Let It Breathe (9 page)

“You, too.”

They shook hands, and Patrick stood up. The second he was out the door, Clay scanned the restaurant again for Reese. Dammit, where had she gone? And why did he care?

He spotted her then, seated in the bar where he’d been extra cautious not to go. He studied her, still a little awestruck at her appearance. She occupied a booth with Larissa, Eric, Sheila, and some guy who was staring down the front of Reese’s shirt so intently Clay wondered if she had a television broadcasting the NBA finals hidden away in there.

A waitress appeared at Clay’s table and he tore his eyes away from Reese to watch the perky blonde deposit his check on the table with a little smiley face drawn at the top.

“Refill on the Coke?”

Clay hesitated. He was leaving, right? Staying would be stupid, and going into that bar would be more stupid. Stupid for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that it was a bar. The flashing Deschutes Brewery sign caught his eye, but it didn’t hold his attention. He looked back at Reese.

“No, thanks,” Clay told the waitress as he stuck twenty bucks in the little wallet with the bill. “I was just about to leave. Keep the change.”

She smiled down at him. “You new in town?”

“Sort of. I spent a lot of time around here a few years back.”

“My name’s Emily. And I get off at nine, if you want to hang out or something.”

She slipped a piece of paper across the table at him, and Clay stared dumbly at the numbers. Before he could say anything, she swished away with her tray in hand and a wiggle in her walk he knew was for him.

Clay put the phone number in his pocket and stood up. He looked back at the bar. He wasn’t going in there. He was going to leave out the side door and—

Before he could complete the thought, Reese looked up. Their gazes locked for three beats, neither of them blinking. Clay swallowed.

Suddenly, Larissa’s gaze swung his direction.

“Hey—it’s Clay!” she shouted across the bar. “Come join us. We’ve missed you!”

Clay gripped the edge of his table, considering it. There were two pitchers of beer on their table, but he hardly noticed. It was Reese who made his pulse kick into overdrive. Reese looked away first, touching Sheila’s wrist and making a point of admiring her bracelet.

“Come on, Clay,” Larissa shouted loudly enough that other patrons turned to stare. “Don’t be shy. We’ve got plenty of room here.”

Clay let go of the table and put one foot in front of the other, trying to look cool and probably just looking like a guy trying to look cool.

Eric grinned, the same, familiar expression Clay had seen a million times since college. Sheila smiled, too, tossing her blonde hair as she put her hand on her husband’s arm.

The guy next to Reese tore his eyes away from her breasts to see what the fuss was about.

Reese was the last to turn and smile at him, a move that seemed almost calculated. The smile was worth the wait—warm and real enough to light up her eyes.

“Hello, Clay,” she said. “What brings you here?”

“I just had a meeting with someone. I’m heading home now.”

“Ooooh—a girl?” Sheila asked with hope. “It’d be great for you to have a girlfriend, Clay.”

“Not a girl,” Clay said. “My new sponsor.”

“Sponsor?” Larissa asked. “Is that like the commercials you see on TV where you pay thirty dollars a month so a starving kid can eat?”

Everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably, and Clay couldn’t tell if Larissa was drunk, joking, or playing the ditz like she sometimes did in a bar full of men. Probably all three, he thought as he watched her drain her glass.

“No,” Clay said. “I got connected with Patrick through the local Alcoholics Anonymous group. I contacted them last week to get a support network in place before I came out here.”

“Working the steps, huh?” the guy next to Reese said. Actually, he said it to Reese’s breasts, but Clay assumed the words were meant for him. “Had a brother do AA,” the guy continued. “Relapsed six times.”

Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he offered his hand. “Clay Henderson. Good to meet you.”

“Bob Wilson,” he grunted, looking up to extend his hand. “I’m a financial analyst. I’m with Reese.”

Clay saw Reese’s expression go from uncomfortable to annoyed and back to uncomfortable in a span of three seconds. He wondered if anyone else noticed.

Then he watched her lift her hand and adjust something between her breasts.

What the hell?

On the other side of the table, Eric cleared his throat. “Clay and I were college roommates, Bob. Me and Reese and Clay, we’ve been friends a long time.” He looked back at Clay and gestured toward an empty chair sitting off to the side of the booth. “You gonna join us, buddy?”

Clay hesitated. Larissa snaked out a stiletto-clad foot and dragged the chair closer. “Come on, Clay—it’s been too long. At least help us with the nachos and catch up on old times.”

Clay hesitated again, hoping no one expected him to be the life of the party the way he might have been in college. Then again, people had stopped inviting him to parties within a few years of college, back when he’d gone from being the fun guy with a beer in his hand to the pathetic guy with twelve empty cans at his feet.

He could change all that.

Clay sat down and signaled a passing waiter to ask for another Coke.

He looked back at Reese. She looked away. Then she reached between her breasts and fiddled with something again.

Seriously?
Was he the only one noticing this?

He glanced at Bob. Okay, so he wasn’t the only one noticing. But Bob seemed more interested in the breasts themselves than in whatever was troubling them. Or troubling Reese—he wasn’t really sure what was going on.

“So, Bob,” Clay said. “How’s the financial analyst business going?”

“Good, good,” Bob said, peeling his eyes off Reese’s cleavage. “What is it you do, Clay?”

“I’m in construction.”

“I see,” said Bob in a tone that suggested his opinion of Clay had just dropped three levels. Based on the way Bob was ogling Reese, Clay’s opinion of him had already hit rock bottom and was starting to dig lower.

Reese reached between her breasts again and squirmed. Beside her, Larissa was having an animated conversation with Sheila. Clay had missed most of the details, but Larissa shrieked with laughter. She flailed her arm to the side, bumping Reese with her elbow. Reese flinched, and Clay watched as her eyes flew wide.

Reese looked down the front of her shirt, joining Bob in what was apparently the preferred pastime for the evening.

What the hell?

Reese remembered too late why she hadn’t worn the damn black lace bra for years. As she stared down the front of her shirt where the broken front clasp had come unhooked, she wondered if there was any tactful way to remedy the situation.

It wasn’t enough she was sandwiched between her shrieking cousin and Bob the Boob-man. Could she even make it across the restaurant like this?

If she were smaller busted, sure, and if this top weren’t so tight. But the bra was now gaping open in the middle, with the underwire cups flung out to the sides like mutant wings at the edges of her boobs.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she folded her arms over her chest.

Shit, that made it worse. Bob’s eyes were wide now as her arms squashed her unleashed cleavage up around her collarbones. She unfolded her arms and looked around the table to see if anyone else had noticed.

Someone kicked her under the table. Reese glanced down to see Clay’s steel-toed work boot. She looked up to see him eyeing her curiously.

You okay?
he mouthed.

Reese grimaced and folded her arms over her chest again, this time trying to squash her cleavage down instead of up. Beside her, she felt Bob lean closer. She watched Clay’s eyes narrow. On her other side, Larissa squealed again.

She shook her head at Clay and looked at Larissa. Screw it, she just had to make a run for the bathroom. She unfolded her arms and nudged her cousin.

“Larissa—I need to get out,” Reese whispered.

“Give me just a sec—I’ve gotta hear how Sheila’s story ends!”

Reese started to argue but changed her mind. Did she really want to march across the restaurant with her boobs flapping in the wind and the unhooked bra making funny lumps under the too-snug shirt?

She looked back at Clay.

An image flashed through her mind, one so old she’d forgotten it was there. Beautiful, long fingers on her bra clasp, flicking it open with one hand as his lips moved down her throat and his other hand cupped her—

Shit. Shit shit shit!

Now her nipples were hard.

Reese folded her arms again. Bob shifted beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “You cold?”

She felt Clay’s foot shift beside hers. “Here, Reese,” he said, standing up. She watched him peel off the black wool zip-up jacket he’d been wearing, revealing the snug gray T-shirt beneath. “Take my coat.”

Relief pulsed through her, sending a few gratuitous pulses to several other parts she was trying not to think about. She started to stand up to grab the jacket, but Clay leaned down and placed it around her shoulders.

“Better?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

His gaze locked with hers. Bob’s gaze locked with her breasts.

Reese pulled the jacket tight around her chest and gave Larissa a shove.

“Move it—I’m going to the restroom.”

She stood and zipped the jacket, then crossed her arms over her chest and made a beeline for the other side of the room. She ducked into the narrow hallway and had her hand on the door to the ladies’ room when she heard Clay’s voice behind her.

“Here. You might need this.”

She turned to see him holding out a safety pin. She smiled and reached out to take it. “How did you—?”

“Borrowed it from the waitress.”

“I meant, how’d you know my bra broke?”

He shrugged and leaned against the wall. “It was kinda obvious. Besides, didn’t you have something like that happen once in college?”

Reese almost gasped out loud, stunned by the memory. “Right—at that party over in McMinnville sophomore year. How the hell did you remember that?”

He grinned. “Some things stick in a guy’s mind. Can’t say I recall every drunken detail of my youth, but that image is burned into my brain.”

Reese bit her lip as she pulled the jacket tighter around her. She looked away, feigning interest in a spot on the wall. “I guess so.”

“You need any help?”

She laughed, startling a passing waitress. “Are you offering to fix my bra clasp? Don’t tell me that’s within the realm of your contractor training.”

“Sure, I’ve got my welding tools out in the truck. If you hold really still, it shouldn’t melt much skin.”

“I’m fine, but thank you. The safety pin should be enough.”

She put her hand on the ladies’ room door again, then hesitated. “Thank you, Clay. I mean it. I don’t think anyone else figured out what was going on.”

“Not even your date?”

“My
date
.” She spit out the word like a burnt peanut. “Eric picked me a real winner there.”

Clay studied her, quiet for a moment. “He means well.”

“That he does.” She was staring into his eyes now, those pools of root-beer-hued light pulling her in. “Thank you, Clay. Really, you’re a lifesaver.”

Before she could think about what she was doing, she leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

The cheek
. That really was what she aimed for.

She wasn’t sure if he turned, or if some instinct drew her a few inches to the right. Her lips found his and she kissed him, part of her expecting him to draw away.

Instead, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. His lips moved against hers as she swayed and felt her shoulder bump the wall beside the restroom—surely the least romantic venue for a first kiss.

It’s not your first kiss with Clay
,
Reese’s subconscious whispered as her libido screamed something else entirely.
Not by a long shot.

She deepened the kiss, desperate to block out the voices in her head and just feel him against her. Clay responded, kissing her back as his heart pounded against his chest. Reese could feel it through her shirt, her bare breasts pressing against the thin fabric as Clay’s hands slid up her back and made her shiver with desire.

“Oh, pardon me!”

Reese jumped back and turned to see a startled-looking woman at the edge of the hallway.

“Whoopsie,” the woman said with a giggle. “I can come back—”

“No, it’s okay,” Clay said, taking a step away from Reese. “We were just—”

“Fixing my bra,” Reese supplied.

“Right,” Clay agreed.

The woman nodded, then gave them a knowing smile as she edged around them and pushed through the restroom door. “That’s how I’d do it.”

CHAPTER SIX

Reese kept an eye out for Clay the next day, telling herself she just needed to return his jacket and thank him for rescuing her.

She wasn’t going to address the kiss. Maybe if he brought it up first, but it was probably best to forget the whole thing. Neither of them needed this sort of complication right now. It was best to pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Wasn’t it?

But she only spotted Clay from a distance a few times, out there in his hardhat and work boots and a snug black T-shirt as he directed a backhoe and gave orders to well-muscled men with shovels. They’d been able to start some of the preliminary excavation, even with the rest of the project still in limbo. Reese and her mother had crunched numbers all morning, trying to find a way to make things work.

“Your father and I will stop by the bank on our way to ballroom dancing class tonight,” June had said as they’d closed the ledgers. “The loan officer wasn’t in earlier, but we’ll make an appointment for you and me to meet with her next week. Is your schedule open?”

“Pretty much,” Reese said. “What about that venture capitalist you and Dad met on the cruise?”

“I’ve got a call in to him.” She patted Reese’s hand. “Try not to worry, baby. We’ll figure something out.”

Reese gave a weak smile. “Okay. Have a good time at dance class.”

Feeling distracted, she trudged up the hill toward the deserted pole barn around four p.m. with Leon on her heels. She had some old wine barrels stored there and was pretty sure they could be cleaned up and used as rustic cocktail tables for the upcoming event.

She yanked open the door and was greeted by a gust of fragrant blue smoke.

Reese coughed and covered her face with her hand. The barn was not on fire—that much she knew.

“Dammit, Grandpa!”

“Don’t Grandpa me, young lady!” came a voice from somewhere in the haze.

Reese waved her hand in front of her face to clear the air. She spotted her grandfather sitting on a wine barrel about ten feet away.

“Dammit, Axl,” she said, coughing. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Reese squinted through the smoke and funny blue light. “It looks like you’re making a bong out of a Coke can while a bunch of delinquents plant marijuana in the goddamn barn.”

Axl looked at the four tattooed men stringing grow lights over rows of tiny green plants. He
shrugged. “Can’t fault your observation skills.”

Reese shook her head, dread making her gut go sour. “I thought we agreed to talk about this. You were going to research what’s legal, and I was going to research what’s
really
legal before you got started.”

Axl set down his Coke can and sighed. “Time’s a-wastin’, we’ve gotta jump on the medical marijuana market while it’s hot. Besides, I know what I’m doing.”

“You can’t even grow legally while you’re still on probation,” Reese argued. “I checked it out online. And definitely not in the sort of quantities you’ve got here.”

“One of my girlfriends—Dolly, you know, the one with the tongue stud?—she got all the permits and shit. I’m just providing the land. It’s a business partnership.”

“One that’s got to be illegal. Come on, Axl, if anyone finds out this is here—”

“If anyone finds out this is here, we show them the paperwork and everything’s okay. Hey, boys—don’t forget you’ve still got to plant the ’shrooms over there.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “’Shrooms? I thought those were outside.”

“Working on a few different angles, here. It’s all perfectly legal, Peanut Butter Cup.”

“Why do I doubt that? And why do I think Dick over at Larchwood Vineyards would have a field day with this?”

“Trust me, darlin’—I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s just like the time I told you I’d get you tickets to see the Dave Matthews Band up at the Gorge and I did.”

“You got busted selling drug-laced brownies in the parking lot, and we had to bail you out of jail.”

Axl waved a dismissive hand. “They let me go when they realized it was only Metamucil. And you got to see the concert, remember?”

“Hey,” shouted one of the men behind them. “I think the camel just ate a plant.”

The other three men chortled with machine-gun laughter. Reese wheeled around to see Leon standing beside a row of little green leaves, his furry jaws munching rhythmically.

“Leon!”

She stumbled over and tried to pry the alpaca’s mouth open, but Leon clamped his teeth together and swallowed.

“Leon, no!” Reese pried harder at his jaws, yanking them open at last and earning herself a belch in the face.

There was a faint trace of green on his tongue.

“God, can this stuff kill him?” Reese shrieked. “How many plants did he get?”

“Just the one,” volunteered one of Axl’s men. “Maybe two. They’re little bitty.”

“Shit, I need to call the vet,” Reese said, scanning Leon for any signs of duress. Leon twitched his ears and hummed. “Does anyone know if marijuana is toxic to alpacas?”

“Toxic?”

“Yes, toxic!” she snapped. “Tons of things can be toxic to alpacas—acorns, azaleas, carnations, hyacinth—”

“She said
high
,” chortled one of the men as he blew out a fragrant puff of smoke. “
High
acinth.”

Reese gritted her teeth. “What the hell do I tell the vet?”

“That your camel likes the wacky weed?” offered one of the men, stepping closer to pet Leon’s neck.

Leon lowered his head and nailed the guy in the groin. The man doubled over and sat down in the dirt.

“He’s not a camel,” Reese snapped. “And that’s not funny.”

Another man snorted and pointed at his fallen comrade. “No, but
that
was funny. How much does the camel weigh? About one fifty?”

“He’s not a camel! Do you see any humps?”

At that, the men dissolved into stoner laughter.

Axl stood up and ambled over, stopping to nudge the man in the dirt with the toe of his Doc Marten. When he reached Reese’s side, he gave her hand a squeeze before scratching Leon’s neck.

“He’ll be fine,” Axl insisted. “He’s more like one seventy-five, isn’t he? He didn’t eat that much. Come on, I know a vet who’ll check him out under the table—all hush-hush, you know?”

Reese shook her head. “Why am I not surprised you know a shady veterinarian?”

“It pays to know people in
high
places, Peanut Butter Cup.”

“Right,” Reese muttered, but she raced out the door after her grandfather anyway.

The two of them scurried down the hill side by side, with Leon ambling behind them, tooting a little as they passed another cluster of alpacas in the pasture. Reese glanced at him, trying to determine whether his eyes were bloodshot or if he was stumbling at all. She knew how to tend to the basic medical needs of small wildlife, but large mammals weren’t her specialty.

Large
stoned
mammals were way beyond her training.

“Is that Clay down there?” Axl asked.

Reese looked away from Leon and stared down the hill to where Axl was pointing. “Yes. They’re breaking ground today.”

“Thought the bid came in too high and you’re stalling.”

“We’re stalling the construction. We already have the permits, so they can start the excavation while we figure out where the hell to get the extra money.”

“Hmph,” Axl said. “I know a guy who made good money stealing cars. If you want, I could—”

“No. We’re not stealing cars to fund the expansion.”

Axl shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He was quiet a moment, eyes on the construction site as they hustled down the hill. “Seems like he’s done well for himself.”

“Who?”

Axl snorted. “You know exactly who I mean. Don’t play dumb with me.
Clay
.”

“Mmm,” Reese replied, turning her attention back to Leon. Was he staggering? She couldn’t tell. She picked up the pace, pulling Leon behind her as they approached the winery.

“The boy finally got his shit together,” Axl said.

“Clay? I guess.”

“Always thought you’d end up with him.”

Reese stumbled on a molehill. She caught herself with a hand on Leon’s back, causing the alpaca to chortle softly.

Axl kept moving, not missing a step.

“Me?” Reese stammered. “And Clay? Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “The yin and the yang. Twin spirits. All that bullshit, plus he used to drive a kick-ass Mustang.”

“Right, a kick-ass car—the basis for all good relationships.”

Axl looked at her. “You know something better?”

“Obviously not. I’m divorced, right? ”

“That’s horseshit,” Axl growled. “You married the wrong guy and you know it.”

“Maybe I was the wrong woman.”

“Of course you were. For
Eric
. Jesus Christ, girl—you didn’t really think that would work, did you?”

Reese didn’t answer right away. They were approaching the winery barn, and the sound of heavy equipment rumbling through the dirt was vibrating her brain.

“Eric and I had a great friendship,” Reese said. “Our love life was pretty good, and we got along well. Isn’t that what my parents would say is the basis of a great marriage?”

Axl hooted loudly, prompting Leon to echo the sound with a high-pitched tooting noise of his own. Reese looked at her pet, then at her grandfather, wondering who was more stoned.

“
Friendship
and
pretty good sex
are not enough to make a relationship last,” Axl barked.

“Is this going to be another one of those lectures about how relationships take work?”

Axl rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, girl. Work isn’t the secret. The key to any good relationship is keeping your expectations low.”

“I think I saw that on a Hallmark card.”

“I’m serious. You think your grandma and I lasted as long as we did because we sat around swapping roses and dining by candlelight every night?”

Reese frowned. “Grandma ran off with a plumber.”

Axl patted her lightly on the shoulder and nodded. “Good talk, girl. Now let’s get the damn camel off the doobie.”

Clay had spent his whole day trying his damnedest to stay focused on the job. He was working with a lot of heavy equipment and shouting orders left and right at the crew. Hardly the time to lose focus.

Even so, he couldn’t help but notice when Reese and Axl came hurrying down the hill toward the winery bar. Reese looked worried. Axl looked high. Leon the alpaca was right on their heels, his fuzzy ears twitching each time the backhoe went in reverse.

Clay watched from the corner of his eye as Axl banged through the door of the winery while Reese stood outside, her hand on Leon’s neck.

Clay shifted the shovel in his hands, determined to keep his distance.

Seconds later, Axl was back outside shouting something at Reese and waving a telephone around. When Reese started to cry, Clay dropped the shovel. Reese wasn’t a crier. If she was in tears, something was very wrong.

Screw distance.

“I’ve got the vet on the line,” Axl was yelling to Reese as Clay approached. “Is he experiencing ataxia, bradycardia, or conjunctival hyperemia?”

“I don’t know what any of that means!” Reese shouted back with tears spilling down her cheeks. “Find out what’s on the list of things that are poisonous to alpacas. Don’t you remember the one that died over at the Beezlers’ place last year when it ate foxglove?”

Clay moved into place beside her, hesitating only a moment before placing a hand on her arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Can I help?”

“Leon ate pot,” Reese sniffed. “It was only a little, but I don’t know if it’s toxic to him and—”

“The vet wants to know if he’s experiencing urinary incontinence,” Axl demanded, holding the phone away from his ear.

Reese looked at Leon. Leon made a funny humming noise. Axl shrugged and knelt down to peer at the shaggy animal’s underbelly. “Wow, he’s pretty well hung. You seen this thing?”

“Stop sexually harassing my alpaca!” Reese snapped. “You’re not going to be able to tell if he’s incontinent from staring at his—his—”

“My vet friend can’t get here until Sunday,” Axl said, straightening up and gesturing with the phone. “He’s at a motorcycle rally in Nevada, but he says it shouldn’t be toxic, as long as Leon didn’t eat too much. You should keep him calm and feed him something to get things moving through his system.”

Clay cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do?”

Reese looked at him. “Do you know anything about stoned livestock?”

Clay shrugged. “I’ve been around a lot of stoned people.”

Another tear slipped down Reese’s cheek as she stroked Leon’s neck. The alpaca made a purring sound and looked at Clay. Clay reached out and scratched behind its ear.

“I don’t know what alpacas usually act like,” Clay said. “Is he behaving oddly?”

Reese nodded. “He isn’t head-butting you in the crotch. That’s odd.”

“Thank you, Leon,” Clay said. “Look, I just hooked up with the local AA group. It’s a long shot, but you want me to see if there are any members who might be veterinarians? AA is always a supportive group when it comes to—well, delicate situations. It might be worth a try.”