Love in Bloom by Karen Rose Smith Page A

quietly.
    He didn't look at her.  "What?"
    "That you'll give it serious thought."
    Clay picked up his paddle and pushed it into the water.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Clay opened the closet in his living room Tuesday night, reaching to the shelf above his coats to pull out a stack of books he'd bought but never read.  Maybe he could concentrate on a spy thriller.  He couldn't seem to concentrate on much else.  He needed to forget the blue of Paige's eyes, her soft touch, her compassion for one of her patients.
    A glint of gold far back on the shelf caught Clay's eye.  He pulled the carton around the books and lifted it down.  The trophies.  He'd forgotten they were up there.  Purposely?
    His father had delivered them soon after Clay moved in,  when the floors were still unfinished, a bed, a stereo, and a chair his only furniture.  His dad had asked him not to sign the final papers on the store, to use his insurance settlement for something other than the "ramshackle" house and a "bankrupt" business.  He'd tried to convince Clay again that he should stay in Reisterstown and become his partner. 
    But Clay had known deep in his soul that he needed a fresh start without someone else's expectations driving him.  From what he'd understood from his mother and Trish, the old Clay had won those trophies more for his father than for himself.
    Clay cut off the thoughts, unwilling to dig up emotions that he'd put to rest.  He had no desire to bring back the nightmares that had stopped only last year.  But he couldn't stop wondering if Ben Hockensmith was having the same difficulty with his father that Clay had experienced.  Ben had been a football star.  Had his father pinned his hopes and dreams on him?  Was Ben feeling the pressure to fulfill everybody else's expectations without having the chance to decide what he wanted?
    Had his friends stuck by him?  Why wouldn't they?  Ben remembered who they were.  Yet if his rehabilitation had slowed him down, taken him out of the mainstream, he might have been moving too slow for friends to want to stick around.
    Clay examined a trophy carefully, as always seeking a sign of recognition, a sign that all the doctors and experts were wrong.  But reality stepped in.  The trophy in his hands had been earned by a boy, a young man Clay didn't know.  There was nothing he could do about that.
    But there was something he could do about Ben.  He could give the boy a pep talk.  He wouldn't have to reveal anything about the amnesia.  If necessary, he could tell Ben about the rehabilitation he'd had to go through with his shoulder.  Nothing intense.  Nothing wrenching.  Nothing that might bring the nightmares back.
    He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before.  Maybe because the recovery from his shoulder injury had been so much simpler than the rest of his recovery.  But it might work.  ****
    Later that evening, Clay answered a knock at his front door and couldn't have been more surprised.  Paige stood there, smiling hesitantly.
    Her pretty blue eyes, simply styled hair, and uncertain expression twisted something inside him that was deep and hungry.  "A little late for house calls, isn't it?" he teased.
    "I had a few late late appointments.  I wanted to stop by to apologize."
    "For what?"
    "For trying to make you do something that might not be right for you.  May I come in?"
    Clay stepped back and with a quick glance made sure the closet door was shut.  It was.
    Paige walked into the living room and sat on the sofa.  He tried to ignore the way she looked so at home in his surroundings.  Her questions, her curiosity, her caring were as natural to her as her blue eyes.  "Would you like a cup of coffee?  I made a pot a little while ago."
    "Sure."  She started to get up.
    "No.  Stay there.  I'll bring it in."
    Paige studied Clay as he walked into the kitchen.  His legs were so long, his shoulders so broad.  And her stomach still fluttered every time he