A Country Affair(6)

“Not at all. Don’t worry about me.”

Clay nodded. “Dinner’s at six.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Rorie picked up the empty glasses and put them by the sink. While she waited for Skip to carry in her luggage, she phoned Dan. Unfortunately he was in a meeting and couldn’t be reached, so she left a message, explaining that she’d been delayed and would call again. She felt strangely reluctant to give him the Franklins’ phone number, but decided there was no reason not to do so. She also decided not to examine that feeling too closely.

Skip had returned by the time she’d hung up. “Clay says you can have Mom and Dad’s old room,” the teenager announced on his way through the door. He hauled her large suitcase in one hand and her flight bag was slung over his shoulder. “Their room’s at the other end of the house. They were killed in an accident five years ago.”

“But—”

“Their room’s got the best view.”

“Skip, really, any bedroom will do... I don’t want your parents’ room.”

“But that’s the one Clay wants for you.” He bounded up the curving stairway with the energy reserved for the young.

Rorie followed him more slowly. She slid her hand along the polished banister and glanced into the living room. A large natural-rock fireplace dominated one wall. The furniture was built of solid oak, made comfortable with thick chintz-covered cushions. Several braided rugs were placed here and there on the polished wood floor. A piano with well-worn ivory keys stood to one side. The collection of family photographs displayed on top of it immediately caught her eye. She recognized a much younger Clay in what had to be his high-school graduation photo. The largest picture in an ornate brass frame was of a middle-aged couple, obviously Clay and Skip’s parents.

Skip paused at the top of the stairway and looked over his shoulder. “My grandfather built this house more than fifty years ago.”

“It’s magnificent.”

“We think so,” he admitted, eyes shining with pride.

The master bedroom, which was at the end of the hallway, opened onto a balcony that presented an unobstructed panorama of the entire valley. Rolling green pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. Rorie felt instantly drawn to this unfamiliar rural beauty. She drew a deep breath, and the thought flashed through her mind that it must be comforting to wake up to this serene landscape day after day.

“Everyone loves it here,” Skip said from behind her.

“I can understand why.”

“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.