“It looks like it’s been there a long time, and I was thinking about Tammy—my biological mother—sitting there.”
His hands on the counter behind him, Clay regarded her solemnly. “What do you know about the Becker family?”
“Not much, except that at some point after Tammy got pregnant, her parents sold the house to Mr. Phillips. She was sixteen.”
“My mom was eighteen when she got pregnant with me.”
Sarah nodded. “Your parents got married the day after they graduated from high school, about five months before you were born. And they’re still married.”
“You remember that, huh?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, making him oh, so appealing, and she had to glance away. “You’re lucky they didn’t give you up, and that they didn’t hide their past from you. I only learned the truth six months ago.”
She wasn’t sure why she told him. Probably because despite his initial hostility, he listened as if what she said mattered. It was one of the qualities that had first attracted her to him. He’d no doubt discovered that women were drawn to a man who paid attention.
“I guess I was lucky,” he said. “If my folks had given me up and separated, I wouldn’t have a sister and brother-in-law or two nieces.”
“You have a second niece now?”
“Fiona. She’s almost two, and a real pistol. And my parents did hide the truth from me. They never told me squat about their shotgun wedding. My aunt is the one who spilled the beans, to get back at my mom for something or other. After that, they didn’t speak for years.”
She hadn’t known that. Clay rubbed his leg above the knee and winced.
“Your leg hurts,” she observed.
“It’s fine.” He straightened and gingerly flexed his knee. “You don’t know where the Beckers went?”
He seemed genuinely interested, and Sarah wanted to talk about it. She’d told her friends back home everything she knew, mulling over what-ifs and possibilities ad nauseum, and they’d quickly grown tired of the subject. They didn’t even think she should be here, thought she should forget all about Tammy Becker and get on with her life.
Sarah agreed, and once she learned the answers to her questions, she intended to do just that. She shook her head. “They seem to have vanished.”
“I hope you find them.”
“You and me both.”
His eyes beamed warmth and sympathy, making him all but irresistible. Her stomach flip-flopped just as it had the day she’d first met him in person and seen how his high-wattage grin caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
All right, she was attracted to him, had fallen a little in love with him three years ago. At the time, she’d stupidly thought he felt something, too. Ha. She’d quickly realized that any interest Clay had shown her was short-lived. He didn’t really want to get to know her for who she was—or any other woman, for that matter.
It hadn’t taken long for her to discover that, aside from bull riding, Clay Hollyer specialized in playing the field. No doubt, he probably still did.
Which was why she wasn’t going to pay any attention to the feelings flirting with her insides. She was only drawn to Clay because, for one thing, he was gorgeous, and for another, she hadn’t been with a man since she and Matthew had broken up over a year ago. Between caring for her mother and her freelance magazine work, Sarah simply hadn’t had time for a boyfriend and had ended the relationship.
She wasn’t about to let Clay’s charm and good looks affect her pulse rate—even if she did dream about him from time to time. Steamy dreams that led to restless nights.
The past few months, she’d all but banished him from her thoughts. And now here she was, standing in his house, fighting those same feelings. “Shall we continue with the tour?” she asked in a far cooler tone.
In a blink, the warmth disappeared from his eyes and his expression blanked. He nodded toward the hallway beyond the kitchen. “Head back down the hall.”
As she turned and exited the room, she swore she felt his gaze on her rear end. Resisting the urge to tug her blouse over her hips, she gestured for him to lead the way. Instead, he fell into step beside her. The hallway was barely wide enough to accommodate them both.
Familiar smells she thought she’d forgotten teased her senses—the clean soap Clay used, and underneath, his masculine scent. Edging closer to the wall, she trained her gaze on the worn carpet.
“There isn’t much to this house—just the kitchen, living room, bathroom and two bedrooms,” he said.
Struggling with herself to pay attention to the house instead of the man beside her, she managed an interested nod.
What was the matter with her? She’d come here to find out what she could about Tammy Becker and her parents, not dredge up the one-sided emotions she’d once felt for Clay Hollyer.
“This is where I sleep,” he said, pointing to a bedroom. The bed was unmade, the covers thrown back. “The house came furnished, but I brought my own king-size bed. I like to stretch out and get comfy.”
Sarah just bet he did. Images of wild sex all over that bed filled her head. She glanced around the room without really taking in the furnishings. “May I see the other bedroom?”
“Sure. It’s right across the hall.” He opened the closed door of the second bedroom and stood back for her to pass.
This room was smaller, and the air smelled stale. A twin bed stood against the wall, much like the one still in Sarah’s bedroom at Ellen’s house. Judging by the yellowing striped wallpaper that curled along the seams, the flowery bedspread and lacy pillows that looked as outdated as the faded pink curtains, the decor hadn’t been changed in ages. No wonder Clay kept the door closed.
Obviously, this had been a girl’s bedroom. A white desk and wicker chair, the kind a teen might use to do homework, faced a window that overlooked the backyard.
Sarah sucked in a breath. “Do you think this room is the same as it was when Tammy lived here?”
“I wouldn’t know, but why would the family leave the furniture behind when they moved?”
Sarah had no idea. “It’s awfully girlie and really dated. I wonder why Mr. Phillips never stripped the wallpaper, or at least replaced the bedding and curtains.”
“Maybe he likes pink. Tour’s over.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she hadn’t anticipated even more unanswerable questions. She let out a disappointed sigh. “Thanks for letting me come in.”
In the hallway, something made her glance up. A short pull rope hung from a door in the ceiling. “Is that an attic?”
“Probably.”
“You haven’t been up there?” When Clay shook his head, she said, “Could I take a peek?”
“Some other time.” His mouth settled into a grim line.
He wanted her gone. Sarah understood—she was uncomfortable around him, too. Yet some sixth sense told her that she might find something important in the attic. If only she could talk with Mr. Phillips...
“I’d like to ask Mr. Phillips about the Beckers,” she said. “Would you mind giving me his number?”
Clay shrugged one shoulder and supplied it as she input the information into her phone. “You won’t be able to reach him, though,” he said. “He doesn’t own a cell, and right now he and his wife are someplace in Europe.”
That explained why he hadn’t answered