Page 39 of A Shared Mind

I glanced in his direction and smiled. “I haven’t told her anything about your business, darlin’. Mama is going to love you regardless of anything, because I—because you’re a great person.

“As far as your alleged demonic possession, Justin? I know you were possessed by a malevolent spirit. I don’t understand it, but I saw it for myself. I’ll vouch for you should you ever need it. I believe in you, Justin.”

The adoring expression on his face as I glanced at him was beautiful. He believed I would protect him, and in my heart I vowed that I’d do so with my life.

“Thank you, Clay. You might not understand how much that means to me, but it means a lot.”

I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but since I was driving, that wasn’t possible. Justin confirmed what I believed about him—he was an amazing man. He was an amazing man I was coming to find I wanted as my own.

Chapter Nineteen

Justin

Sterling City was a small town in the middle of Missouri. When we drove by the sign that delineated the city limits, I noticed the population: two-thousand and fifty residents. Growing up in Sweet Springs, which boasted twelve hundred and three residents, the small town where Clay lived wasn’t much different from where I grew up.

Clay turned into the parking lot of a small grocery store on the north side of the town square where the town’s public library and post office surrounded a large, sculpted water fountain. It was a quaint picture befitting a small town in any literary work.

The Sterling City Shop and Go bustled with activity. The huge yellow-and-orange sign on the brick building was definitely hard to miss. The store was labeled as the only shopping spot in Sterling City. I wanted to laugh, but growing up in my own small town, it made sense the owners would use the lack of competition to their advantage.

“Come in with me, will you? Do you mind?”

I certainly hadn’t expected him to ask me to accompany him into the store, but when he did, I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t act on my impulse because it was his hometown and I had no idea whether the townsfolk knew he was gay. I’d let Clay lead the way regarding what people did or didn’t know about why we were together.

“I don’t mind at all. Can I get some flowers for your mother? Does she like them, or is she not a fan? Any allergies or anything?”

Clay’s eyes seemed to light up and a sexy grin overtook his face. “My mother would love it if you brought her a simple bouquet. She’s not a fancy gal, but she loves flowers that smell nice. No allergies.”

“Okay, uh, if you’ll help me figure out the right mix for her, I’d appreciate it. I w-want to make a g-good impression with your m-mother. I want her to l-like me.” I was nervous again. I couldn’t help it; I’d never met anyone’s mother before.

“I don’t think you’re going to find my mama will dislike you for any reason. Come on.” Clay took my hand and placed it on the cart, his hand on the small of my back. The warmth from his touch zinged through me.

We headed to the far side of the store to shop for the produce his mother had listed, and I hid my smile as Clay closely scrutinized the vegetables, asking me if I believed he was picking the right carrots, potatoes, and tomatoes, according to his mom’s requirements.

“Do you like apples? Mama makes a hell of an apple pie. If I pick up apples, she’ll make a pie.”

I nodded. “I can make a hell of an apple pie too.”

His surprised expression made me smile. “Oh, yeah? How big is your cooking repertoire?”

I shrugged. “I guess it’s for you to find out.”

Clay laughed as he loaded six large Granny Smith apples into a produce bag. We worked through his mother’s shopping list and Clay’s own list, and once we put the groceries in the truck, most of them by my feet, we headed toward the farm where Clay and Miss Pansy lived. Where his dead fiancé hadn’t wanted to live.

“This is beautiful. The fields and the houses are just breathtaking,” I said as Clay drove up a gravel hill that revealed the gorgeous scenery.

“I’m glad you think so. I love this land, and to hear that you see how incredible it is makes me happy.” Clay pulled up to a beautiful, white brick house with black shutters and a bright blue front door. “Let’s take our stuff inside first and then we’ll go to Mama’s place.”

He opened my door and took two of the grocery bags while I took the third and followed him around the ranch house to the back porch and inside. The kitchen was larger than I expected with cream-colored walls, whitewashed wooden floors, and pine bead board on the bottom half of the walls. It was beautiful, even though it was decorated a bit sparsely. The counters were butcher-block and well cared for, and the cabinets were the same cream as the walls. With a little pop of color, it could be amazing.

“I’ll get our bags out of the truck. Please, make yourself at home, and if you don’t mind, will you put the perishables in the fridge? I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer, Clay was out the back door.

Once I snooped through all the cabinets, I was able to put the groceries away and found where he kept his extra bags. I glanced out the window toward the fields and noticed how beautiful the view was. There was a back patio with a gas grill and a small fire pit surrounded by a few chairs. It all looked very neat and inviting. It was the image of a home I’d dreamed of since I’d lost my parents.

There was a small brick home about fifty yards up a hill that was a smaller version of Clay’s house, which I guessed was his mother’s. To the right of that was a large white building that must have been her studio.

“Sorry it took me so long. I got a call from one of the neighbors about my sorghum harvest. I’ll go take a look at the sorghum fields in the morning and maybe I’ll harvest it while we’re here if you’re okay waiting a few days to go to St. Louis. I didn’t think to ask if you talked to Steve about being out of the office.”

I nodded. “I sent him an email that I’ll be working out of the office this week and will be taking vacation next week. Can I go check the sorghum with you? I have no idea what sorghum even looks like.”