~ Andrea

I don’t know what’s more frustrating – the fact that Clay ran away from me – again – or the fact that I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.

Indeed, it’s been two days since I left Chicago and Clay’s face is still embedded in my mind. Jo teases that I left my heart there. I tell her that’s not true. I simply wish I hadn’t been left hanging. Again. Doesn’t Clay know it’s rude to just walk away from people, leaving them wondering what they did wrong?

I sigh.

Well, there’s nothing I can do about it so really, I should just move on, put the book back on the shelf and move on to another. If anything, I should be relaxing. It’s my vacation now, after all, having finished with my last book signing last night. And God knows I deserve it.

I close my eyes, savoring the feel of the water against my skin, the temperature in the indoor pool of the Hilton Garden Inn Minneapolis Downtown perfect. I’ve always loved to swim. My father was the coach of the swim team at my high school and during summer, he’d teach children to swim. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time at the pool.

“It’s good to know you still swim.”

At the voice, I stop swimming, both my thoughts and rhythm disrupted. What the hell?

As my feet hit the floor, I move closer to the edge, wiping my face with my hand before staring at the person who’s just intruded on my private pool time.

Unbelievable.

“Clay,” I greet without an ounce of enthusiasm. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking to you.”

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“I’m sorry for teasing you last time and for leaving you so abruptly. Something important came up.”

Teasing me? So he was just teasing me? And what could have come up this time?

It doesn’t matter.

“It’s fine,” I tell him.“ If you looked for me just to apologize, you didn’t have to.”

How did he even find me? Oh, never mind. I guess rich people can easily get whatever they want. And the magazine cover I saw did say Clay is one of America’s wealthiest most eligible bachelors.

“That’s not the reason why I’m here.”

Of course not.

“Well, you certainly don’t look like you’re here to join me for a swim.” I look at his suit. What is it? Armani? Kiton? “You’re overdressed.”

Clay grins. “You, on the other hand, look perfect.”

I blush, instinctively covering my chest with my arms as I bend my knees to sink lower into the water. Thank goodness I’m wearing a one-piece, though the neckline is still fairly low.

Shit. Why does he have to see me like this?

“Why are you here?” I ask him, cutting to the chase.

“Because I need you.”

The honesty, the unwavering composure in his voice hits me like a strong breeze.

This is definitely not the Clay Maxwell I know. This Clay is a man, oozing confidence and power and once again, I’m in awe.

I can’t believe there hasn’t been a guy who’s sent shivers up your spine, made your knees melt and turned your guts inside out.

Well, there is now.

Wait. He needs me? As sexy as that sounds, I find myself confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I need you to come with me,” Clay explains. “There’s a girl in Wisconsin.”

“A girl,” I repeat spitefully.

So, he did leave me for a girl?

“A six-year-old girl who’s been left in my care,” Clay explains. “She’s just lost her father and I’ve been told she needs a psychologist.”

Oh. So it’s my professional expertise he needs. Of course, it is. What else could it be?

“There are plenty of other psychologists out there,” I tell him. “Some better than me.”

“None of them are as good as you.”

I frown. “The fact that I’ve written books does not make me the best in my field.”

“I want you.”

I blush, the water in the pool suddenly feeling a few degrees hotter.

Fight it, Andrea. Breathe.

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

I shake my head. “You can’t say that. The last time we met we were in high school. We’ve both changed since then.”

“I trust you,” Clay repeats without the slightest hesitation. “You may have grown older, more beautiful and more accomplished, but you still have a good, strong heart. I know it.”

I blush at his compliments, looking away. “As much as I’m moved by your faith in me, I can’t just go with you.”

“I’ll pay you triple what you’ve made from all your books.”

I look at him, surprised by his offer. Wow. He really is rich.

“I don’t work with children anymore.”

“Why not?” He shifts his weight to the other leg.

I frown, looking down at the surface of the water. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“The girl needs you, Andrea,” he says, crouching down near the edge of the pool with his hands clasped. “I need you.”

Well, I don’t need you, I want to tell him. And I definitely don’t trust you. But as I meet his gaze, those words die down my throat, drowned by the sincerity I can see in his eyes.

He really wants to help this girl.

“Fine,” I give in. “I’ll take a look at her.”

“Thank you.” He offers me his hand.

“I’ll get your suit wet,” I warn.

“I don’t mind.”

Reluctantly, I grab his hand, pulling myself up over the edge and then pausing as I find myself standing just inches from him, the waves of masculinity emanating from his body washing over me.

Shit. What is up with this man?

He grabs my towel from the chair. “Towel?”

Right. I dry myself as quickly as possible, then put on my robe. “I’ll just get dressed and get my things, maybe write a quick note to Jo.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby.”

As I go to the elevators, I find myself shaking from the cold but at the same time, I feel a warmth in my veins, my heart racing in excitement.

Oh, stop it, Andrea. You’re only going because of the girl, remember?

Right. The girl.

I have to admit I’m suddenly curious about her.

---

“She looks so…”

I stop talking, struggling for words as I look at the little girl sitting in the garden.

So young. So frail. Even though she seems happy playing with her dolls and toy horses, I can sense her loneliness. Already, I can see the wall she’s built around her.

I swallow. Suddenly, I’m not so sure I can help her.

“Her name is Rose,” Clay tells me. “Like I said, she’s seven years old.”

“And you say she just lost her father?”

“Yes. He died in a road accident.”

“What about her mother?”

“She’s dead, too.”

“Poor girl.”

I place my hand over my chest, which is suddenly aching for this little girl. I can’t imagine going through life without a family even now that I’m old. How much can a little girl do that?

“You can go to her if you like,” Clay suggests.

I hesitate, suddenly afraid and feeling out of my depth. It’s been so long since I’ve dealt with children, after all. I summon my courage, though, telling myself that I can’t help Rose if I can’t even approach her, that I can’t help her heal and get over her father’s death if I myself am afraid of failing and getting hurt.

And she needs help.

Taking a deep breath, I start walking slowly in her direction, stopping in front of her. She looks up from her toys, staring at me curiously.

“Who are you?” she asks.

I kneel in front of her. “My name is Andrea, Rose. I’m a friend.”

“I have no friends,” she says.

I take another deep breath. This is going to be hard.

“Only Daddy,” Rose adds. “Where’s Daddy? Why isn’t he back?”

I glance at Clay. Doesn’t she know her father’s gone?

Shit.

“Your Daddy is…”

I stop, again lost for words. What should I tell her? I don’t want to lie but how do I tell her that her only friend, her only family, is gone? Shit. I shouldn’t have to tell her. I can’t tell her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Rose asks again.

“He’s…”

“Where’s Daddy?” Rose asks louder. “I want my Daddy!”

Of course, she does.

“Honey…”

“I want my Daddy!” She’s screaming now, throwing one of her dolls at me.

I step back, trying not to be overcome with emotion as I study the situation. Why is Rose acting this way? Yes, any girl would be upset but this response – it’s different. If she doesn’t know her father’s gone yet, why is she already lashing out with so much pain and anger? Where are these emotions coming from?

“Give me my Daddy!” She pushes me and I fall on the stone path.

Shit.

“Rose!” Clay intervenes to my relief. “Stop that this instant!”

“Where’s Daddy?” she repeats. “I want my Daddy!”

“Your Daddy’s gone,” Clay tells her. “I’m sorry but he’s not coming back.”

How? How could he say that so calmly?

“No!” Rose screams, bolting towards him and beating her small fists against his chest.

Clay wraps his arms around her. “Shh. It’s going to be okay, Rose. It’s going to be fine.”

She keeps screaming and fighting, Clay’s words falling on deaf ears. Eventually, she gets free and she runs off, darting behind some bushes and curling into a ball as she rocks herself back and forth.

Oh, shit. What did I get myself into?

---

“You haven’t told me everything, have you?” I accuse Clay as I sit on the front stairs of the house, Clay standing behind me.

It’s been minutes since Rose’s attack and she’s managed to calm down, now asleep in her room. Yet, I’m still shaking, unable to shake off the image of Rose’s tormented expression or the waves of fear and suffering that I felt from her.

That’s one of the hard things about being a psychologist. You sometimes feel what your patients are feeling and that’s especially true when you’re dealing with children.

“Sorry.” Clay sits beside me. “I thought it would be better if you saw her first.”

“Well, now that I have, I need an explanation,” I tell him, shifting my legs. “I need to understand what’s going on.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything, starting from the beginning.”

“The beginning, huh?” Clay takes a deep breath. “Rose’s father, John Abbott, was a good friend of mine. He was the one who asked me to start a company with him, who invested in my skills and taught me the ropes of running a company. He’s basically the reason why I am where I am now.”

No wonder Clay isn’t as cheerful as when I met him at The Bar. He must be in mourning even though he’s trying his best not to show it.

“Seven years ago, John left the company. I didn’t know why but after he died, I found out. He has a daughter, Rose, and as you can probably tell by now, she needs special care.”

“What does she have?” I ask, reaching for the band-aid.

“Agoraphobia.”

Fear of crowds and open spaces.

“Do you know why?” I ask curiously.

It’s normal to be afraid. But to be seized by fear from things that are practically harmless? It’s not right.

“Rose’s mother was a heroin addict. She was still on it when she gave birth to Rose.”

Well, that explains it. Children born to mothers who are addicted to drugs suffer from a lot of complications, particularly to their mental health, that they carry through their lives. And yet they did nothing. They’re essentially paying for their mother’s sins.

Poor girl. No one should have to go through what she’s been through.

“Do you think you can help her?” Clay asks me.

I don’t answer. I want to help her. Really, I do. I’ve never seen a child so mentally and emotionally broken before. And to think she’s been suffering like this since she was born. I might not be able to cure her but I’m sure I can help her. The question is: Should I?

“Wrong question,” Clay suddenly says as if he’s read my mind. “I know you can help her, Andrea. My question is: Will you?”

I turn my head, looking into his eyes. If I agree, that means I’ll be working with a child again, immersing myself in work. Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do.

“I’ll try,” I end up promising.

“That’s all I ask.”

I stand up, shaking the dust off the back of my pants. “So, who’s going to take care of her now that her father’s gone?”

“I am,” Clay answers. “The adoption papers have all been prepared. I just have to sign them and then there will be a hearing to finalize everything. After that, she’ll be my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” I look at him in disbelief. “Wow. That’s a huge responsibility.”

“It is, which is why I need your help.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Wait a sec. Are you saying you don’t just want me to treat her but also to take care of her? Like a babysitter and a psychologist in one?”

“I’ll pay you double what I promised.”

“This is not about money, Clay.” I take a step forward, waving my arms. “I’m not qualified for this.”

“Your books say you are.”

Has he read my books? “Alright. Maybe I know a thing or two about dealing with children but I haven’t had a lot of chances to actually apply them and…”

“Well, now’s your chance.”

“Besides, my books are mostly about how to understand your children, how to respond to them, communicate with them, discipline them. Taking care of a child, parenting essentially, is much more than that.”

“It sounds like you’ve got the important parts down, though.”

I sigh. “You don’t understand, Clay. I’m not ready for this.”

“You think I am?”

I pause. Right. I’ve been so busy thinking about Rose and myself that I haven’t spared a thought for Clay. He must be suffering right now, having just lost a good friend, and to make matters worse, he’s just been given the huge responsibility of raising a child.

Rose isn’t the only one whose life has been turned upside down here. So is Clay’s and right now, he’s asking me for help.

Why should I help him? I don’t owe him anything. Hell, he broke my heart.

But I do want to help Rose.

I sit down again, clasp my hands over my mouth and draw in a deep breath. “What do you want me to do, Clay?”

“I want you to come live with me here at the ranch and look after Rose until she’s better,” he says. “You can leave the house as you please. You’ll have everything you need and I’ll pay you as much as you want. If you want, I can draw up a contract.”

“Not necessary.” I don’t really like contracts.

“So, you’ll do it?” Clay asks.

I’m still not sure if I should and I’m not a hundred percent convinced that I want to do it. Even so, I do want to work with a child again. I do want to apply my knowledge and maybe learn a thing or two. Most importantly, I want to help Rose.

I sigh. “Like I said, I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Andrea.”

He places his hand over mine and I look at him, giving him a hopeful smile. That smile vanishes, though, when I realize the entirety of what I signed up for. From now on, I’ll be living in the same house as Clay.

We’ll be living together.

Just the thought of it terrifies me while at the same time, just imagining Clay in a shirt and jeans sends a flurry of excitement through me.

Clay probably looks better in just a shirt and jeans maybe even shorts. Or boxers?

Shit.

Well, thankfully, this seems to be a big house.