Clay looked down to find Molly’s gray eyes gazing up at him. He felt suddenly nervous again, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. He’d never been especially comfortable around children, even his own niece, although she clearly adored him and was quickly drawing him into her world. It took him a moment to realize Molly had been watching him absently skip stones across the water, something he’d done countless times as a boy.
“Well,” he told her at last, “first you need to find a flat, round rock if you can.” He scanned the stones at his feet for one that was suitable and picked it up to show her. “Crouch down as low as you can, and when you toss the stone, keep it parallel to the water.”
He threw the stone in demonstration, and they both watched it skip five times across the water before it sank.
Molly immediately crouched in search of another stone. Finding one, she zinged it awkwardly into the water, where it skipped once and sank.
“Not quite as good as yours,” she said with a shrug.
“Try again.”
She did, slower and with more care this time, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she bent low and threw the stone with a smooth motion. The stone skipped twice this time, and she leapt up, grinning.
“Good job,” Clay said.
“Thanks.” Molly turned her radiant smile on him, and his heart turned over. All at once grief swept through him for all the years he’d missed with her, as he imagined them passing by in a flurry of stolen moments—her first smile, her first step; teaching her to ride a bike; reading her bedtime stories, and chasing the monsters from under her bed—all the things he’d had a right to experience, but Jordan had seen fit to deny him. A sudden intense anger stole over Clay. What he couldn’t figure out was why she’d done it.
He looked around for Alice, spotting her further down the beach, collecting something in her hands. Seashells, he suspected, knowing she kept an assortment of them in a jar in her room. Molly was gathering up more flat stones.
“I’m not going to throw these away,” she said. “They’re going in my collection.”
“A rock collection?”
She nodded, turning a smooth black stone over in her hand. “I’ve found some really nice ones since moving here. I’ve been looking for fossils. Alice found one. She has it at home. It’s really cool.”
Clay sat down on a nearby log. “You two have a lot of fun together?”
“Yeah. She’s my best friend,” Molly said, and after hesitating a moment, she sat on the log next to him, continuing to inspect her rocks.
Clay couldn’t help himself. Sensing she felt comfortable with him, he decided it was safe to probe for information, ever so carefully. “It’s a shame that you had to move away from your stepfather. Do you get to see him often?”
Molly answered without looking up. “I haven’t seen Richard since we moved here.”
“You must miss him.”
She looked at him sideways, answering in a forthright manner that surprised him. “No. I don’t care if I ever see him again. I don’t even like him. My mom and I are fine, just the two of us.”
Her chin lifted defiantly as she spoke, her gaze determined. She was trying to be brave, and it pierced his heart. Clay knew what it was like to be a child longing for an absent father. It was something Jordan, who grew up in a loving home with two devoted parents, could never comprehend. Molly’s words only served to stiffen his resolve that the little girl needed him in her life, and his anger at Jordan simmered. She had hurt both him and their daughter irreparably, denying them both the relationship that was rightfully theirs.
“Still, it’s got to be tough, all these changes in your life,” Clay suggested.
“Yeah, but it’s not so bad. My mom’s a lot happier now. She used to cry all the time.”
Taken aback, Clay simply nodded, deciding not to probe further. Molly may have trusted him as her friend’s uncle and her mother’s friend, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
“How come you were in Greece?” the little girl asked then.
“I was hosting a TV show on archeology.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Is that where you dig up dinosaur bones?”
“That’s paleontology. I dig up stuff left behind by people in ancient times,” Clay explained, though he hadn’t actually done such a thing in years.
“Like mummies?” she asked breathlessly.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“That’s really neat.” Molly said, and the look of fascination on her face elated Clay more than any other accolade he’d received over his entire career.
“What are you guys doing?” Alice’s voice rang out across the beach as she jogged toward them.
“Nothing much.” Molly stood up. “Did you get any shells?”
“Yeah, a few.” Alice held out her hand to show them several mud-caked specimens she’d found.
“We’d better get back for dinner,” Clay said. “Your mother won’t appreciate it if we let her famous lasagna get cold.”
* * *
Jordan drew back the edge of the curtain on the living room window to peer outside at the driveway. Still no sign of Molly. She should have been home by now.
Turning around, Jordan sank back onto the sofa, facing the TV. She’d been watching an old Katherine Hepburn movie while repairing the hem on one of Molly’s skirts, but she wasn’t following the plot very carefully or sewing accurately, having pulled the stitches out twice to start over.
Since yesterday Jordan had felt unsettled. She couldn’t get Clay McAdam off her mind. If someone had asked her two days ago how she’d react to seeing him again, she wouldn’t have been able to predict how it had felt when he walked into her store without warning. It was shocking, to be sure. Uncomfortable, certainly. But beneath that were so many other conflicting emotions she wouldn’t have anticipated, so muddled that she couldn’t put a name to them.
And she’d seen the look on Clay’s face when Molly walked into the bookstore.
Like a deer caught in headlights
, Adele had said. Could she be right? Could Clay have so quickly guessed Molly’s age and then drawn the conclusion that she might be his child? It seemed unlikely. It was hard to think of another explanation for his reaction to her, but there had to be one.
Jordan picked up Molly’s skirt and then set it down again, sighing heavily. Surely all this musing about Clay McAdam was a waste of time and energy. He had come and gone quickly, and she would probably never see him again.
What bothered her most was the inexplicable sadness that had settled over her at the thought of never seeing him again—even though she knew full well that there was no use trying to recapture a past left behind for good reason. Clay’s potent sensuality would have an effect on any woman who was feeling a little lonely. And she was a little lonely, she had to admit, despite what’s she’d told Adele about how perfectly happy she was with her new life. And she was still a little scared about striking out on her own, without Richard to help her.
Jordan lay back against the sofa cushion, abandoning all pretense of watching the movie now that Richard had popped into her head. Now that he and Clay were both in her mind, she couldn’t help comparing them. Unlike the lightning-bolt attraction she’d felt for Clay when they met, it had taken her a long time to fall in love with Richard. He was a co-worker first, then a friend, and finally a romance had blossomed. It was a comfortable relationship, carefully cultivated to meet her and Molly’s needs. Richard was a good match for them both, a family-focused man who worked predictable hours and treated Molly as his own daughter. His smile had never managed to make Jordan’s knees buckle, but she had cared for him deeply, and when they married her life had felt whole. At last they were a complete family, and Molly had a reliable father who attended every ballet recital and was always available for picnics and trips to the park.
Jordan was fairly certain they would still be married today, had the last three years of their marriage not been consumed by their failed attempts to have a baby of their own. Thousands of dollars spent on fertility treatments had led only to crushing disappointment. In the end, Jordan came to accept the fact that Molly would be her only natural child, but for Richard this reality was intolerable. Adopting a baby was not an option in his eyes. At the time, Jordan couldn’t help but blame herself for the failure of their marriage, and for failing Molly. And maybe she still did. At the same time, it was a relief to be free of the emotional hell of feeling like a failure to her husband.
As for Richard—no sooner had the divorce gone through than he was engaged to a woman he’d met online only weeks after separating from Jordan.
Someone fertile, no doubt
, she thought sourly.
When she heard the doorknob turn, only then did Jordan realize her lashes were wet with tears. Grateful for the distraction, she scrambled off the sofa and switched off the television.
“Glad you’re home,” she said, smiling as Molly walked in. “How was dinner?”
Jordan froze. Behind her daughter in the doorway stood Clay McAdam.
“It was really good,” Molly replied, sliding off her jacket. “Alice’s mom made an awesome lasagna, and apple pie for dessert. I’m stuffed.”
Jordan stared at Clay, releasing a quick breath. “What are you doing here?”
“He drove me home,” Molly explained, smiling up at Clay. “When he came in the store yesterday I didn’t know he was Alice’s uncle. Did you know that, Mom?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Clay cleared his throat. “Alice is Sheryl’s daughter.”
Jordan nodded, piecing things together. “Is that how you knew to find me at the bookstore?”
He nodded, his expression impassive.
“Isn’t that something. Small world,” Jordan muttered. She looked at Molly. “It’s time to get ready for bed, kiddo.”
“I know. See you later, Clay. Thanks for the ride.”
“See you.”
As Molly headed for her room, Jordan turned to Clay, hardly knowing what to say to him. It was so odd, standing in the doorway of her new house with a man from far in her past, imposing himself upon the present.
“Thanks for bringing her home,” she said finally.
She expected him to leave then, but he didn’t move. His steel-gray gaze met and held hers. “Can we talk?”
Jordan blinked at him, a shiver scooting down her spine. “About what?”
He nodded toward the door. “Let’s step outside.”
“All right.” Grabbing a sweater from the coat closet, she followed him out into the chilly evening air, closing the door behind them.
Clay lowered himself onto the top step of the porch, gesturing to Jordan to sit next to him. Dusk had settled in, bringing with it the rhythmic song of crickets. Settling next to him, Jordan couldn’t help but think back to evenings they’d spent together, cool evenings like this one, bundled in a blanket on the beach, counting the stars. He would name them for her, using ridiculous, vaguely Latin-sounding names he’d made up to make her laugh. How surreal it was to be under those same stars with him now, when everything else was so different.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” she asked.
He turned hardened eyes on her. “You have no idea?”
Jordan stiffened. “None at all.”
“Drop the act, Jordan,” he barked, startling her. “I’m not a fool. You took me for one eleven years ago, and I guess I must have been one, because I trusted you.”
“Clay, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Molly. Who is her father?”
Jordan drew her arms tightly around herself. “Why are you asking me that?”
“I think you owe me an answer.”
“Clay, I haven’t seen you in over a decade,” she said slowly, beginning to shiver. “We’ve both moved on with our lives. I don’t owe you anything.”
He stared at her, his jaw pulsing as his eyes glittered, harshly shadowed under the pale light from her porch lamp. “How dare you? If she was my daughter then, she’s still my daughter now. You had no right to keep her from me all this time. I can’t for the life of me understand how you could be so cruel, so unfair to me and to Molly. I thought I knew you, Jordan.”
“Please lower your voice,” she said, mindful of the neighbours’ houses close by. “I don’t know where you got the idea that Molly is yours, Clay, but she isn’t.”
“You’re denying it? Sheryl told me Molly’s age. You had to be pregnant when I came back from Peru and offered to stay with you.”
Suddenly it all clicked into place. She had Sheryl to thank for this. “You’re right, I was.” Jordan drew in a deep breath before spilling the rest of the story. “That’s why I turned you away when you came back that August. I thought knowing I was having someone else’s baby would hurt you more than just letting you go.”
Her voice wavered with emotion and her eyes welled with tears as she recalled how hard it had been to let go of this man, not once but twice.
Clay paused, his voice softening as he continued. “Who was it?”
She shook her head. “You didn’t know him.”
“I’ve seen Molly’s eyes,” he persisted. “They’re gray like mine. Yours are green.”
“So what?” she shot back. “The heredity of eye colour is not that straightforward, Clay. It’s just a coincidence. Gray eyes are unusual but not that rare. It’s a variation of blue.”