Page 6 of Sterling Clay

Once his jeans were removed, he rolled over without a glance at me. His entire body shivered while I willed myself not to give him an appraising glance. However, the struggle was real. Clay might be over forty, but his body was tight. His muscles honed from manual labor. His back had divots I didn’t think could exist. His legs had definition. His forearms were covered in tattoos.

I tried not to objectify him, but my imagination took flight, wondering how it would feel to have those arms wrapped around me in comfort. How a body that tight pressed against mine might feel like safety. Would his skin be warm like a blanket of security?

When he trembled again, a slight moan added to the quiver. I pulled the blankets up and over him knowing he could really use a shower to warm up and maybe some fever medication. He was burning up.

I should have walked away then. He was safely in his home. He was removed from the rain-soaked clothes. He was tucked into his bed. But I didn’t go. I didn’t have anywhere pressing to be.

Only a cheap motel some forty minutes away awaited us.

And while I should have laid on the couch next to Dutton, cuddling my little man, then left as soon as the sun rose, I didn’t.

Instead, I snuck in a quick warmup shower for myself, helped myself to a T-shirt on the back of his bathroom door, and laid down beside Clay, keeping the blankets around him as a barrier between us. I figured if he woke with me beside him, I could explain myself without a scene in front of Dutton.

Dutton had already had enough scenes in his young life.

However, Clay slept into the late afternoon, and I busied Dutton with our normal routine. I’d been homeschooling him since August which wasn’t ideal, and another reason I’d decided to leave Florida. I wanted him to be in a school setting where he could interact with children his age. Plus, I needed a job. I’d lost my nursing position in Florida, which had been another sign to exit the southern-most state. I couldn’t continue to rely on the shaky hospitality my parents had given us.

When a heavy knock rattles the front door, I freeze from picking up Dutton’s afternoon snack. He’d worked hard in the morning, following the homeschooling curriculum resources I’d found online, and had earned free time to play safe video games on my tablet. He didn’t even look up at the interruption, but my breath caught. My hands trembled.

Breathe, Mavis. Breathe.

Setting Dutton’s plate by the sink, I head toward the front door where I hear the distinct whirl of the keypad lock unlatching. As the door swings open, I pause beside Clay’s couch, wringing my hands together and waiting on whomever might be entering.

With a stunned expression that mirrors mine, I face Stone Sylver, the local sheriff and Clay’s eldest brother.

“Mavis Holland?”

“Hi.” I weakly wave. “It’s Mavis Grant, actually. Nice to see you again, Sheriff Sylver.”

Stone is a large man with hair as silver as his brother’s. His eyes are a softer blue, though. His presence intimidating while strangely reassuring. He’s the law around here, and the impressive uniform he’s wearing reinforces that position. Plus, I respect him.

His thick brows crease, the question between them the same one I’ve been asking myself for the last twelve plus hours.

What are you doing here?

Stone keeps those Sylver-clan blue eyes on me a second before looking around the room. “Is Clay around?”

“He’s in his room. He’s very sick.” My answers sound stilted like I’ve been caught shoplifting, which I’d never do, and haven’t done here. While I am invading Clay’s privacy, I wouldn’t say I’m breaking and entering. A quick glance at my open suitcase in the corner suggests I might be a squatter in a non-vacant home.

With a heavy exhale, I release my wringing fingers and smooth my hands down my upper thighs. “He was stranded on the side of the road two nights ago.”

Stone’s brows rise.

“And there was a storm.”

He nods to agree, as if remembering.

“So, I pulled over when I recognized him.”

Stone’s facial expression goes blank. Not a hint of surprise or suggestion of concern.

“He must have been out there for a while because he was soaked to the bone, and he had a horrible cough.”

Stone lowers his head, shaking it side to side while the corner of his mouth crooks in a manner similar to his closest-in-age brother.

“He made it inside the house, and I was set to leave but through the windows, I saw him fall.” I point at the floor to ceiling windows behind Stone. The glass panels are like sheets of clear drywall and provide a spectacular view to the immediate outdoors. A large field stone fireplace is the focal point of this room, though. A soft, caramel-colored leather couch faces the hearth while an oversized chair and matching ottoman sit in the corner closest to the fireplace. I’d previously admired the natural color scheme in the slightly masculine room, but now, I explain myself.

“I helped him up and took him to bed.”