Page 10 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Right,” Hank muttered. “Pillars and planks.”

The rumble of an engine cut through the morning stillness just as I was lining up the new pillar with its base. Bear perked up from his spot on the steps, ears twitching toward the noise. The old truck pulled into view, coughing out a cloud of exhaust before it shuddered to a halt at the curb.

And none other than Grace Gibson hopped out, brown hair loose and framing her voice.

Fuck…even glaring at me like that, she was still a knockout.

“Morning, Hank,” she called out, her voice all sugar despite the scowl. Hank tipped his hat, but before he could get a word in, her gaze snapped my way, dark and sharp. “Got something to say, Clay?”

I rolled my eyes, letting the hammer dangle at my side. “Nope.”

She cocked a hip, arms folded. “Really? 'Cause you look like you're choking on words over there.”

“Me? I’m just at work.” I tapped the pillar lightly with the hammer, keeping my expression even. “You're the one looking like you have a lemon stuck in your mouth. Spit it out, or your face'll freeze that way.”

Her nostrils flared, the only sign she was biting back whatever smart comeback had sprung to mind. Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and marched into the store, the door jangling shut behind her.

“Clay, I better head in and see what she's after,” Hank said, jerking his thumb toward the store. “Thanks again for your help.”

I nodded, unable to shake the feeling that pulsed through me—a sign that I wasn't as dead inside as I'd thought. “No problem, Hank.”

The bell over the door jingled shut behind him, and I was left with the quiet hum of Silver Ridge waking up. People around here knew me—the guy who fixed things, no questions asked. What they didn't know was how little I let them see of the real Clay Hawthorne.

I glanced down at Bear, who seemed to sense my mood, his brown eyes meeting mine before he let out a soft whine. “Yeah, buddy,” I murmured, “it's just you and me.”

It wasn't that I hadn't tried to reconnect since coming home. But every conversation felt like walking through knee-deep mud, slow and exhausting. The locals were kind, yet their words never reached past the thick shell I'd built around myself. My primary source of socialization was my veterans’ group, and I only went rarely.

Everyone in town knew my dad. They all knew what had happened to my brother.

They all knew that I was the disappointment…the kid my dad wished had died instead.

Jesus. I hadn’t thought about any of this in a long, long time. Grace turning up sent all those bad memories racing back.

Drilling the last screw into the sturdy new pillar, I wiped the sweat from my brow and stood back to admire the work. The General Store porch now had a bit of the Hawthorne touch, something solid and reliable.

“Looking good, Clay,” I muttered to myself, not one for bragging but silently acknowledging a job well done.

My hands itched for more than just woodwork, though. Grace's image flickered in my mind—tough, no-nonsense Grace with those deep brown eyes that could probably see right through me. She’d always been tough as nails, but there was a softness in her too, one she hid like buried treasure.

I wanted to dig it up.

The thought of wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to feel every curve…I shook my head, trying to dislodge the fantasy. But damn, sometimes I wanted more than just talk.

Wanted to remind her who she used to turn to when the world got too heavy.

Wanted to feel her squirm under my grip as I?—

“Hey, watch it!” The sharp voice snapped me out of my daydream, and I realized I’d almost bumped right into Grace as she came back out. She didn't look at me as she passed, but I felt the heat of her presence all the same.

“Drive safe,” I called after her, not sure why.

Maybe I was a glutton for punishment.

She paused, half-turning, her dark eyes narrowing as if measuring me. “I can take care of myself, thanks,” she tossed back.

“Never doubted it for a second,” I replied, leaning against the pillar.

She growled and slammed the door shut, then she was pulling out, glaring at me the whole time. As she drove off, I found myself wondering what kind of help Grace might need. What kind of danger could have followed her home to Silver Ridge? And despite everything, why was I so ready to step into the fray?

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