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Susan Brooks is not happy to have to go and pick up her daughter and two friends, who have been, unknown to her, at an illegal rave. Daughter Shelly knows.
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The only reason Clay knew such a word was that she'd corrected him when he said her purple dress was fetching.

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He turned, one knee facing her hip. His voice turned concerned. There was no trace of humor lingering in his voice. His eyes narrowed. Tender fingers, so gentle, brushed her hair back from her face. But his gaze had hardened. Looking her over a little more closely. I didn't realize What would she do if he thought she was unworthy? Ever since her pa had died, she'd felt alone except for Clay.

If he turned away from her, she'd have no one left. Still he touched her, petting her hair, tracing the swelling on her cheek. Against her will, the tears flowed again. Frustrated, she mopped them with her sleeve, then winced as the action brushed fabric across her back. I can't do this, Clay.

I can't say it. Clayton changed to a near crouch. Gone were all the traces of brotherly affection. In its place was everything that had made him a brilliant soldier. Let me see your back. Clay's voice was firm. It was the voice he used when ordering cowhands around. The tone he used when Lovey, Vanessa's shepherd, forgot she was supposed to be working and there were still twenty head of cattle to bring in.

It was the tone Clay used with her brother Miles when Clay's patience was at its wit's end. He'd never spoken that way to her before. Obediently, she turned her shoulders, closing her eyes at his sharp intake of breath. As he very gently touched her torn gown, she stiffened, then exhaled in relief when his touch didn't hurt, it was so butterfly-quick.


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She turned back to face him, stunned to find him shaking. Stunned to see mist in his brown eyes. Almost roughly, he cradled her jaw with one of his hands. He'd done that for years. Called her a whole host of endearments whenever they were alone. She supposed it was because a couple of months after they'd buried her daddy, she'd confided to Clayton how she missed the words.

Her pa had been openly affectionate, her mother far less so.

INTRODUCTION.

Clayton now called her "baby," "darlin'," "sweetheart," and "honey. Anything to make her feel wanted. She couldn't lie. The truth hurt, almost as much as the belt had. Yet, lying to Clay would hurt worse.

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She nodded. Clayton looked at her for a good long moment, then, as if he made a decision, he stood up and carefully helped her to her feet. She'd seen it before. When Pa had gotten so sick, he'd asked Clay to build himself a nice suite of rooms in the back of the barn so their foreman could be within shouting distance of the house. Made up of two rooms, it had a bedroom and a small sitting area, complete with a stove.

Her pa had insisted on that, since everyone knew Clayton Proffitt liked both his coffee and his privacy. Her brother Miles said Clayton was uncannily self-sufficient. He often chose to eat by himself instead of eating with the ranch hands or joining the family in the dining room. She'd knocked on his door a time or two. Or fifty. He'd always come out to help her with her horse or to listen when she had a problem.

More than once he'd made her tea as he listened to her prattle on about anything and everything.

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But now, as they entered his bedroom, Vanessa hardly had time to do more than inhale the scent of tobacco and mint before he motioned for her to sit. She perched atop his quilt, a crazy quilt she'd made for him four Christmases ago. After checking to see that his curtains were drawn, Clay lit a kerosene lamp. Then he crouched in front of her again. When he spied her cheek in the better light a look of such concern crossed his face that Vanessa felt a fresh surge of tears struggle to come forth.

She bit her lip and hoped for strength. You've got to tell me the truth.

At the moment, I'm thinking the worst. Those eyes of his, so gentle and soft brown, ended her struggle. Tears fell again. Not yet. After a moment, he sat next to her, edging closer when he saw what she needed. With a sigh, Vanessa rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, taking in his scent, his warmth. Finding comfort in his powerful strength. Maybe he wouldn't leave her when he found out the truth. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. Clay didn't know where to put his hands.

Vanessa's back was marred by two thick bloody welts, each one a good six inches long. The tender skin was bruised and mottled.

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Fabric from her dress looked to be embedded in each one. He was afraid she had other injuries, areas that hadn't drawn blood, hurts he couldn't see. Finally settling on her upper arms, he gently rubbed her, said all those nonsense words his mama had said to him a hundred times, back when he was small. Said those words Vanessa had always craved, loving words that showed she wasn't alone, that someone cared.

Her crying continued, making his shoulder wet and his heart break. Figuring she needed to shed the tears and he needed time to control his anger, he held himself stiff and fought for patience. After another few minutes, she pulled back. Clayton, I'm so sorry—I've made a mess of you. I'll just go and—". Tell me. Oh, Price had done more than that. In the dim light he saw the swelling under the bruise on her cheek, the cut on her lip, the awareness in her eyes that a man's strength could hurt her badly.

Met his gaze, looked back down. Oh, Lord, no. Caught sight of a fingertip bruise. I couldn't. I couldn't, Clayton. I think a lot of how ASA is organized is somewhere between mysterious and totally silly, but I figure I shouldn't only complain about it on Twitter, I should probably actually get involved and see how it works, whether I might be wrong, and what I can do to make it work better. And I absolutely think who our President and other officers are matters, and I'm happy to help figure out people to nominate for those positions.

In terms of what I think my politics around nominating would be, I think it's a good idea to have people from all the various parts of sociology, as long as they're good scholars and responsible people. In this respect, I am likely similar to any number of ASA members whose careers have been more locally focused, and I would be pleased to represent this perspective through service on the nominations committee. My focus would be on continuing and expanding efforts to recruit the broadest possible cross-section of ASA members to serve the association on elected and appointed committees.

The Committee on Nominations, with its selection role, plays a key role in identifying candidates for ASA leadership, Council and several committees. Sociology is a broad discipline, spanning a multitude of substantive topics, a wide variety of methodological approaches, departments with different missions, and importantly a diverse membership.