Page 38 of Sterling Clay

“Speaking of costumes.” I turn to Mavis. “This. Wow.” I do nothing to hide my appraisal of her and she tosses her arms out to the side again to expand the material, showing off its brilliance.

“My nana was special to me. This is a treasured gift from her.” Mavis swallows. “I was fortunate it wasn’t lost in the fire.”

She doesn’t speak about her loss. We haven’t discussed further the sale of her property, and today I don’t want to mar the pleasantness of the Harvest Fest by asking about her sad history.

“You’re a beautiful butterfly.”

Her dark eyes widen and catch on mine. She chews her lower lip but in a coquettish way. Mavis Grant needs compliments and I’m willing to give her anything else she desires.

“And what exactly are you?” Her eyes appraise me as well, roaming down my body, taking in the weathered boots, worn jeans, and a flannel shirt, plus a straw cowboy hat on my head.

“I’m thinking I need to find a giant net and be a butterfly catcher,” I tease.

Mavis chuckles. “I might be too big for your net.”

“Too beautiful to capture.” I smile.

“You might not have to chase too hard.”

Both our eyes light up. Hers perhaps because she’s surprised she suggested such a thing, and mine because I’m shocked as well. It’s the first hint I’ve had that Mavis might be interested in me.

Could she reciprocate my crush on her?

If this woman wants me to chase, I’ll be happy to try and catch her.

Chapter 14

[Mavis]

When I finally approach Dutton, he’s smiling and relaxed, swinging his feet beneath the table which mirrors Winnie Sylver’s movement, while painting his miniature pumpkin hot pink. My position leaves me close enough to Clay that I can watch him check on the girls staffing the decorating contest before he turns toward me and takes a step that has me believing he’s coming to where I stand.

Only he’s intercepted by a beautiful blonde.

“Glady?” Surprise laces his voice while his gaze leaps up and over her shoulder to me.

Quickly, I divert my eyes, concentrating on Dutton, but I can’t help but overhear the conversation behind me between Clay and a friend.

“Hey, Clay.” Her voice is sugary sweet.

“What are you doing here?” The question isn’t accusatory, but simply stated out of curiosity.

“It’s a festival, silly.” Pause. “Plus, I haven’t seen you in weeks. Thought I’d come check on you.”

Clay clears his throat. “But you never come to the Seed & Soil.” His voice tightens only a pinch.

I imagine her lips pouting when she drags out, “I missed you. And you were so sick when I last saw you.”

Sick? Had Clay been out with this Glady person when his truck broke down? He told me he was picking up a mechanical part for a friend.

How well I know these kinds of lies, and I want to kick myself.

“Dutton, honey. Mama needs to use the bathroom.”

He looks up at me with deep, dark eyes, staring at me like I’ve suggested something completely unnatural. While watching me, I tip my head, implying he needs to follow. I’m not leaving my six-year-old alone amid this festival.

“We can come right back,” I assure him. Mama just needs a minute to mentally scold herself.

“He can stay with us,” Ford offers. He’s taller than his brother. His hair is jet-black compared to the silver weave in Clay’s. He’s also edgier than his older brother, but the resemblance is still remarkable.