All Summer Long
Page 8

“They believed him, right?”
She nodded. “Everyone did. Even my mother told me it was wrong to tease boys that way. I left college, ended up in Portland.”
“Oregon, not Maine.”
She managed a slight smile. “That’s the one. I got strong. Now I can take care of myself.”
More important to her, she was safe, he thought. No man would have the physical upper hand again.
“I want to tell you it’s behind me, but it isn’t,” she said, staring down at the chair. “I haven’t... I can’t imagine being with someone.”
He stared at her, digesting the meaning behind the words. Charlie had to be close to his age. Which meant she hadn’t been with a guy in over a decade.
“I want kids,” she said quickly, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure how yet. IVF, adoption, there are a lot of options. I want to have a family.”
“You’ll be a good mom.”
“You don’t know enough about me to be sure about that, but thank you for the support. The thing is I know I have to be emotionally strong as well as physically strong to be a parent. I don’t like it, but there we are. Until I can make peace with my past, I shouldn’t take on a kid.”
She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. “I’m afraid I’ll pass on my mistrust of men to any child I have. I don’t want that. If I have a son, I want him to be proud of who he is. I want him to have male role models in his life, which might be difficult if I don’t get over my problem. If I have a daughter, I want her to grow up with the idea that it’s good to be open to love. I don’t want to pass along my fear.”
“You’ve thought this through,” he said slowly, thinking that Charlie was brutally honest—even with herself. Something he admired and respected.
“I’ve thought about a lot of things. Including your problem.”
He frowned. “I have a problem?”
“Getting accepted into the volunteer program. No one is going to take you seriously. It doesn’t matter how well you do, they won’t get past who you are and how you look.”
A blunt assessment that was probably accurate.
Was she relating their situations? If so, what was she offering and what did she want in return? Sperm? A character reference?
“Deep breath,” she said softly.
“Are you telling me or yourself?”
“Both of us.” She swallowed. “I want you to help me get over my fear of being physically intimate. I want to be able to be with a guy without running screaming into the night.”
“Is that what happens?”
“I’ve only tried a couple of times, but, yes. I freeze up. I panic. I run. I can’t do that. I want to be over this. I want to be like everyone else.”
“Being like the rest of the herd isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“So speaks someone who’s perfect.”
“I’m not perfect,” he said automatically. Then the meaning of what she said slammed into him. Charlie wanted him to have sex with her. Not just sex for the night. She wanted him to help her heal.
Now it was his turn to stand, but once he was on his feet, he didn’t move. Not toward her or away. He stared at her, watching color flare more brightly on her cheeks. He saw her vulnerability, her fear that he would say no and her terror that he would say yes.
“I’m not looking for anything more than sex,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fall in love or have a relationship. I just want to be normal enough to get on with my life. Figure out the kid thing. Be in a family.” She drew in a shaky breath.
Clay knew Charlie well enough to understand that the one thing she would avoid at any cost was being in a weak position. Yet she’d laid herself bare to him, exposing not just her past pain, but her most secret hopes and dreams. He realized he respected her, so he respected her request, even as it confused him.
He was used to invitations, to numbers handed to him and suggestions made. But Charlie wasn’t interested in a good time. Nor did she want to be able to say she’d been with him for bragging rights. This was real and painful.
“I appreciate you not breaking into hysterical laughter,” she whispered.
“It’s not funny. What I want to do is find that guy and beat the shit out of him.”
One corner of her mouth turned up. “You’re such a guy.”
“Which makes me a decent candidate for the job.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “None of this is expected. I need to think about it.”
“Sure. Right. It’s a lot to ask.” Her grip on the back of the chair tightened.
He looked at her, at the shape of her face, the slight trembling of her mouth. She was nothing like Diane, yet she reminded him of his late wife. Diane had been blunt, as well. Tough, determined. She would have liked Charlie.
“I’ll get back to you,” he said at last.
“You know how to find me.”
He nodded once and left. When he was outside, he headed for his truck. Honest to God, he had no idea what he was going to decide. So he wouldn’t, not just now. Time had a way of making things more clear. Diane had taught him that, too. He’d learned all of life’s most important lessons from her. The most significant had been how to love. A skill he had little use for these days.
CHAPTER FIVE
A TYPICAL DAY in Clay’s New York life had included working out at the gym, getting a facial or maybe a manicure, a meeting with a client, a fitting for a future shoot or talking to his agent about upcoming projects. Despite the ongoing party scene, Clay had usually spent evenings with friends, and he’d often been in bed well before midnight.
Life on the ranch was different. Rafe and Heidi had left for Paris and their honeymoon, which meant someone else had to take care of her goats. Shane had agreed to take over the early morning milking, but when he was in town, staying at Annabelle’s, the work fell to Clay.
It was barely eight in the morning, but Clay had already milked the goats, fed the horses, the elephant, the pony, the pig, the llamas and the sheep. Next up, he would paint the porch railing in preparation for winter. There were blisters on his hands and his spray tan had long since faded, replaced by a farmer’s tan, earned through working outdoors.
This was better, he thought as he collected the sandpaper and scrapers. He draped a tarp over one shoulder. He liked getting up early and being able to point to what he’d done in a day. He was tired and sore when he fell into bed at night, but he’d done something with his time. As soon as escrow closed on the land he’d bought, he would start to work on preparing for his fall alfalfa crop. He had rented the equipment already and had interviews lined up for the farm manager. But for now, painting the railings at the Castle Ranch was going to be enough.
He spread out the tarp and went to work on the scraping. From inside came the sound of laughter. His mother and her new husband, Glen, were having a house built on the other side of the property. It would be finished by the end of the month and they would move into it. Until then, they stayed at the main house.
Shane was also building a house nearby. He and Annabelle would settle there while Heidi and Rafe stayed in this one. Everyone on the ark had paired up, Clay thought, except for him and his little sister, Evangeline. Which meant he was going to need his own place. While no one would kick him out, he wasn’t exactly the party favor most new couples were looking for.
He added “get a house in town” to his mental to-do list. He wouldn’t need much space. There was only him. For a second he allowed himself to wonder what Diane would think of Fool’s Gold. She would like it here, he decided. Not just for the physical beauty of the mountains, but she would enjoy the people.
She had been the best part of him. Loving her had been easy—a lightning bolt. He’d surrendered to his feelings because he hadn’t had a choice. Within a single date, he’d known she was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.
After she’d died, the world had lost its color. Time had healed him, but he would always miss her. Need her. He wasn’t interested in loving someone else.
He bent over the railing and scraped the peeling paint. As the bare wood was exposed he found himself thinking of Charlie and her unexpected request. Just as surprising was the fact he was considering what she wanted.
He liked being around her. He liked her toughness and competence. She wasn’t like everyone else. He supposed he wasn’t immune to being flattered by her request—her assumption that he could be the one to heal her. Which sounded great, but there was reality to deal with. Heal her? How? With his incredible magnificence?
He dropped the scraper and reached for a piece of sandpaper. The sun was warm, the sky blue. There were birds chirping and another burst of laughter from inside the house.
With Diane, he’d been unable to get enough. No matter how many times they made love, he wanted more. Wanted her. Since then, he’d gone through the motions but little else.
He tried to imagine touching Charlie and found the idea appealing. She wouldn’t make it easy, he thought with a grin. Knowing her, she would make it difficult and yet that was okay.
She thought she needed to get over her fear of having sex. He knew what she needed was to learn to trust. And he needed... He drew in a breath. He needed to care about someone again. Not love, obviously. But something. Right now attraction and compassion would be a step forward. Charlie wasn’t the only one who needed a good healing, he thought. Maybe they could figure out a way to fix each other.
* * *
“I’M INTRIGUED,” Dakota said as Charlie walked into her office. She smiled, amusement brightening her brown eyes. “As you requested, I’ve cleared my schedule for the whole hour. Now what is this about?”
Charlie had been friends with Dakota for years. She’d met all three of the Hendrix triplets within a week of moving to Fool’s Gold. They were bright, funny women who cared about other people and understood the value of loyalty. While Charlie believed in the latter, she liked having added security.
She handed over a check for a hundred dollars.
Dakota took the offered paper, studied it for a second, then raised her eyebrows. “Is this what I think it is?”
“I’m hiring you as my therapist for the next hour. It’s a onetime thing.”
While Dakota didn’t have a private practice, she was still a trained and licensed psychologist.
“If I’m your therapist, patient confidentiality applies,” Dakota said slowly, motioning to the chair on the far side of her desk. “This must be important.”
“It is.” Charlie studied her friend. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she began, aware that Dakota could take the whole check-writing thing wrong. They were friends. As such, Charlie should trust her. And she did. It was just...
Dakota leaned forward. “I understand,” she said gently. “No explanations are required. You need the added security to feel safe so you can talk about whatever’s bothering you. Of course I’ll be your therapist for this hour and I will keep everything you tell me confidential.”
Damn. While she appreciated the support, right now she was uncomfortably on edge. If she were anyone else, she might even admit to being emotional. But she wasn’t, so that wasn’t an option. Still, Dakota’s support made her eyes burn. Which wasn’t the same as crying. No way.
“Okay,” Charlie muttered. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now what’s this all about?”
“The baby thing.”
Dakota already knew about Charlie’s past and her desire to have a child. In fact, Dakota had been the one to point out that Charlie needed to consider curing herself first. Not advice she’d wanted to hear, but words that had made sense.
“You were right,” Charlie told her. “About me getting better before having a kid.”
Dakota leaned toward her. “I also told you I wasn’t the person to take you on that journey. I do have the names of several trauma specialists. They’re in Sacramento, so you wouldn’t be dealing with anyone local. It’s a drive, but more private.”
“I may have to do that,” Charlie said, then wished she was standing so she could shuffle her feet or pace. Sometimes, sitting still was difficult. “But first I’m going to try something else.”
“Okay, and what is that?”
Charlie swallowed, squared her shoulders, then looked her friend directly in the eye. “I talked to Clay Stryker about ha**g s*x with me. Getting me, you know, ready. So I can do it without freaking.”
Dakota’s mouth dropped open. Charlie was pretty sure there was a rule that therapists weren’t supposed to show emotion of any kind, let alone shock.
“Clay Stryker?”
“Yes.”
“The underwear-model guy?”
Charlie nodded. “I’ve met him a few times. He wants to be a volunteer firefighter. He’s more than a pretty face. We’ve talked a few times and we’re sort of friends. So I asked him.”
“Oh, my.” Dakota cleared her throat. “He’s an interesting choice.”
“I don’t care that he’s good-looking. Or famous. I know what you’re thinking. That I should have gone with somebody normal, right? It’s just, he’s nice. He was married before and when he talked about his late wife, there was something in his eyes.” She pushed to her feet and started pacing. “That’s why I’m here. Because I asked. Was it stupid? Am I an idiot?”
“You’re a lot of things,” Dakota said. “Stupid isn’t one of them. Your plan is unconventional, but when you decide to face a problem, you jump in. So this isn’t that surprising.” She paused, as if considering her words. “You know the actual problem isn’t about sex, right?”