Easter In Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

stammered. He didn’t want her to know what he’d been thinking. She saw too much. He could tell by the questions shimmering in her eyes. He’d never been able to hide much from her. “The cat needs a good home.”

      That wasn’t a lie, Clay assured himself. All those years ago, his father never had said anything about whether one had to always tell the entire truth.

      “Everyone needs a home,” Clay added to give more weight to his earlier words.

      The pink on Allie’s cheeks flashed red. “Are you saying we did wrong by you? We gave you a home as long as we could.”

      “I just meant the cat,” Clay said gently. He was glad he hadn’t made the mistake of thinking the color on her face came from warm memories of him.

      “Oh,” Allie said.

      Clay turned so he didn’t see her. He’d give her privacy if that’s what she wanted. Everyone was silent.

      “The kitty has too many bones,” the boy finally said as he looked up at Clay.

      Allie bent down, obviously relieved to have a change in the conversation. “The poor thing’s half-starved and is going to deliver a full litter any day now.” Allie glared at Clay. “Don’t you feed her?”

      “She hitched a ride with me—that’s all,” he protested. “Someone abandoned her and no one would take her in. I did what I could for her. I bought some packets of coffee creamer at the gas station and fed her.”

      “Creamer?” Allie raised her eyebrow in question. “That’s not enough.”

      “It was the middle of the night and I wasn’t near any four-star restaurants. It was creamer, candy bars or coffee. Not much choice,” Clay said. “And I scooped up a lot of packets.”

      The owner of the station had charged him plenty for the creamer, too. They’d found a glass ashtray and opened the packets of liquid and poured them into that. The cat had licked up three servings. Clay had to buy the ashtray, too, because the station owner said he couldn’t sell it after it had been licked by a cat.

      “I think she’s still hungry, Auntie,” the boy said.

      “Speaking of hungry,” Mr. Nelson said then, looking more like the man he had been when Clay knew him. “I’m sure we could all eat something.” He glanced over at Clay. “How about we have some eggs and bacon to go with that toast?”

      Clay nodded. “I’d like that if Allie’s willing.” He didn’t want to press things with her. “Just this once. It was a long, cold drive over here.”

      “I’m glad you came,” Mr. Nelson admitted.

      It was quiet until Allie spoke to the boy. “Now, you go take the cat into the back bedroom and get dressed. There are some of your clothes in the closet hanging on the short bar. I think the blue shirt is there. Then get some of those old towels that Grandpa keeps in the bottom drawer of his dresser. The ones he uses to shine his Sunday shoes. They’ll make a nice soft bed for the mama cat.”

      “But,” Mr. Nelson protested, “my shoes—”

      “I’ll get you some other rags,” Allie told her father. “We have plenty of old towels out in the bunkhouse. I just need to cut them up.”

      Mr. Nelson shrugged. “Well, okay then.”

      The little boy eagerly started walking toward the hallway.

      Clay felt happy just watching him.

      * * *

      Allie waited until she heard Jeremy open the door to the back bedroom. Then she turned to Clay. She saw he had taken his hat off, but she refused to be distracted by the directness of his gaze.

      “We try not to upset Jeremy,” Allie told him. She hated to have to reveal all their family secrets, but she could see Clay was curious, and she didn’t want him to start asking questions. “Jeremy’s mother has just started letting him visit here by himself now. We don’t want anything to stop that.”

      Allie watched Clay as he nodded slowly. The warm kitchen air had returned the color to his skin, but Allie noticed lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there when she used to know him.

      “The boy’s mother?” Clay asked. “She’s a friend of yours?”

      Allie blinked. “I never really thought about it. She’s more—that is, I only knew Hannah because of Mark. They were both ahead of me in school—you know how it is. She and I didn’t know each other really. But she grew up around here, too.”

      Clay had been her best friend back then. Not that he’d known it. Mark was gone so much, though, with Hannah, and the ranch had been lonely. Clay had actually been a good companion to her because he liked the horses, too. At least, she had always thought that was why they got along so well.

      Her father grunted then. “Jeremy’s mother is Mark’s old girlfriend. The only one he’s ever had.”

      Allie saw the truth dawning in Clay’s eyes.

      She nodded. “Hannah Stelling.”

      Clay was silent for a bit before speaking. “Jeremy is Mark’s son?”

      Allie nodded.

      “Does he know?” Clay asked.

      “We thought Hannah should be the one to tell him,” Allie said. “And all she ever says is that Mark broke up with her and that’s that. Case closed.”

      “But she’s the one who broke up with him,” Clay protested. “And Mark didn’t say she was pregnant. I’m sure he would have mentioned that if he had known. He was just mad she had given him an ultimatum—marriage or nothing. That’s why we went out that night. My birthday wasn’t until the next day, but it was still a good excuse to have a beer and let off some steam.”

      “There was no good excuse for the two of you to have a beer,” Allie said primly. “Neither one of you was of age.” She had preached that to her brother until she ran out of breath. She saw now that she should have included Clay in her instructions.

      “You got the beer?” her father asked then, more eager than Allie would have expected since he never wanted to talk about where the liquor came from on that night. She always thought he felt guilty for not cautioning them about how strong alcohol could affect them.

      Clay shook his head. “Mark had it. He gave me one bottle and kept the other.”

      “It wasn’t just the beer,” Allie said, her eyes pointed to Clay. “It was that tequila, and we all know you had to be the one getting that.”

      “Why do you say that?” Clay asked incredulously.

      Allie bristled. She didn’t know why he couldn’t just admit what he had done. “It’s obvious. Mark had no way to get tequila. There wasn’t a gas station around here that carried it. I checked. Besides, you have your ways. You probably learned all about how to get liquor when you were a kid in the big city.”

      It was the same place he’d learned all about girls, she thought. Mark had warned her that Clay thought nothing of kissing girls and so she should be careful around him. Unfortunately, her brother’s warning had only made her more fascinated with Clay.

      “Because I was a foster kid?” he asked, the edge to his voice making Allie feel a little nervous. “Is that what you mean? That I automatically break the law because I’m a foster kid?”

      “It’s not just that, but you have to admit—” she began.

      “No, I don’t,” Clay interrupted. “I might have grown up rough, but I never was much on drinking. I never bought any alcohol. I wasn’t of age, and I wasn’t about to lie when someone asked if I was legal.”

      Allie paused and forced herself to swallow the accusations she was going to make. Clay had a point. She knew he wouldn’t stand there and lie to a