Page 72 of Always to Remember
Then she heard a crack. Clay was right. The sound of a crack when you weren’t wanting one was deafening. Almost as deafening as her scream as she slid down the hill.
She came to an abrupt halt with the hard, prickly side of the hill pressed to her stomach, and a strong, firm man pressed against her back.
He’d kept one foot firmly planted on the ground. He’d dug the other one into the side of the hill. She was practically sitting on his hard thigh with her body nestled against him so her head fit snugly against his shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, and his breath whispered along the nape of her neck.
She turned her face to tell him that she was fine and he didn’t need to hold her. He furrowed his brow, and sorrow filled his eyes.
“Ah, you scratched your face,” he said in a low voice as he gently touched the tips of his fingers to her cheek.
He gazed at her cheek, and Meg wondered how badly she was cut. Her cheek smarted, but it wasn’t the small ache that brought tears to her eyes. It was the expression of wonder on Clay’s face.
“Dear God, but you’re soft,” he said in a raw voice.
He lifted his fingers away from her face and stepped back. Meg stumbled before catching her balance.
Averting his gaze, he shoved his hands into his pockets, reminding her of a lost little boy. He looked as though he’d just discovered something he’d have been better off not knowing.
He cleared his throat and scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground, turning up the roots of the grass and weeds. “You gonna try again?”
Meg brushed her raw hands together. “Is that the only way up?”
He nodded solemnly. “I could go up right behind you. Stop you sooner if you lose your hold.”
“Isn’t there a chance that we’d both just tumble down the side of the mountain?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, but I’d be softer to fall on than the ground.”
She wasn’t completely certain about that. From what she’d just felt, his body was as rock hard as the stone into which he cut. She breathed deeply. “All right. I don’t want to disappoint the twins.”
She grabbed the bush that had served her well during her first attempt to climb the hill, and she placed her foot on a scraggly bit of earth. Clay moved behind her, and she pressed her body against the earth.
She eased her way up. He swung his arm over her and grabbed a bush above her head. His body brushed against hers. Kirk had always smelled of bay mm. Clay smelled of the earth, strong and musky. He didn’t attempt to cover his male scent. He was as natural as his rocks.
She pulled up to the next bush. As close as her shadow, he stayed with her. She imagined that the positioning of his body over hers gave the appearance of a compromising situation, which prompted her to move a little more quickly.
“Don’t rush,” he said.
“I’d like to get to the top before I’m an old woman.”
Her foot slipped. His hand clamped around her waist.
“Slow and easy will get you there,” he said.
“Patience is not one of my strong suits.” He chuckled. “I know.”
She jerked her head around. “What did Kirk tell you about my patience?”
“Nothing. Now reach for the roots of that tree.”
Meg did as instructed, over and over, reaching for the limbs and roots he indicated, pulling herself up, gaining ground slower than she would have liked, but losing very little. He began to slip his foot beneath hers, giving her additional support. More often, he only used one hand to hold onto the side of the hill. With his other hand, he held her waist or splayed his fingers across the small of her back. She thought he probably had the largest hands in the entire state. And perhaps the strongest. And in an odd sort of way—the gentlest.
It also occurred to her that he seemed extremely skilled at helping someone climb the hill. She wondered with how many other ladies he might have shared the bats.
“Just a little more, Miz Meg!” Josh yelled.
Meg scooted up and felt small hands grab her wrists.
