Page 107 of Clara Knows Best

She looked a little exasperated. “Visiting.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I’ll visit.”

She didn’t really look like she believed him, but she didn’t give him a hard time about it.

He grabbed his duffel and followed her into the waiting area, and Clara jumped up from her desk.

“Hey, wait,” she exclaimed, and stepped awkwardly over her sprawled-out border collie (no easy feat in a pencil skirt) to come around the big counter. “Wait, I have to hug you. Come here.”

He set his bag down again and she drew him into a warm hug.

People didn’t really hug him in Austin, he thought, frowning as he put his arms around her slender body.

Big mistake, holding her. Now he knew how it felt.

He let go and put her away from himself. “See you, Clara.”

“Hey, if I text you, you gotta answer,” she instructed. “Learned my lesson last time. I will hunt you down like a dog.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she said, and just as he bent to pick up his duffel bag she reached into her purse.

“Is that one of my dish towels?” Dr. Wilder asked.

That was his only warning, and it came too late.

Asher had spent the forty-five-minute drive talking his ear off about the truck and the police department, and Jesse had grunted occasionally in agreement and wondered how long it would take to stop thinking about Clara.

Now he sat in the municipal airport with only six other people, waiting for permission to board his flight. He scowled at the guy behind the ticket counter: Earl Keplinger, who’d been mooning over Clara the day Jesse had arrived.

He hadn’t known who was picking him up that day. He’d expected the Colonel, which was why he’d felt free to check out the woman at the ticket counter. Long legs, great figure, great hair. Then he’d caught sight of her profile and almost tripped on his own feet when he realized he’d been looking at Clara’s body for the first time in his life. He was a dog.

Add to that the way she had encouraged Earl to come and see her, and it was no surprise that he’d pretty much snarled at her. He remembered the look of total surprise on her face.

He’d discovered a lot about Clara in the days since then. Contemporary Clara. Not the old Clara, who’d been cruising through adolescence without any acne or self-doubt, but the modern version who rescued dying dogs and generally did a lot of stuff for the people around her and could snap a towel with the finesse of a middle-school bully.

She’d avoided the pitfalls waiting for small-town teens and he was glad of that. It would have been depressing, for example, tocome back and see her with a drug problem and a string of baby daddies. The thought made him glare at Earl again. Earl noticed, and nervously averted his eyes.

The next episode ofThe Clara Showwould have her marrying some local and settling down to start a family. He’d be a good guy—the Colonel would see to that—and Clara would be happy.

Jesse had to be fine with that, but he didn’t have to be part of the live studio audience.

41

Clara didn’t really feel like talking to her mother on the drive home. Greer was in the back seat of the old Mercedes, snoring softly as they cruised down the straight, smooth highway.

After several minutes of silence, Dr. Wilder said, “It was nice to see him, wasn’t it?”

“You waited a long time,” Clara said, glancing briefly at her.

“Prayers of the faithful,” her mother murmured.

It sounded like she was talking to herself, so Clara didn’t answer.

“Still have a crush on him?”

She sighed. Why was it easier to talk to her father about these things than her own mother? It didn’t make sense. She wanted to prevaricate, but filial guilt made her answer. “I don’t think so.”

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