Page 3 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Firming her shoulders, she walked over to the wedging table and tore off a hunk of clay from her twenty-five-pound bag. God, she’d made a mess to clean up. Every misfire on the wheel led to more clay that needed to dry out before being useable again. She wedged the mass, pushing it with the heels of her palms to shape it into a perfect ball. Wedging the clay wasn’t lost to her, thank God. Barry had always said it was rather like kneading bread, and she agreed. Finished, she brought it back to her station.
“What was that step?” Kade asked as she sat down in front of her wheel and turned the switch on.
“Wedging makes sure there are no air pockets in the clay and it’s uniform in composition.”
“It looks like you’re working something out of the clay and yourself when you do that,” he remarked as he pulled a stool over and sat down beside her.
Maybe it was the proximity, but he seemed so large all of a sudden. Sitting on the stool clearly wasn’t comfortable for him, given his height of six foot four, so he angled his legs open with his hands on his knees.
They often stood together by the ponies, but this was a little unnerving. With every breath she inhaled his scent—a little soap, a little land, and a lot of male.
She became aware of him.
As a man.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened, of course—Kade was handsome, after all, and nice and compelling. Anyone would admire him. In her journal, she’d rationalized these moments away as a sign that she was coming out of a long depression. Parts of her that had been shut down for a long time were finally waking up.
What she couldn’t bring herself to write down was that she was attracted to him. It felt wrong. Tyson had only been gone for ten months. Besides, Kade was her friend, and she didn’t want to mess that up.
“Are you all right, Megan?” he asked, gazing at her calmly with those steady brown eyes of his.
She took a breath. “Just nervous about trying this again.”
“No need to be nervous. You’ve done this millions of times in the past. Show me how it’s done.”
She really wanted to, but she was so afraid of letting him down—of being judged or found wanting. Gritting her teeth, she faced down her biggest personal nemesis: herself. She couldn’t keep giving up or letting life put her down. It was time to make a stand. “All right, I’m starting.”
She took another breath before slapping the clay in the center of the wheel and adding a splash of water over it from her bucket. Cupping it between her hands, she slowly pressed the foot pedal and started the wheel turning. Putting downward pressure on the disc, she increased the speed, working with the centrifugal force. She held the clay in the middle, but she could feel it start to bolt under her hands. So she increased the speed, hoping maybe she could catch up to it. But the disc of clay shot to the right and spread across the wheel into an uncentered lump.
Again.
Taking her foot off the pedal, she bit her lip as frustration cloaked her. “That’s how it goes. I can’t even get it centered to start forming a cylinder. Kade, that’s like beginner ceramics.”
“You’re being hard on yourself.” He put a gentle hand on her arm again, his scent filling her nostrils. “What do I always say?”
“You’re doing better than you think,” she repeated. Usually she got teary-eyed when she heard him tell this to his clients. Like when one child cried because his misshapen hands made it hard for him to hold the pony’s reins.
“Come,” Kade said softly, his chest seeming so broad and comforting. “Try again. This time I’m going to get behind you and steady you a little. Your shoulders were shaking, as were your arms. How many times did you try this today?”
She gestured to where she’d dumped all the wet, uncentered clay on the drying slab. “Probably twenty.”
“Twenty is a lot of work on the body as well as the mind, I imagine, especially with the speed of that wheel. Grab some more clay, Megan. Let’s try it again.”
After securing another ball of clay, she sat back down. Kade moved his stool until he was directly behind her. When she inhaled his scent this time, her belly fluttered. She hadn’t felt desire in nearly a year, but it was undeniable. She shifted on her stool, her shoulders locking with tension. Maybe if she breathed through her mouth and ignored him, the feeling would fade.
“I’m going to put my hands over yours and follow your lead,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to hum through her.
Oh God!
When his arms came around her, she bolted like the clay. “Sorry.”
“Easy, now,” he said, drawing the words out softly.
Like she was one of his horses. His body felt so masculine and strong behind her. Then his hands covered hers, and she jolted in place. His touch was arousing and soothing all at once, making it impossible to deny her attraction to him. She studied his large callused hands. She noted a small scar next to his thumb and wondered about it. But she couldn’t form the question. Her mouth had gone dry.
“Focus on the clay, Megan,” Kade said in a low voice. “You know where it needs to go.”
She took one deep breath and then another. But all she could see and feel were his hands. So she closed her eyes as she increased the wheel’s speed.
