“Well, I suppose I should get back to work,” he said regretfully, setting her suitcases on the double bed. A colorful quilt lay folded at its foot.
Rorie turned toward him, smiling. “Thank you, Skip. I hate to think what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t come along when you did.”
He blushed and started backing out of the room, taking small steps as though he was loath to leave her. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”
Rorie smiled again. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Bye for now.” He raised his right hand in a farewell gesture, then whirled around and dashed down the hallway. She could hear his feet pounding on the stairs.
It took Rorie only a few minutes to hang her things in the bare closet. When she’d finished, she went back to the kitchen, where Mary was busy peeling potatoes at the stainless steel sink.
“I’d like to help, if I could.”
“Fine,” the housekeeper answered gruffly. She took another potato peeler out of a nearby drawer, slapping it down on the counter. “I suppose that’s your fancy sports car in the yard.”
“The water pump has to be replaced...I think,” Rorie answered, not bothering to mention that the MGB wasn’t actually hers.
“Humph,” was Mary’s only response.
Rorie sighed and reached for a large potato. “The mechanic in Riversdale said it would take until Saturday to get a replacement part.”
For the second time, Mary answered her with a gruff-sounding humph. “If then! Saturday or next Thursday or a month from now, it’s all the same to George. Fact is, you could end up staying here all summer.”
Three
Mary’s words echoed in Rorie’s head as she joined Clay and Skip at the dinner table that evening. She stood just inside the dining room, dressed in a summer skirt and a cotton-knit cream-colored sweater, and announced, “I can’t stay any longer than four days.”
Clay regarded her blankly. “I have no intention of holding you prisoner, Rorie.”
“I know, but Mary told me that if I’m counting on George what’s-his-name to fix the MG, I could end up spending the summer here. I’ve got to get back to San Francisco—I have a job there.” She realized how nonsensical her little speech sounded, as if that last bit about having a job explained everything.
“If you want, I’ll keep after George to make sure he doesn’t forget about it.”
“Please.” Rorie felt a little better for having spoken her mind.
“And the Greyhound bus comes through on Mondays,” Skip said reassuringly. “If you had to, you could take that back to California and return later for your friend’s car.”
“The bus,” she repeated. “I could take the bus.” As it was, the first half of her vacation was ruined, but it’d be nice to salvage what she could of the rest.
Both men were seated, but as Rorie approached the table Skip rose noisily to his feet, rushed around to the opposite side and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. His dark hair was wet and slicked down close to his head. He’d changed out of his work clothes and into what appeared to be his Sunday best—a dress shirt, tie and pearl-gray slacks. With a good deal of ceremony, he pushed in her chair. As he leaned toward her, it was all Rorie could do to keep from grimacing at the overpowering scent of his spicy aftershave. He must have drenched himself in the stuff.
Clay’s gaze seemed to tug at hers and when Rorie glanced in his direction, she saw that he was doing his utmost not to laugh. He clearly found his brother’s antics amusing, though he took pains not to hurt Skip’s feelings, but Rorie wasn’t sure how she should react. Skip was only in his teens, and she didn’t want to encourage any romantic fantasies he might have.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Skip said, once he’d reclaimed his chair. “Mary puts on a good feed.”
“I’m starved,” Rorie admitted, eyeing the numerous serving dishes spread out on the table.
Clay handed her a large platter of fried chicken. That was followed by mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, fresh green beans, a mixed green salad, milk and a variety of preserves. By the time they’d finished passing around the food, there wasn’t any space left on Rorie’s oversize plate.
“Don’t forget to leave room for dessert,” Clay commented, again with that slow, easy drawl of his. Here Skip was practically doing cartwheels to attract her attention and all Clay needed to do was look at her and she became light-headed. Rorie couldn’t understand it. From the moment Clay Franklin had stepped down from his pickup, she hadn’t been the same.
“After dinner I thought I’d take you up to the stable and introduce you to King Genius,” Skip said, waving a chicken leg.
“I’d be happy to meet him.”
“Once you do, you’ll feel like you did when you stood on the balcony in the big bedroom and looked at the valley.”