Clay Read Free Page A

do,” the old man said. “Been seeing him back here in the swamp since he was a boy, him and his brothers and all his cousins—that would be Wade and Adam, and Kane, Luke and Roan, too.”
    “You know whether he’s married then?”
    The old man gave her a sly look. “Now why’d you want to know a thing like that?”
    “Not the reason you’re thinking,” she said shortly. “I just wondered who will miss him when he doesn’t come home this evening.”
    Arty snorted, a sound that might have meant anything. “Clay ain’t married. Lives alone for the most part, says no woman could put up with his rambling around the swamp for days on end or dragging home muddy plants, sick birds or hurt things. Probably right, too.”
    “That’s good, then.”
    “’Course, some folk could still get a mite perturbed if he stays gone too long.”
    “Such as?”
    “Roan, for one. Clay’s supposed to dress up in a fancy suit and stand up at the sheriff’s wedding, or so he told me the other day.”
    Janna stiffened. “You don’t mean it?”
    “Big to-do, for these parts anyway,” the old man said with a nod. “The sheriff went and got himself a rich wife with a lot of high-falutin’ friends. They started out planning just a little bit of a wedding, but the thing’s sort of snowballed on ’em. Least, that’s the way I hear it.”
    “You think the sheriff will come looking for him then.”
    “Sooner or later.”
    “How soon?”
    Arty rubbed the back of his neck as he squinted in thought. “Don’t rightly know. Might be a few days, might be longer.”
    She could be forced to move faster with arrangements for Lainey’s surgery. At the thought, she felther nerves wind a few turns tighter. “The airboat,” she said. “It’s sitting out there in plain sight. I’d do something with it, but I can’t leave Lainey. I don’t suppose you would…”
    “’Bout as well, I suppose, since I’ve gone this far,” he said with a laconic rasp to his voice. “I can hide it over to my place.”
    One more problem down, Janna thought. And only a million or so more to go.
    Arty attached an extra length of plastic-coated cable to the nylon rope at Clay Benedict’s waist. The addition was long enough, barely, to reach to the bathroom that was just across the hall. The old man tested it for holding power, then stood staring down at the younger man for a long moment. Finally he gave a slow shake of his ragged head.
    “Sorry you helped me?” Janna asked from where she stood at the foot of the bed.
    “Just thinking about what’s going to happen, after.”
    In the stress of the moment, she hadn’t looked that far ahead and couldn’t seem to now for the jumble of thoughts and fears and plans in her head. “I don’t follow.”
    “I mean, when it’s over, or maybe just when Clay wakes up. He ain’t gonna like being tied down one bit.”
    No, she didn’t imagine he would. Her gaze flickered to the man on the bed, his solid bulk and strong, competent hands. “You think he’ll press charges, maybe for assault, kidnapping—whatever?”
    Arty pursed his lips. “Might.”
    Dread surged through Janna. She was perfectly willing to face prosecution for the sake of her daughter, but what would she do if she had to leave her to the care of someone else while she appeared in court, or worse, served time?
    “On the other hand, he might not,” Arty went on.
    “Meaning you think he’ll be too embarrassed?”
    “Wouldn’t say that.”
    Arty’s features had not relaxed. Studying the old-timer, she asked, “What, then?”
    “Don’t know, since Clay’s not exactly like other people. He’s a deep one, not easy to figure. He’s also a wild one, not some lapdog you can keep on a leash, and he’s tricky, especially with tools and such. Most country vets are, being as they learn early to make do with what’s on hand. You’ll have a job holding him, I can tell you that much. And I warn you that the devil may be in him when you let