Page 16 of Sterling Clay

A little over a year ago, her house across the street from Knox’s then girlfriend, now wife, caught on fire. Mavis and Dutton were both inside when the blaze began. The instant memory churns my stomach. The fact that Dutton wouldn’t be here without Knox finding him, hiding in the house, and carrying him out of the burning house. The churning turns to bile, threatening to choke me, when I consider Knox rushed back into the home to assist a second firefighter who found Mavis. Collectively, they carried her unconscious body to safety only moments before an explosion occurred. Mavis and her son would have been horrifically lost to me forever, and I find myself clenching my hands into tight fists at the thought. A chill runs down my spine. I’d never have the chance I currently have with Mavis had it not been for Knox.

Rumor had it her husband might have sparked the flames, an arson job, and drugged his wife.

If I were a violent man, I’d light the match to burn him to the ground.

After cooperating with local authorities, Mavis and Dutton moved out of town. Her husband was officially considered missing.

But a lot can happen in a year, and those were the details I didn’t have. And I wanted them from Mavis.

“I appreciate you being worried about me, little brother, but I think I can handle a woman and her child.”

“Said Sebastian,” Knox jokes. “Before he fell head over heels in love.”

Our youngest brother was the definition of troubled teen and eventually became a menacing adult, but after time in prison, he is a reformed man. He opened a local bakery, appropriately named after his grumpy ass, Curmudgeon Bakery, and three years later a beautiful woman stumbled into his business. Or rather, fell before the shop during an autumn rainstorm.

I’d known Enya Calloway before Sebastian. Sylver Seed & Soil had been audited by the state and needed an outside accountant to review our financials. Enya had been around for months before she encountered Sebastian. For a while, I thought our brother Judd, also an accountant and our chief financial advisor, might win her over.

Enya fell for the reformed bad boy instead.

Mavis might have a thing for bad men as well. A man who was still potentially dangerous, possibly on the loose, and a lingering concern in the back of my head.

“Yeah, well, Sebastian is a sap, just like you with Halle,” I tease.

Knox chuckles. “Gonna happen for you, too.” He stands and claps me on the shoulder.

“Never,” I counter before he exits my office.

I just don’t see love in my future. I’m too busy. I like projects, not long-term investments.

But if I had time, I’d want to spend it with Mavis.

With that thought, I laugh at myself because my computer is awake and glaring brightly at me, and I dive into the longest, and biggest, investment I’ve ever had.

Work.

Chapter 7

[Mavis]

“Honey. I’m home.” The jovial sound of Clay’s voice rings through his house when he enters his front door sometime after eight o’clock.

I’d finally given up on him returning for dinner and was putting the leftovers away in his fridge. Stepping into his living room, I pause just outside the entrance from the kitchen, opposite where he remains by the front door.

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” He wrinkles his nose. “I just made it weird.” His eyes light up and he chuckles, but the sound is rimmed with nerves. He swipes his thick hand over his salt-and-pepper colored hair.

Clay takes my breath away. He’s so rugged and tall, while casual cool and friendly. His personality beams through the wrinkles near his eyes and the smirky grin on his face.

Slipping my hands into my back pockets, I rock on my bare toes. “Not weird.” But it was a little strange. He’s hours later than I expected him when he doesn’t owe me his time. And I’m not his sweetheart, or his wife. I’m a nearly forty-year-old single mother squatting for a while because of his hospitality.

Shouldn’t I have my life better pulled together by now?

“I’ve just always wanted to say that.” His voice lowers as he dips his head, his gaze dropping from me. “Never had anyone here to say it to.”

The confession feels like an admission of loneliness which is difficult to believe. Clay Sylver is a very good-looking man in his mid-forties. Those icy-colored eyes. The scruff on his jaw. Even his wrinkles add to the sexiness.

Then again, I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Beneath a pretty image can be a dark tale and pages full of aggression.

I should tell him I’m honored he shared his thoughts and his greeting with me, but I don’t want to make this moment any more awkward.