Power in the Blood by Greg Matthews Page A

forgiveness and understanding. Clay acknowledged she was a woman deserving of a son’s love, but he did not want to be that son, nor did he want to fulfill Delaney’s expectations of him. Wasn’t Delaney himself no more than a farmer with high-flown notions of himself and his place in the world? Who was he to be planning a life for Clay? Neither of the Delaneys knew of Zoe and Drew’s existence. Clay held that secret close, a kind of talisman against falling under the spell of the Delaneys’ cozy concern for him, their careful planning and obvious affection, the very things he would need to overturn when the time came to escape their gentle prison.
    “I just don’t want to, not right now.”
    “Is Mr. Chaffey working you hard?”
    “I don’t mind. I like it.”
    “But not forever. You could do so much more.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “You know our own boy was clever, like you. He could have gone on and made himself into something if the Lord had seen fit to leave him with us. You could do that too, with just a little effort in your heart.”
    He hung his head and felt ashamed. She was right, but Mrs. Delaney’s correctness existed in a world different from Clay’s. There was no bridge between these worlds.
    “Good night, Clayton.”
    “Night, ma’am.”
    “Ever take your toby out?”
    Clay looked up from his food. “What?”
    Chaffey gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Your toby, your thing, ever take it out and handle it, you know?”
    “No,” lied Clay.
    “Boy your age, you don’t know about your toby? Never felt it stiffen up, kind of? That’s when you got to take it out and grab ahold and squeeze it, kind of.”
    Clay turned away from him, blushing with anger and disgust.
    “Course, it’s better with a friend,” Chaffey persisted. “You trade tobies and do the squeezing part. I could show you how.”
    Clay stood up so fast his lunch flew from his knees. “Don’t you ever touch me.…”
    “Just a friendly offer is all,” Chaffey protested, a look of bafflement on his face. “No need to get huffy.”
    Clay was already walking away. Chaffey called after him: “I don’t believe you never done nothing with no one!”
    Clay ignored him. Chaffey hated him then, his dislike finally changing to something darker. He was disappointed too. Several times he’d seen Clay’s cock when the boy relieved himself, and it was long as the boy himself, just the kind Chaffey liked to fondle and suck. It was pretty harsh rejection, and he decided he was justified in being offended. Clay Delaney was as high-handed as his father. Both of them needed taking down a peg.
    “How is the work progressing, Chaffey?”
    “Coming along good, Mr. Delaney, real good.”
    “Is Clayton working as hard as yourself?”
    “Oh, he’s a devil for it, yessir. Good worker, that boy.”
    “No sign of him wearing out? No lamenting his lot?”
    “Nothing like that, nossir, not as I’ve heard. He don’t talk much.”
    “Well, keep hard at it, both of you. I’ll be asking you again about him.”
    “Yessir. Mr. Delaney?”
    “What is it?”
    “My brother, he’ll be coming by here in the next few days. I got a letter says he’ll be over to see me, so is it all right if he stays with me just one night? Ain’t seen each other in must be three, four years now. He could use my bed. No need to feed him. Bill generally brings his own provisions.”
    “Very well. One night only.”
    “Thank you, thank you, sir.”
    Delaney watched him walk away. Something about Chaffey left him feeling unclean, even after so short an encounter as this. At least the man was a good worker, worth keeping for that reason alone. It was a pity, though, about Clayton. How could so ungainly a body sustain so extended a period of punishment? The clearing of trees had gone on for almost a month now, with no sign of Clayton bending under the pressure of a man’s work. He seemed, in fact, to be thriving, the long cords of muscle in his arms thickening