Baby's First Homecoming. Cathy McDavid

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      Chapter Three

      Clay rang his mother’s doorbell. She always told him to use his key and just come in, but he didn’t feel right about that. Perhaps because the spacious townhouse in the upscale Scottsdale neighborhood had never struck him as home.

       His mother’s home, he reminded himself.

       The door swung open. “Clay, sweetheart! Come in.” Blythe Duvall kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you called. What a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon.”

       He gave her a fond squeeze before releasing her. “How are you, Mom?”

       “Great. I shot an eighty-seven this morning. My best game in months.”

       All this time, and it still surprised him to see her in golfing attire. Or in the business suits and heels she wore to the title company where she worked as an escrow officer. She should be in jeans and boots and the floppy straw hat she’d refused to give up till it literally fell apart on her head.

       Except she hadn’t lived on a ranch in more than eight years and probably wouldn’t ever again.

       “Good for you.” Clay followed her into the kitchen where a newspaper lay spread open on the breakfast bar.

       “Can I get you something? A cold drink? Coffee?”

       “Just ice water.”

       “You sounded so serious on the phone.” She busied herself pouring their water. “Something the matter?”

       “Not exactly.”

       He sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and let his gaze travel the stylish, ultra-contemporary kitchen, with its high-tech appliances and built-in flat-panel TV. Like his mother’s clothes, the kitchen felt wrong. He remembered her cooking hearty meals at their huge gas range and a refrigerator covered with photos, reminder notes and school papers.

       His parents had divorced about the time his father exercised a small-print clause in his contract with the Powells and sold off their land, effectively putting them out of the cattle business. Clay honestly didn’t know if the sale of the land was the final straw in a marriage circling the drain or a last-ditch effort to save it.

       The story changed depending on which parent was telling it.

       Because his mother sided with Clay against his father regarding the Powells’ land, they had remained close. Neither of them kept much of a connection with Bud Duvall.

       “I have some news,” Clay said. “Rather incredible news.”

       “Uh-oh.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed, replaced by worry. “The last incredible news you had was when you told me you and Jessica were getting married and moving to Texas.”

       They both knew how badly that had turned out. No two people had been more ill-suited for each other or more blind until it was too late.

       “No, I’m not getting married again.”

       “What is it then?” She placed two glasses of ice water on the breakfast bar and slipped into the stool beside him.

       He hesitated, honestly not sure how his mother would react. She wanted grandchildren. She also wanted Clay happily married and settled first.

       “I told you Sierra Powell was coming home for the wedding.”

       “You did.”

       Clay’s mother and Sierra’s mother had been good friends before tragedy had struck, cutting Louise Powell’s life short.

       “She brought her young son with her.”

       “Really! I wasn’t aware she had any children.”

       “No one was, including her family.”

       His mother’s hands flew to her cheeks. “That must have come as a shock. Though I’m sure Wayne is overjoyed. He dotes on his granddaughter, Sage’s daughter, too.”

       “He is overjoyed.” Clay inhaled deeply. “There’s something else you need to know. It’s good news, I assure you. But unexpected.”

       “Now you’ve got me scared.”

       “Sierra’s son… Well, I’m the father.”

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