Another Chance for Daddy. Patricia Knoll
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joy, followed by sorrow. How could they have known things would go so wrong?
Determined to get through this short visit with as much civility as possible, Becca bought her attention back to Clay and discovered that he was studying her with the clear-eyed intensity he brought to everything he did. She met his eyes for a fleeting instant and saw sharp emotion there, but it was gone before she could identify it. His face went blank, as if he was expecting her to make the next gesture. Becca sighed inwardly. She had made all the gestures so far. She had to admit that this was better than fighting with him, but she didn’t know what he was thinking. At least when they had fought, she had known what was going on in his mind—somewhat.
Did he feel the same regrets she did? She had no idea and that was basically what had lain at the root of all their problems when they had been married.
“Can I offer you some coffee, Clay?” she asked, and wished her voice sounded less strained.
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
Relieved to be doing something, Becca hopped up and headed for the kitchen, but was distressed to glance back and discover that he was following close behind her.
“I’ll bring it out here, Clay,” she said, giving him a fleeting smile over her shoulder.
He answered with a steady look. “You don’t have to treat me like a guest, Becca. I can drink coffee in the kitchen.”
“All right,” she agreed, but she felt an edge of irritation. Why couldn’t he make such a simple thing easy? “Won’t you sit down?”
She already had the coffeemaker set up, so she flipped the switch to start it brewing, then began getting cups from the cabinet and cream from the refrigerator. When she had fiddled with the preparations as long as she could, she finally turned around, folded her arms across her waist, and wished she could think of something to say.
Clay had pulled out one of the four chairs that went with her oak table and sat now with his long legs stretched out before him and his strong miner’s hands resting casually on the polished wood. Glancing at the centerpiece of dried prairie grasses in a squat terra-cotta jug, then at the tabletop beneath his hands, he said, “This is new.”
“Yes, it is.” She brought their cups to the table, handed him his with just the amount of cream he liked stirred into it, then sat down opposite him. “It’s new to me at least. Mary Jane found it in the barn after Dad died. It was my grandmother’s. I had it refinished.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last bit. It wasn’t as though he cared. Heirlooms such as her grandmother’s table had never meant much to him.
He nodded. “In fact, it looks like you’ve finally got the place you always wanted.”
She listened for censure in his tone, but hearing none, she glanced around at her lovely little home and said, “Yes, I do.”
“So things are all set for you, then?”
There was something in his deep voice that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair, then hide her discomfort behind a sip of coffee. “Jimmy has made friends here in the neighborhood and at school. Things are going fine. How about you? When did this job in Venezuela come up?”
“A few weeks ago. George Cisneros called, said they needed me for some preliminary work on a mine they’re opening down there.” He shrugged. “And now there’s no reason for me not to go.”
There was no accusation or self-pity in his tone. He was matter-of-fact, but she felt a twist of guilt knowing that their divorce was the reason he was now free to take a job in South America. He’d wanted to years ago, saying the cultural changes would be good for them. Since they both spoke some Spanish, living in South America wouldn’t be hard for them. Becca had fought the move, reluctant to be so far from her family for such a long time. Mexico had been a great enough distance for her.
Before she could respond, Jimmy struggled into the room, pulling his overstuffed duffel bag with one hand, and clutching his book with the other. The tip of his tongue peeked from the corner of his mouth and a lock of dark hair flopped over his forehead. Clay started to his feet to help the boy out, but when Jimmy had the bag two inches inside the kitchen, he abandoned it in the doorway and rushed to climb into Clay’s lap.
Clay grunted when Jimmy’s elbow connected with his stomach. Rubbing the tender spot, he looked at the book’s cover, then gave Becca a questioning glance. “Gems and minerals?” he asked.
“I admit the book’s a little thin on plot, but most of it is written at his level, and it’s his favorite subject,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “He must have inherited it from you.”
Clay grinned, the first natural smile she’d seen from him since he had arrived, and she relaxed against the back of her chair. Since she had read, and heard, the book several times already, she sipped her coffee and watched Clay as he helped their son with such words as “feldspar” and “sandstone.” She wasn’t sure how much of the book Jimmy actually understood, but he loved rocks of all types, was a fount of information about them, and could be counted on to volunteer interesting tidbits at any given moment.
When he finished, Jimmy gave a satisfied sigh, jumped down from his father’s lap and dashed away to put the book back in his room.
“His teacher said he’s the only child to check that book out of the school library in two years. He’s kept rechecking it every week for a month. He should have it memorized by now.”
Clay nodded, then smiled at her with such pride in his son, that Becca felt tears clog her throat. This is the way it should always be between them, sharing in their son’s accomplishments.
“We went up to the old Lucy Belle mine a few weeks ago,” she continued when she knew she’d conquered the tears. “He was convinced he could find gold there, even thought it was a silver mine. He had on a pair of sweatpants with big pockets that he filled so full of rock samples the seat hung down past his knees. He walked around all day with his feet wide apart to keep his pants from falling down. He looked as if he was saddle sore, but he couldn’t bear to leave even one rock behind. He was sure they were pure gold.”
Clay smiled again, then his face grew thoughtful. “You two didn’t go up there by yourselves, did you? Those old mines are pretty dangerous, rotting timbers, standing water....”
“We weren’t alone,” Becca broke in hastily, then busied herself picking up her coffee cup and carrying it to the sink. “We were with Barry,” she added in a tone that she hoped sounded casual. “Would you like more coffee?” She had the feeling, though, that she resembled someone who, when meeting a bear in the woods, throws a decoy in one direction and runs in the other praying for a distraction while hotfooting it toward safety.
“Barry Whelker? Your boss?” Clay’s tone was deceptively soft. “Is he interested in abandoned mines?”
Becca turned to face him, her back to the sink and her hands behind her, gripping the edge of the ceramic tile counter. “Not very much. But he knows Jimmy is.”
“Why should he care?”
“He’s a nice man,” she said carefully.
Clay’s mouth firmed into a straight line. “So you’ve said, but why does he care about Jimmy’s interests?”
Her eyes darted away, then back to meet his. Her chin came up. “You see, Clay, Barry and I have been dating.”
“Dating?”
His voice had dropped to a low rumble. Becca swallowed hard and told herself she wasn’t afraid of him, or of his reaction. Her social life really wasn’t any of his business. “Yes, you remember dating, don’t you? It’s that getting-to-know-you activity we didn’t do enough of before we got married.”
“I see, and you’re taking my son along on these dates?” Clay rose from his chair and leaned forward, the tips of his fingers resting on the tabletop. His eyes had gone as dark as the sea before a storm.
“Occasionally,