Page 4 of Sterling Clay

Then . . . the truck broke down on the way back to Sterling Falls. One of my assistant managers warned me the other day something was off with it. One more thing to add to the long list of what needed to be completed. As the CEO, a title still strange to me, and head manager of Sylver Seed & Soil, a family-owned business in which I was one of three family members actively working there, my to-do list didn’t stop at the bottom of a sheet of paper but was pages of stuff to be done.

In reminiscing about the stormy night, I realize how I got home is a bit fuzzy.

The thought makes my already thumping head pulse harder, and I continue to stare into the charcoal eyes of Mavis.

She’s a strikingly beautiful woman. The kind of beauty that ties your tongue, even if it isn’t as dry as the desert like mine is. My heart is racing, and I’m not sure I can blame my fever or illness entirely for that fact. Because there is no doubt that I’m ill, I just can’t remember ever being this sick before.

My limbs ache. My eyes wish to close again. All I want to do is sleep and bring back the warmth of whoever was lying next to me.

My forehead crinkles, an action that makes me want to wince from the pain radiating inside my brain.

“Mavis?” Her name is a croak, as if I’m a toad attempting to speak my first word. Had she been the one beside me? How did I get in my bed?

Slipping a hand from the blankets, I attempt to swipe at my face in hopes to clear my head and recall what happened. As I brush my palm over days’ worth of growth on my jaw, I wince for real. My cheek feels tender, possibly bruised. What the hell happened to me?

“You have a fever,” Mavis says, her voice trembly but calming like the patter of water tumbling gently down a stream. “I need you to take these.” Two white pills rest on her extended palm.

Struggling to sit upright, my body feels weighed down as if a ton of landscaping stone holds me in a horizontal position. Making it only to my elbow, tipped on my side, I take the pills from her hand, noticing the tremor in mine. Mavis holds out a small glass of water and I sip, the cool liquid not enough to quell the thickness in my throat or quench a sudden thirst.

“Mama?” The quiet voice of a small child has me turning my head too suddenly, causing another sharp pain to flash across my temple. The room sways.

“Just a minute, little bear.” Mavis aims her gaze toward the door of my bedroom. When she glances back at me, panicked eyes meet mine.

“What’s going on here?” I flinch at the roughness in my own voice. My tone is normally raspy, or so I’m told, but this sound is sandpaper going against the grain.

“You’re sick,” Mavis reminds me.

“How did I get home? In bed?” My brows cinch again. “And what are you doing here?” I attempt to infuse the question with more inquiry than accusation, but the sound is raw, even to my own ears.

“We can talk about that later. You need more sleep. And maybe something to eat soon.”

My stomach loudly rumbles on cue, reminding me I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday.

“What time is it?” I shift for my nightstand, where I typically leave my phone. The device isn’t there, but a bottle of acetaminophen is, along with the short glass of water, a washcloth folded over the edge of a mixing bowl, and a package of cough medication.

“It’s a little after one.”

“In the afternoon?” I bark, as if the brightness in the room doesn’t give away that it’s daylight outside. Shoving the covers off me in a rush, I say, “I need to meet—”

The room tilts around me as I attempt to sit upright. Mavis abruptly stands and places her hands on my biceps, pressing against me. My eyes are level with her chest which I have no energy to check out. Still, those perky tits are front and center, wearing a Sylver Seed & Soil tee I recognize as one of mine. Her legs are clad in jeans. Her feet bare as if she has made herself right at home. In my house.

“What the fuck is going on?” I bark, sounding like a baby seal.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Clayton.”

The use of my legal name has me stilling, hoping the room will stop moving as well. With her delicate fingers against my bare skin, I slowly drop back down to the pillow, suddenly aware that I’m naked except for my boxer briefs which feel itchy, as if the material was once damp and dried against me.

Embarrassment hits hard. Did I fucking wet myself? Panicked, I glance at Mavis towering over me. Her long hair falls forward like a curtain. Those large dark eyes mirror the anxiety within me.

“Did you undress me?” More barking noises which sound overly harsh occur. I can’t control my tone. My throat is on fire.

Mavis glances quickly over her shoulder toward the bedroom door before meeting my gaze again while taking a small step away from me.

For a second, I worry she’s planning an escape. She’ll run before I get details about how I’m in bed, and I don’t want her rushing off. I didn’t miss her flinch when I snapped at her, and I don’t want her afraid of me. I can’t help my tone because of my throat. Still, I take a measured inhale to calm my racing heart.

She wrings her hands. “It’s kind of a funny story.” However, there isn’t a drop of humor in her voice as those nervous eyes scan my face.

“Humor me,” I groan.