Clay’s displeasure undulated toward her like a snake in the water. “You’re too honest to be a good spy. And you’re not used to men like him. He goes through women faster than MacDuff goes through kibble.”

Gracie didn’t see what Dylan’s reputation had to do with anything. She had about as much in common with the women he dated as cottage cheese had to ice cream—opposite ends of the same basic food group. “I’d never be attracted to a man who treats women like a commodity. Besides, he’s not interested in me.” Perish the thought.

“He wants you to think he’s not, but when you start to trust him, bam! He’ll make his move.”

“And his move will be right back to New York, not in my direction.” She was more than a little annoyed that Clay thought she’d be gullible enough to fall for a line as practiced as Dylan’s. Too much like Baxter, by far. She took a seat on the step beside him while MacDuff sniffed around the daffodil shoots. “You’d be more receptive to him if you got past this idiotic jealousy. And there’s absolutely no basis for it. There’s nothing between you and me—or Dylan and me—to warrant it.”

“Nothing between us? How can you say that?” He pulled her into his arms and captured her mouth with his.

And here we go again. Clayton always wanted the man-woman stuff to supersede their true friendship. She knew the biology behind the sexual exercises backwards and forwards, but the ethereal magic celebrated in songs, books, and movies continued to elude her. Maybe Baxter was right and there was something fundamentally wrong with her.

After the initial surprise had worn off, she tried to stop thinking and let herself get caught up in the moment. But instead of the fabled heat and desire everyone raved about, nothing but a twinge of distaste remained. Not that Clay’s technique was at fault, but the idea of kissing him always seemed slightly incestuous. She could’ve broken the contact easily enough, but she waited it out, hoping he’d realize as she did that no spark flared between them.

When he lifted his head, he frowned down at her. “You call that nothing?”

For the good of their relationship, she’d try to explain it to him one more time. “I call it friendship and history and the affection of two people raised almost as brother and sister. I’m sorry you want more than that, but the sooner you accept that it will never happen, the sooner you’ll find the one person who really is right for you.”

“You’re right for me.”

“No, I’m not.” She got to her feet, evading him as he tried to pull her to him again. “I’m bossy and stubborn and don’t know enough to snatch up an exceptional guy like you when I see one.”

Clay took her hand, anchoring her in place. “Now that your engagement to Baxter is over, won’t you give me another chance?”

His pleading tugged at her heart. They’d always been a team. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. But wouldn’t giving him false hope be worse? “We can spend time together, as friends, as almost-relatives, as we always have, but that’s all.”

“If you say so.” His noncommittal response and look of adoration created doubts that he’d taken this rejection any more seriously than the previous ones. “Want to go to a movie tomorrow night? I should be finished at the hospital about seven.”

“Okay, but it’s not a date. I’ll meet you at the movie house.” She raised a hand to silence him when he started to object. “See you tomorrow. Come on, ‘Duff.” She left Clay at the gazebo and led the dog back to the carriage house.

Normally, when she stepped inside her apartment, its walls wrapped around her like a haven and refuge. But when she was really upset, nothing made her feel better than retreating to her mother’s pottery studio on the lower level.

The scene with Clay, on top of everything else, left her less contented than she cared to admit. After his car pulled away, she put on old jeans and a work shirt and went back down to the studio.

She kept some clay on hand to throw when she needed to sort out her problems. Wetting, kneading, and working it on the wheel calmed her down better than a Xanax.

As she filled a bucket with water, she compared her mediocre talent against her mother’s creative brilliance. Mimicking her abilities had been enough for Gracie once. But now, on her own for so long, she sometimes felt that if she could only duplicate her mother’s artistic skills, then maybe she would be as successful in other areas, too.

The repetition of wedging the clay into a malleable consistency began to work its magic. Press, fold, turn. Press, fold, turn. If only everything could be handled as easily. Time... work... men...

Obviously, she didn’t have her mother’s knack with any of those subjects. Especially men. Marlene O’Donnell Collier had handled the two loves of her life as effortlessly as she threw a bowl on the wheel. Or she had handled David that well, anyway. Gracie wasn’t as sure about her father.

He’d died before she had a chance to know him, to remember seeing them together, or to analyze the closeness they’d shared. But share it they did, or so everyone said.

They’d married right after her mom graduated from high school. They spent one year together before her father joined the Navy. He’d been killed in a plane crash right after basic training, on his way to his first assignment.

He’d spent a total of thirty days of his life with Gracie. Days her grandparents had done their best to capture on camera.

Sometimes, late at night, she looked at those fading images. But she took small pleasure in the fact that the handsome daredevil with the brilliant eyes who tossed her in the air was her father. Instead, watching the movies made her sad and angry to know the potential, the liveliness, the joy that existed in Bobby O’Donnell had been extinguished before she could experience it firsthand.

Gracie slapped the ball of clay onto the turntable. With a sharp gesture of impatience, she wiped away a tear with a muddy finger.

Kicking the wheel furiously, her thoughts turned to David. He’d courted her mother for eleven years. Slow and sure, that was David. Apparently, the gentle doctor was as different from Bobby O’Donnell as sunlight to shadow, but he became a steady fixture in Gracie’s life. One that never failed her. He’d brought both Clay and medicine into her life.

With the wheel spinning around, her thoughts whirled from the past into the present. She worried that Clay would never realize his true potential if he couldn’t establish his biological identity. It meant that much to him. Therefore, it meant that much to her. She would do whatever she could to promote that outcome. Even if it meant keeping a close eye on Dylan.

An image of his solid flesh, bone, and muscle formed in her mind. She grew warm with the realization that keeping her eye on him didn’t revolt her as much today as it had yesterday.

He hadn’t gone out of his way to endear himself to her or the community, but then he had his own agenda. She appreciated that. If family loyalty prevented him from believing his father had sired an illegitimate son, she hoped he’d man enough to admit the truth when science confirmed it.

Some men had trouble admitting the truth. Baxter hadn’t wanted to even when she’d caught him with his pants down. And once he had admitted his indiscretions, he’d tried to deflect the blame for his infidelity onto Gracie.

She flinched away from his final hurtful comments on her sexual inadequacies. The inclination to accuse Baxter of worse disabilities loomed pointless and childish. She preferred to concentrate on ailments she could cure instead of on the hopeless.

After dampening the drying clay with her sponge, she reduced the form to a round blob. She slowly pushed her fingers inward, the way she would press against the abdomen of a child with a tummy ache.