The Other Woman's Son

“I hope you’re not directing that hiss at me.” Clay Dillon suddenly appeared in front of her, heading the opposite way down the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms.

She’d been sitting when they met so hadn’t realized how tall he was, probably a good six inches taller than her five-eight. Too tall, she thought. He was dressed similarly to the other night, in jeans and a collarless shirt, this one in black. The shirt wasn’t so tight that it showed off the definition in his chest, but she noticed how powerfully built he was all the same. Too muscular.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I was just warming up my voice.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Once word gets around about how good you are, we’ll start filling up this place.” His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and she felt silly for suspecting him of God only knew what. He was a bar owner trying to increase business, and she was a means to that end. “How’s the Peabody? The room okay?”

“The room’s beautiful.” She itched to get back to the stage, but guilt over her previous mistrust of him caused her to prolong the conversation. “I hear you have a new bartender.”

“Oh, yeah. Nick. He’s a friend from high school who just got married. He and his wife had a baby a month ago.”

The new wife and baby vividly explained why his friend needed a job. She couldn’t help admiring Clay for providing one, even if his friend did lack experience.

“I should be getting back to the stage,” she said. “It’s almost time for us to start.”

“Of course.”

She moved to pass him but the hallway was so narrow that her body brushed his. Their eyes met, and awareness washed over her, as surprising as it was acute. She took a breath and caught his scent, a pleasant blend of soap, shampoo and warm male skin.

“Sorry,” he said, continuing past her as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She moved to the stage without looking back, telling herself she’d imagined the moment. She drew her share of male interest, but she was hardly a femme fatale who knocked men dead with her stunning looks. And he certainly hadn’t done anything to indicate he’d hired her for anything more than professional reasons.

Clay Dillon, by all indications, was a stand-up guy who gave jobs to friends in need and thought Two Gals could improve his bar’s bottom line.

Jenna disregarded her lingering suspicion about the gig being too good to be true. In a very short time her temporary singing career would come to a screeching halt. She intended to enjoy her good fortune before it did.

CLAY STOOD BEHIND THE BAR, his arms crossed over his chest. The rich texture of Jenna’s voice washed over him as she sang an Aretha Franklin song. Her dark slacks and button-down shirt were only slightly less casual than the clothes she’d worn in Little Rock. She again seemed like a different woman on stage than off: more spontaneous, less guarded and lit by an inner passion he couldn’t detect while talking to her.

He felt the unwelcome pull of attraction, but pushed it aside. It could only lead to complications in a situation already complex enough. She finished the song, acknowledged the applause from the light crowd, then sipped a glass of water while Corrine took center stage with an instrumental version of a Ray Charles song.

“Clay, did you hear a word I said?”

Vicky Smith, the best waitress in Memphis, stared up at him from across the bar, her elbows perched on the wooden surface. She stood about five feet nothing, but what she lacked in height she made up for in personality.

“You need a couple drafts?” he guessed.

“Not right now, I don’t. All my customers have what they need.” Her gaze challenged him to try again.

“You were complaining about Seth?”

“That doesn’t prove you were listening,” she rejoined. “I always complain about Seth.”

“I was listening. You said he accused you of having an affair.”

“He always does that, too, the big jerk. He’s gentle as can be with me but swears he’ll tear apart the guy I’m sleeping with. As though I’d fool around with one guy while dating another. You know I’m not that kind of woman, right?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Then why doesn’t he?”

“He’s got a jealousy problem.”

“You think?”

“I know.” With difficulty he tore his attention from the stage and focused his full attention on Vicky. “Guys like Seth, they don’t change, Vick. If he’s this jealous now, it’ll only get worse if you marry him.”

“If? You’re saying I should rethink the engagement?”

Hell, yeah, except he would have used the word “break” instead of “rethink.” This was a conclusion Vicky needed to reach on her own. “I’m saying I want you to be happy. Since you started dating this guy, I haven’t seen a whole lot of smiles from you.”

She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, he saw resignation. “I knew there was a reason I go to you with my problems. Sometimes you’re pretty smart.”

“Sometimes? Mensa would be lucky to have me,” he teased.

“I said sometimes, and I meant sometimes. You hired Nick, didn’t you?” She nodded toward the new bartender, who consulted a book while mixing what looked to be a gin and tonic. “By the way, you should go for it.”

He brought his gaze back to Vicky. “Go for what?”

“The singer. You can’t take your eyes off her.”

Had it been that obvious? “That’s because she’s talented.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Vicky left to tend to her tables. Clay wondered how the waitress would react if he confided the primary reason for his interest in Jenna, not that he was free to do so. Darcy had begged him not to tell anyone at the bar about her kidney problems.

No matter. He’d done what he needed to get Jenna to Memphis. His next step was bringing Darcy to Peyton’s Place so the half sisters could finally meet, which could happen tonight because he’d suggested Darcy stop by with her boyfriend to hear the duo.

“Hey, Clay.” Darcy appeared at the bar as though his thoughts had conjured her up. But, no. If he imagined his sister, her smile would be genuine. She usually appeared lit from an inner glow, but her essence seemed dimmed today.

“Hey, Darcy. Can I get you something?”

“What I’d really love is a big old glass of wine,” she said wryly, “but I suppose tonic water will have to do. Half a glass, please.”

“Coming right up,” he said.

As he filled the glass part way and topped it with a lemon, he mentally reviewed what he knew of her dialysis routine. The physically taxing treatments took her out of commission for the rest of the day, but she usually bounced back on off days. She’d settled on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays for the treatments, so today was an off day. Still, if her rate of kidney failure had increased…

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked as he handed her the tonic water.

“Shh.” She brought a finger to her rosebud lips and raised the light-colored eyebrows that marked her as a true blonde. “If your employees hear you, they’ll ask me how I’m feeling every single time they see me, the same as you do.”

He couldn’t argue her point. Most of the people who worked for him knew Darcy, either from when she’d helped out at the bar last summer or her impromptu visits.

He was careful to keep his voice down. “I wouldn’t keep asking if you promised to tell me when you don’t feel well.”

“I feel fine today,” she said.

It didn’t escape his notice that she’d qualified her statement with “today” and that she hadn’t made any promises. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Am I that transparent?” She rolled her eyes, seemingly more at herself than him. “It’s Kenny.”