“Just his element,” Jordan remarked. She well remembered Clay’s burning desire to discover for himself all the cultural treasures in the far reaches of the planet.
“I thought Clay was handsome in person,” Adele went on, grinning wickedly, “but I have to say, astride a horse in the hot desert, or slashing his way through the jungle, he’s a drop-dead sexy man.” She crossed her arms in mock indignation. “Jordan, we’ve been friends for years. I’m shocked you’ve never even mentioned him to me.”
“Some things are better left in the past.” Jordan drew another deep breath to settle herself. Clay was gone now, it was over, and nothing in her life had changed as a result of the encounter.
Then why had it rattled her so much?
“You must have a pretty good reason for leaving a gorgeous man like that in the past,” Adele persisted.
“As it happens, I do.”
“I wonder why he came by.” Her friend cast her a sideways glance. “He said you knew each other eleven years ago. Maybe he thinks Molly is his child.”
Startled, Jordan stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know how old she is.”
Adele lifted her shoulders. “Sorry. It’s just the way he was looking at her, like a deer caught in headlights, I thought that might be the reason.”
“He just came by because he was curious to see how I was doing,” Jordan insisted, though not as confident of the fact as she sounded. “And now he’s gone. I’m sure that’s the last I’ll see of Clay McAdam.”
“So when are you going to confront her?” Sheryl asked, impatient, as she grated mozzarella cheese with brisk strokes into a bowl. She glanced up briefly to skewer Clay with a probing look.
He shook his head, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. “I told you, I couldn’t say anything yesterday. Molly was there.”
His sister didn’t speak again as she continued her vigorous grating, her lips pressed into a tight line. Then she set what remained of the block of cheese on the counter and turned her full attention on Clay, splaying her hand absently over the swell of her pregnant belly. Though her second child was due in four weeks, Sheryl showed no sign of slowing her pace.
“Was I right?” she pressed. “She does look like you, doesn’t she?”
“Hard to say. She looks a lot like Jordan.”
“But the
eyes
.”
“Yes, the eyes could be mine,” he acknowledged.
Sheryl continued talking as she snatched up a handful of the cheese and began sprinkling it across the top of her nearly completed lasagna. “What was your gut feeling, Clay? Do you think she’s your daughter or not?”
He released a long breath. “God help me, I do. It was the look in Jordan’s eyes, more than anything, that convinced me. As soon as Molly walked in, she got completely flustered. I suppose I’ll have to find a way to talk to Jordan alone, though I can’t imagine what I’ll say.”
He’d known exactly what he was going to say when he marched into the bookstore, determined not to leave without the truth—but the moment he saw Jordan behind the counter his resolve vanished along with his focus. Instantly swept back in time, he could barely remember why he’d come, and everything he’d been thinking and feeling became hopelessly muddled. She was as lovely as he remembered, her honey-blonde hair draped in thick waves to her shoulders. When her gaze flickered up to meet his, he was caught for a moment by the startled green eyes—the same eyes that years before had regarded him with a deep tenderness he had expected to enjoy for a lifetime.
Luckily, it had taken him only a moment to recover his senses and remind himself why he was there. If Sheryl was right, Jordan had lied to him, betraying him in the worst way imaginable. He couldn’t let memories of those sensuous lips pressed against his diminish the gravity of her deception. Still, it hadn’t been the right time to confront her—not with Molly likely to walk in on the conversation.
Sheryl faced him again, one fist thrust against her hip. “What if she denies it? Are you going to demand a paternity test?”
“I don’t know yet,” Clay told her brusquely, irritated that his overbearing older sister was the one person he could confide in about this. “It just doesn’t make sense that she wouldn’t have told me.”
“If she had told you, you would’ve stayed with her and passed up the opportunity to go on that dig in Peru. She knew how much that meant to you. Maybe she thought you’d resent her for it,” Sheryl speculated. “It’s the only explanation I can think of.”
Clay frowned; his sister’s theory was similar to the one he’d been formulating. Time and again he’d gone over that day in his head—the last time he saw Jordan after their breakup, when he’d returned from Peru after completing only six weeks of his two-year contract. She hadn’t known he was coming, and when she opened the door to him her expression first registered unabashed joy, then clouded over; he hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms, of course, after leaving her as he had, with no contact since. But when he drew her against him, she clung to him fiercely before releasing him and questioning what he was doing there.
“I came back,” he told her clumsily, unsure where to begin. “I’m back to stay.”
Closing the door, Jordan grasped his arm and pulled him into the living room. She still lived at her parents’ house, but thankfully they were out that afternoon.
“What are you talking about, Clay?” she said, the fretful tone of her voice taking him by surprise.
Clay plunged on with his rehearsed speech: “It was a mistake to leave. I’ve been in Peru for six weeks and I can’t stop thinking about you, Jordan. I’m back, and I want to get married. I won’t leave you ever again.”
She looked like she was about to burst into tears; Clay hoped it was from happiness, but rather than vault into his arms as he’d expected, she asked, “Why now?”
His surprise caused him to respond with exasperation: “What do you mean, why now? This is what you wanted. You wanted me to stay here with you and that’s what I’m willing to do. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
Jordan sank onto the padded arm of her parents’ brocade sofa, her shoulders sagging. “Is this really what
you
want?”
“I know I want you,” he said earnestly. “If I have to make sacrifices to make it work, I’m willing to do that.”
Dropping her gaze to the floral centrepiece on the coffee table, she said softly, “That’s the thing, Clay. I’m not sure anymore that it
will
work.”
His jaw tightened as he stared at her. “You’re still angry.”
She shook her head, and her blonde tresses, worn long then, fanned forward over her down-turned face. “No. It’s just that I’ve had some time to think about it, and I think maybe we’re just too different.”
“Yeah, we’re different, so what?” he asked heatedly.
Jordan’s voice remained maddeningly calm. “You told me before you left that you don’t want children, Clay. And you know I do.”
Clay paced across the room, agitated. He hadn’t expected her to argue like this, and had no responses prepared. “I might change my mind. Right now I just don’t see myself as a father. We can worry about all that later. What’s important is that we love each other. You do still love me, don’t you?”
“Of course. But maybe that’s not enough.” She met his gaze only briefly, before her eyes drifted away again, her hands clenched so tightly on her lap that the blood had drained from them. “We don’t want the same things, Clay. You won’t be happy stuck here with me when you’d rather be out exploring the world. I can’t blame you for that.”
“Like I said, I’ll make the sacrifice.” Surely she could accept that.
“What if I don’t want you to?” Her eyes still downcast, Jordan began nervously twisting the ruby ring on her left hand. It was the ring he’d given her for their engagement, and Clay hadn’t noticed until now that she was still wearing it. It renewed his hope, despite her words.
“Jordan, I don’t understand,” he said desperately. “I came all the way back here. I gave up the opportunity of a lifetime for you. Can you seriously tell me you wish I hadn’t?”
“Is it too late for you to go back?” she asked softly.
His head reeling, Clay couldn’t believe she meant what she was saying. “Is that really what you want?”
Jordan didn’t answer. Though her head was bowed, he saw tears streaming to the end of her chin. Shaking with anger and bewilderment, he nonetheless reached out to comfort her. At the same time she swiftly tugged the ring off her finger and pressed it into the palm of his hand.
Clay could think of nothing else to say. He simply turned and left the house. The next day he flew back to Peru to complete his contract, and hadn’t seen Jordan again until he walked into her bookstore.
When he thought back on that day eleven years in the past, Clay felt that on some level he must have realized Jordan was hiding something. He’d often asked himself why he didn’t demand a better answer from her. But the truth was, he hadn’t wanted to know the rest—because, Clay realized now, in his heart he hadn’t really wanted her to take him back. Her refusal had freed him from the responsibility he felt for their breakup, making it easier for him to choose the path he had. As much as he had loved her, his career had meant more to him then.
Briskly brushing the cheese off her hands, Sheryl picked up the pan of lasagna and slid it into the oven.
“Clay, I think—”
Her unsolicited advice was interrupted by the front door banging open, followed by quick footfalls and the chattering of little girl voices. In a moment Alice and Molly dashed into the living room.
Sheryl cast Clay a look that said,
We’ll finish this conversation later,
and then ushered him into the living room to greet the girls. Clay retuned a look of alarm. Not having expected Alice to bring Molly home with her after school, he felt flustered and unprepared to spend time with her.
“Nice to see you again, Molly,” Sheryl said brightly.
“Hi.” Molly shifted her gaze to Clay, clearly puzzled to see him there. She had her mother’s delicate features and blonde hair, worn long and tied into a ponytail. And as he’d seen in the photograph Sheryl had sent him, the little girl’s eyes were gray, like Clay’s. But they were also large and fringed with dark lashes, just like Jordan’s. Yesterday in the bookstore, seeing Molly for the first time had set his heart pounding so heavily he‘d nearly lost his balance. How strange it was to meet his daughter, his own flesh and blood, as a complete stranger. Of course he couldn’t be sure, but he’d felt an instant connection to her that couldn’t be explained any other way.
“This is my Uncle Clay,” Alice told Molly. “He’s just come back from Greece and he’s staying with us until he gets his own place.”
“He’s my mom’s friend, too,” Molly pointed out. “He came into the bookstore yesterday.”
Clay felt his pulse quicken.
Okay, just keep your cool. She doesn’t know anything about you, and she doesn’t need to. Not yet.
Alice blinked in surprise, turning curious eyes on Clay. “Really? I didn’t know you knew Molly’s mom.”
“Years ago,” he affirmed dismissively.
Alice seemed satisfied by the answer. “Can Molly stay for dinner, Mom?”
“If it’s okay her with mother.”
“It is. Can we play at the beach for a while before supper?” Alice asked.
“Sure. Why don’t you take your uncle with you?”
Delighted, Alice took hold of Clay’s hand and yanked him forward. “Come on. Get your jacket.”
Unable to think of an excuse, Clay reluctantly grabbed his leather jacket from where he’d left it on the arm of the sofa.
He followed some distance behind as the girls headed outside and down the street toward the beach, only a block away. He watched them as they hurried along, side by side, chatting and giggling as though they’d been best friends for years. Were they in fact cousins? He hadn’t given much thought to the girls’ relationship before now. As well as they got along, they didn’t resemble one another at all. Alice’s dark hair and athletic physique contrasted with Molly’s blonde locks and slighter build, which, like so many of her other traits, she’d inherited from her mother. And, like her mother, she would surely be a beauty when she was older.
Once they reached the rocky shore, the girls left Clay to himself, and set about piling stones to see how high they could build their tower before it toppled over. Clay was happy to stand nearby and observe. He picked up a flat stone and pitched it across the water, where it skipped several times over the surface before sinking. As he gazed into the open bay, to the mountains rising into hazy mist across the water, a wave of nostalgia struck him, pressing on his heart with a dull ache. During his travels around the world, to the most amazing and exotic places, he hadn’t truly appreciated how much he’d missed his hometown of Victoria. Tied into childhood memories were the heady tang of the ocean, the rhythmic pounding of waves against the shore, the cry of herring gulls wheeling above. No place on Earth stirred his senses as this place did.
“That’s neat,” he heard a small voice remark. “How do you do that?”