worry about having the right kind of clothes for a square dance, either, because I’ve got more outfits than I know what to do with. We’re about the same size,” Kate said, eyeing her. “Perhaps you’re a little taller, but not so much that you couldn’t wear my skirts.”
Rorie smiled blandly, realizing it wouldn’t do any good to decline the invitation. But good heavens, square dancing? Her?
“Knowing you and Skip,” Kate chastised Clay, “poor Rorie will be stuck on Elk Run for the next four days bored out of her mind. The least I can do is see that she’s entertained.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Rorie said. The sooner she got back on the road, the safer her heart would be, and if Kate Logan was willing to help her kill time, then all the better.
“I thought I’d give you a tour of our little town in the morning,” Kate went on. “It’s small, but the people are friendly.”
“I’d love to see Nightingale.”
“Clay.” The brusque voice of a farmhand interrupted them. “Could you come here a minute?”
Clay turned to the man and nodded. “I have to find out what Don needs,” he said quietly. As he met Rorie’s eyes, a speculative look flashed into his own.
She nearly flinched, wondering what emotion her face had betrayed. From the minute Clay had walked into the barn, she’d been careful to school her expression, not wanting him to read anything into her words or actions. She’d tried to look cool and unconcerned, as if the night they’d shared had never happened.
“You two will have to excuse me.” Weary amusement turned up the corners of his mouth and Rorie realized he’d readily seen through her guise.
“Of course,” Kate said. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”
Clay nodded abruptly and departed with firm purposeful strides.
Kate started walking toward the yard. Rorie followed, eager to escape the barn and all the memories associated with it.
“Clay told us you’re a librarian,” Kate said when she reached the Ford parked in the curving driveway. “If you want, I can take you to our library. We built a new one last year and we’re rather proud of it. I know it’s small compared to where you probably work, but I think you’ll like what we’ve done.”
“I’d love to see it.” Libraries were often the heart of a community, and if the citizens of Nightingale had seen fit to upgrade theirs, it was apparent they shared Rorie’s love of books.
“I’ll pick you up around ten tomorrow, if that’s convenient?”
“That’d be fine.”
“Plan on spending the afternoon with me and we’ll meet Clay and Skip at the dance later.”
Rorie agreed, although her enthusiasm was decidedly low. The last thing she wanted was to be at some social event with Clay. Never mind how Dan would tease her if he ever discovered she’d spent part of her vacation square dancing with the folks at the Grange.
“Bye for now,” Kate said.
“Bye,” Rorie murmured, waving. She stood in the yard until Kate’s car was out of sight. Not sure what else to do, she wandered back into the house, where Mary was busy with preparations for lunch.
“Can I help?” she asked.
In response, Mary scurried to a drawer and once again handed her a peeler. Rorie started carefully whittling away at a firm red apple she’d scooped from a large bowlful of them.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking?” Mary demanded, pointing her own peeler at Rorie.
“I’ve managed to keep from starving for the last few years,” she retorted idly.
The merest hint of amusement flashed into the older woman’s weathered face. “If I was judging your talents in the kitchen on looks alone, I think you’d starve a man to death within a week.”
Despite her glum spirits, Rorie laughed. “If you’re telling me you think I’m thin, watch out, Mary, because I’m likely to throw my arms around your neck and kiss you.”
The other woman threw her a grin. Several peaceful minutes passed while they peeled apple after apple.
“I got a call from my sister,” Mary said hesitantly, her eyes darting to Rorie, then back to her task. “She’s coming to Riversdale and wants to know if I can drive over and see her. She’s only going to be in Oregon one day.”
This was the most Mary had said to Rorie since her arrival. It pleased her that the older woman was lowering her guard and extending a friendly hand.
“I’d like to visit with my sister.”
“I certainly think you should.” It took Rorie another minute to figure out where Mary was heading with this meandering conversation. Then suddenly she understood. “Oh, you’re looking for someone to do the cooking while you’re away.”
Mary shrugged as if it didn’t concern her one way or the other. “Just for the evening meal, two nights from now. I could manage lunch for the hands before I leave. It’s supper I’m worried about. There’s only Clay and Skip who need to be fed—the other men go home in the evenings.”
“Well, relax, because I’m sure I can manage one dinner without killing off the menfolk.”
“You’re sure?”
Mary was so completely serious that Rorie laughed outright. “Since my abilities do seem to worry you, how would you feel if I invited Kate Logan over to help?”
Mary nodded and sighed. “I’d rest easier.”
* * *
Rorie stayed in the kitchen until the lunch dishes had been put away. Mary thanked her for helping, then went home to watch her daily soap operas.
Feeling a little lost, Rorie wandered outside and into the stable. Since Clay had already shown her the computer, she decided to spend the afternoon working in his office.
The area was deserted, which went some distance toward reassuring her—but then, she’d assumed it would be. From what she’d observed, a stud farm was a busy place and Clay was bound to be occupied elsewhere. That suited Rorie just fine. She hoped to avoid him as much as possible. In three days she’d be out of his life, leaving hardly a trace, and that was the way she wanted it.
Rorie sat typing in data for about an hour before her neck and shoulders began to cramp. She paused, flexing her muscles, then rotated her head to relieve the building tightness.
“How long have you been here?”
The rough male voice behind her startled Rorie. Her hand flew to her heart and she expelled a shaky breath. “Clay! You frightened me.”
“How long?” he repeated.
“An hour or so.” She glanced at her watch and nodded.
Clay advanced a step toward her, his mouth a thin line of impatience. “I suppose you’re looking for an apology.”
Rorie didn’t answer. She’d learned not to expect anything from him.
“I’ll tell you right now that you’re not going to get one,” he finished gruffly.
“You don’t owe me anything, Clay,” Rorie said, struggling to make her voice light. Clay looked driven to the limits of exhaustion. Dark shadows had formed beneath his eyes and fatigue lines fanned out from their corners. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight he carried was more than he could bear. He studied her wearily, then turned away, stalking to the other side of the office. His shoulders heaved as he drew in