A Family for Thanksgiving. Patricia Davids
I’m sorry.”
Don’t do this, Clay. Not after all this time. I waited so long for you.
Keeping the smile on her face cost her dearly. Her cheek muscles ached with the effort. “What are you sorry about?”
He studied her with a puzzled frown. “For taking off like that.”
Was he really expecting her to just forgive him? To say the last seven years didn’t matter? She had some pride. There was no way she’d let him see how much he’d hurt her.
“It’s water under the bridge, Clay. We were just kids. It wasn’t like we were soul mates or something.”
He didn’t reply, but he released her. His hand dropped to his side. “I’m glad you didn’t hold it against me.”
Her mind screamed at her to leave before he saw though the veil she’d pulled over her turbulent emotions, but she couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of him. The urge to fling herself into his arms and hug him was overwhelming. Why did he still have such an effect on her?
Forcing herself to take a step back, she quickly said, “I hope you enjoy your visit. I know Maya and Jesse must be excited that you’re home.”
A hint of his grin reappeared as he settled his Stetson on his head. “Maya might be happy. Jesse? I’m thinking not so much.”
Chapter Two
Clay called himself every kind of fool in the book as he faced Nicki. He’d spent the last seven years wondering if she’d forgiven him for running out on her.
Turns out, she’d barely given it a thought.
She was the reason he’d come back. Her picture, the one of her with tears in her eyes, had solidified a yearning he’d never truly understood. His heart ached at the sight of her while she acted as if it meant nothing—as if there’d never been anything between them.
Maybe there hadn’t been. Maybe his imagination had taken a simple high school infatuation and worked it into something special because he thought he’d never see her again.
During the past five days on the road south, he’d had plenty of time to think about what he was doing, but it wasn’t until he rolled into town that he began to question the wisdom of leaving a job and coming back to an uncertain welcome.
Was this really the path God wanted him to take?
Faith, the idea of trusting God to guide him, was too new. He’d been a loner for years, trusting only himself, trying not to care too much about anyone or anything. Until now.
Raking a hand through her curly blond hair, Nicki took a step back as if she intended to walk away, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “If you’re worried about Jesse’s reaction, I assume that means the two of you haven’t reconciled.”
It was the look of compassion in her eyes and the tone of her voice more than her words that gave him a sliver of hope. She remembered.
Nicki had been his sounding board during his last year of high school. She knew that he and his brother didn’t see eye to eye on anything. She’d been a good friend. He let her down—the way he’d let everyone down.
“I’m not sure Jesse and I’ll ever reconcile. He blames me for Mom and Dad’s death.”
“Not as much as you blame yourself.”
She’d always been good at reading him. Clay swallowed hard as old emotions threatened to swamp him. It had been his fault. Nothing would change that fact.
“You can shop all day for another guilty party, but you won’t find one. It was my idea to climb up and spray-paint graffiti on the Alma water tower that night, a stupid, dangerous stunt if there ever was one. I was the one who got arrested. I was one who called Dad to come bail me out.”
He swallowed hard against the pain of those memories. “If I hadn’t done it, Dad and Mom wouldn’t have been in the car when that semi crossed the center line. We’d still have parents, and Jesse and Maya wouldn’t hate my guts.”
“They don’t hate you, Clay. You’re their brother.”
“Okay, maybe Maya doesn’t, she always was the peacekeeper in the family. But Jesse hates me.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“I’ve talked to him on the phone once since I left. He told me his wife had been killed, then he told me not to come home. It was pretty clear. I’m not welcome.”
She looked down, as if at a loss for words. Clay studied her face. He’d dreamed of her so often that he thought he knew her every feature by heart. He remembered the face of a girl. The woman standing in front of him had a quiet strength about her that was new. She’d matured, grown more beautiful—if that was possible.
The blustery wind put color in her cheeks. A cluster of curls from her shoulder-length hair blew across her full lips. She used one hand to drag her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. It was a gesture she used to use just before she gave him one of her shy, sweet smiles. Seeing it brought a flood of memories.
The two of them studying before the big algebra test, finding the courage to ask her to the dance, walking with her in the moonlight.
Now that he was with her again he knew those memories would never be enough. He wanted new ones. He wanted to get to know this new woman all over again.
When she looked up he saw deep indecision written clearly on her features. “I really do need to get going, Clay.”
He didn’t want to see her go, but didn’t know how to stop her from leaving. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him. He was good at leaving, not at staying.
God, I believe You brought me home for a reason. Show me what it is.
He nodded and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He’d make sure of it.
A ghost of a smile curled the corner of her lips. “It’s a small town.”
“Smaller than it used to be.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s the sad truth.”
Sorry for his insensitive remark, he quickly added, “The people here know how to survive. My granddad told me the place was nearly wiped off the map just a few years after it was founded.”
“Yes. I know the story. It’s been repeated a lot lately.”
He followed her gaze across the road to where the shell of the rebuilt Old Town Hall stood out like a sore thumb, all glaring new plywood and silver sheets of insulation. It was clear the town had copied the size and style of the old structure.
Glancing westward, he saw the church had survived intact. The sturdy, square white building was another relic of High Plains history. Its row of arched windows had looked upon the town’s growth from a simple frontier mill town to a bustling city of more than three thousand residents.
Clay said, “I understand their need to replace that special part of their heritage.”
“Our heritage,” she said quietly. “It’s your home, too.”
His eyes locked with hers. Time stood still. It would only be home if he could find a way to earn back her friendship and her trust along with that of his brother and sister.
From down the street, someone called Nicki’s name breaking the connection between them. He looked over her shoulder to see her mother coming toward them. Glenis Appleton was pushing a dark blue stroller with a bright-eyed toddler in it. Since the tyke looked like it had been swallowed alive by a hooded pink coat, Clay assumed it was a little girl.
Slightly breathless, Glenis stopped beside Nicki. “We finished early so we thought we’d met you halfway.”
Stooping to the child’s level,