly head then tossed Callan a look that said she could explain their unexpected guests later. They hadn't really spent time with the girls since Christmas vacation when they took them sledding.

"Come make some play glow with us, Uncle Clay." Emma shoved her tiny hands into a mass of bright blue dough.

"Please, Uncle Clay, please help us." Audrey added her own plea.

Callan gave him a hopeless look and a shrug.

How could he resist? He rolled up his sleeves and sat down next to Audrey then picked up a chunk of red dough. After forming it into a lumpy heart, he got up and dug around in a cupboard. He found a toothpick then drew two intertwined "C"s in the dough.

He handed it to Callan and gave her a dimpled smile. "You've always had my heart in your hands, Callan, but here's one you can hold."

Callan choked back the tears that pricked her eyes and clogged her throat. It wouldn't do to get emotional in front of the girls, but she hoped Clay would know how deeply the gesture touched her. She grasped his hand and gave it a warm squeeze then leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

She wasn't doing as good a job of hiding her feelings as she thought because Emma jumped down from her chair and climbed onto her lap.

"Don't cry, Auntie Callan," Emma said, placing a hand on each side of Callan's face. "I'll hold Uncle Clay's heart for you."

Laughing, Callan gave Emma a hug and a kiss. She looked over Emma's head at Clay as she spoke. "Thank you, Sweet Pea, but I'm going to keep his heart in an extra special place, where it won't ever get broken."

Clay ended up making both of the girls a heart with their initials. He couldn't tell one blob from another that they had fashioned, but Callan oohed and aahed over their assorted flowers, animals, circles and curlicues. She put everything on a huge baking sheet and popped it into the warm oven to dry out so the girls could keep their treasures.

"Now it's time to play clean up. Who wants to help?" Callan asked brightly.

"Me, me, me!" came the chorus from the two girls. Clay knew the clean up created twice the mess and took three times as long as it would have if Callan had done it herself, but the little helpers made it so much more fun.

When they sat down to a dinner of macaroni and cheese, warm bread, fruit and veggie sticks, Callan and Clay listened to the girls chatter about all the things that were important in their little world.

Audrey had a new friend named Deena who lived down the street and had two white kittens with blue eyes that were "gorgeous." Emma, on the other hand, was more interested in the little green frog she found outside that morning and wanted to know why it had funny shaped legs, why it hopped, why it was the same color as grass, and why she couldn't keep it in her room.

Callan looked up at Clay and caught his eye, trying not to laugh. Tenderness spread through his chest. The two little girls brought warmth and light to a dark place in his heart and he was sure Callan felt the same.

After dinner, they retired to the family room couch where they watched Sleeping Beauty. Audrey insisted she had to sit on Clay's lap and Emma nestled into Callan's.

Every time something she deemed scary appeared, Emma buried her face in Callan's shirt. Clay thought she'd missed more than half of the movie. Audrey thought everything was "gorgeous" and wanted to grow up to be a "gorgeous" princess.

"But I want to look like Auntie Callan so I can have a prince just like you Uncle Clay," Audrey stated with an affirmative shake of her head. "You're extra nice."

"Thank you, Audrey. Auntie Callan is a gorgeous princess." Clay gave Callan a wink. "But I think you'll grow up to be a beautiful one, too."

"Really?" Audrey asked, staring at him intently.

"Absolutely." Clay turned her upside down and tickled her tummy, setting both girls into a round of giggles.

"Oh, Clay, don't get them wound up. It's almost bedtime," Callan warned, watching the excitement level take off in both girls.

"Too late for that, girl." The girls grabbed his hands and dragged him onto the floor where they rolled and played.

Callan went to get a bath ready for them and came back to find Clay pretending to be a horse while Emma and Audrey rode on his back.

"If you ladies wouldn't mind dismounting, it's time to head to the trough," Callan teased.

"Please, Auntie Callan, can't we play just a little bit longer?" Audrey begged. "Please?"

"How about if your trusty horse gives you a ride to the tub?" Callan asked.

"Yes!" both girls squealed, giving Clay a series of kicks that would have sent a less stalwart horse to the floor with a bruised kidney or cracked rib.

Clay hauled his riders into the bathroom where Callan peeled the girls off his back and plopped them into a tub full of bubbles.

He returned to the family room and sank into his recliner to rest his back and ears. He had no idea how two girls could make so much noise and be so tiring.

Nearly asleep in his chair, his eyes popped open when two wiggly bodies flopped on top of him. After a series of hugs and warm little kisses, the girls were finally ready to be tucked into bed.

"You have to help Auntie Callan tuck us in, Uncle Clay. She said she isn't sure she knows how to do it all by herself." Audrey said, tugging on one hand.

"Yep. You've gots to help her," Emma said with a serious frown puckering her little brow while she tugged on his other hand.

Clay pretended to drag his feet, letting them try to pull him across the kitchen floor. Their tiny toes peeking out from their ruffled nightgown hems were just too cute.

Unable to tug him across the carpet in the hall, they gave up trying. Clay picked up both girls and carried them to the guest room. Callan had a lamp on by the bed and a storybook in her hand as he gently tossed the girls into bed. Their curls jumbled all over their faces and they giggled so much he didn't think they'd ever settle down.

Callan gave him a dark look. "I see Uncle Clay did a good job of winding up you two little clocks again."

"We's not clocks, Auntie Callan," Emma giggled. "Me and Audrey are girls!"

"That you are, Sweet Pea." Callan pulled the covers up and smoothed back their hair. She sat down on one side of the bed and motioned for Clay to sit on the other with a tilt of her head. He sat down and waited. Bedtime rituals of little girls were not in his catalog of experiences.

Callan started to read the story about a fairy princess and her friends in a slow, low voice. It didn't take long for Emma's bright blue eyes to grow sleepy, followed by Audrey. Within just a few minutes, both girls were asleep and looked more adorable than Clay thought possible.

Callan kissed both girls, rose to her feet, turned off the lights, and pulled the door mostly shut. She flipped on a light in the guest bathroom across the hall then motioned Clay to follow her. They returned to the family room where Callan sank down in her rocking chair and set it moving back and forth at a furious pace.

Clay could tell she was upset about something.

"You won't believe what Mel and Ted did today," Callan said as he watched her anger grow with every rock of the chair. "I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things for the weekend. I was just coming out when I ran into Mel, Ted, and the girls. They were fighting and the girls were both crying. I asked them if there was anything I could do to help and they both told me to mind my own business. The girls, of course, both came to me, sobbing. I asked Mel if I could bring the girls home for the weekend while they tried to work things out. After more arguing, they decided it wasn't a bad idea. Mel gave me her house key so I picked up a few of the girls' things and brought them home. What's wrong with them? Don't they realize what a blessing they have with those two babies? I can only imagine what goes on at home."

Callan sighed and distractedly shoved a hand into her hair. "I was so irritated. I know I should have called and asked you before I offered to bring them home, but I couldn't leave them there."

"It's fine, Laney. Obviously, you did what was best for the girls and I don't mind having them around. They're kind of fun." He grinned as he rubbed his back. "At least for a day or two."

Callan continued to rock the chair with such force Clay worried she would rock it back through the wall. "It is so unfair, Clay. So completely unfair."

"What's not fair?" He knew what she would say, but wanted her to talk about her feelings. It wasn't good for either one of them for her to bottle them up. They'd both learned that the hard way.

"That people like them have these perfectly wonderful, loveable, sweet little angels and I've got nothing," Callan spat out, then stopped rocking. She took a deep breath and swiped at the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound spiteful. Sometimes it's just so hard not to think about what our baby would have been like."

Clay patted his lap. Callan hurried off the rocking chair and settled across his legs. He wiped her tears away and held her close, waiting to speak until he could better articulate his own thoughts.

"It must have been very difficult being around Emma after you lost the baby. She was just a few months old then. I know you don't mean to, but you've always favored her. Is that why?"

"Yes," Callan whispered, not raising her head from its place against his chest. His heart beat steady and strong beneath her ear, giving her an added measure of comfort. Breathing in his familiar scent, she rested against him and absorbed the strength he so willingly offered. "I needed so badly to have a baby to love and Emma needed a mother's love. It's not that I love Audrey any less, it's just that Emma filled a little of that huge hole in my heart."

Clay had to swallow hard before he could find his voice. "Oh, Callan, girl, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The next morning, Callan and Clay loaded the girls into the car and went out to the ranch for the day. Clay thought fresh air, horseback rides, and playing with a litter of puppies would be just the thing for two little girls who had more energy than their house could contain.

When they arrived at the ranch, Audrey looked out the window. "Is this where you lived before you married Auntie Callan, Uncle Clay?"

"Yep. I had lots of fun playing here when I was your age." Clay tried to imagine what the ranch looked like to a six-year-old who spent most of her life playing in nothing bigger than an average-sized back yard. It was probably overwhelming. "We're going to have loads of fun today, aren't we, Auntie Callan?"

"Definitely." Callan squeezed Clay's hand and gave him a grateful look. She was thrilled with his suggestion of spending the day at the ranch with the girls and knew they'd all have a great time. "I heard there are puppies that need some petting today. I wonder where we could find some little hands to do the job."

"I'll do it, I'll do it!" Emma banged her feet on the edge of her car seat. "I can do that, Auntie Callan!"

"Great, Emma. You and Audrey can both have that job. How does that sound?" Callan smiled over her shoulder at the girls.

"Yippee! We get to be puppy-petters today." Audrey cheered as they went up the driveway.

Clay held back his chuckles as he parked Callan's car in front of the ranch house.

Bobbi and Steve were thrilled to have children to play with for the day. The girls were thoroughly entertained and spoiled. They rode horses, played hide-and-seek in the barn, made ice cream, and pet the puppies until the poor things practically had their fur rubbed off.

As the sun began its descent for the evening, Clay carried an exhausted Audrey while Callan carried a sleeping Emma out to the car and buckled them in.

"Thanks for letting us spend the day. It was fun," Callan said, turning to look at her mother-in-law. "I hope we didn't wear you out too much."

Bobbi gave Callan a warm hug. "Not at all. We're so glad you were willing to share the girls with us. It was really a treat to have them here. You better get those little misses tucked into bed, though."

After giving his dad a hearty handshake, Clay held open Callan's door before walking around to open his own. "Thanks, again, Dad. I hope the pups won't be completely traumatized from all the attention."

The girls were both sleeping by the time they arrived home and Callan didn't have the heart to wake them up enough for a bath. They managed to get them into their nightgowns and wash their hands and faces before tucking them in for the night.

As Clay gently placed Audrey into bed, she squeezed him around the neck. "Love you, Uncle Clay."

Clay kissed her forehead as he pulled up her covers. "Love you, too, Audrey. Now sleep tight."

Callan kissed Emma's little cheek and turned off the light. She leaned against Clay as they stood together in the doorway watching the girls, grateful for the time spent with the little ones.

The girls awoke to a fun breakfast of animal-shaped pancakes, bacon and juice. When they finished eating, Callan gave them a bath, combed their hair, and helped them put on dresses. Clay entertained the girls while Callan changed then they headed off to church. After the service, they went to a family-friendly diner for lunch.

"Can I have a hamburder, Auntie Callan?" Emma asked, bouncing in her chair. "I love hamburders."

"Sure, Sweet Pea. Miss Audrey, what sounds good to you?" Callan asked while scooting Emma's chair closer to her.

"I like chicken strips. Can I please have some? With fries?" Audrey swung her legs back and forth over the end of her chair.

"Absolutely, sweetie." Callan looked at Clay. "What about you, Uncle Clay? What are you going to have for lunch?"

"Definitely a hamburder." Clay grinned before setting aside his menu.

After the girls finished their lunch, the waitress asked if they'd like dessert.

"Oh, please, please," Emma begged, practically dancing in her chair. Her sweet tooth could rival Callan's, especially when it came to chocolate.

"How about if we share? I think Emma and I could make do with some chocolate cake. What would you like Audrey?" Callan asked as Audrey thought about her choices.

"Pie. I want pie." Audrey looked at Clay. "Will you share with me?"

"You bet kiddo. We want a big piece of berry pie and she's going to want her ice cream in a dish on the side, right Audrey?" Clay said.

Audrey nodded her head in affirmation with a big grin.

Clay ate most of the pie while Audrey played with her ice cream. Callan got very little of the cake. Emma made short work of her share and most of Callan's, too. She hoped her niece wouldn't have a tummy ache later.

They were wiping off the girls' sticky hands and faces when the waitress walked over with the bill. She smiled and thanked them for coming in. "I just have to tell you folks what a beautiful picture you make. Several people commented on what a lovely family you have. Enjoy your day."

Callan looked like she'd been struck, unable to speak as the weight of the words from the well-meaning waitress settled over her.

Clay cleared his throat and thanked the kind woman. He squeezed Callan's hand and nodded his head. "We do have a nice family, don't we girls? That's why you know you can come visit us anytime you want. Auntie Callan and I really enjoyed having you stay with us this weekend."

After paying the bill and leaving the waitress a generous tip, Clay took Audrey's hand and headed toward the door. Callan and Emma followed along behind with Emma chatting up a storm about chocolate, frogs, and puppies.

Once they returned home, the girls played outside for a while before Callan announced it was time for them to go back to their house. When Clay stopped outside of Mel and Ted's house, the girls took off running inside as soon as the restraints on their car seats were released. Both of them talked at once, trying to tell everything they had done.

Clay and Callan carried the girls' things inside and watched as Emma proudly showed off her box of "play glow" shapes. She was particularly animated about the heart Clay made her.

Glad to see Mel and Ted were at least acting civil toward one another, Callan felt marginally better about leaving the girls with their parents. She thanked them for letting the girls stay for the weekend and encouraged them to visit again sometime soon.

Clay and Callan both knew they would do anything they could for the two curly-headed darlings who held such a big part of their hearts.

# Chapter Fifteen

Spring finally arrived and Callan was anxious to get outside and plant flowers. One warm Saturday afternoon found her on her knees in a flowerbed close to the back of the house, putting in a variety of vibrant plants.

She couldn't seem to get enough color. It was liberating to shake off the last dark remnants of winter and fill both the landscape and her spirit with bright blossoms of color and hope.

As she sat back, she breathed deeply of the delicious scent of earth budding to life — of warm, loamy soil, the barely noticeable but sweet scent of fruit trees blossoming, the sharp tang of mother earth bursting with new growth and life.

Brilliant blue painted the sky overhead, the grass was a thick green carpet, and the daffodils all nodded their heads in perfect golden hues. She could hear birds chirping in the trees and one ambitious neighbor running a lawn mower.

Callan enjoyed this spring more than any she could remember and felt very grateful that each day she grew more content, more at peace with herself. She had so much to be thankful for and so much to love about her life, especially Clay.

The object of her thoughts came around the corner of the house with his hands behind his back, looking quite pleased with himself. He wore that look a lot lately, Callan mused, as she watched him stroll toward her.

All it took was a glimpse of her handsome husband to make her heart pound and her breath catch. She wondered if he knew he still had that effect on her.

Her smile held warmth and contentment as she brushed dirt off her gloved hands. Clay squatted down next to her, keeping his hands behind his back, grinning so broadly, both dimples winked at her.

"Brick, what are you up to? You look positively mischievous." Callan tried to see what he held behind his back but he turned so she couldn't. "How did things go out at the ranch today?"

"Good. I finished up a little early because I wanted to bring you something." He continued grinning, refusing to let her see what he held. "What would it be worth to you to see what I've got?"

Callan gave him a peck on the cheek. "How about that?" She continued trying to peer around him.

"Nope." Clay shook his head. "You can do better than that."

Callan gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Now will you show me?"

"No can do. You aren't trying very hard."

Callan peeled off her gloves and tossed them down. She tipped back Clay's cowboy hat, placed a hand on each side of his face, and raised her lips to his. The heated, hungry kiss she gave him scrambled his thoughts while blood zinged through his veins. She pulled back and smirked. "Now will you show me, please?"

"Much better." Clay brought one hand from behind his back and handed Callan a basket with a fuzzy ball of squirming fur inside.

She gasped in delight. "Oh, a puppy! A puppy!" She held the Border collie pup close to her face and cuddled it tenderly. "For me, Clay? Do I get to keep her?"

"Yes, but he won't appreciate being called her. You'll have to think of a boy name, Laney." Clay laughed and rubbed the puppy's head. "They weaned the puppies last week and this one is the pick of the bunch. He's going to be quite a dog. Mom and Dad wanted you to have him."

"He's perfect! Thank you so much. I love him." Callan cuddled the puppy that grew sleepy in her arms. "I'm going to call him Cully."

"Cully. That sounds like a misfit," Clay teased Callan. He didn't care if she called the pup George. Just seeing her face light up when she held it was enough for him. "We need to get this little fella set up with a bed, water and food bowls. I thought to get a nice kennel so he can stay in it when we aren't home, or we can put him in the barn in one of the empty stalls, that way there won't be any chance of him being out in the road."

Clay spoke but Callan didn't make any pretense of listening. She was completely absorbed in the puppy.

"Callan, do you want to go with me to get his things?"

"Hmm? Oh, okay," Callan said, still petting the pup. "Can we bring him along?"

"Sure. Let's go."

By the time they got home with a pickup load of puppy paraphernalia, Clay started to wonder if the dog was such a good idea after all. Callan had largely ignored him in her excitement with the little ball of fur.

They not only got Cully a doghouse, they purchased bowls, a bed for him to use in the barn and one for inside their house, a collar and leash, a name tag, puppy food, chew toys, and goodness only knew what else. He had no idea how one puppy could possibly need so much stuff.

Callan provided a minimal amount of help in fixing up one of the barn stalls and putting down a thick layer of straw, but got more excited about placing the doghouse just so and fluffing the bedding. Clay finished dragging all of Cully's goodies out of his truck and found a place to store the food, set the food and water bowls out, and dumped the toys into a plastic tub.

After taking the puppy inside for a tour of the house, Callan stuck a bed for him in the family room by the patio door. Clay walked inside as she instructed the puppy on what rooms were okay for him to be in and what rooms were off limits. So far, the kitchen and family room comprised his domain. That suited Clay just fine.

When it was time to turn in for the evening, Callan took the puppy out to the barn and left an old stuffed toy in the doghouse with him so he wouldn't be lonely. As soon as they shut the stall gate, Cully started to whine. By the time they reached the patio, he'd launched into a full-scale cry.

"Maybe we should bring him in, just for tonight." Callan started back toward the barn.

Clay took her arm and turned her around. "Callan, you know if you bring him in tonight, it will be every night. We both agreed we're not having a housedog. He'll be fine. And no, I'm not being mean." He pulled her into the house and closed the patio door.

Callan gave him a look that said she was none too pleased with him and went into the bedroom. When Clay finally wandered in, Callan sat in bed, flipping through a magazine. She refused to look at him as he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

While he brushed his teeth, Clay wondered if Callan was ready for another dog. She certainly acted loopy over Cully, though. Maybe he was the one not ready for her to have another dog.

Although he knew it was childish and stupid, the attention she'd given the dog made him jealous. He'd just have to beat the green monster into submission and learn to deal with it.

Clay walked out of the bathroom annoyed to find Callan had turned off the light and rolled over onto her edge of the bed.

A shiver of dread slithered through him as he quietly slid onto his own side of the bed. He'd enjoyed Callan's warmth and love the last few months, but it looked like a cold front had returned.

He settled his head onto the pillow, wondering what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder, other than try to make his wife happy. Clay was surprised when she suddenly rolled over and threw an arm across his chest. She nearly smothered him with kisses before he realized what happened.

Gathering a few wits about him, he pulled Callan close and rubbed his hands along her back. "Whoa, Laney, what's this about?"

"For bringing me Cully and making me so happy, and being the best husband ever." Callan kissed him along his jaw, down his neck, then nibbled his ear, making tingles start at his toes and work their way upward.

"The best husband ever?" His lips captured hers in an impassioned kiss, lost in the wild sparks flying between them.

"Mmm. Hmm."

#  Chapter Sixteen

The days and weeks flew by with unbelievable speed. Spring gently departed, replaced by the fresh, bright days of the approaching summer.

Clay looked forward to a summer off from teaching while Callan worked hard at balancing her day job, the event planning business, and her family.

She tried to be home more and because of that, they entertained family and friends with a frequency they never had in the past. She rediscovered her love of cooking and socializing. While Clay enjoyed it as well, it was easy to see his favorite part was eating Callan's cooking.

They also spent lazy evenings relaxing in their backyard and playing with Cully. The puppy managed to seek out and destroy something almost daily.

Callan arrived home one beautiful warm evening to find Clay looking a bit reserved and uncertain as he greeted her at the door.

"What's up, Brick?" she asked as she set down her purse and briefcase. "You look worried about something."

"I have something to show you and now that I've done it, I'm not sure if it was as great an idea as I originally thought it would be," Clay answered, nervously shoving splayed fingers through his thick sandy hair.

"Why don't you show me and then we can decide." Callan grasped the hand he held out to her and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

He led her out the patio door to a corner of the backyard. Callan noticed Clay had planted a lovely butterfly bush and landscaped around it with bark and a few little plants. Beneath the bush was a small marble plaque that read:

Even the tiniest foot leaves

imprints on your heart.

Zach Clayton Matthews

Our little angel in heaven

Callan sank to her knees and ran her fingers across the plaque. When she remained quiet, Clay knelt next to her and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"It's a blue bush," Clay explained, unsure of what to say. "The lady at the nursery said it will attract butterflies all summer. It... um... seemed like it would be a little way to remember Zach. I just wanted..."

Callan turned tear-filled eyes to Clay and murmured "thank you," before she threw herself into his arms and sobbed openly.

He rubbed her back and kissed her temple as she cried, swallowing down the lump in his own throat.

When Callan could finally speak, she brushed at her tears and took a deep breath. "That is the most wonderful, beautiful thing you've ever done, Clay. Thank you for this gift."

"You're welcome, Laney," Clay whispered, glad he'd followed his instincts and planted the bush as well as ordered the plaque.

A few days later, on a Friday afternoon, Callan walked with a potential client around the convention center, showing her the different meeting rooms and facility amenities. If Mrs. Horner decided to hold her conference with them, it would mean a significant amount of revenue. She was a mid-fifties no-nonsense executive who held the title of vice president of the largest bank in town, served on the board of several influential committees, and was generally regarded as one tough cookie.

As Callan escorted her through the main lobby on the way out to show her the gardens, she saw Clay walk inside the lobby. He gave her a brief wave, along with a roguish grin, before flopping down on one of the couches and picking up a magazine. Callan smiled his direction and wondered what tomfoolery he had planned.

Bronzed from the time he'd spent outside, Clay wore a ball cap pushed back on his hair. A dark blue T-shirt topped khaki cargo shorts that revealed a pair of tanned, magnificent legs. Most men Callan saw wearing shorts had skinny, knobby-kneed legs. Of all the many wondrous things about Clay, Callan thought his legs were amazing with thick thigh muscles and well-toned calves. She mentally questioned why he was at the convention center flashing them around.

She took a deep breath and directed her focus back to Mrs. Horner. Callan turned to find the woman gazing intently at Clay.

"Do you know that man, Ms. Matthews," Mrs. Horner asked in her ever-polite, albeit cool tone. Before Callan could answer, she cracked the barest hint of a smile. "He is a perfectly splendid specimen of masculinity."

Furiously blushing, Callan couldn't bring herself to look Mrs. Horner in the eye. "Actually, Mrs. Horner, he's my husband."

Mrs. Horner gasped and looked at Callan in surprise. Her reserve melted into a broad smile. "Well, I think he's just the cat's pajamas, dearie." Mrs. Horner placed a warm hand on her arm and gave it a squeeze. "You're one very fortunate young woman if you get to go home to that every evening."

Callan glanced back at Clay and grinned. "I am, indeed, Mrs. Horner." Callan motioned to the gardens outside and directed Mrs. Horner to the door. "Now, shall we go see what you think of our outdoor space?"

While she showed Mrs. Horner around outside, Callan couldn't stop smiling. Everyone seemed to think she was one very lucky girl. She was. She wouldn't deny it.

However, she wondered if the women who admired Clay would hold the same opinion of him if they knew how loudly he snored, or how he left his boots and shoes all over the house, and rarely managed to pick up after himself. She didn't think they'd be taken with his dirty socks on the family room floor, magazines and papers strewn all over the couch, or the pleasure he took in shooting the rubber bands off the evening paper at her.

It was a safe bet that none of Clay's admirers would enjoy scraping the remnants of splattered leftovers from the inside of the microwave after he warmed something without covering it. She doubted they'd appreciate the odd and varying parade of smells that met her at the door due to the fact he couldn't smell anything. Everything from scorched food and his nasty sausages to "shop projects" ended up as lingering odors she could live without. He was completely hopeless when it came to laundry, cleaning, or weeding.

Clay also possessed an entire arsenal of noises: the battle cries during football games, the outrageous laughter at jokes only he found funny, the cavedweller grunts when he didn't feel like talking, and last, but certainly not least, the tonal quality his belching repertoire gained on a daily basis.

Thinking about her handsome husband waiting inside for her, Callan acknowledged those were small annoyances to put up with in comparison to all the love, security, joy and passion Clay brought into her life. As she steered Mrs. Horner back inside, she noticed Clay no longer sat on the couch. She hoped he hadn't left.

"What do you think of our property, Mrs. Horner? We'd love to work with you," Callan said, gathering up an information packet and handing it to the woman.

"Callan, I'm impressed not only with the facility but also with your level of knowledge and professionalism. I'm not going to take any more of your time today. Please call me next Tuesday and we'll go through the details." Mrs. Horner extended her hand to Callan with a genuine smile. "Now, scoot. Go find that fine-looking husband of yours. He's not the kind of man you keep waiting."

Callan smiled as she escorted Mrs. Horner to the door and held it open for her. "Thank you, Mrs. Horner. I will definitely be in touch Tuesday. Have a wonderful rest of the day."

Casually, Callan returned to her office with her back straight and professional demeanor in place. As she walked past Rachel's desk, the girl stuck her hand up in the air for a high-five that Callan gladly gave her, along with a big smile.

"You've got someone waiting for you in your office, Callan. I didn't think you'd mind," Rachel said, tipping her head in the direction of Callan's door.

"Thanks, Rachel." Callan pushed her office door open. Clay sat in her chair, feet up on her desk, drinking a Dr Pepper and wearing a smug grin.

"What, pray tell, are you doing?" She tried to sound stern as she shut the door behind her, but couldn't keep a smile off her face.

Clay set down his pop and put his hands behind his head, leaning back even farther in her chair. "I'm trying on high-powered successful executive for size. I think I like underpaid and underappreciated college professor who gets most of the summer off much better." He gave her a devilish smile. "I take it by the twinkle in your eye and the smile on your face that you just did something fantastic."

"Yes! We've been trying forever to get Mrs. Horner to host one of her events here — any of her events here. Up until now, she hasn't been interested. She finally agreed to take a property tour. That's what I was doing when you arrived. She was quite taken with you, by the way." Callan paced around the office in excitement.

Suddenly, she changed gears in her thoughts. "Why are you here?" Not giving Clay time to answer, she returned to the subject of Mrs. Horner. "Then she said to call her Tuesday to go over details. Gaining her as a client is a huge coup, if I do say so myself." Callan rocked back and forth on her heels, looking like she'd just won first place in a contest.

Quickly rising from the desk, Clay walked around it and gave Callan a big hug then stepped back to look into her face. "Congratulations, Laney. I'm so proud of you! Do you want to celebrate?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Callan pretended she wasn't nearly as excited as she was in reality.

Clay pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. His voice rumbled in a deep, husky growl when he spoke. "We could start the celebration now." He pressed a trail of hot, steamy kisses down her neck and let his hands freely roam where they pleased.

Callan shivered with pleasure, blushed with embarrassment, and gave Clay a swat on his arm. "I think the sun has addled your brain." She pulled away from him and attempted to gather her poise. "Now, be a good boy and tell me what you're doing here this afternoon."

"I may need some coaxing to divulge that information." Clay flashed his dimples and cocked his head.

Callan gave him a warm smile. She walked over to her desk, bent down, and picked up her purse. She took out a piece of paper, folded it in half, and waggled it in her fingers. "Would you like to see what's on my to-do list for this weekend?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes, I would. It might convince me to share why I came in today." Clay reached for the paper.

Callan jerked it out of his reach and put it behind her back. Shaking her head, she gave him a warning glare. "Not so fast, buster. You give the game away and then you get to see the list."

Clay gave Callan a momentary look of defeat before he lunged at her, trapping her in his arms while tickling her sides.

She squirmed against him. "Clay, stop, someone could walk in here any minute." Callan gasped, trying to straighten her jacket and recover her composure.

Clay just laughed and nuzzled her ear again. "That didn't bother you a second ago." He planted another kiss on her neck, working his way down to the top button of her blouse. When he started to undo it, she sighed.

"Okay, you win. Here's the list." Callan shoved it in his face and took a step back.

Eagerly grabbing the list, Clay opened it then burst into a wide smile. Callan's to-do list for the weekend was very short.

Do anything Clay wants to do.

"Really, Laney? Anything at all?" Clay asked, staring intently into her eyes.

"Anything."

"In that case, you'll be pleased to know that's what I was coming to talk to you about." He settled on the edge of her desk and waited until she sat in her chair before continuing. "Dad has one last batch of cows with calves we need to brand and vaccinate before we move them to the summer pasture. He thought it might be a fun weekend to get everyone together and work the cattle. Josh and Jenna will be there and you can invite your dad, Julie, and Ralph to come over. What do you think?"

Callan leaned back in her chair and shook her head at him. Feigning indifference, she held out a hand and studied her nails. "It sounds like a lot of hot, smelly work to me. I think you need to sweeten the pot a bit."

"Well, what if we go out this afternoon and spend the night at the cabin? Just the two of us. Would you like that?"

Callan jumped out of her chair and gave Clay an exuberant hug. "I would love that. I have about fifteen minutes worth of paperwork to finish then I'm out of here. I'll meet you at home."

Clay stood and kissed her cheek, then walked toward the door. "Sounds good. I'll see you in a little while. And Laney?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for putting me at the top of your list."

Callan rushed to finish her paperwork then drove home. She pulled into the drive surprised Clay's pickup wasn't already there. She quickly changed into jeans, boots, and a pink blouse that Clay told her was pretty the last time she wore it.

She hurriedly packed an overnight bag and dropped it by the door just as Clay walked inside the house.

"Don't you look like a cowgirl with someplace to go?" Clay gave her a look of approval. "Give me a minute. I'll change and then we can head out."

Clay hustled into the bedroom, changing into jeans and boots. While he did that, Callan ran out and got Cully, putting him on his leash.

"You ready?" Clay asked as he walked into the living room. After picking up the overnight bag, he settled a straw cowboy hat on his head.

"Yep, cowboy man, I'm rarin' to go," Callan drawled, carrying the wiggling puppy out to the pickup.

When they arrived at the ranch, Bobbi invited them to stay for dinner and they enjoyed visiting long into the evening. Bobbi suggested Cully stay at the ranch house with his mama and the two puppies that hadn't yet been given away instead of going with them to the cabin.

The sun was just starting to set when Clay and Callan took one of the four-wheelers, loaded their bag, and drove out to the cabin. Bobbi thought they were crazy for wanting to stay there when the ranch house was so much more comfortable.

"It'll be fun." Callan told her as they cleaned up the dinner dishes. "Like camping out, except with running water and electricity."

When they pulled up outside the cabin, Clay insisted she wait outside for a minute before he opened the door for her.

Callan couldn't believe her eyes. The cabin was spotless and a bouquet of pink roses filled the room with a sweet, spicy fragrance while candles warmed the space with a golden glow.

"Wow, Clay! When did you do this?" Callan asked, looking around in pleased surprise.

"I had a little help." Clay stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "That's why you beat me home. I had to connect with Jake about getting everything set up and ready. All I had to do was light the candles."

Callan turned around and kissed Clay on the cheek. "I'll have to be sure and thank him the next time I see him."

"You can thank him tomorrow. He'll be here along with about half the county." Bobbi loved to entertain as much as Callan did and turned a day of work into an excuse for a big party. At the moment, though, the only thing Clay cared about was the beautiful, soft woman in his arms. "How about thanking me right now?" He tipped back his hat and pulled Callan flush against him.

"Sure thing, cowboy," Callan whispered, melting into his embrace.

The "crew," as Bobbi liked to refer to all the people who converged on the ranch, was in high spirits.

The women spent the morning inside preparing food for the big lunch they would serve outside at noon. The men worked hard, and played harder, as they joked and teased each other. Several friends and neighbors joined Steve's regular ranch hands in working the cattle.

Big Jim and Ralph showed up, mostly for the fun, declaring they were too old to help. They seemed content to sit on the fence and provide a running commentary for anyone who cared to listen.

When the bell rang for lunch, it was a welcome break. Hamburgers, potato salad, green salad, watermelon slices, fried chicken, deviled eggs, chips and dip, baked beans, corn on the cob, and sliced tomatoes filled one huge table. Another table held pies, cakes, and a big platter of brownies. The men gulped down iced tea and lemonade along with pitchers of cool water.

Once they finished the meal, the women looked at the tables and shook their heads. A tornado sweeping through couldn't have wreaked any more havoc. Piles of dirty dishes covered the tables and trash overflowed from the can they'd set up in the yard. Callan and Jenna started carting dishes inside to wash while the other women packed in what was left of the food.

"Have you ever seen such a ravenous pack of wolves?" Callan asked Jenna as they placed dishes in the dishwasher.

"Yes," Jenna said with a laugh. "The last time we did this."

After cleaning up the tables and washing the dishes, the younger women wandered out to the chute and pens where the men worked.

Jenna and Callan climbed up on the fence of the pen where the calves milled around, picking out the ones they thought had the best markings. From there, they could watch most of the action taking place in the holding pen and squeeze chute, where the majority of the work happened.

Josh and Clay were in the holding pen, separating the cows one at a time and running them up to the chute. The girls waved at them and called encouragement. Callan glanced down and happened to notice the three puppies had followed them. They rolled in the dirt, chewing and pawing at each other, so she decided they were fine. Suddenly, one of the pups let out an ear-piercing howl as a sibling bit down hard on her ear.

The puppy's yip set the cattle in the holding pen into a frenzy of motion.

Josh vaulted over the fence and got out of the way. He looked over at Clay and yelled, "Get out! Now!" as a panicked cow charged into Clay, knocking him off his feet and into the fence. When Clay hit the ground with a thud, the hooves of a storming sea of cattle trampled him mercilessly.

#  Chapter Seventeen

Callan heard someone screaming, only to realize the terrified sound came from her.

Men reached through the fence, dragging Clay under the bottom pole. Someone talked to a 9-1-1 dispatch operator. The air reeked with dust and the smell of blood mingled with the stench of singed hair from the brands they'd been burning just moments ago.

Callan felt hands on her arms, holding her up, only to realize Jenna and her dad were on each side of her, hurrying her around the pen.

She reached Clay and dropped into the dirt next to him. His left leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood poured out of his nose, trickled out of his mouth, and flowed from multiple gashes.

Gently, Callan lifted his head and held it in her lap as her tears dripped onto his face.

Fear laced icy fingers around her throat, threatening to cut off her air. She couldn't believe this had happened, especially now when they were so happy.

"Please, Lord, please," was all she could think to pray.

She sat for an eternity with Clay's lifeblood pouring out around before she heard the ambulance siren. Everyone seemed afraid to move him, afraid to touch him, uncertain of the extent of damage done to his body.

Callan thought the least she could do was keep his head off the ground and hold his hand. She kept up a steady, soft murmur of reassurances that he would be fine if he would just hang on.

Julie and Bobbi arrived on the scene at the same time as the ambulance crew. Bobbi threw herself into Steve's outstretched arms. "My baby, my baby," she cried repeatedly.

The emergency medical technicians were quick and efficient in loading Clay into the ambulance. Callan climbed in beside him. One of the EMT's called ahead and requested the Life Flight helicopter be ready to go when they arrived at the hospital. She groaned inwardly, knowing that was not a good sign.

"Mrs. Matthews, your husband's injuries are more than we can handle in Tenacity. We're going to send him to the university hospital in Portland. You can ride with him there. I let your family know to meet you there instead of at City General."

Callan stared at the young man doing his best to keep Clay alive and gave him a look of gratitude. "Thank you."

Within a short time, they arrived at the hospital and transferred Clay to the chopper. Callan felt herself slipping into a state of shock and denial. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

She forced herself to take a fortifying breath and grasp Clay's hand as the helicopter lifted into the air. Somehow, they would get through this. She refused to think of the possibility of Clay leaving her now that they were once again so much in love.

Once they arrived at the university hospital, a team of doctors swept Clay away and a nurse took Callan by the arm.

"Mrs. Matthews, I need to have you fill out some paper work. Maybe you'd like a minute to clean up. There's a restroom right over there. You're welcome to wash up and then we can talk." The kind nurse, who didn't look any older than Callan, showed her to the bathroom. Callan turned on the light and stared in the mirror, noticing for the first time the blood that coated her hands, splattered her face, and soaked into her blouse and jeans.

Furiously scrubbing at her hands, she hoped she could scrub away the pain of this day. Tears flowed unchecked as she washed. She took paper towels to her cheeks and wiped her face as best she could. Her clothes were another story.

After rolling back her shoulders, she stepped out of the room and saw the nurse waiting for her with an encouraging smile.

"Mrs. Matthews, I realize you don't have your purse with you, but we can get some initial paperwork started. Would you please join me over here?" She indicated a chair next to a desk.

Callan gave her what information she could, wondering about Clay and why no one told her anything.

"Can I please see my husband?" she pleaded. "Just for a moment?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Matthews, but as soon as the doctors have something to share, they'll let you know. Can I get you something? Some coffee? Water? Tea?"

"No, thank you," Callan quietly refused, waiting.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged doctor with friendly eyes approached her. She stood to meet him, but he motioned for her to sit down then joined her.

"Mrs. Matthews? I'm Dr. Fisher. I wish I had better news for you, but your husband's injuries are complex and extensive. If it was just his broken leg, that would be bad enough, but the blood loss is significant. He has several broken ribs, one dangerously close to puncturing his left lung. He also has an injury to his head that looks like a gash from a hoof. We're monitoring his brain for swelling and will take him into surgery right away. With the number of injuries that require attention, it's going to take a while. Do you have someone who can sit with you while you wait?" Dr. Fisher looked at her with concern.

Callan could have dealt better with cold professionalism. Compassion weakened the bit of strength she had left. Despite her paralyzing fears, she liked Dr. Fisher immediately and knew she could entrust him with Clay's life.

"My family is on their way here. I'll be fine. May I please see Clay before you take him into surgery? Please?" Callan didn't know if she could keep herself together if he said no. She needed to see Clay.

"Certainly, Mrs. Matthews. I want to prepare you though. Mr. Matthews is hooked up to a lot of machines and tubes and it can look kind of scary," Dr. Fisher said quietly.

"I don't care what you've got him hooked to as long as he is alive." Callan studied the doctor a moment. "I have a feeling we're going to see each other frequently until Clay is better, so you may as well call me Callan. Mrs. Matthews is his mother and she'll soon be here, wanting to know what's being done to save her one and only child."

"All right, Callan. Would you like me to refer to Mr. Matthews as Clay?" Dr. Fisher asked.

"Yes, please." Callan rose to her feet, determined to hold herself together for Clay's sake. "I'm ready now."

"One more thing. Clay is unconscious but that doesn't mean he can't hear you, so please think about what you want to say to him. I firmly believe it can make a big difference in how he pulls through the next critical hours." Dr Fisher glanced at her and smiled. "And you will call me David."

Callan nodded her head, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She followed Dr. Fisher down a hallway and sent up a quick prayer before walking into a room filled with doctors, nurses, machines, tubes, and more equipment than she ever imagined one room could hold. In the middle of it all was Clay. He looked terrible. The skin that hadn't bruised was a horrid ashen color.

Shocked by his broken appearance, she took another breath before stepping up to the bed. A place was cleared for her to stand close to his head. She gazed longingly at his hand and started to pick it up before looking to Dr. Fisher for permission. He nodded.

Ever so gently, she took Clay's hand in her own and started rubbing her thumb on the back of it, careful not to disturb the tubes attached to it.

"Well, Clay, if you were tired of running cows to the chute, you could have just said something. This is an extreme measure to get out of doing your job, even for you." She tried to imbue a light tone in her voice. A couple of the nurses smiled at her efforts.

"Next time, let's think this through a little better, okay. But since we are here, I want you to know our new friend, Dr. Fisher, is going to take excellent care of you. You just need to do your part, Clay. Do you know what that is? Your part is keeping your promises. I've never known you to go back on your word and today is not the day to start. You promised me forever and we are nowhere near forever yet. You also promised me your heart and I've had it for all this time, but I'm not ready to give it back. Not yet. I still need it Clay. I need it very much." Callan fought her tears, desperately trying to keep her voice even.

"I've never known you to be a quitter, so you go in there and fight, Clay Matthews. You fight with every fiber of your being, because we've got too many happy years ahead of us to stop now. You hear me, cowboy? I love you, Clay. I'll be waiting just outside the door for you. Come back to me."

Callan leaned over and gave Clay the softest kiss on his forehead, then nodded to Dr. Fisher as he escorted her from the room.

Walking her back to the waiting area, Dr. Fisher grasped her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Callan, we're going to do our best for him. We'll let you know as soon as we're out of surgery."

Callan nodded then sank onto a chair.

Dr. Fisher walked back into the room and looked at Clay again. He knew the next several hours were going to push him and the rest of the staff to the limits of their capabilities. "Let's do this."

"Callan, honey?" Callan felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the tear-rimmed eyes of her aunt Julie.

Callan fell into her warm embrace and started sobbing again.

Julie rubbed her back and held her tight, letting her cry. Steve did his best to keep himself together while Bobbi continued to sob uncontrollably. Ralph went to find them all something to drink.

As they sat together on a couch, Julie wiped Callan's tears and pushed a dry handkerchief into her hands. "Now, tell us what you can. We need to know, honey."

Callan took a deep breath and explained that Clay was in surgery. She tried not to dwell on the extent of his injuries, or her concerns about him pulling through surgery.

She instead said the doctor had let her see Clay before they rolled him into surgery and she was confident in Dr. Fisher being an excellent physician and surgeon.

Josh and Jenna arrived along with Big Jim and Jake. Jenna stopped by the house long enough to bring Callan a change of clothes and her purse.

For that, Callan was immensely grateful. She hurried into the bathroom and changed out of her bloodstained clothes. She tossed them into the bathroom garbage can, unwilling to set eyes on the clothes again. The bloodstains would never come out and the sight of them would only serve as a reminder of this awful day.

Afternoon faded into evening and no word came from the doctor. They sat and cried; paced and prayed. No one felt like eating, everyone was on edge, and still they waited.

Callan took her cell phone outside and left a message for Laken, keeping it to the briefest of details and instructing her to call Julie the next day for an update.

Just when Callan thought she wouldn't be able to stand the uncertainty one more minute, Dr. Fisher walked down the hall, looking utterly exhausted. Callan jumped up and stood waiting. From the look on his face, she tried to brace herself mentally for whatever he was about to say.

David Fisher looked around the worried faces of the group and wished he had better news to share with them. His gaze settled on Callan. He decided to tell her the facts and not sugarcoat the truth. As he stepped up to her, the rest of the assembled family stood as well.

Callan introduced him to Clay's parents and highlighted the names of the rest of the family. He assumed the young man, Josh, must be Callan's brother due to the resemblance they shared. Glad to see him and the other young woman, Jenna, flank Callan on either side, she would need all the support she could get.

"Callan, I'm going to give it to you straight. I don't think you'd want it any other way," David said, looking directly at her. She nodded her head and he continued. "The good news is that his spinal cord was not injured, so we shouldn't be facing any paralysis issues. He lost a lot of blood due to the number and extent of the injuries. He bled significantly both externally and internally. Both of his kidneys are bruised and his spleen was torn. We were able to repair it and not remove it, which is a good thing. He has some swelling in the brain due to the head injury. We'll monitor him closely for any brain damage and there is the possibility he may slip into a coma. There's also the threat of infection setting in considering where he was at when the accident occurred." David stopped and took a breath before continuing.

"Then there's his leg. It's broken in two places — his thigh and his shin. His thigh had a clean break and I think it will heal well. His shin is another story. The bone's broken in three places. We had our top surgeon piecing it back together and it's pinned with plates, but to be upfront with you, his leg may never heal properly. We aren't looking at amputation, but we'll monitor that leg closely."

Callan hadn't said anything as he spoke but the word amputation made her gasp and a look of fear pass across her pale face. After drawing a shaky breath, she asked the question they all were wondering. "Is he going to live?"

"His body has been battered beyond belief. He is in a crucial stage at this point, Callan. I'd like to tell you he'll wake up in a few hours and start healing. I'd like to promise you he'll be just fine, but I won't. The next twenty-four hours are extremely critical. If he makes it through them, then we have a fighting chance. I know you all are exhausted and past the point of reason, so I can only advise you to go home and rest. If anything changes, we'll call immediately. However, if you insist on staying, we'll continue to keep you updated." David rubbed his hands across his weary eyes. "Callan, if you'd like, I'll come get you in a bit when we've got Clay settled in critical care. You can sit with him for a little while."

She squeezed David's hand and whispered, "Thank you."

Julie and Ralph volunteered to take Big Jim and Jake home. Josh and Jenna refused to leave Callan, and Steve and Bobbi weren't going anywhere. Throughout the long night, they encouraged each other and continued sending up prayers for Clay.

In the early hours of the morning, as the sun began to spread fingers of pink and gold across the sky, Callan stared out the waiting room window and thought of all the mornings with Clay she had wasted. The mornings during the last few painful years that she awoke angry and bitter. How she wished she could take each one back and relive them with Clay. Regret was a cruel, callous companion that offered no compassion or forgiveness. Callan realized that now.

The sound of code something came across the hospital's intercom system, drawing her attention. Something in critical care. Feet pounded down the hallway along with muffled shouts.

"Please, Lord, don't take him. Please don't take him from me," Callan pleaded.

Josh stood next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. She leaned against his strength. Minutes passed. All grew quiet again then Callan looked up as David walked toward them with an unreadable look on his face.

"Callan, I'm so sorry, we..." David reached a hand out to her but Callan fainted before he could finish.

#  Chapter Eighteen

Josh and Jenna pulled into Callan's driveway. Someone had driven Clay's truck home and parked it next to her car. It hurt to see it there.

Callan knew if she opened the door, it would smell of Clay — of wood shavings and hay, leather, and his aftershave.

Slowly drawing a shuddering breath, she braced herself to go inside the house. Josh opened her door and gave her a hand. She grasped it gratefully. She wasn't sure she could even stand on her own without a strong arm to support her.

She fished in her purse, dug out her keys, and unlocked the door. The house seemed eerily quiet, oddly forsaken, as they stepped inside.

Reminders of Clay were everywhere. The ball cap he'd worn on Friday was flung on the couch where he tossed it when he came in the door. In the kitchen, she found a stack of papers he'd been going through on the dining room table, working on plans for the fall semester at school.

"Do you want to sit down, Callan?" Jenna asked, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "I can get whatever you need from the bedroom if you want."

Callan shook her head. "No, you two go on home. I'll be fine. You need some rest, too. I'm going to take a shower and I can't think beyond that."

Josh squeezed her arm lightly. "Cal, we aren't leaving you here alone. Get what you need and come home with us for now."

The front door opened and Laken walked inside. She rushed to Callan and embraced her in a hug.

"Oh, sweetie." Laken held her close as tears spilled down both their cheeks. "I don't even know what to say."

Callan found it impossible to speak at all. She let Laken hold her as they cried. Jenna clung to Josh, who kept clearing his throat.

"Josh, why don't you take Jenna home and rest? I'll stay with Callan," Laken finally said, looking his direction and taking charge.

"Are you sure?" Josh asked, glancing at Callan. She nodded in agreement and gave him and Jenna each a hug with a whispered, "I love you," before walking them to the door.

As soon as they left, Laken pushed her toward her bedroom door. "Go take a shower. I'll warm up some dinner and then we'll decide what needs to happen next. I won't let you argue on this."

Callan was too numb to think, too exhausted to argue. As she walked into the bedroom she'd shared with Clay, a room that held so many memories, waves of pain rushed through her. She hurried into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stood unmoving in the stream of warm water. She wished she could wash away the last several days and go back to having Clay home where he belonged.

When Dr. Fisher walked toward her apologizing the other day, she feared Clay was gone and couldn't bear hearing the words. After fainting and regaining her senses, Dr. Fisher was quick to explain that Clay was alive and holding his own. He'd come to apologize that it had taken him so long to let her know she could see Clay. She, Bobbi, and Steve all took turns sitting next to him, talking to him, encouraging him, praying for him.

Despite their hopes and wishes for a quick recovery, Clay slipped into a coma and, for the most part, was unresponsive.

Although David said it was to be expected with his head injury, it wasn't any more comforting. Callan had been at the hospital for days. She began to lose track of time. Deciding it was Thursday, she remembered calling the office on Monday and talking to Jill, asking her to follow up with her appointments this week. She also called a couple of girls she hired to help with her own event planning business. Until Clay was better, she would turn things over to them.

Callan wouldn't be home now, but Dr. Fisher had ordered her to go home and rest, just for one night. Josh and Jenna insisted on driving her home and she was glad they had. She didn't feel like she could have driven herself, even if she'd had a car to drive. Ralph and Julie were at the hospital now, giving Bobbi and Steve a much-needed break.

The doctor removed Clay's breathing tube that morning, and he breathed well on his own. Each day his vital signs were good, his broken body was slowly mending, but still he lingered in the coma.

Dr. Fisher said Clay's reflexes seemed to be fine, considering all the damage his body had endured. He also said they were almost past the point of major concern about infections from the wounds setting in. Now, they just had to wait and see when, not if — when, Clay decided to wake up and pray that he wouldn't suffer from brain damage.

Tears came anew to Callan as she contemplated life for Clay if he awoke with brain damage. Loved by his students and respected by his peers, he was a gifted teacher who made ordinary subjects interesting and exciting. He was so much fun and owned such a huge, giving heart.

Callan couldn't control the sobs that shook her as she thought about a world without Clay's teasing remarks, sarcastic comments, great sense of humor, gentle encouragement, and especially his words of love. "Please let him be fine, Lord. Please..." Callan uttered the prayer again. She'd prayed it hundreds of times in the last few days.

After washing her hair and stepping out of the shower, Callan dried off, put on pajamas and a light robe, then wandered into the kitchen where Laken pulled a chicken and noodle casserole from the oven.

"I thought some comfort food might taste good, Callan. It's your recipe, so I'm pretty sure it's edible. Can I get you something to drink?" Laken asked as she moved to get two glasses out of the cupboard.

"Just some water, please." Callan leaned against the counter, trying to accept Laken's assistance. It was so foreign to her, having someone wait on her in her own home. Laken was busy with her store and her family. Callan was sure she didn't have time to sit around holding her hand.

Callan sipped the icy cold water then clasped Laken's hand in her own. "Laken, I so appreciate you coming over, but you don't have to stay here with me. I'll be fine. Your family needs you, too."

Laken squeezed her hand and gave her a warm smile full of love and support. "You can't get rid of me that easy. Tyler has the kids under control for the evening and I'm not budging from here until you're asleep. So there."

Callan smiled and gave Laken a hug. "Thank you for being such a good friend. What would I do without you?"

"For starters, you'd probably be eating cereal with water on it, since the milk has gone bad. Do you want me to run to the store for you?"

"No. I don't plan to be home much for a while. No need to buy groceries until we're home to stay."

Laken could see the tears in Callan's eyes and decided she needed a distraction. She began telling her stories about all the crazy things her two active children had done in the past couple of weeks. She also gave Callan an earful about all the silly things Tyler had done. For a smart guy, he really did do many unbelievable things. His latest stunt was deciding to build a pirate ship in the backyard for the kids to play on. It started out with an old rowboat, a torn tarp, and some twine.

"The monstrosity," as Laken preferred to call it, overtook the entire backyard. Not only was it an eyesore, it killed the grass and stunted the growth of several plants. There were also the complaints that kept coming from the neighbors. "Tyler just threatens to make them walk the plank and hangs up. His stupid project is really making us popular throughout the neighborhood." Laken's laugh was contagious, infecting even Callan as they ate their dinner.

Thankful to Laken for taking her mind off her life and problems, even for a little while, Callan smiled as her friend shared more funny stories. After finishing their dinner, they did the dishes and by that time, Callan was exhausted and decided to climb into bed.

She slid between the cool sheets, wanting so badly to turn to Clay, only to find the empty space where he should be. She could smell his scent on his pillow and held it close to her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked her pillow. They had come so far in the past five months. She just wanted to go back to Friday afternoon when all was fun, happy, and right in their world. "Please let him be fine." Callan whispered between her sobs. "Please, Lord, please."

Callan slept late the next morning. The ringing of the phone awoke her. Sleep fogged her mind and made her voice sound rough and raspy when she answered.

"Callan, it's Laken. Did I wake you up? Oh, I'm sorry sweetie. I should have waited until later. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay this morning. Is there anything you need?"

"No. I'm fine." Callan looked at the clock and saw it was almost noon. She'd never slept that late in her entire life. "I'm glad you called. I might have slept the day away. Thanks again for coming over last night. I really appreciated you being here."

"No problem," Laken said, with a smile in her voice. "You let me know if there is anything at all we can do. Promise?"

"Promise. I'm going to jump in the shower to wake up, pack a few things, then head back to the hospital. I'll try to call you tonight or tomorrow. Thanks again, Laken."

"Do you need someone to drive you?"

"No. I'll be fine and it'll be nice to have my own transportation available. I hate being dependent on everyone."

"I know," Laken said with a laugh. "Miss Independent is definitely you. Drive safely and keep me posted. Love you, Callan."

"Love you, too, Laken. Thanks again. Bye."

Callan hurried to take a quick shower, dressed, then made the bed. She dug out a bag to pack with clothes and necessities for a few days. As she pawed through a drawer, her hand connected with something solid. She pulled it out and stared at the heart Clay made for her the day Audrey and Emma visited. She'd meant to put it in her treasure box and hadn't gotten around to it. Seeing it now brought agonizing pain to her own heart as she remembered that day and the look of love on Clay's face when he handed it to her. Her legs trembled and she collapsed on the bed as a round of fresh tears shook her frame.

Gently setting the heart on her dresser, Callan wiped her cheeks and took a deep breath. Hysterics wouldn't help anything or change what happened. For Clay's sake, she had to pull herself together. No matter when Clay came out of his coma, he needed to know how much she still loved and needed him. That he had her heart forever.

Quickly finishing her packing, Callan locked the house and backed out of the driveway, ready for the hour-long drive into the city to the hospital. On the way, she called Josh and Jenna to let them know she was driving herself and that she was fine.

When she arrived at the hospital, she hurried back to critical care and found Steve waiting outside while Bobbi sat with Clay. He stood and gave her a hug then motioned to the seat beside him. "How are you? Did you get some rest?"

"Yes, Dad, I did. Thanks." Callan smiled at her father-in-law. He'd always treated her like a daughter and she loved him as much as she did her own dad. "It was so hard to be in the house without Clay. I don't think I would have agreed to go home if I knew how difficult it was going to be. I miss him so much."

"I know, Callan. I know," Steve said, with a faraway look on his face. "He was always like that, you know."

Puzzled, Callan stared at him.

"Clay was always a special kid. He could bring an extra element of fun, or friendship, or understanding to any situation. He seemed to always know when it was best to tell a joke or lend a hand or just be there for someone." Steve was quiet for a long moment, then laughed. "He's always been quite partial to the joke-telling and prank-playing."

They both smiled, remembering jokes Clay had played on them and others.

"It was priceless seeing him the day you came home with your new look. If I hadn't already been there, I would have paid money to see his face when he finally realized you were the mysterious beauty in his kitchen. Every time I think about it, I grin all over again." Steve smiled broadly and patted Callan's hand. "Now, that was something."

"I thought he was going to eat us all alive for dinner." Callan shook her head as she remembered Clay's irritated looks and dour expressions that lasted until everyone went home. She wouldn't let herself think about what happened when their company had finally gone. The wonder of those moments and the thought she and Clay might never experience anything like them again created a pain that was too much to bear.

Steve smiled again and cleared his throat. "Did I ever tell you about the time Clay managed to scare about ten years off my life? He was only five at the time."

Callan looked at Steve, waiting for him to continue.

"You know where we stack the hay, back behind the barn? Well, it was spring and we'd piled a bunch of seed sacks next to one of the haystacks. Clay got it in his head that it would be fun to jump off the haystack onto the piles of seed. At first he was jumping off bales stacked just a couple high, so I wasn't worried about him. We got busy working on some equipment and the next thing I knew, that crazy kid had climbed to the very top of the stack and jumped off. I hollered about the same time he jumped, but not soon enough to stop him. How he survived the fall, I'll never know. He could have broken his neck, his back, every bone in his body. Instead, it knocked him senseless, gave him a doozy of a concussion and broke his nose. He had a nosebleed like you wouldn't believe. Bobbi wouldn't let Clay come out with me for months after that without her supervision. Eventually, we both earned her trust back, but Clay never did regain his sense of smell and he never could breathe right through his nose after that."

Steve took her hand in his and gave it a hopeful squeeze. "It's going to be okay, Callan. Our boy is going to be just fine. Have faith and don't give up hope. Our job is to keep encouraging him until he decides to wake up. Right?"

Callan nodded her head. It was too hard to speak around the lump in her throat. She knew she needed to be strong not only for Clay but also for his parents. Clay was their only child. Callan knew how hard it was to lose a child. She couldn't imagine the pain of losing one you'd loved for thirty-six years. Calling on all her recently gained knowledge about positive thinking, Callan decided to focus only on the good.

Clay would wake up, he would be fine, he would heal, and life would go on. That was the way it would be, since she refused to think of the alternatives.

If only Clay would realize the first step was for him to wake up.

Clay had never felt such intense pain.

His entire body hurt. Sinking into the dark swells of oblivion seemed so much easier than trying to fight his way to awareness.

As he floated in a state somewhere in between awake and asleep, he felt a breath near his ear and heard Callan's voice. She whispered to him to fight and begged him not to leave.

"I love you, Clay," he heard her say. "Come back to me."

Come back to me, come back to me. The words rang in his ears as he sank into the far-off place where the pain wasn't so overwhelming.

He drifted in the void where he couldn't feel anything, where time didn't seem to matter. Occasionally, he heard voices, felt a touch.

Sometimes he dreamed.

He dreamed of Callan and their life together. Like a movie playing in slow motion, he could picture all their past moments.

Oddly, he dreamed he could smell her scent. It filled him with a sense of pleasure and familiarity, like nothing he could remember.

He dreamed of how she looked the day she'd surprised him with her makeover, of the raw, hungry passion they'd shared that night. They'd had so many fun times since then, so many moments he'd looked at her and had his breath stolen away.

Falling in love with her again had been such a precious, unexpected gift. One he'd cherished.

Clay pictured his parents, remembered good times spent out at the ranch. He thought of Jake and his other students and the joy teaching brought him. Clay also thought of Audrey and Emma, how much he enjoyed playing with the two little girls.

A picture of cattle stampeding and one crazed cow heading toward him would make him flinch and then the dream would stop. When his thoughts took him too close to the surface of waking up, the pain became intense, so Clay let his mind wander back to the peaceful place where the pain didn't interrupt his dreams.

Bobbi walked out of critical care with Dr. Fisher. They both looked at Callan and smiled.

"Callan, did you get some rest?" David asked, not convinced that she had.

"Yes, I did. I brought some things with me so I can stay here, though. I don't want to leave Clay again."

David nodded. "We're running short of beds in critical care and since Clay is doing so well, I've decided to have him moved this afternoon to a private room. Even though he's still in a coma, I think you all will be more comfortable with him there. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful." Callan grinned at the doctor.

"I'll let you know as soon as we're ready to move him," David said, before walking back into critical care.

The move to a private room went well and Callan was so pleased at what the room offered. After having crowded into the tiny little space in critical care among all the beeping machines and equipment, the private room seemed so spacious. A window looked out on the landscaped lawn below. A private bathroom with a shower, a recliner, and two other chairs rounded out the room along with Clay's bed and all the equipment that trailed along with him.

Once the doctor settled Clay and the nurses were sure everything was fine, they allowed Callan, Bobbi and Steve all to enter the room.

Callan stood next to the bed and softly rubbed Clay's arm, telling him about the move, how nice the room was and how much he would enjoy it when he woke up. She bent over him and positioned her mouth close to his ear. "Come back to me, Brick. I need you here." Placing a soft kiss on his forehead, she moved so Bobbi could stand next to the bed.

The next day, Callan returned from taking a walk to get some fresh air to find the biggest, prettiest arrangement of flowers she'd ever seen in the room. The card said it was from Mrs. Horner, Callan's client whom she had toured around the convention center the day before Clay's accident.

With the card still held in her hand, she told Clay's parents about Mrs. Horner and her reaction to seeing Clay. Steve smiled at the story, but tears flowed down Bobbi's cheeks. Callan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from joining her. After giving Bobbi a hug and squeeze, Callan went outside to call Mrs. Horner and thank her for the bouquet.

Over the next several days, bouquets, balloons and cards poured in until the room looked like a florist's shop.

Callan finally asked the nurses if they would like some of the flowers for their workstations, or to brighten the waiting room areas. All but a few of the bouquets were soon removed.

One afternoon, Big Jim arrived with little Audrey and Emma in tow. Callan turned the corner in the hallway after taking a walk to stretch her legs when she saw them. The little girls appeared subdued, coached by their great-grandfather to use their indoor voices and be very quiet.

Callan hugged both girls close and glanced at her dad. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Daddy? I don't want to frighten the girls. Clay looks a lot different than what they are used to seeing."

"I know, sweet daughter, but they begged and pleaded to come see their Uncle Clay. We talked about how he got hurt in lots of places and can't talk to them. They know they have to be quiet. They also know that Uncle Clay can hear them and would love that they came to visit him." Big Jim nodded his head encouragingly at Callan, trying to convince her it was a good idea.

Callan got down on her knees and pulled a girl close in each arm, speaking quietly to them. "Uncle Clay and I so appreciate your visit, girls. He's sleeping right now and he can't give you a hug today, or smile at you, or even open his eyes. He's hooked up to lots of wonderful machines that are helping to make him all better, so he looks a little different than you are used to. I don't want you to be afraid of the machines or Uncle Clay. He's still the same Uncle Clay inside and he loves you very much."

Callan stood and took a little hand in each of hers. "Now, let's be very, very quiet, and you can say hello to Uncle Clay." She walked into the room with Audrey and Emma as Big Jim followed them.

Bobbi sat in the room, relaxing in the recliner. She looked at Callan and then Big Jim in surprise, but plastered on a warm smile for the girls. "Hello Audrey and Emma. How nice of you to come see your Uncle Clay. Did you have a fun ride with your grandpa?"

The two little girls nodded their heads, their eyes fixed on their former big playmate so quiet and still in the bed. Callan walked to Clay's bedside and picked up Audrey while Bobbi picked up Emma. They held a girl on each side of bed. Both girls were completely silent, their little eyes growing huge as they took in the equipment, Clay's bruises, and stitches.

Finally, little Emma reached out a tiny hand and softly patted Clay's cheek. She leaned over in Bobbi's arms and put her rosebud lips close to Clay's ear. "Uncle Clay, Audrey and I comed with Gampa to see you. We miss you and wants you well so you can play with us some more. We loves you."

Audrey patted a place on Clay's arm that looked safe to touch and whispered "We love you lots, Uncle Clay. Please get all better."

Callan and Bobbi set the girls down and swallowed back their tears. Callan smiled at them. "How about if we take you to the cafeteria and get some ice cream while Grandpa stays with Uncle Clay? Would that be alright?"

Both little girls nodded their curly heads and walked to the door with Callan and Bobbi. Big Jim sat down in the chair by the bed and started telling Clay a story about a fellow he once knew who hit his head on a post and didn't wake up again for three days.

As he dreamed of Callan, Clay felt the lightest touch on his cheek. He could hear a soft, little voice in his ear. Was that Emma or Audrey? He wondered what the girls were doing. Where were they? What were they saying?

Straining to hear, he finally understood their words.

Get well.

Was he sick? Is that why he felt so strange?

Clay felt waves of pain roll over him as he struggled to reach awareness. He clenched his hand then fell back into the painless oblivion.

Big Jim was in the middle of a story when he glimpsed Clay's hand clenching the blanket. He hurried out to the nurses' station and let them know. Mary, the nurse who had been so kind to them since the first day, hustled into the room and checked Clay's vital signs.

She made notes on the chart by his bed, but shook her head at Big Jim. "Sorry, Mr. Carver, but he's not showing any other signs of coming out of the coma. Don't give up, yet, though. Moving his hand was a great sign."

When Callan and Bobbi returned with the girls, Big Jim told them what he saw. Bobbi and Callan were both encouraged. The girls each wanted to tell Clay goodbye, which they did with quiet whispers in his ear, then Emma placed a sticky kiss on his stubbly cheek.

Callan hugged each of the girls and thanked them for coming then gave her dad a hug. "Thanks for bringing them, Daddy. I really appreciate you making the effort. It was great to see you and them."

"Anytime, sweet daughter." Big Jim gave Callan a peck on the cheek. "Don't you worry about this boy. He's going to be just fine. You mark my words."

Fifteen days after the accident, Clay remained in the coma. Although he healed well physically, Callan grew discouraged. She knew in the grand scheme of things that it hadn't been that long since he'd been in the coma, but, oh, how she missed him.

She went home for a night's rest, but found she couldn't sleep when she spent most of the night worrying about Clay. With the convention center a good hour's drive from the hospital, Callan decided to swing by that morning and pick up work to take with her.

She found a mountain of papers piled on her desk and was making headway through the stack when Jill popped into her office.

"Callan, this is the last place I thought to find you. You don't need to be here. Rachel and I can take care of this." Jill waved her hand toward the shrinking pile of paperwork.

"I know, but I need to feel useful and like I am doing something productive," Callan explained. "I'm just here for a little while this morning. I can handle a lot of this from the hospital. How are things going? I'm so sorry to not be here during one of our busiest seasons."

"Don't give it a second thought. Things are running relatively smoothly. If something comes up only you can answer, I'll call you or send an email. Will that work?"

"That would be great." Callan packed up some files and glanced at her watch. "Send email first. I don't get great cell service at the hospital and I'm limited on access areas. I better get going. I told Bobbi I'd be back right after lunch."

Callan stood and walked toward the door with Jill. They gave each other a warm hug. "Let us know if there is anything we can do," Jill said.

"I will. Thanks again." Callan hurried out to her car. She was almost to the hospital when her cell phone rang. It was Dr. Fisher.

"Hello, this is Callan." A call from Dr. Fisher meant something great or something terrible had happened.

"Callan, I've got some wonderful news," David said enthusiastically. "Clay woke up and said one word. How far away are you from the hospital?"

"I'm just pulling into the parking lot. I'll be there in a minute." Filled with excitement, Callan couldn't keep a smile from lighting her face with unbridled joy. "What did he say, David?"

"Laney."

Clay felt weak beyond anything he'd ever before experienced. Everything hurt or ached. Some pain was fiery, other pounding and throbbing. His tongue felt thick and heavy while his head was fuzzy.

The weight of his eyelids kept him from opening his eyes. His throat was raw and swallowing was agony. He had no idea where he was, just that something wasn't right. Working hard at forming a word and spitting it out, he managed to croak, "Laney."

Where before there had been sounds of motion, whispers, everything grew unnaturally quiet. He tried speaking again. "Laney."

David happened to be standing by the bed checking Clay's vitals when he heard him try to say something. He leaned closer and barely heard the man whisper, "Laney."

Odd. He wondered who Laney was and why Clay would ask for her when Callan was clearly devoted to him.

He turned to a nurse and asked her to run out to find Bobbi, who had gone for a quick walk.

"Ask her if she knows someone named Laney or if the name has some significance for Clay."

The nurse was gone only a few moments when she returned with a crying Bobbi and a smile on her face.

"Mrs. Matthews said that's his pet name for his wife," the nurse beamed. "Isn't that the sweetest thing?"

David couldn't help but smile as well. He stepped out to the nurse's station and called Callan. It looked like a miracle was about to take place as Clay came out of his coma. When he hung up the phone, he went back into the room and assured Clay that Callan would be with him very soon.

Callan ran across the parking lot, barely slowing down as she went through the hospital's sliding doors, up the elevator, and down the hall to Clay's room.

Bobbi was there, crying a stream of tears and smiling. Callan gave her a hug before going to stand by Clay's head. Leaning over him, she softly brushed at the short curls near his temple, trying not to notice where his head had been shaved on the other side and stitches glared against the pale skin. She bent close to his ear and whispered, "I love you, Clay. I'm waiting for you. Come back to me." She softly kissed his lips before straightening.

Clay dreamed of a feathery-soft touch brushing at his temple. He thought he could smell something familiar, light and flowery. Then he heard Callan's voice in his ear.

Come back to me.

There it was again. He had no idea where he was and why she kept asking him to come back. He struggled to fight his way to consciousness, to say her name again, but couldn't quite force himself to do it.

When she picked up his hand and began to rub it with her soft, smooth fingers, he squeezed her hand. He hoped she would know he tried to get back to her from the place that was so foreign to him.

Callan gasped when he squeezed her hand. She motioned to Dr. Fisher to watch her hand in Clay's, and leaned close to his ear. "I miss you, Brick. Squeeze my hand again if you can hear me."

The room was perfectly silent as they waited.

Clay squeezed her hand again.

Callan beamed, shooting David a look of hope and joy.

He felt like cheering and grinned broadly. "Excellent," he said. "That is excellent."

#  Chapter Nineteen

Clay came fully awake in stages.

Callan and Bobbi were afraid to leave the room and not be there when he finally came to, so they huddled around his bed the rest of the afternoon. Steve arrived early in the evening and took over waiting while Bobbi and Callan went to get a bite to eat.

They returned to the room talking about how surprisingly tasty the hospital food was that evening.

"Do you think these sweet ladies in the cafeteria would share the recipe for their rolls?" Bobbi asked as she stood next to Steve's chair.

Callan smiled. "I don't know, but I'd love to know their secret for getting the rolls so light and fluffy." A motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to the hospital bed.

Clay moved his hands and his right leg, as if he was trying to stretch. A grimace of pain raced across his face. Callan heard him moan before he again grew still. She ran out of the room to the nurses' station and let them know Clay had moved. Mary paged Dr. Fisher before she hurried into the room, right behind Callan.

By the time David arrived, Clay seemed to be growing agitated as he fidgeted on the bed. One eye popped open followed by the other. His eyes looked glazed, unseeing, before he squeezed them shut and once again grew still.

Clay heard voices around him. His mom and Callan talked about the delicious rolls they'd eaten for dinner. As he tried to recall the last time he'd eaten, he thought he might be hungry.

He remembered lunch the day they worked the cattle. There was a table loaded with a wide variety of taste-tempting treats. Fuzzy memories floated through his thoughts as he focused on what happened after lunch. He didn't remember much except Josh yelling at him to get out of the pen.

In an effort to determine where he was and why everything hurt, Clay attempted to move his arms and legs. Only one leg would move. The slightest movement of the other caused intense pain.

He stilled and listened to the conversation around him. His dad offered random comments to the women's chatter. Something soft, like a blanket, was beneath his hand. His mouth was dry and tasted terrible while his head throbbed on one side. Machines beeped annoyingly loud near his head.

Suddenly, the voices stopped. Footsteps moved quickly out of the room then more footsteps soon returned. Someone sobbed — he thought it was his mother.

The heat of bodies close to him warmed his side. He could smell something familiar and flowery.

Wait a minute. Smell?

He hadn't been able to smell anything since he was a kid, but Clay could smell and the scent he inhaled was wonderful. He immediately associated the fragrance with Callan. Maybe he was dreaming again. He had dreamed of that scent often, knew it well.

Something soft and light cradled his hand. Callan's hand. He'd know it anywhere.

Slowly opening his eyes, he looked into Callan's huge green ones and tried to smile. She was waiting for him to come back, just like she said she would be. Tears pooled in her eyes, yet she smiled and looked unbelievably happy.

"Hi," Clay rasped.

"Hi there." Callan wiped her tears with the hand not holding his. "Welcome back. I missed you so much."

"Missed you," Clay said, trying to focus on more than just her beloved face. "Thirsty."

It seemed like mere seconds until a straw touched his lips and cool water trickled down his parched throat.

He looked over and saw a doctor standing on the other side of the bed. He also smiled widely.

"Clay, I'm Dr. David Fisher," David introduced himself. He knew Clay probably wouldn't stay awake for long or remember much of what was said, but wanted to put him and his family as much at ease as possible. "You had an accident two weeks ago and have been here at the university hospital. We're so glad you finally decided to wake up. Your wife was getting lonesome without you. You're going to be here for a while until your body heals, but we promise to take good care of you."

Clay felt exhausted by this little effort. He tried to nod his head but couldn't quite manage it. Instead, he squeezed Callan's hand again and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep.

Callan looked at David, still crying and smiling. "He's back!"

It took a few more days before Clay was able to stay awake for any period of time and show signs of being alert. Between Callan, his parents, her dad, Jake, Josh and Jenna, there was most always someone with him when he was awake to answer questions and get him a cool drink.

David stopped by one afternoon when Clay was wide-awake and went over the category of his injuries, the progress he'd made, and what to expect in the next weeks and months.

The doctor attempted to stress how fortunate Clay was to be healing so well, but also to be mentally at one hundred percent. After the extent of the injury to his head, David hadn't dared hope for such a miracle.

David explained that once he was stable enough to move around on his own, he could go home. He assured Clay they would soon get him out of bed and begin physical therapy.

Clay asked him about his returned sense of smell. David didn't have a medical explanation for it, but encouraged Clay to look at it as a very special gift. As the scent of Callan and her perfume teased his nose, he thought the whole thing might have been worth it just to be able to savor her fragrance. Almost.

The next morning, Callan worked on her laptop while Clay watched television. It had been unusually quiet without nurses or doctors poking their heads inside the room as they usually did every hour or so.

When they did, Callan usually took a break to stretch her legs or make a business call. Clay took those opportunities to take care of basic necessities. The last thing he wanted was his wife caring for him like he was a baby or an invalid. There were certain circumstances when a man had to draw a line.

Clay hoped one of the nurses would poke her head in the door soon, so Callan would leave, but he had no such luck. Anxious, he looked to see if he could reach the nurse call button.

Callan noticed his distress. "What is it Clay?" she asked sweetly, setting aside her computer and rising from the chair. "Can I get you something? You look uncomfortable. Can I fix your pillow or adjust the bed?"

"No."

"Well, what's the... Oh." Realization dawned on her. She bent to grab the bedpan when Clay grasped her wrist with an amazing amount of strength, pulling her startled gaze up to meet the cold look in his normally warm blue eyes.

"No, Callan. Get out. Go find a nurse and get out." Clay was on the verge of losing his composure, especially when Callan laughed at him.

"For Pete's sake, Clay, it isn't a big deal," she said, trying to pry his fingers off her wrist.

"I mean it, Callan. Get out. Now! Get out!" Clay hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he didn't back down when a wounded look settled in her eyes.

Without saying a word, she turned and walked out of the room. A nurse soon appeared and gave him a look of disgust. "I hear we've got a grumpy bear in here this morning," she said as she neared the bed.

Clay's only answer was to shoot her a frosty glare.

Callan was noticeably absent from the room for more than an hour. When she did return, she picked up her laptop and returned to work. Finally, she looked at him and sighed. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm your wife. I'm willing to help you with anything you need. Okay?"

"No, Callan, it isn't okay. Nothing is okay. I'm not okay. Being here isn't okay. You taking care of me like I'm a baby isn't okay. Don't offer again. Ever." Clay pinned Callan to her seat with a seething glare.

She raised a brow and gave him a look that said he acted like a cranky child.

Clay didn't care. "I'm your husband, Callan. Some things aren't up for discussion. If I was the one sitting there and you were lying here, in this insufferable bed, would you let me take care of your personal needs?"

A look of horror flew across Callan's face. "Absolutely not! That would be... well..." Callan sighed, closed her laptop, and stood next to the bed. "You win." She picked up his hand and placed a kiss on the back of it.

Clay decided if he'd won this skirmish without much fight, he would press his advantage. The more awake and aware he was, the more he hated for Callan to see him so broken and helpless. If he thought anyone would listen to him, he'd send her away and not let her come back until he was released and ready to go home.

"Callan, I don't want you here all the time. You need to rest. You need to go back to work. You need to resume having a life." When she started to argue, he hurried on. "I mean it. I need some space and time by myself. I don't need you hovering over me. Your work is piling up at the office. Go home, Callan. Please, just go home."

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her hurt feelings and emotional turmoil in check. "We'll see what David has to say when he next stops by." She picked up a cup of cold water and set it on his bed tray, where he could reach it.

"What David has to say about what?" the doctor asked as he breezed into the room. "I've heard you're not being a good patient today, Clay. What has you out of sorts? Are you in a lot of pain?"

Callan tried to hide a smile when Clay glared at her. "Clay has decided that he needs some space and thinks I should go away and leave him alone. What do you think, David?"

"Well, I think it would be a good idea for you to start returning to a normal routine. That way, when this big guy does go home, you'll be ready for him. I know you're already working from here, but I think you could start getting back into at least a part-time schedule."

Callan looked at David like he'd turned into the world's biggest traitor. Hiding her irritation, she pasted on a fake smile and shrugged her shoulders. "If that's what you think is best, who am I to argue?"

David checked Clay's charts, poked around a bit, and mumbled a few comments. As he walked out of the room, he turned to Clay. "You're doing extremely well. I'll come back this afternoon and we'll get you out of that bed for a change."

"I'll walk out with you, David," Callan said, as they stepped into the hallway. They walked toward the elevator while Callan expressed her concerns with the doctor.

"Do you really think I need to leave him alone?" She hoped the answer would be no.

David hid his smile. Clay was in the premier hospital in the region under the care of some of their very best staff round-the-clock. That was beside the point.

Clay struggled with being helpless and vulnerable, especially when it came to Callan. If he knew his patient at all, he knew Clay didn't want his status as her champion and protector undermined by his current situation.

"Yes, I'm absolutely certain he'll be fine. I think he really could use a little space. He seems like a guy who's used to having his own way, doing things the way he likes, when he likes. It's probably been really hard for him to be so helpless and overrun with people all the time. Add in the fact that he can now smell things — good, bad and otherwise — where he couldn't before, in addition to his injuries, it's no wonder he's a little out of sorts. What brought the bear out in him this morning?"

"I offered to get the bed pan for him," Callan said, with a blush. "He was a little upset about me helping him, so I got one of the nurses."

David laughed. "Well, if it was me, I certainly wouldn't want my wife to help me either. Leave him with a little dignity, Callan. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you've probably always had a case of hero-worship for your husband. He knows it and wants it to stay that way. Even if he is bed-ridden for the time being, he won't always be. Look at it from his perspective and you'll better know how to handle him and help him as he heals."

Callan smiled and nodded her head. "Thanks for the advice, David. I really appreciate it. You've not only been a great doctor, but also a very good friend. We both are very thankful for you."

"It's what I'm here for," David said, as he stepped into the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

Once Callan left the room with David, Clay closed his eyes.

He was grateful, so very grateful, to be alive and healing. To be blessed with all the people that cared about him. To have hope for the future.

Despite that, he found it incredibly hard to be stuck flat on his back with no chance of doing anything different anytime soon. He knew he acted like a baby and was being cranky but he had so little control over anything.

The tiny shred of dignity he had left concerning Callan, he planned to keep. If it meant her feelings got hurt or feathers ruffled, well, so be it. When he was back on his feet, he wanted to resume his position as her hero. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would stand in the way of that.

Overwhelmed, by his pain as well as his confinement to a hospital bed, he struggled not to give in the darkness that bubbled beneath the surface of his emotions.

His broken leg was about the most painful thing he had ever endured. His head still had a dull ache and his insides felt hot and tender. Although the pain was almost more than he could take, David agreed to cut back on his pain medication. Clay didn't like feeling drugged and out of it.

Regaining his sense of smell had been a thing of both wonder and disgust. He didn't remember all the strong and vile smells from his childhood. In the hospital, a never-ending parade of aromas assaulted him from disinfectant to the odd scent of latex gloves.

Some smells he remembered from his childhood. Like the aroma of his mom's fragrance. He was sure she'd always worn the same perfume. He recalled the scent of his dad's aftershave along with the sharp, crisp smell of a book's pages.

The cloying scent of flowers was so overpowering by the bounty of bouquets in the room he finally begged Callan to get rid of them all.

Clay took a deep breath and inhaled Callan's lingering aura. No wonder Jake could tell when she'd been in the room. Flowery, sensual, and lovely — there was no mistaking her scent with anyone else. Hers was the smell that had drifted into his dreams, helped pull him back from his oblivion.

The moment she returned to the room after walking out with David, her fragrance floated in softly and settled around him like a touch of warmth and comfort. He could feel her near and appreciated the feather-light kiss she placed on his forehead. The spicy tang of her cinnamon gum tickled his nose. He opened his eyes and offered her a sheepish grin.

The smile she gave him was indulgent and forgiving. "I thought you were sleeping." She ran her fingers along his hairline, carefully avoiding the injured side.

"Just resting." He released a long, care-worn sigh. "I'm so tired of being tired. So tired of being here. I wish we could go home."

"I know. But you have no idea what great progress you've already made. David thinks you'll have a rapid recovery, all things considered. He said they'll start physical therapy soon. You'll be up out of this bed later today. Isn't that great?"

"I guess so." Clay wasn't convinced he made any kind of progress. He absently rubbed a hand along his jaw and was surprised at the beard he felt against his palm. When he scratched at it like a dog with fleas, Callan grabbed his hand, stopping him.

"You've got cuts that are healing you need to leave alone." Callan held his hand to her chest. "Behave yourself."

"What do you mean I have cuts on my face?" Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen himself in a mirror since the morning of the accident. "Bring me a mirror. I want to see."

"I'm not sure that's a great idea." Callan dropped his hand and refused to look in him in the eye. "Let's see what's on TV you might want to watch." Desperate to distract him, she flipped through channels with the remote. Clay, however, was having no part of it.

"Callan, let me see," he insisted, grabbing the remote away from her. "I need to see."

Reluctantly, she pulled a compact mirror from her purse, hoping the small mirror would keep him from fully viewing his face. Unfortunately, he held it out and got a good glimpse in the tiny mirror. He gasped in shock and surprise at his reflection.

Both eyes had been black and were now fading to lighter shades of bruising. His entire face looked swollen and in various stages of healing. He had a bright red line on his left cheek, poking through his sandy-colored beard, where stitches had come out and the wound healed. Another angry red line marched right through the cleft of his chin. Then there was the shaved spot on the left side of his head near his temple with stitches glaring in a telltale half-circle that looked exactly like a hoof print. He was lucky that kick hadn't landed on his temple. No doubt, that would have killed him.

When he glanced at Callan, the crazy woman smiled at him encouragingly. He wondered how she could stand to look at him, much less be close to him.

He looked like a leftover from some horror movie. Suddenly remembering they allowed Audrey and Emma to visit him, he decided his entire family had lost their good sense. The two little girls most likely suffered from trauma and nightmares after seeing him bruised and battered.

Clay dropped the mirror as it if had burned his fingers. It landed on the bed beside him. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to the side, trying to block the vision of his face from his mind.

"Go home, Callan," he begged, his voice husky. "Go home and leave me alone."

Callan picked up the mirror and put it in her pocket then lifted Clay's hand in hers again. He couldn't get rid of her that easy. Six months ago, she'd have been out the door crying, but not now.

She absently considered if this rejected feeling was what Clay experienced during the three years she pushed him away. She wasn't enjoying it for the short period she knew it was going to last and had no idea how he endured it for years.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, she stepped forward. Things were different now. She was every bit as stubborn as her thickheaded husband and planned to remind him that he had met his match.

When he tried to pull his hand away, she held on tighter.

"Clay, you're being ridiculous. You look much better than you did even a few days ago. David told you how well and how quickly you're healing. In a few more days, the cuts on your face will be healed enough you can shave, then you'll feel more like yourself. The bruising and the swelling will be gone. Your hair is already growing back over your hoof print." She brushed at his hairline with her other hand. He tried to twist his head, but had nowhere to go to escape her tender ministrations.

"Besides, not everyone tangles with a herd of stampeding cows and lives to tell the tale. I think that scar on your head is going to be a great reminder to us both to never again take a day for granted. I came so close to losing you, a few little scars aren't going to change that. I don't care what you look like." Callan placed a soft kiss to his lips then stepped back. "Don't you understand, you dense man? I love you. So suck it up, buckaroo."

He stared into Callan's eyes. She smiled at him in a way that went far in warming his heart and putting him at ease. He still thought she was crazy, and stubborn, and bossy. But she loved him.

That was so good.

#  Chapter Twenty

Callan rested her head against the recliner with her eyes closed while Clay read a book. He'd been moderately well behaved the entire day and she knew he made progress. The better he felt, the less cantankerous and more easygoing he became.

In his third day of getting up out of bed, he continued to make huge strides in the healing process. The first day had been brutal, but David was pleased with Clay's efforts. Although brief, he was able to be up for longer periods each day. They had to take things one step at a time until Clay could walk again.

The light, clicking steps of little feet echoed around her as they approached the door. Callan hid a grin as Emma and Audrey rushed to the chair and climbed onto her lap.

"Auntie Callan, we came to see you and Uncle Clay," Audrey said, bouncing on Callan's lap.

"Hello, sweetie pies!" Callan gave them each a hug and kiss. "Did you have a fun ride with Uncle Josh?"

"Yep. He's silly." Emma tilted her head and pointed to her uncle as he sauntered into the room and shook Clay's hand before sitting down in an empty chair.

Callan laughed. "That's why we love him so much, isn't it?"

"Yep!" both girls agreed.

"Are you ready to see Uncle Clay?" Callan asked as she stood up, took their hands, and led them next to the bed. She picked up Audrey and sat her on the bed on Clay's good side, then bent to pick up Emma.

Clay still couldn't believe anyone thought it was a good idea to subject the girls to his hideous state, but he'd try to make the best of it. After setting aside his book when they came in, he was as ready as he could be for their visit.

"Hi, Audrey," Clay said, offering her a friendly smile. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Clay. Are you feeling better? You look lots better than the last time we were here," Audrey stated with a nod of her head. "We can see your eyeballs today and everything!"

Carefully, Clay chuckled. "Yes, you can. I appreciate you coming to see me. It's very nice to see you."

Emma was tired of waiting and started chanting, "my turn. It's my turn!" Emma, who hung off Callan's neck, tried hard to contain her wiggly little body. "Oh, Uncle Clay. Is it you?" she asked, bending forward and gazing at him closely.

"Yes, Emma, it's me." He felt uncomfortable under her intent perusal. Goodness only knew what she'd say.

"Are you sure?" Emma asked with a tilt of her head. "You gots hair all over your face. Is it s'posed to be there?"

"For now it is. When I feel much, much better, I'll shave it off. Will that be okay with you?" Clay asked.

"Yep! I's glad you feel better. I miss you." After fisting a handful of Callan's shirt in her hand to keep her balance, Emma leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Her sweet little kiss as well as the way she softly brushed a hand over the scruffy beard on his face left him surprised and pleased. "I miss you girls, too. When the doctor lets me go home, will you promise to come visit me again?" Clay gave both girls a pleading look.

"Oh, yes. We can take good care of you," Audrey said, nodding her head excitedly. "Can't we, Auntie Callan?"

Callan smiled as she set Emma down and lifted Audrey off the bed. "Absolutely. You'll be great little helpers." She turned toward the door and asked the girls if they thought they should go see what treats they could find in the cafeteria. They were quick to agree that would be a fine idea. She held their hands as they walked out into the hall. The girls chattered excitedly, asking a multitude of questions about Uncle Clay, like when he could play, how come he couldn't get out of bed, and if he got ice cream every day.

Josh smiled as they left then turned to Clay. "So how are you really doing? My sister tells me you're getting tired of staring at the same four walls. Anything I can get for you?"

"I'm doing okay. Just getting a little restless and homesick." Clay glanced wistfully out the window, regretting his inability to go outside and enjoy the summer sunshine.

"Well, how about a game of checkers?" Josh asked as he set up the board on Clay's bed tray. "Say, you know the Stewarts down in Sublimity? The other day at the feed store I heard he was..."

Clay smiled. Josh was nearly as good at telling stories as his dad. Leave it to his brother-in-law to both distract and entertain him.

Up and on the road earlier than usual, Callan let her thoughts wander as she drove to the hospital.

It was a golden summer day with a deep blue sky overhead. The sun, a spectacular golden orb, painted streaks of rosy color across the horizon. The scent of ripening wheat and freshly cut hay drifted in her car window. As she pulled into the hospital parking lot, a sense of appreciation for the beautiful day waiting ahead filled her heart to overflowing.

Quietly humming to herself, she made the familiar trek to Clay's room. He remained in bed, resting on his side with his back to the door. Since he was usually up and eager to go for a pass around outside in the wheelchair before breakfast, she found it odd he still slept.

After setting her purse on a small side table, she quietly approached the bed. Clay hadn't moved or made a sound. She hoped everything was fine. Concerned, she reached a hand out and gently touched his shoulder. When he didn't move, she gave him a gentle nudge.

"Clay, are you okay?" she asked, trying to keep panic from settling into her chest and coloring her voice. "Clay?"

When she nudged his shoulder again with no response, she turned to find a nurse. A hand grabbed her wrist and she let out a startled gasp. Clay rolled over with a mischievous smirk on his freshly shaven face. "Surprise!" he said, breaking into a full-dimpled grin.

"Clay! You just scared five years off my life and after your accident, I was already down ten!" Callan held a hand to her chest and breathed hard. She felt like giving him a swat on his backside.

Instead, she bent over and kissed his cheek. She hadn't seen it for several weeks and enjoyed the sight of his dimples. Delighted, she inhaled the scent of his aftershave.

"You smell good. I definitely like seeing your whole face. I really missed it, and your sweet cheeks." She laid her hand on his right cheek, thankful that the scars on his chin and left cheek faded daily. The bruising and swelling was nearly gone.

He started to look like her Clay again. His hair was growing back over the scar on his head and all the assorted gashes were well on the way to becoming nothing more than red lines that would fade with time. Little reminders of what he had survived.

"Who did you convince to give you a shave?"

Clay gave her an amused look. "It just so happens I had an appointment with the barber yesterday. Got a shave and a haircut. My buddy Jake is a well-connected kid."

Callan couldn't believe it. "You mean to tell me you let Jake near your head with both a razor blade and scissors?"

"Are you crazy? I'm not that dumb or desperate. One of his friends is studying to be a barber, so Jake brought him in. He did a pretty good job, if I say so myself." Clay looked more like himself than Callan had seen since the day of his accident.

"I'll be sure to give Jake a call later and thank him for his assistance. I suppose I owe him some cookies for payment." Callan pushed Clay's wheelchair up next to the bed so he could get up and they could go out for their morning stroll.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate it. If you make him some, will you bring me a few? I'm so tired of hospital food I could choke. Please, Laney, make me some cookies. Please?" Clay asked so sweetly, she couldn't refuse.

"Anything to stop your pathetic begging," Callan laughed. "Now, let's get you up and rolling."

In the past week, she'd heard, "I can do it myself" so many times, she stopped offering her assistance entirely. After relying on his arms, right leg, and core so much to compensate for his broken leg, Clay's already well-toned muscles were at the point of becoming downright impressive. His left leg was still entrenched in a cast from hip to ankle so his current wardrobe consisted of T-shirts and gym shorts, which were easy to get on over the cast. Callan knew he was as tired of his clothing selections as he was everything else.

As she walked along beside him, Clay pushed himself down the well-maintained path through the gardens and around the perimeter of the hospital property. He could maneuver slowly on crutches, but it was much easier on them both for him to go for longer walks in the wheelchair. Callan enjoyed their morning strolls.

It was marvelous to be out in the fresh air, spend time with Clay, and she felt herself toning up from all the walking. She'd have to suggest they keep up a similar routine when they finally settled into a normal schedule at home. They talked about nothing important, just chatted like old friends, enjoying each other's company. Sometimes they didn't talk at all, lost in their own thoughts.

However, Clay seemed to be in a talkative mood that morning and his openness pleased Callan.

Now that he could see the evidence of progress through his therapy, his personality and attitude began to return to normal. As he rolled along, she stole a look at him and felt her breath catch and heart trip. How she loved him.

Clay stopped and studied her, observant of the fact she appeared lost in her own little world.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said as she stood next to the wheelchair. He knew she was still woolgathering by the look on her face. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

She bent down and kissed him tenderly on the lips, then laid a hand on his shoulder with a warm smile.

Clay grinned at her. "What was that for?"

"Because I'm hopelessly and completely in love with you." Callan stepped ahead of him and tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder.

Clay hurried to catch up to her. He grabbed her hand and tried to tug her onto his lap. She planted her feet and refused to be pulled down.

"Clay, be careful," she cautioned, taking a step back.

"Blast it, Callan!" Irritation and disappointment filled his face as he shoved a hand into his hair in frustration. "Can't a man hug his wife? I haven't been able to hold you for weeks. Maybe it's been months. Quite possibly even years."

Indulgently, Callan smiled at him. He hated that particular smile. It meant he was behaving like a child and she would put up with it as if he was six instead of thirty-six.

He didn't want to be treated like a cranky little boy. He wanted to be treated like a man.

Her man.

Her husband.

Her lover.

Clay would have to speak to David about getting his cast off and back on his feet soon.

When he took Callan's hand in his, she gave it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it and continuing with their walk like nothing was out of the ordinary.

For Clay there was no ordinary anymore.

Before he would release his patient, David wanted to make sure Clay and Callan could handle all the additional challenges of Clay living at home. Once Clay had the strength to move without help and Callan felt confident she could provide the necessary care, he would sign Clay's walking papers.

He glanced out his office window and spied Clay and Callan on the garden pathway.

Callan must have said something to tease Clay because he looked determined to overtake her in his wheelchair. David laughed aloud when Callan planted her feet and refused to let Clay tug her into his lap. She was extra careful not to do anything that could possibly injure Clay. It drove his poor patient daft.

David knew Clay was chomping at the bit to be well, to be released, to resume life as it was before his accident.

Fortunately, for Clay, he healed quickly and life would most likely return to normal for him. The first few weeks, he was afraid to hope that Clay's leg would heal at all. Now he had a degree of certainty that Clay would be able to walk normally if he stuck to his therapy and followed orders.

Most likely, he'd have a little trouble at airport security with the plates and pins in his leg, but other than that, he didn't think the man would have any problems.

He gazed at the couple out the window and saw Clay follow Callan like a puppy on a leash. David thought they were probably as ready as they were going to get for Clay to be released.

The next morning he announced that Clay could go home. Callan and Clay were nearly beside themselves at the prospect of finally being home together.

As Callan pulled the car into the driveway the following afternoon, Clay looked around seeing their home through fresh eyes.

Everything looked neat, tidy, and so welcoming from the green oasis of lawn to the profusion of bright flowers blooming seemingly everywhere.

The sound of Cully barking from the backyard greeted him as he opened the car door. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of the air. It smelled of home.

Although he'd never smelled it before, he knew he'd always remember the scent of the fresh cut lawn, the spicy bouquet of the blooming flowers, the loamy aroma of good earth, and the fruity tartness of ripening summer apples that filled the air.

It all smelled of home.

After filling his lungs, he waited for Callan to get his crutches out of the trunk and bring them around. With her help, he got out of the car and balanced on the crutches. As he made his way down the sidewalk, he suddenly had a new appreciation for their ranch style home that had no stairs or steps to maneuver.

Callan opened the front door then held the screen door open for him. Slowly going inside, he acknowledged the sense of warmth and welcome provided by their living room.

When he made his way to the kitchen, the house burst into a buzz of noise and activity as people poured out of the family room yelling, "Surprise! Welcome home!"

Amazed and surprised, he smiled at all the friends and family milling around, wishing him well.

"This is quite a surprise. Thanks everyone," he said, taken aback by the number of people gathered in their home. They all parked next door at the neighbor's to keep Clay from being suspicious.

"Why don't we get you situated in the family room and then everyone can take turns visiting with you," Callan said, walking with him toward his recliner. With a little help from Josh and Jake, he collapsed into his favorite chair. As he settled into the recliner, Clay decided it was the most comfortable he'd been for weeks.

It amazed him that so many people cared enough to welcome him home. He gazed around at the faces filling their home, pleased to see his parents, Big Jim, Aunt Julie and Uncle Ralph, Jake and his folks, Josh and Jenna, Laken and Tyler and their kids, Audrey and Emma, friends of Callan's from work, his friends from the college, friends from their church, and many neighbors.

Almost magically, a plate full of delicious treats rested on his lap and a glass of icy cold sweet tea appeared on the table next to his chair.

Mindful of Clay tiring quickly, the guests didn't stay long. Laken and Jenna helped Callan clean up the mess before herding their husbands and Laken's kids outside and into their cars. Like a whirlwind that had blown by, Clay and Callan were soon alone in the quiet house.

Cully slept in his bed by the patio door. Audrey and Emma, along with Laken's kids, had worn him out playing in the backyard.

"He's sure grown a lot." Clay stared at the puppy that was all feet, ears, and tail instead of the cute little ball of fur he'd last seen. He studied the part of the backyard he could see through the family room window. Everything looked fresh, green, and well tended. "You've worked really hard on the yard this summer. It looks great."

"I can't take much credit," Callan said, looking outside at the neatly trimmed shrubs and immaculate flowerbeds. "Your mom, Aunt Maggie, and Jake spent a lot of time helping in the yard in the evenings when I was home and some evenings when I wasn't. I think they wanted to take good care of it for you."

"Maybe we should retain their help for next year. I've never seen the lawn look so good. I honestly wouldn't mind turning over my duties as official mower of the grass." Clay grinned at Callan. They both knew how much he hated mowing the lawn.

Callan laughed. It was so good to be home, to have Clay home. There were times she wondered if this day would ever come. Now that it had, she didn't quite know what to do. It was obvious Clay bordered on exhaustion, but he seemed to want to stay awake.

Under the assumption that he'd like some time to himself to relax, she handed him the remote and gave him a warm smile. Before she left the room, he stopped her. "Where are you going?"

"I thought you might like a little time to yourself," she said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "I'll unpack your bag and do a few little things around the house before we turn in. You can yell if you need anything." Callan walked back to his chair, kissed his cheek, then went off in the direction of the laundry room.

Clay enjoyed the quiet, enjoyed being in his comfortable recliner, and even enjoyed listening to Cully make funny little puppy sounds in his sleep.

After tuning in to one of his favorite hunting shows, Clay settled back and relaxed. He caught himself nodding off in the chair and decided it was time to go to bed. He called for Callan and listened to her footsteps approach from the bedroom.

"Are you ready for bed?" she asked, holding his crutches and helping him up out of the chair.

"Yep. I can't keep my eyes open." Clay carefully maneuvered his way to the bedroom. Nearly too tired to make it the short distance to bed on his crutches, he would sure be glad when the cumbersome cast came off.

He noticed Callan had moved out the dresser and chair that used to sit on his side of the bed, making ample room for him and his crutches. Just a small nightstand next to the bed remained.

When he looked into the bathroom, he could see all sorts of hospital-like equipment. It had all followed him home. He hoped to get back to normal as soon as possible now that he was home. Instead, their bedroom and bathroom looked more like a suite in the hospital.

At least it smelled nice. Like Callan.

She pulled the comforter off the bed and stored it in the closet then turned down the sheet over a light blanket. After fluffing his pillow, she added a pile of pillows for him to cushion his injured leg while he painfully crossed the room.

"Well, that was a workout, wasn't it?" Callan teased when Clay made it to the bathroom door.

He slid inside the bathroom and closed the door. Freedom! He was upright and by himself. While he brushed his teeth, he took time to study himself in the mirror, inspecting his scars. The one on his cheek stood out more than the one on his chin. The scar on his head still glared like a spotlight, but as the hair grew in it would be less noticeable.

Convinced his hair wasn't ever going to look right in that area, he contemplated different ways to comb it. He'd heard stories about people who had their hair shaved off and it came back in straight when it was curly. If his hair came in straight in that spot, it would really look strange.

Determined to worry about it another day, he had bigger problems than his hairstyle right now. One of the biggest was healing as fast as possible and getting his life back to normal.

When he limped out of the bathroom, Callan sat on the edge of the bed in a plain pink cotton gown. She was so beautiful. He'd missed seeing her like that so much, missed being with her. There were many days he wondered if he'd ever again see the inside of their home, much less be alone with her.

Hurriedly standing, she helped Clay settle into the bed. She made sure his leg was as comfortable as they could make it on the pile of pillows, pulled up the sheet, and kissed his forehead. Aggravated, he felt like a child she'd just tucked in for the night.

Callan smiled at him and brushed her fingers across his jaw. "So, Clay, I didn't know if it would be easier on you to have the bed to yourself or if you'd feel better if I was in here to help you get up if you need it. Your choice."

Gently taking her hand in his, he rubbed his thumb along her palm and gave her a pleading look. "Stay here, please."

She stared at him, not convinced it was a good idea.

Aware of her uncertainty, he grinned. "I'll behave. I'm too tired to move anyway."

Relieved, she squeezed his hand, kissed his cheek, and turned off the light. He felt her weight settle on the other side of the bed, miles away from where he rested in his pillow nest. She stretched out her hand and settled it on his arm.

He released a contented sigh. It was so good to be home.

Clay and Callan quickly settled into a new routine. She stayed home with him in the mornings, took him to doctor and therapy appointments, ran errands, and did whatever needed to be accomplished around the house. Afternoons, his mom generally came to visit while Callan went into the convention center to work.

If Callan had an event to attend or a client meeting, one of their family members would spend the evening with Clay. He would have preferred being alone, but everyone wanted to help. He swallowed down his annoyance at being treated like an invalid and smiled graciously as they kept him company.

The day finally arrived when Callan drove Clay back to the hospital to have his cast removed and see what the specialist, Dr. Greene, thought. David was also present when the cast finally fell away.

Prepared for the worst, Callan tried hard not to flinch when she saw Clay's leg. The flesh looked shrunken and pale, especially in comparison to his other leg. Angry, red scars ran up his shin and across his thigh. The entire leg appeared frail and weak. Wondering if it would ever look like the other leg, Callan didn't care. Clay was going to be fine. He could walk, and that was the only thing that mattered right now.

After a glance at his leg, Clay couldn't stand to take another look. He wasn't happy Callan stood beside him, intently studying it. She used to think his legs were... what was her word? Magnificent. Now, he could only imagine what she would think of this one.

Would it bear his weight? Would it work like it should? Would it look like a shriveled stick for the rest of his life?

David and Dr. Greene looked at each other and smiled. The leg had healed better than they expected. Dr. Greene arranged for Clay to undergo therapy with a physical therapist in Tenacity so they wouldn't have to continue making long trips into the city.

Not wanting to waste any time, his first appointment was the following day.

After his first therapy session, Clay had no doubt that he would be maimed for life. He wasn't convinced he could go through with the therapy. Beyond the pain he'd endured, they'd saddled him with a drill sergeant for a therapist.

The fifty-something slip of a woman, Miz Larsen, as she informed him she liked to be addressed, was an evil, driven maniac.

Clay refused to allow Callan to witness his misery, so she sat waiting for him in the reception area before driving him home.

As they left the parking lot, Callan chatted excitedly, much to Clay's dismay. "Wasn't that Ms. Larsen nice? She seems very competent. You were fortunate to get her as your therapist. I've heard she's the best in town. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Great. Just great." Clay hoped Callan noticed his sarcastic tone. He'd already decided he'd refer to the therapist as The Warden and prayed his time spent under her supervision would be brief.

As the weeks flew by, Clay's leg grew stronger and he, albeit grudgingly, agreed that The Warden was a wonder. The day he traded his crutches for a cane, he insisted Callan get rid of the crutches and any other medical equipment in their home.

On the first day of fall semester, Clay limped into his classroom and stood in the doorway as the students jumped to their feet and applauded. He felt so blessed to be back doing something he loved so much.

The day he had his last therapy appointment, Callan and Clay hosted a big barbecue in their backyard with all their close friends and family to celebrate his release from The Warden.

As he watched Audrey and Emma chase Cully while Callan laughed at something Josh said, he leaned back in his lawn chair, feeling content and peaceful.

Life was finally back to normal.

#  Chapter Twenty-One

On the drive home from an event on a beautiful fall evening, Callan let her mind wander to the day Clay proposed. The newspaper she worked for at the time sponsored a fall festival downtown and all the employees were roped into helping in one form or another.

In charge of a scarecrow-decorating contest held in an empty storefront, she struggled to handle the overwhelming number of entries in a variety of age categories. She hoped Clay would help her, but he let her know he had things to take care of at the ranch and wouldn't be at the festival. Feverishly working to bring order to the chaos, she glanced out the store window and noticed Clay wandering up and down the street, looking for her.

Surprised to see him, Callan waited until the contest was over and winners announced to hurry outside. She headed in the direction she'd last seen Clay and spotted him walking her direction on the other side of the street. Quickly crossing an intersection, she waited for him.

When he saw her, his face lit up with a big smile while his bright blue eyes glowed with warmth.

"Hey," he said, giving her cheek a quick peck. "How's it going?"

"Great." Callan reached out and took his hand in hers. It felt stiff against her fingers. A glimpse at Clay confirmed he appeared tense, nervous. "I thought you were busy today."

"Oh, I was, but I'm not now." Clay looked everywhere but at Callan's face. "You want to walk around?"

"Sure." Callan glanced at Clay, curious about his strange behavior. When he insisted she give him a piece of gum, she thought it odd. She'd left her gum, along with her purse, in the trunk of her car, not wanting to drag everything around with her while she was busy with the festival.

"Can we please go to your car, Callan? I really need a piece of gum."

"Can't we just buy a pack?" She pointed toward the drugstore down the street.

Clay grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the large parking lot behind the main group of downtown buildings. "I just want one piece. Please?"

Callan dug her keys from her pocket as they walked to her car, unlocked the trunk, and fished out a piece of gum. When she handed it to Clay, she noticed he'd parked beside her. He intently studied the ground between their two vehicles.

Quickly stuffing the gum into his mouth, Clay took a deep breath and stuck his hand into his shirt pocket. He retrieved a small velvet jeweler's box and handed it to Callan.

"What's this?" Callan asked, glancing from the box in her hand to Clay in confusion. "Another present?"

He'd showered her with more gifts than anyone should be allowed to have for her birthday the previous week. Clay hit all the major gift-giving categories from flowers, candy, and an adorable stuffed bear to a beautiful gold heart-shaped locket. She couldn't imagine he'd give her another gift already.

He shook his head, unable to form words as his neck and ears glowed bright red.

She opened the lid on the box and found a simple gold band set with a single beautiful diamond. She looked from the ring to Clay and back to the ring.

"Clay, is this... do you mean... is this...?" She searched his face, but was unable to blurt out the question that stampeded through her mind.

"Yes." His voice was quiet, deep, and husky as he gave her a shy, unsure look. "Please?"

"You want to marry me?" Callan couldn't believe he could possibly want to marry her.

"Yes. So...?" Clay's entire face reddened and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

"Yes!" She threw her arms around the man she'd only known a few months but felt like she'd loved forever. "Absolutely, yes!"

They married two months later, just before Christmas.

The day they wed Callan remembered thinking it would be impossible to love Clay more than she did at that moment. What she felt then was nothing compared to the depths of love she now felt for him, especially after everything they went through during the past year.

As she pulled into the driveway, the welcoming glow from the porch light Clay left on for her made her smile. She slid out of the car and walked into the house, pleased no strange smells greeted her at the door. Clay had even put his boots and hat away.

"Hey, Brick, I'm home!" she called as she set down her purse and strolled into the kitchen.

Callan walked into the kitchen and eyed the mess of papers covering the dining room table where Clay sat working, but didn't say anything. Instead, she kissed his cheek.

"Have you eaten dinner?" she asked.

"I have and left your late in the fridge. I can warm it up for you."

"Don't get up. I've got it," she said, placing the plate in the microwave then hurrying into the bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt.

Clay gave her an odd look when she returned to the kitchen. She grabbed a napkin and her dinner, then stood looking at the table. "What are you working on?" she asked, moving enough of his papers to be able to sit down with her dinner.

"I'm grading assignments," he said, putting away a stack he had already graded. "We're getting close to midterms and I want the kids to be ready."

"You're such a great teacher, Clay. I know if I'd had you for a professor, I'd have enjoyed classes a lot more." Callan gave him a playful look.

"If you had me for a teacher, you'd have spent all your time daydreaming and doodling hearts on your homework and I wouldn't have been able to keep my eyes off you or focus on my work," Clay said with a teasing grin. "We'd both have been in trouble."

"True," Callan agreed with a smile, then went back to eating her dinner.

"How was your day? Anything exciting happen?" he asked.

They spoke for a while about work and plans for the weekend, then she rose to put her plate in the dishwasher.

"On the way home I was thinking about the day you proposed." She glanced over her shoulder at him as she took a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator. "You were so pitiful," she laughed as she set a glass of iced tea next to him, with a hand on his shoulder. "You know, you never did get around to saying the words, but I'm very pleased with the end result."

"Me, too, Laney." Clay grabbed her hand and kissed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. "Hey, if you had the chance to do it over, would you do anything different?"

"Everything or just the wedding?" Callan asked, her hand still resting on his shoulder.

"The wedding. Would you do it the same?"

Callan laughed again. "Let's just say the only thing I'd do the same about the wedding would be the groom."

"I'm mighty glad to hear that, but if you could do it all over, the wedding, I mean, what would you do different?"

"What's with all the questions tonight?" Callan asked. At Clay's noncommittal shrug, she sighed and sat down beside him. "I wouldn't get married right before Christmas. I'd have a summer wedding and get married outside with tons of flowers and white lights and breezy fabrics. I'd choose pink as my wedding color. The ceremony would be small, with just the people who really matter to us. I wouldn't listen to all the well-meaning individuals who insist things had to be done a certain way. It would be more fun and less formal. However, no matter how our wedding turned out, I'm very happy to still have my groom. He's a pretty great guy." Callan gave Clay a warm smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. She got up from the table and wandered outside to play with Cully for a few minutes.

Clay hurriedly jotted down notes on a blank sheet of paper and crammed it into a secret folder he'd been hard pressed to keep hidden from Callan. He'd been working on his plans when she arrived home.

The many hours he spent flat on his back in the hospital gave him a lot of time to think. He decided if he ever made it back home, he wanted to give Callan the wedding of her dreams as an anniversary gift. He knew people sometimes renewed their vows. After how far they'd come in the last year, the timing was perfect.

Determined to keep it a surprise, he muddled through figuring out the details without asking for anyone's help. He started by raiding Callan's event planning files. He found some forms she used when she planned a wedding and that helped give him an idea of the basics involved with that type of event. He also pulled out files from some weddings she had done.

With her detailed organizational skills, each folder had not only the details and photos of the event, but also a list of vendors she had contacted to provide specific services. In a stroke of pure luck, he found a file she labeled "my favorites" that included all her favorite vendors as well as pictures of things she liked.

Just that evening, he'd started a list of ideas for a theme. He needed to start moving forward with plans. Clay had less than two months to pull this together and it had to be amazing.

A few weeks later, Clay admitted he was in way over his head with the anniversary surprise. He had no idea how Callan did event planning all the time. Deciding on the details and organizing everything was exhausting. He'd made so many phone calls trying to line things up, he felt like the phone had grown attached to his head.

In a moment of desperation, he asked Jill at the convention center to help. With the anniversary date in the middle of December, it would have to be an indoor event.

Jill approved of the ideas he shared and said they could use one of the ballrooms for the event. She gave him some good suggestions and promised to keep the secret from Callan. She created a false name to put on the event order for the ballroom, convinced Callan would never suspect the event was a surprise for her.

Clay couldn't figure out how to get Callan to the party wearing something she would deem appropriate for renewing their vows.

Finally surrendering to defeat, he called Laken and asked her to meet him for lunch. He made her promise on her very life that she would keep the secret before he'd tell her what he had planned. Laken got so excited about the news, she could hardly quit squirming in her seat the whole time they ate.

"Callan has no idea what you're planning?" Laken asked for the third time. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm getting pretty good at covert operations, if I do say so myself." Clay grinned. "Jill said they can make it sound like it's an event that Callan needs to be present for, but I can't figure out how to get her in a dress that she would want to be wearing if she knew what was going on. With a photographer coming, I just want to make sure everything looks perfect for her, right down to her outfit."

"Don't worry. I'll think of something." Laken thought of a dozen different stories she could concoct to take Callan shopping for a dress.

When Laken and Clay parted company after lunch, he made her promise one more time not to let the secret slip. "Clay, as hard as it seems to comprehend, I'm capable of keeping my big mouth shut when it's something this important. My lips are sealed."

As the calendar rolled closer to their anniversary, Clay decided he could never have a career as an event planner. Just trying to pull together this celebration for twenty-some people taxed his patience and created levels of stress he'd never imagined.

He felt an entirely new level of admiration for his wife, knowing she planned huge parties all the time. She made it look so easy when obviously it wasn't. It was hard work and he had a head start because of Callan's detailed notes and files.

The first caterer he called was more than happy to help because of business Callan had referred to them, but Clay had to decide on the menu. He'd found someone to do invitations but then he had to choose from the seemingly thousands available what he wanted them to look like and say. Then there were flowers, a cake, decorations, his tuxedo, a gift for Callan, the photographer, and a disc jockey.

Jill made up a grand story about an eccentric couple hosting a party at the convention center and told Callan it was part of the contract all the management staff attend the party, at least for a while, and the clients demanded all of the staff dress in white attire. Callan thought the entire thing absurd and was more than a little put out that she'd have to work on her anniversary.

When she told Clay about the crazy clients and the wardrobe demands, he thought he could have won an acting award. First, he pretended to be irritated that she would have to work. Next, he sympathized over her having to go shopping for a dress and working on their anniversary. He laid it on thick. At the end of the tirade, he offered a thoughtful solution.

"Since you'll be all dressed up, why don't I pick you up when you finish with work and we'll go out somewhere really nice for dinner. You don't have to stay late and we'll still have plenty of time to enjoy the evening. How does that sound?" He attempted to sound innocent and pleading.

"That would be nice, Clay. I appreciate you being so understanding that I have to be there." Callan squeezed his hand. "Where would you like eat? I can make a reservation."

"Why don't I surprise you? I'll take care of everything." He kissed her cheek and congratulated himself on everything going so well.

The day of their anniversary finally arrived. By early afternoon, Clay had consumed an entire bottle of liquid antacid and kept a roll of tablets stuffed in his pocket that he continued crunching like candy. Before the celebration started that evening, he thought he might develop an ulcer.

Laken, Jenna, and Jill provided a wealth of assistance. He knew he'd never make it through without them. He relied on Jill to take care of overseeing many of the details because Callan would be suspicious if he hung out at the convention center all afternoon. Jill created an errand in Portland that she assured Callan only she could handle, getting her out of the office for a few hours. Clay snuck in as soon as Callan left and jumped into the preparations.

When Callan continued to delay purchasing a dress, he started to panic. Laken and Jenna finally took her shopping a few weekends ago and the dress they found had to be altered. Laken went with Callan to pick it up the previous evening and assured him that morning the dress looked great and Callan reluctantly purchased matching shoes.

He hoped to get a glimpse of it, but Callan arrived home late so Clay didn't get a chance to see her model what she'd bought. He hoped the gown made her feel fantastic.

All the details fell into place without any major disasters, so Clay left overseeing duties in Jill's capable hands and went home to change. In record time, he took a shower and shaved, dressed in his tuxedo, picked up Callan's gift, and returned to the convention center by five-thirty. Spying Callan's car in the back parking lot, he cautiously snuck inside the back door and went straight to the ballroom.

Family and friends already started to gather for the small celebration. He invited the people who meant the most to them. Although he wanted to include Audrey and Emma, that would have involved Melanie, Ted, Bob and Donna, so he opted to leave them out. Laken thought it for the best and hired a babysitter for her two kids for the evening.

Those gathered were the adults they both cherished. As Clay looked around the room, he took a deep breath, along with another antacid tablet and hoped for the best.

Jill had her hands full trying to keep Callan out of the room. Clay watched as Jill rushed into the room at a quarter to six and hurried his direction.

"She's finally getting dressed." Jill looked flustered. "Despite her annoyance that she has to be here this evening, Callan wants to keep checking on the details. I've never had to work so hard to keep someone out of the ballroom."

Clay chuckled and gave Jill a quick hug. "I couldn't have made this work without you. I really appreciate all your help with this."

"No problem, Clay. You know I'd do anything for Callan and this was a lot of fun. Now, if we can just keep her out of here for a few more minutes, she's going to be so surprised." Jill watched her husband, John, step inside the room and hurried to his side.

Jenna and Laken both gave Clay a thumbs-up as he straightened his bowtie and walked out the ballroom door and down the hall to Callan's office.

Clay knocked on the door. He heard rustling sounds inside then Callan was there, opening the door.

Callan blinked at him in surprise. "What are you doing here, Clay? I'm not supposed to meet you until eight," she asked, studying him from his neatly combed hair to the tips of his polished black cowboy boots. "Why are you wearing a tux, not that you don't look handsome enough to steal my breath away."

Clay was utterly speechless as he gazed at his beloved, beautiful wife. He took a deep breath and inhaled Callan's now familiar scent that both calmed and excited him.

The white mermaid style gown she wore looked like it had been designed with her in mind. Springy ringlets escaped from the loose bun at the back of her head and a tinge of pink rode her cheeks.

He took a step forward and clasped her hand in his before giving her a warm kiss on the cheek. Glancing into her searching eyes, he squeezed her hand and found his voice.

"Callan, fourteen years ago, I didn't do a very good job of proposing to you. I was so afraid you would say no, I couldn't bear to ask the question. So today I wanted to ask you..." Clay stopped, cleared his throat then carefully went down on one knee. "Will you marry me again, Laney? Please?" Clay smiled up at Callan, his eyes filled with love.

Callan gazed into his face, a face as familiar to her as her own. She'd do anything for this wonderful man who saved her from herself more than once, who gave himself to her completely. Blindly squeezing his hand and giving it a tug, she nodded her head as her eyes misted with tears. As he stood and hugged her, she whispered in his ear. "Of course I'd marry you again. I love you so much."

Clay stood back and gave her a dimpled smile. He pulled a long, thin jeweler's box from his pocket and handed it to her. When she opened the lid, she caught her breath at the sight of a beautiful string of pearls, just like she'd always wanted but never dreamed of having.

She handed them to Clay and turned around. "Put them on for me?"

Clay did as she asked, dropping a kiss on her neck when he had the clasp fastened. The pearls looked like they were created to nestle along Callan's neck, especially as she wore that particular dress.

"Mrs. Matthews, if you'd please come along with me..." Clay held out his arm and escorted her to the ballroom. Callan gasped when they stepped inside.

Transformed into a summer garden, a small gazebo sat in the far corner of the room, draped in white lights with a profusion of flowers around it. Chairs draped in white and tied with pale pink organza bows flanked the front of the gazebo. A divider of greenery separated the ceremony area from the rest of the room. A buffet lined the back wall. Tables covered in white linen with pink floral centerpieces filled up part of the space. A dance floor and a riser for the disc jockey rounded out the reception area.

Pink, white, and pale-yellow flowers spilled out of baskets, stood in vases, and filled beautiful white urns anywhere there was space to hold them. Twinkling white lights sparkled from the greenery and even from organza garlands draped across the ceiling. White candles nestled in and around the flowers and buffet, adding a warm glow.

"Oh, Clay..." Callan whispered, clearly awed. "It's the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

Thrilled with the look of joy and wonder on Callan's face, Clay hoped the next part of his plan would make her even happier.

"Will you marry me, again, Callan, right now?" he asked, taking her hand in his and walking further into the room.

Callan took note of their closest family and friends sitting in the chairs around the gazebo. "You did all this for me?" Callan looked at Clay, working to comprehend the precious gift he offered. "You did this?"

"Yes, I did, with help from some friends." He nodded toward Jill, Laken, and Jenna as they hurried toward them with smiles on their faces.

As the girls approached, Laken took the lead and gave Callan a big hug. "Are you going to keep this wonderful husband of yours waiting or are you going to get up there and renew your vows?" Laken asked with a laugh.

"I just can't believe you all did this for me." Callan tried to keep her tears in check, overwhelmed by the work everyone went to on her behalf. "It's so beautiful."

"Of course we did it for you, but Clay did most of the work. We just helped out a bit here and there," Jenna said, patting Clay on his arm. "This cowboy seems to be wild about you, for some reason."

"Honestly, Callan, I couldn't have done it without them. You kept Jill and me hopping today." Clay grinned and shook his head.

"We didn't know what to do until I figured out a way to get you out of here for a while this afternoon." Jill gave Callan a hug. "I'm so glad you're surprised."

Laken slipped a delicate pink rose corsage on Callan's wrist while Jenna pinned a boutonniere on Clay's lapel.

Callan smiled and nodded her head. She found it impossible to speak as she walked toward the gazebo with Clay. The girls returned to their seats next to their husbands. One of their friends from church, a wedding officiant, waited in the gazebo, ready to preside over the renewal of their vows.

The couple walked up the steps of the gazebo and stood inside.

Callan experienced a flood of emotions — love, joy, excitement, wonder, happiness. To think Clay did this for her, especially after all they'd been through in this past year. It was too much to take in all at once.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate the marriage of Clay and Callan. They joined their lives and hearts fourteen years ago today and have chosen to renew their vows before their Heavenly Father and the family and friends assembled here. They composed their own vows to share with us, so Clay, please proceed," the officiant said.

Callan started to go into panic mode. What vows? She hadn't written anything. If she'd known she'd be standing in front of twenty people professing her undying love for Clay, she sure as anything would have written something worthy to be shared. She was not good at winging speeches. Frantic, she glanced at Clay. He smiled with a knowing look on his face.

After inhaling a fortifying breath, Clay began the speech he'd practiced a hundred times that day.

"Callan, I know I've caught you off guard and you're probably, right now, trying to think of what you're going to say when it's your turn." Clay ginned at her and held both her hands in his.

"I don't want you to worry about that. I want you to focus on this — the day you walked into my life you changed everything. I knew from the very first time I saw you that I would never be happy unless I was with you. It was true then and it's still true today. You complete me. You fill me up with your goodness, your laughter, your warmth, your passion, and your love. In the last year, we've made it through some of the worst experiences I hope we ever have to face. But know this, Laney, I have riches beyond measure because of you, because of your love. I promise to spend all our years together celebrating and rejoicing in this wonderful love we share."

Callan forgot there was anyone else in the room. She couldn't think of anything except the remarkable words her adoring husband had just shared from his heart. She didn't know how she could speak, with her heart in her throat and tears blinding her vision. Shutting her eyes for a moment to regain her composure, she took a deep breath then smiled at Clay. She hoped he knew how much she appreciated not only this evening, but also everything he had done for her over the years.

"Clay, I don't know what to say except that I love you...with every beat of my heart and every breath that I take. All I have to do is see you, hear your voice, and I still catch my breath in wonder that I am the girl you choose to love. Thank you for caring for me, for believing in me, for bringing me joy and laughter, but most of all, for loving me. I promise to spend every day of the rest of my life making sure you know how much you are cherished, needed, wanted, and loved."

After sealing their vow with a gentle kiss, Clay wiped the tears from Callan's cheeks. They turned to the officiant who smiled broadly.

"I'm honored to present Mr. and Mrs. Clay Matthews. Congratulations on your renewed vows and renewed commitment to love, honor, and cherish each other as long as you both shall live."

Everyone stood clapping while Callan and Clay walked down the steps of the gazebo and into the welcoming arms of their friends and family. Most of the women were still dabbing at their own tears while the men exchanged hearty handshakes and backslaps.

"Come join us for dinner, folks, and some fun," Clay said, holding Callan's hand and leading her toward the buffet. After everyone had eaten his or her fill, the disc jockey, whom Callan knew well from her event planning business, stood and said a few welcoming words.

She looked around the room as her heart overflowed with love, grateful for those who joined them for the beautiful celebration. For Callan, it was a wonderful way to commemorate how far she and Clay had come since their last anniversary.

As the music began, Callan observed their friends dancing before her dad asked her to join him in "cuttin' a rug" as he phrased it. She danced with her brother, Uncle Ralph, Jake and most of the men there, except Clay. Callan knew between his dislike of dancing and his still-recovering leg, he'd stay on the sidelines. He looked happy from his seat at the table, watching everyone move around the dance floor.

Callan poured another cup of punch and sat next to Clay as the party wound down. She couldn't think of words to thank Clay for creating the memory of this very special day. As their gazes connected, he smiled a warm smile and gave her a wink.

Slowly standing from his seat beside her, he grasped her hand as the DJ announced the final song. When it began to play Clay leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Dance this one with me."

Aware of how much he hated to dance as well as how hard it was with his leg, Callan knew this was a huge gesture on his part. The DJ played her favorite love song, "Even Then," by John Michael Montgomery. Clay couldn't have picked a more perfect song to end the evening.

As they danced to the romantic song, Callan held her tears at bay by looking into her husband's face and watching the mirror of her emotions in his eyes. How she cherished this wonderful, amazing man. He was a blessed gift that she would never again take for granted.

She couldn't imagine loving Clay more than she did at that moment in time, but she knew somehow she would love him even more tomorrow.

Epilogue

Callan struggled to fall asleep, listening to the sounds Clay 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 knew what a racket he made.

With a long, contented sigh, she turned to look at him. A tiny sliver of moonbeam snuck through the parted drapes to caress the hollow of his cheek, giving her the ability to see he looked peaceful.

She rose on one elbow and listened to him breathe in and out, smiled at the way his hair stuck out at odds with the scar on the side of his head. Resisting the urge to smooth it down, she grinned as she thought about his morning battles to get his hair to submit to some semblance of order around the hoof-shaped scar.

After a few more minutes of watching him sleep, she quietly rose from the bed, pulled on her chenille robe, then wandered through the darkened house to stand at the kitchen window. She moved aside the ruffled chintz curtain and stared out at the backyard, watching the moonlight wash the bare lawn in shades of silver and gray.

She loved this winter, loved the cold that made cuddling by the fire such a necessity, loved everything about this season. Ironically, it seemed fitting that the wonder of the season nearly matched the sense of light and joy she felt in her spirit.

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

How blessed I am. In this house, in this life, in this loving marriage.

She knew not many couples could say they were more in love after fourteen years of marriage than they had ever before been.

Callan couldn't believe they just celebrated their anniversary. It had been quite a year for them both.

After almost losing Clay twice, once by her own stubbornness, and once from his accident, she knew she would never take another day with him for granted. Each day was too precious to waste on regrets.

Unexpectedly, a pair of strong arms slid around her, pulling her against a solid, bare chest. When Clay started to nuzzle her ear, she smiled and pressed closer against him.

"What are you doing up, Laney? Why aren't you sleeping?" Clay mumbled in a husky tone with his breath warm against her ear.

She pulled his hands tighter around her waist and settled into his arms. "I was too happy to sleep," she said on a soft sigh.

Clay chuckled, kissing her cheek. "Too happy to sleep? Did you like your anniversary surprise that much?"

Quickly turning in his arms so she could see his face in the muted darkness, she smiled at him. "It was the most wonderful, romantic, beautiful thing anyone could imagine, Brick. I can't even begin to tell you how much it meant to me."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. It meant a lot to me, too." Clay wrapped her in his arms and held her close to his heart. When she shivered, he rubbed his hands along her back. "Come back to bed before we both freeze."

"But Clay..." Callan leaned back so she could better see his face. "I just want..." Her breath caught as her throat tightened with tears. "I want you to know how much I love you — will always love you. I'm grateful every day for the gift of you and I plan to spend the rest of our lives making sure you don't forget it."

"Callan..." Clay moved his hands to her cheeks where his thumbs wiped away her tears. "I plan to spend the next fifty years or so showing you how much I love and cherish you." After kissing a trail down her cheek, where the tears had been, he whispered in her ear. "How about if I start right now?"

Callan responded with a hungry kiss, placing her hand on his chest. She knew without a doubt what resided in the heart of Clay — unconditional never-ending love.

#  Callan's Snickerdoodles

1 box cinnamon cake mix

½ cup butter, melted

1 tsp. vanilla

2 eggs

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

The cake mix should have a separate cinnamon-topping packet. Pour it into a small bowl and set aside.

Combine cake mix, butter, vanilla and eggs until well combined. Shape dough into walnut-sized balls and roll in cinnamon topping.

Place on a cookie sheet and slightly flatten balls. Bake about eight minutes or until cookies are just set. Remove from oven, let rest on cookie sheet for a minute before removing to a wire rack to cool.

Makes about two dozen cookies.

Thank you for reading Heart of Clay. Now that you've finished Clay and Callan's story, won't you please consider writing a review? I would truly appreciate it. Reviews are the best way readers discover great new books and it warms an author's heart to know you took the time to share your thoughts about the book with others. Thank you.

If you haven't yet read them, I hope you'll check out the other books in the Women of Tenacity series!

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The bonds of love are tested in this emotion-packed, laugh-out-loud story of family, forgiveness, and hope.

Heart of Hope (Women of Tenacity, Book 2) —Focused on her career, the very last thing on Jenna Keaton's mind is finding a husband. Unfortunately, someone forgot to send fate the memo when she falls for a man who intends to move away from the city and toil in the soil. Despite how much she loves him, she can't picture herself as a country wife.

Successful, handsome, and blissfully single, Josh Carver thinks life couldn't get any better until he encounters Jenna Keaton. Sparks fly when he reveals his lifelong aspiration to be a rancher and she decides he's gone off the deep end.

A battle of stubborn wills, tender moments, and unexpected surprises fill this sweet romance with page-turning, heartwarming adventure.

Continue reading for an excerpt from the story...

#  Heart of Hope

Josh Carver glanced around the spacious living room of his hosts and inwardly groaned.

Phil and Amelia Granger were good friends and clients, but he detested their parties. The guest list generally included haughty socialites, snide women in full man-hunting gear, pretentious executives, and conceited ladder-climbers.

So far, the group milling around the room proved even worse than his already low expectations.

Byron Jenkins, a particularly obnoxious investment banker who handled the Granger's accounts, attempted to palm a young woman in a surprisingly tasteful dark blue gown that accented her shoulder-length brown hair.

The girl skillfully sidestepped Byron's groping hands as she worked her way toward the kitchen, no doubt seeking a means of escape.

From his position next to the buffet table, Josh couldn't see her face. As he studied her, he contemplated if she was someone new to the usual crowd. Distracted by the woman, he absently picked up an appetizer and popped it in his mouth.

Josh nearly choked on the nasty tidbit when she turned around. Soft, inviting lips and appealing curves made him want to meet her.

Quickly swallowing the appetizer with a texture of sawdust, he popped a mint into his mouth, hoping to dislodge the bad taste Amelia's hors d'oeuvres left behind.

When Byron draped his arm around the woman's shoulders, Josh felt an inexplicable need to rescue her. He'd been clawed, petted, and pawed at enough of these parties to know what a nightmare it could be.

She shrugged off Byron's arm and spun around, bumping into Josh's chest as he approached them. He gazed down at her, drawn to the honest, natural appearance of her face. Without looking at the detestable banker, he smiled at the woman.

"My apologies, Mr. Jenkins, but I'm in dire need of this lady's immediate assistance."

Byron glared at him but took a step back.

Josh held out his arm to the woman and inclined his head toward the kitchen. "Shall we?"

"Yes, thank you." Without any hesitation, she took his proffered arm and walked with him inside the kitchen.

She pointed to a small patio door, so he escorted her outside into the fading evening light, away from the noise and annoyances of the party. Quietly closing the door behind them, he leaned against the balcony railing, appreciating the view of the Portland skyline from the high-rise terrace.

Pleased to escape the party with such a lovely companion, Josh stuck out his hand and offered a friendly smile. "I'm Josh Carver."

She grasped his large hand in her small one, sending currents zinging up his arm, and gazed at him with the warmest brown eyes he'd ever seen. It was like dipping into a pool of molten chocolate. And Josh was quite partial to all things chocolate.

"Thank you, Mr. Carver, for coming to my rescue. I'm Jenna Keaton."

Josh liked the strength and confidence in her voice. She sounded and acted like a no-nonsense kind of person.

"I'm glad to be of service, Miss Keaton. I'm not in the habit of stretching the truth, but I did sincerely hope you'd help me escape the party, at least for a moment or two. What brings you to Phil and Amelia's this evening?" he asked, genuinely interested in knowing more about the lovely girl.

She took a step away from him and appeared to gather her thoughts before she spoke. "Phil and Amelia are my aunt and uncle. I just moved here a few days ago to start a new job on Monday and they insisted I join them for the party this evening. Aunt Amelia said it would be a great opportunity to meet people. However, if Mr. Jenkins is any indication, I don't think I'm in a hurry to make too many acquaintances. That man has the mind of a guttersnipe and the hands of an octopus."

Jenna's smile, full of humor and warmth, did funny things to Josh's ability to concentrate on anything but her.

"Phil and Amelia mean well," Josh hurried to offer his reassurance. At more than one of their parties, he'd been unwillingly paired with women he had no interest in dating. "I think they miss having their kids around now that they've all flown the coop. I'm sure they'll enjoy having you here in town."

"Those cousins of mine couldn't have scattered any further if they'd tried. With Ben in New York, Jane in Miami, and Cory in Dallas, it keeps Aunt Amelia busy planning trips to visit them."

Josh laughed, feeling oddly at ease around Jenna. He fought the urge to reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear as they continued hiding on the balcony, secluded from the party crowd. Instead, he offered her a charming smile.

"So, Miss Jenna Keaton, you mentioned starting a new job on Monday. If it isn't too presumptuous, may I ask where?" Josh liked this niece of the Grangers, much more than his common sense told him he should. He had no intention of getting involved with anyone, especially a girl as sweet and appealing as the one playing hooky from the party with him.

"I'll be working in the human resources department at the new state building. I enjoy the work and it was a good time for me to get out of Seattle. So here I am, at a boring party with a bunch of stuffy people all bent on impressing each other with their money, credentials, or lies." Jenna's eyes took on a teasing twinkle, and she tipped her head, studying Josh. "Which category would you fall into?"

"I beg your pardon?" Josh wasn't sure how to respond to this straight-talking girl with an engaging smile.

"Are you here to impress people with your money, credentials, or fabricated stories?" Jenna repeated, tossing a sassy grin in his direction.

"None of the above." Josh gave Jenna a questioning glance. Uncertain what prompted the question, he had no idea what motive spurred her to ask such a thing. "Your uncle will tell you I'm a terrible liar, my only credentials are that I'm good at what I do, and I try to be an honest, upright kind of guy. As for the money I slave away to earn, it would be pocket change for many of the people inside."

Jenna laughed and motioned for him to take a seat on one of the patio chairs. They watched inky darkness encompass the evening, talking much longer than they realized.

They both turned with a start when Amelia finally breezed outside and sighed dramatically, hands thrown into the air.

"Well, good gracious. Phil and I have looked everywhere for you two, and here you are. I'm so glad you met each other. Jenna, you did meet Josh, didn't you? Isn't he just the nicest boy?" Amelia gushed as she waited for Josh and Jenna to return inside the kitchen.

"Yes, Aunt Amelia, we met. It seems I'll be working just a few blocks from him, so we planned on meeting for lunch Thursday."

"Splendid." Amelia clapped her hands together gleefully as she waltzed through the kitchen back to the crowd in the living room.

While Jenna watched her aunt's theatrics, Josh glanced at her. Although she wasn't a raving beauty, something about her captured his interest, something he found very appealing and attractive. She looked fresh, unaffected, and altogether alluring.

Hastily sticking his hand into his coat pocket, Josh pulled out one of his business cards and handed it to her. "If you need anything, please feel free to give me a call. It can be hard getting established in a new place."

Jenna took the card and placed it in the small evening bag she retrieved from a kitchen chair along with her sweater. "Thank you. I appreciate your offer and I look forward to having lunch with you next week," she said as they walked out of the kitchen. "As soon as I tell Amelia and Phil goodbye, I'm going to call it a night. It was really very nice to meet you."

"If you don't mind, I'll come with you to find your aunt and uncle and say good night." Josh looked down at her with a smile that brought the dimple in his cheek out of hiding and had gotten his way with any number of women.

Phil and Amelia stood at the front door, chatting with a couple ready to leave.

"Thank you both for this evening, but I'm going back to my apartment," Jenna said as she gave first Amelia and then Phil a hug.

"I need to be going as well." Josh shook Phil's hand and kissed Amelia's cheek. "Thank you for inviting me. As always, it is a pleasure to see you both."

"Anytime, Josh." Amelia walked with them out the door into the hall. "Jenna, dear, why don't I have someone drive you home? I don't want you out alone after dark, especially since the city is so new to you."

"I'd be happy to see Jenna home." Josh heard himself volunteer as they arrived at the elevator. He hadn't planned to see her home, but now that he'd offered, it seemed like a great idea. He liked the idea of spending more time with the engaging woman. "I think her apartment isn't that far from mine, so it wouldn't be any trouble."

"If you're sure?" Amelia questioned. When Josh nodded, she turned to Jenna, "Would that be agreeable to you, dear?"

"Yes, Aunt Amelia, it would be just fine." Jenna kissed her aunt's cheek and strode into the elevator. Josh kept step close behind her.

As they rode down to the lobby, he talked about some of his favorite places in the neighborhood near their apartments. When they sauntered out of the building, Josh held Jenna's sweater for her while she slipped it on. Gently, he placed his hand on her back and guided her to a shiny black sports car parked across the street. The innocent contact made his fingers burn and tingle.

"Nice wheels." Jenna appeared impressed as she surveyed his car. He held the door open for her and gave her a hand as she settled onto the leather seat. "What is it you said you did for a living?"

"I sell cars." Josh grinned as he slid behind the wheel. "I find this particular machine makes a great mobile business card. People ask me all the time where I got my car. It's easy to segue into where I work and what I do."

"Very smart," Jenna agreed, surveying their surroundings as Josh started the car and the engine roared to life. "That's how you know my aunt and uncle, isn't it? They buy new cars as often as most people buy shoes. You must do well selling cars."

"I get by," Josh said, with his sincere humbleness.

He worked hard to be the best in his career. He built relationships with his clients, getting to know them not just as people who provided a healthy income, but also on a personal level. Years ago, he learned that caring about his clients resulted in their loyalty and gave him a sense of purpose. That simple work ethic made him the top salesperson for five of the eight years he'd been at an upscale dealership in Portland.

Fresh out of college with a degree in business management, Josh charmed his way into a job as a novice car peddler. The combination of his honesty, business savvy, good looks, and friendly personality quickly pushed him to the forefront as a man people trusted, a novelty in the world of car salespeople.

He had a reputation for only selling people what they wanted or needed and had never talked anyone into something he didn't think would be a good fit for them. The six-figure income he earned was icing on the cake.

"Give me directions to your apartment and I'll take you there." Josh pulled into traffic. "Unless there's anywhere else you want to stop."

Jenna looked at Josh in her matter-of-fact manner. "Actually, I'm starving. Would you want to join me for dinner? The food Aunt Amelia serves at her parties is absolutely ridiculous."

Laughter burst out of Josh and he gave her a conspiring glance. "Just for that, I'm buying. Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere, as long as its edible." Jenna grinned at him as he sped through the evening traffic.

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of his favorite steakhouse.

As they stepped inside, the hostess greeted Josh by name. "Good evening, Mr. Carver. Nice to see you again. Table for two?"

"Yes, please," Josh said as he and Jenna followed the hostess to a booth.

"Will this be satisfactory?" the hostess asked.

"This is perfect, thank you." Josh waited for Jenna to sit down before sliding into the booth.

"You must either leave quite an impression or come here often." Jenna picked up a menu and glanced around the restaurant.

"Maybe both," Josh teased, as he took a sip of water.

Enthralled with each other, they lingered long after they'd finished their meal. Finally realizing the lateness of the hour, Josh took Jenna home, walking with her to her apartment door, making sure she arrived safely.

"Thank you for having dinner with me," Josh said, as she unlocked the door. "It was a very pleasant surprise to meet you tonight."

After opening her door and flipping on the light, Jenna turned to Josh. "Thank you for feeding a starving newcomer to the city and for extending your friendship. I really appreciate it."

"You're most welcome. It's the least I can do." Josh began to lose himself in the warm chocolate pools staring back at him. Scrambling to think of some reason to keep her talking, he couldn't come up with a single thing. Briefly, he considered what she'd do if he kissed her, but forced his feet to move back a step.

She moved inside and started to close the door. Before she did, she looked up at him with a cautious smile. "I'm already looking forward to lunch Thursday. Thanks again and good night."

After closing the door, Jenna released a long breath and leaned against the wood. Her knees felt as solid as overheated gelatin and she needed a minute to gather her composure.

When she'd looked up at the party and saw Josh, the description "tall, dark, and incredibly handsome" entered her thoughts. She chided herself for thinking in terms of clichés, even if it was true.

Josh Carver was a gorgeous man. Despite several attractive males in attendance at the party, it was hard to overlook his broad chest, impeccably covered by an expensive pewter-gray suit jacket, crisp white shirt, and deep blue silk tie. His face was worthy of a magazine cover, highlighted by luminous gray eyes and raven black hair. Generous lips parted in a smile that revealed a deep dimple in his left cheek and rendered her lightheaded.

The hours they'd spent together hadn't told her a lot about him, but she'd already discovered him to be mannerly and kind. He was younger than she thought at first. At dinner, she'd learned he was thirty, the same age as her, but he seemed older and wiser than his years.

And he was breath-stealing handsome, not that looks mattered, but she couldn't help but admire his. Josh was the kind of guy who could get under her skin and into her carefully guarded heart. Urban, successful, gorgeous, and fun with a charismatic personality were characteristics she assumed she'd never find all in one man. Josh's unique combination created a temptation she might find hard to resist.

Regardless of her concerns, it didn't take long for Josh and Jenna to begin seeing each other regularly. In spite her plans to stay focused on her career and his vow to avoid involvement in a committed relationship, they couldn't stay away from each other.

Spring progressed to summer as he took her to plays and concerts. They visited museums and art galleries, savored meals at bistros, strolled through parks, and wandered through some of the most exclusive boutique shopping districts in town. They dined and danced, enjoying all the urbane adventures the city had to offer.

He took her to a few family gatherings an hour away in Tenacity, Oregon, where he learned Jenna didn't possess any enthusiasm for country life. Josh grew up in the small rural community where his family maintained their agricultural roots. He enjoyed the trips home. It gave him an opportunity to savor deep breaths of clean air, hear the birds chirp, and look out over miles of fields without a single skyscraper in sight.

One weekend, he drove with her to Seattle to meet her family and see where she had grown up in the midst of all the cultural charms offered in the city. Jenna embraced the excitement and hustle, the steady motion of moving crowds, the sounds of traffic, and the smells wafting in from the waterfront. There was no doubt in his mind she was a city girl.

On a warm Saturday in early fall, Josh asked Jenna to go for a drive and told her to dress casually. They headed out of Portland, enjoying the sunny day and one another's company.

Jenna assumed they were going to visit Josh's family and he made no effort to correct her. He had other plans. Big plans. They were nearly to the road to turn toward his sister's house when he pulled off the highway onto a paved road. They drove for a few miles before turning down a gravel road.

Josh drove up to a dilapidated farmhouse and stopped the car.

He hurried around to the passenger side, opened her door, and gave Jenna his hand. She stepped out of the car, looking cute in a pair of jeans and sneakers. Clearly curious, she looked around.

"What are we doing out here, Josh?"

Fully aware of her aversion to dust, dirt, and anything rural or remotely countryfied, he offered her an encouraging smile and squeezed her hand. Jenna gave him a long, studying glance, as though she just noticed he was dressed in faded jeans, scuffed boots, and a western shirt instead of the suits she was accustomed to seeing him wear.

"Josh? What's going on? Why are we here?" she asked, frowning at the derelict house and ramshackle barn in the background.

"I've got something I want to ask you and something I need to tell you." Nervously, he removed the ball cap on his head and ran a hand through his thick black hair.

As he stared into her mesmerizing brown eyes, Josh tried to remember the speech he'd worked so hard to prepare but couldn't bring to mind a single word. Determined, he put his hat back on and took her hands in his. Without his speech, he decided to speak from his heart.

"Jenna, you may or may not know how much I've come to dislike living in the city. I hate the crowds, the traffic, the noise, the superfluous trappings and activities. I can't breathe there anymore. I knew all along that I didn't want to be a car salesman forever. It was just a means to an end. A way to save money until I figured out what I want to do with my life. Now I know." Josh gazed at Jenna with a pleading expression that begged her to understand.

"I had no idea how much you hated your life in the city," Jenna said, genuinely surprised. "I suppose you've mentioned some things in the past and I may not have paid as much attention as I should have. Do you really dislike Portland so much?"

"I do."

"But, Josh, things have been so perfect these past months. Like my perfect dream of the perfect romance."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jenna," he smiled at her with tenderness, struggling to hold onto his courage. "You see, I... um..."

"If this is your way of breaking up with me, you sure picked a rotten, pathetic place to do it," she said, flapping a hand at the house behind them.

He couldn't believe she'd just suggested he'd dragged her all the way out here to end their relationship. "I'm not breaking up with you. Just the opposite."

She eyed him warily. "Go on."

"You're a straight-shooter, you tell it like it is, so I'm going to do the same." Josh willed his heart to stop pounding as he shared his dreams with the woman he had come to love. "I can't keep living in the city. The one place in this world where I am happiest is outside, in the country. This may come as a shock, but I want to farm. I want to live here, where it's peaceful, where the air is clean, where I can hear myself think. I want to buy this land, this very piece of land we are standing on, build a house and a barn, and farm."

Jenna's eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a perfect "O" as she stared at him like he'd started speaking in languages she didn't comprehend.

When she regained the ability to speak, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "Does this have anything to do with the two weeks when you came back here during the summer?" Jenna referred to the time Josh spent helping his brother-in-law's family during wheat harvest.

Every year, he took time off work to help. He finally realized he enjoyed those two weeks of hard work more than anything else he did the rest of the year. Josh liked the physical labor, the smells, the sounds, everything about it. This year after harvest, when he returned to his job and life in Portland, he couldn't stop thinking about how much he really wanted to farm.

"Yes, Jenna, it does. It helped me figure out what I really want to do with my life. I want to work the land, out in the fresh air, and live life as a farmer." Josh prayed Jenna would at least try to understand why he needed to make this life-altering change. "But there is more than that."

"More?" Jenna questioned, looking at him as though he'd gone off the deep end and lost his mind. He could almost see her thinking only someone completely mad would plan to abandon a fruitful career to be a farmer, of all things.

Mindful of the questions and doubt on her face, Josh had to plunge ahead or face losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"I not only want to buy this land, build a house, and try my hand at farming, but I also want you here beside me." Josh dropped down on one knee and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. When he opened the lid, a beautiful diamond glittered in the sunlight. "Jenna, I love you. I love everything about you. I'm deeply, madly, and completely in love with you. Will you please marry me?"

Still down on one knee, Josh waited for Jenna to say something, anything. Instead, she stared at him and the ring while tears gathered in her eyes.

Caught completely off-guard by his declaration and proposal, Jenna couldn't think let alone speak.

He wanted to marry her.

That was the only part of the entire crazy conversation penetrating the fog in her brain.

Slowly nodding her head, she took Josh's free hand in hers and gave it a tug. He stood and slipped the ring on her finger then gave her a kiss that made her forget everything. In his arms, she found the one place in the world where she truly belonged.

Regardless of her misgivings, Jenna was about to make peace with all things rural and become a farm wife.

The country boy had won her city girl heart...

Available now!

#  Books by Shanna Hatfield

FICTION

HISTORICAL

Baker City Brides

Tad's Treasure

Crumpets and Cowpies

Thimbles and Thistles

Corsets and Cuffs

Bobbins and Boots

Lightning and Lawmen

Dumplings and Dynamite

 Pendleton Petticoats

Dacey

Aundy

Caterina

Ilsa

Marnie

Lacy

Bertie

Millie

Dally

Quinn

Evie

Hardman Holidays

The Christmas Bargain

The Christmas Token

The Christmas Calamity

The Christmas Vow

The Christmas Quandary

The Christmas Confection

The Christmas Melody

The Christmas Ring

Gifts of Christmas

Gift of Grace

Gift of Hope

Gift of Faith

Hearts of the War

Garden of Her Heart

Home of Her Heart

Dream of Her Heart

CONTEMPORARY

Learnin' The Ropes

Love at the 20-Yard Line

QR Code Killer

Rose

 Grass Valley Cowboys

The Cowboy's Christmas Plan

The Cowboy's Spring Romance

The Cowboy's Summer Love

The Cowboy's Autumn Fall

The Cowboy's New Heart

The Cowboy's Last Goodbye

Holiday Brides

Valentine Bride

Summer Bride

Easter Bride

Rodeo Romance

The Christmas Cowboy

Wrestlin' Christmas

Capturing Christmas

Barreling Through Christmas

Chasing Christmas

Racing Christmas

Keeping Christmas

 Friendly Beasts of Faraday

Scent of Cedar

Tidings of Joy

Boughs of Holly

Wings of an Angel

Romance by Chance

Taste of Tara

Saving Mistletoe

 Silverton Sweethearts

The Coffee Girl

The Christmas Crusade

Untangling Christmas

 Welcome to Romance

Blown Into Romance

Sleigh Bells Ring in Romance

The Women of Tenacity

Box Set with Bonus Prelude

Heart of Clay

Heart of Hope

Heart of Love

CHILDREN'S BOOKS

Steve the Mule

NONFICTION

A Cowboy Christmas

Farm Girl

Fifty Dates with Captain Cavedweller

Recipes of Love

 Savvy Entertaining

Savvy Autumn Entertaining

Savvy Holiday Entertaining

Savvy Spring Entertaining

Savvy Summer Entertaining

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PHOTO BY SHANA BAILEY PHOTOGRAPHY

Hopeless romantic Shanna Hatfield spent ten years as a newspaper journalist before moving into the field of marketing and public relations. Sharing the romantic stories she dreams up in her head is a perfect outlet for her love of writing, reading, and creativity. She and her husband, lovingly referred to as Captain Cavedweller, reside in the Northwest.

Shanna loves to hear from readers.

Connect with her online:

Blog: shannahatfield.com

Facebook:  Shanna Hatfield's Page

Shanna Hatfield's Hopeless Romantics Group

Pinterest: Shanna Hatfield

Email: shanna@shannahatfield.com

Smashwords: Shanna Hatfield's Profile
