Read Online Clay by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page A

sounded husky.
    “But that’s not what scares my mama.”
    “What does, do you think?” Something more than mere curiosity shaded his tone.
    “What’s going to happen. To me, I mean. If you were at the hospital, too, maybe you could hold her hand when they put me under and tell her that I’m going to be all right.”
    “I…see what you mean. But I just don’t know if I can be there.”
    That sounded like a polite refusal to Janna. It was no great surprise, since Clay barely knew them and, so far as she was aware, had no idea of their connection to his family. Even if she took the risk of telling him, it seemed doubtful the knowledge would weigh against his resentment at being held prisoner. At least she was saved the trouble of putting the question tohim herself, something she’d considered as she lay awake the night before.
    The little talk in the spare room had gone on long enough, she thought. Blinking swiftly to remove any trace of tears, she pasted a cheerful smile on her face then pushed inside.
    “Here we are,” she said as she handed a mug to Clay, making certain that he could catch the handle with his bound right hand. “I see the cookies are gone. Would you like juice, Lainey?”
    The girl frowned as if interrupted in a matter of extreme importance, which it was to her, of course. As she caught sight of her mother’s face, however, she made no protest but folded her arms across her chest and pressed her lips together. When Janna offered the juice again, she only stared at the floor and kicked her feet back and forth where she dangled them off the edge of the bed.
    It was impossible to say anything to soothe or reassure Lainey without showing that she’d overheard the discussion with Clay. That was the last thing Janna wanted, since it could bring on questions she had no intention of answering. She’d try later to make her daughter understand that she didn’t have to worry about a transplant or her mother, but all she could do for now was gloss over the situation and hope for the best.
    Sighing, she looked away from the child’s small, pinched face. Her gaze met that of the man on the bed almost by accident. She expected to see derisionthere, or even censure, but found an unnerving sympathy instead.
    It was later that night, after she’d put Lainey to bed with all the usual sterile procedures and medications then made ready for bed herself, that she remembered the camera bag. She’d promised Clay he could have it once she’d checked it. It would help keep him entertained, perhaps, and she might also wind up with some of the shots of Lainey. She had relatively few pictures of her daughter other than a couple of sets done during discount store specials; there had been little money for such things in the early days and no time in the past three years. Flinging a cotton robe around the T-shirt and underpants that she wore for sleeping, she left the bedroom and padded into the kitchen and dining room in her bare feet.
    The camera bag, a duffel-like affair of black nylon, was heavy when she picked it up. Setting it on the table, she unzipped it and pulled it open. Inside were two other cameras, along with dozens more rolls of film, an assortment of lenses and filters, a couple of collapsible tripods, a thermos and an insulated food bag holding stale sandwiches, a lightweight rain poncho and the tool kit she’d noticed earlier. Every item was tucked into its own pocket or strap. In his profession, at least, Clay Benedict appeared to be a neat, methodical man. It didn’t quite go with her impression of him as a devil-may-care charmer more interested in zipping around the swamp taking pictures than in actual work, but she supposed that everyonehad different aspects to their personality. Removing the tool kit, she hefted the bag to one shoulder and walked back down the hall to the spare bedroom.
    Clay looked up as she entered, then tossed aside the magazine he was reading, one on watercolor that he must