Читать книгу The Other Woman's Son - Darlene Gardner - Страница 8

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME. I’ll be fine.”

After her declaration, Darcy Wright deliberately raised the edges of her lips. The way she’d trained herself since learning four days ago that she needed a second kidney transplant.

Darcy’s mother, standing in front of her dressed in a trendy tennis outfit, expected that sort of blind optimism. So did her brother Clay. Besides, if Darcy let the happy mask she’d worn during the Memorial Day weekend slip, she might not be able to put it back on.

“This doesn’t feel right, Darcy. I shouldn’t be playing tennis at the country club while you’re getting your first dialysis treatment.”

“I appreciate that, Mom. I really do. But I’ve gone through dialysis before. I know what to expect. And it’s not like I’ll be there all alone. Kenny’s coming with me.”

After breaking the news to her boyfriend of six months that her kidney was failing, Darcy had let her stiff upper lip quiver and asked him to keep her company at her initial session. He’d been as sweet as the sugar-coated chewy candy she used to snack on years ago, before doctors instructed her to carefully monitor her diet.

“I adore Kenny. You know that. But I’m your mother. I should be there, too.”

Not if Darcy could help it. She’d learned from experience that her mother had an even harder time watching Darcy go through dialysis than Darcy did experiencing it.

“I don’t need both you and Kenny there. Honest,” Darcy said. “I already had to get special permission for Kenny. The people at the center would flip if I tried to bring both of you into dialysis.”

Her mother shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Darcy absently noticed her tennis shoes featured pink Nike swooshes. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely.” Darcy boosted the corners of her mouth higher. “I’d hate for you to miss your Tuesday tennis match because of me, especially because you’re looking so good.”

“In this old thing?” Her mother swept a hand over the hot pink lycra top she’d paired with a navy blue and pink skirt that showed off her excellent figure. She’d tied her shoulder-length blond hair in a ponytail that showed off the pretty face she pampered with skin-care products. “I’m dying to get a new outfit but so far I’ve resisted.”

“That one looks great.” Darcy hoped it had finally gotten through to her mother that the household cash flow had died with Darcy’s father. They could still afford the house and Darcy’s college tuition, but not much else. Certainly not a country club membership. Her mother was going as a guest.

“I suppose I should head out then.” Her mother’s reluctance showed through in every word.

“Have fun.”

“I’ll try. But I’ll be thinking about you every single minute.” She kissed Darcy on the cheek, the light scent of her perfume lingering even after she left the house.

Darcy didn’t allow her face to relax until the engine of the Jaguar her father had paid off before he died roared to life. She blew out a breath and massaged the muscles that had held up her smile.

Constantly reassuring her mother and brother that everything would be okay could be exhausting. Kenny, at least, didn’t hover. They hadn’t seen each other since she’d filled him in on her situation Friday night.

He’d gone through with plans to leave Saturday morning with some college buddies for a three-day canoeing trip. She hadn’t dreamed of asking him to cancel but wouldn’t have minded a phone call to see how she was doing.

Shoving the thought aside, she moved over the terrazzo floors through the house that her mother had hired a top interior designer to decorate in a southwestern motif. Fabric-covered sofas, leather accent chairs and throw rugs artfully scattered on the floor reflected the red, tan and brown colors of the desert. Original landscapes by local artists hung from the walls but the most stunning view was that of the Mississippi River through the bank of large windows lining the back side of the house.

The home sat along a mile-long sidewalk situated on a bluff above a gently curving street running along the mighty river, but it was reachable by car only from the front side.

The window above the hammered copper sink in the kitchen afforded a view of the road. Darcy poured herself a half glass of ice water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, then sipped it while she watched for Kenny Coleman’s Mustang. Since dialysis patients had to limit their fluid intake, the cool water sliding down her throat felt like a luxury.

She tried to mentally talk herself out of being disappointed that Kenny hadn’t called. Instead, she’d think about how his presence would help her avoid worrying about the future while she was hooked up to the dialysis machine.

Fifteen minutes after he was supposed to arrive, Kenny’s red Mustang convertible finally swung into the driveway. Even from inside the house, Darcy could hear rock music blaring from the car stereo.

She gathered up her backpack and went quickly out the door, striving to convey an eagerness to get the treatment over with. She was loath to let anyone, even Kenny, know how much she dreaded it.

He met her halfway up the driveway, looking like a college coed’s dream in sunglasses, khaki shorts, a University of Tennessee T-shirt and flip-flops. The sun had kissed the ends of his brown hair, and his tanned skin glowed with health and vitality.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

That was Kenny, Darcy thought. The king of charm, able to sound sincere even though Darcy realized she’d probably never looked worse.

“Hey, Kenny.”

He leaned down to close the eight-inch gap in their heights and kissed her on the mouth, the contact brief and almost chaste. She got a whiff of a peppermint breath mint before he took the backpack dangling from her hand. “Ready to go?”

She summoned her smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He opened the passenger door, dumping the backpack in the backseat before stepping aside to let her in and closing the door. Like a true gentleman. That had been one of the things that attracted her to him in the first place.

They’d met at the University of Tennessee after she brushed too close to a display of texts at the campus bookstore. The stack had toppled, raining tomes onto the floor. Kenny helped her pick them up, making her laugh by apologizing for not noticing disaster was imminent. He’d carried her purchases to the cash register, claiming the only thing he’d accept as thanks was a date. They’d been together ever since.

A bonus in dating Kenny was that he lived not even ten miles away, which would enable them to see each other as often as they liked now that the spring semester was over.

“How’d the canoe trip go?” she asked after he slowed the Mustang to a crawl to give a sanitation truck room to pass on the narrow road.

“It was a blast.” He turned the radio down slightly. “You’ve met Harv, right? Tall, skinny guy with long sideburns and a soul patch. He told us he’d been on the river plenty of times. First thing he does is steer the damn thing straight into a huge rock. We hit so hard, I fell off my seat.

“Then he hangs us up on some smaller rocks and has the bright idea to get out of the canoe to jostle us loose. So me and the canoe are drifting downstream and Harv’s swimming as fast as he can behind to catch up. Jake and B.B. were laughing so hard they couldn’t row.”

Kenny kept up a lively commentary the entire drive to the transplant center, which featured its own dialysis facilities. He didn’t seem to notice Darcy had to make an effort to laugh. She was almost glad when they pulled up to the center, because she didn’t think she could fake it much longer.

Bypassing the parking lot, he pulled up to the horseshoe-shaped curb in front of the building and put the Mustang into Park. Darcy’s muscles froze, rebelling at the prospect of walking into the building alone.

“You don’t have to let me off here.” She kept her voice light. “From what I remember, everybody’s pretty understanding if you show up a few minutes past appointment time. So I can walk with you from the parking lot.”

“About that…” His voice trailed off, then started up again. “B.B’s starting his new job Wednesday. He didn’t get a chance to move his stuff into his new apartment yet because of the canoe trip. So I kind of told him I’d help him. You don’t mind, do you?”

Her throat constricted, preventing speech. She managed to move her head, but she wasn’t sure in what direction.

“Didn’t think you would.” His voice got louder, more cheerful. “It’s not like I can do anything when you’re on that machine but sit there.”

His dark sunglasses rendered it impossible for her to read his eyes and figure out how he’d arrived at that stunningly bad conclusion.

“But—” she began.

“So what time should I pick you up?” He tapped the clock on the dashboard, which showed a few minutes past ten o’clock. “How about one-thirty? If that’s not good, call me on my cell.”

She nodded wordlessly and got stiffly out of the car, as though she were a robot somebody had programmed to move. She barely acknowledged the short beep of the horn as he drove away.

Her lower lip trembled so much that she caught it with her upper teeth to still it. She’d counted on Kenny to help get her through this first treatment, but now she had to face it alone.

She put one foot in front of the other, drawing inexorably closer to the center. A handsome older man who looked like Kenny might in twenty years opened the door for her. She tried to smile when she stated her thanks, but couldn’t.

The faint smell of antiseptic that she associated with the center hit her like a blast from a fan when she stepped into the lobby. Her steps slowed. She couldn’t do this. Not by herself.

She blindly whirled back toward the exit, nearly plowing into a tall, solidly built man. He reached out his arms, placing them on her shoulders to steady her.

“You all right, Darcy?”

She blinked until the moisture that had started to gather in her eyes cleared and the man’s face came into view. Clay, her brother, a deep V of concern drawing his dark brows together.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

“What kind of question is that to ask your big brother? I’m here to keep you company.” The smile he wore looked even less genuine than the ones she usually pasted on. His gaze flickered over the lobby. “Where’s Mom?”

“You know how she gets in places like this. I convinced her not to come because Kenny would be with me.”

“Then where’s Kenny?”

Darcy swallowed, unable to tell him how Kenny had bolted. “He’ll be by to pick me up.”

His expression hardened, and she got the strong impression he’d heard what she hadn’t said. “No need for that. I’ll still be here when you’re finished.”

Relief flooded through her like water cascading over a broken dam. But she couldn’t ask Clay to spend four hours holding her hand, not when he already did so much for her.

“You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be just fine,” she said, her tone less convincing than she would have liked. “I understand you have a business to run.”

“My business can wait.” Flinging an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the elevator.

Her heart felt somewhat lighter, the prospect of four hours hooked up to a machine not as daunting. But she was well aware that the treatment marked the beginning of a long, difficult journey.

If Clay realized that, why hadn’t Kenny?

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

Her brother Jeff’s words echoed in Jenna’s mind that Friday as she and Corrine stepped into the hotel elevator from the floor where they were sharing a deluxe double room during their first weekend in Memphis. Clay Dillon had made good on his word, putting them up at the Peabody, one of downtown Memphis’s classiest and best-known hotels.

Corrine was strangely silent, giving Jenna time to reflect on her brother Jeff’s reaction to the Memphis gig. She’d told him the news earlier that afternoon when she phoned his brokerage firm to cancel their weekend dinner plans.

“Something about this sounds too good to be true,” he’d said. “What do you know about the guy who owns the bar, anyway?”

“I know he thinks I can sing.”

“Of course you can sing, but you haven’t performed in years. You said yourself you were rusty. So why you?”

“He hired me and Corrine, Jeff, not just me.”

Even as she responded, Jenna feared her answer was misleading. From the moment her eyes had met Clay Dillon’s, she’d gotten the impression it was about her.

“I have a call on another line so I’ve got to go.” He sounded rushed, the same way he always did. “But do me a favor and check him out. People aren’t always what they seem.”

Excellent advice. Too bad he’d issued it too late to take him up on it. She should have thought to check out the tall, dark and mysterious Clay Dillon herself, of course, but she’d been swamped at work.

“Do we know for certain Clay Dillon is legitimate?” she asked Corrine as the elevator car descended to the lobby floor.

Corrine shifted her guitar case from one shoulder to the other and released an audible sigh. “Could you stop already?”

“Stop what?”

“Making me feel guilty for dragging you into this. My career hasn’t exactly played out like I imagined it would. And, well, chances like this don’t come around very often. I appreciate you coming on board.”

“I know that, Corrine. I agreed so you could get the exposure you deserve.” Jenna ignored the internal voice that suggested the pleasure she got from performing had something to do with it, too. “I’m simply asking how closely you checked out Clay Dillon.”

“I took a trip to Memphis to see Peyton’s Place before I sealed the deal.”

“That’s checking out the bar, not the man.”

“The man owns the bar. The bar’s on Beale Street.” Corrine had reported the bar was “cozy,” which probably meant it was tiny. “What are you so worried about? Clay put us up at the Peabody, just like he said he would.”

The Peabody was a Memphis institution, as much a tourist attraction as a hotel courtesy of the ducks that marched to and from the sculpted fountain in the Grand Lobby twice daily to a John Philip Sousa tune. On a red carpet, no less.

Corrine had talked excitedly of witnessing the duck parade after learning where they’d be staying, but hadn’t even complained they’d arrived too late for the show.

Come to think of it, Corrine had been subdued all day.

The elevator opened to the Grand Lobby, the focal point of which was an expansive bar area featuring the sculpted fountain where the mallard ducks spent their days before retiring to a rooftop cage. Stately columns, plush furniture, a stained-glass ceiling and deco-style lights added to the drama of the Lobby Bar, where patrons with drinks in hand were thanking God it was Friday.

As they walked through the richly appointed space, Jenna touched her friend’s arm. “You okay, Corrine?”

“Sure.” Her brittle smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Jenna knew Corrine well enough to realize she wouldn’t talk about what was bothering her until she was good and ready.

The Peabody was on Union Avenue in the heart of downtown Memphis, just a few blocks from the segment of Beale Street closed to traffic every evening. Summer hadn’t yet officially arrived, but the June night was balmy, the air settling heavily over the city and dampening Jenna’s brow by the time they arrived on Beale. They walked the long way, so they could take in the atmosphere.

Shops, restaurants and clubs lined the street, with neon lights proclaiming the names of establishments and live music drifting from doorways. The party crowd didn’t stick to the sidewalks, straying into the middle of the street. Some held huge plastic cups of ale they’d bought at the sidewalk counter advertising Big Ass Beer.

An Elvis impersonator in a sequined outfit and blue suede shoes belted out a song on a street corner, his tip jar in front of him. A massive man with a parrot perched on his shoulder strolled in front of them. Conversation, nearby traffic noise and music blended together, bombarding the senses.

“Wow. It’s crowded,” Jenna said.

A large, noisy group of twentysomethings passed by, nearly separating them. Corrine hooked an elbow through Jenna’s. “It’s always packed on weekends. But why don’t you know that? You grew up here.”

“Mom, Jeff and I moved to Little Rock when I was seven.” Jenna didn’t have to tell Corrine how traumatic the move had been for all of them. Her friend already knew Jenna’s heartbroken mother had left Memphis after a younger, prettier woman had broken up her marriage. “I haven’t been back to Memphis in years.”

Jenna vividly remembered her last visit eight years ago when her boss signed her up for a financial analysis seminar. The seminar had ended unexpectedly early, which Jenna took as a sign to call the father she hadn’t seen in years.

She remembered her fingers shaking when she dialed his office number and her voice trembling when she asked if he was free. He pronounced it wonderful to hear from her and arranged to meet her for a drink at a downtown bar.

After a single martini and some awkward silences, he apologized for having dinner plans and left. Her father had lived six more years, but that was the last time Jenna talked to him. She hadn’t been back to Memphis until today.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” Corrine nudged her elbow, a quintessential Corrine gesture. The closer they got to Peyton’s Place, the more whatever had been bothering her friend took a backseat to her excitement.

They continued walking along the four-block section of street, the crowd thinning exponentially until Clay Dillon’s bar came into view. The building had a brick facade with bay windows flanking the doorway, over which green neon letters spelled out Peyton’s Place.

The interior of the establishment was long and narrow, with a bar featuring green rails and corrugated steel running half the length of one mirrored wall. Photos of jazz and blues legends hung on the opposite wall above a series of green vinyl booths. A smattering of tables filled the space between bar and booths. Fans and lights on chains hung from a ceiling that had been painted the same shade of green found in the green-and-black checkered linoleum floor.

At first it seemed as though the raised stage was at the very rear of the place, but Jenna spotted a corridor lined with more booths that probably led to the kitchen and restrooms. She couldn’t decide whether Peyton’s Place really was bigger than it looked or only seemed that way because it couldn’t have been more than one-quarter full.

“Let me guess. You two are Two Gals.” A petite woman with long, curly red hair and the tattoo of a butterfly on her upper arm approached them, gesturing at Corrine’s guitar case. “I’m Vicky. Clay asked me to tell you to get started whenever you’re ready.”

“Where is Clay anyway?” Corrine asked.

“He went to pick up a friend of his he just hired to tend the bar.” Vicky shook her head and muttered, “As though giving the guy a job when he knows nothing about mixing drinks wasn’t doing enough.”

“Why’d he hire him then?” Jenna asked.

“The guy needs the paycheck. But, geez Louise. We need a bartender who knows what he’s doing.” She made a face, perhaps realizing she’d said too much. “Anyway, Clay’ll be here soon.”

Jenna followed Corrine onto the stage, then excused herself to find a restroom while Corrine tuned her guitar. Only two stalls occupied the small space, both of which were empty, so she began her vocal warm-ups. She used the same ones she’d learned as a child, hissing like a snake and buzzing like a bee. She was midhiss when she emerged from the restroom.

“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.”

“Is he parking the car?”

“I don’t know where he is. We were supposed to hang out, but he cancelled on me at the last minute.”

Clay felt his back muscles tense. First Kenny let Darcy down on her first day of dialysis and now this. “Did he say why?”

“He thinks he might be coming down with something.”

Clay hadn’t forgiven the younger man for not realizing how much Darcy needed his support during her first dialysis treatment, but he couldn’t fault Kenny for canceling tonight’s date. Not when kidney disease compromised his sister’s immune system.

“You can’t afford to get a cold, Darcy,” Clay said.

“I can’t live in a bubble, either.” If another female had answered him that way, she would have sounded snappish. But Darcy managed to convey her point with wry good cheer. “I didn’t feel like staying in, so I called a couple girlfriends but they already had plans. So here I am.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” He reached across the bar and patted her on the cheek. “As long as you don’t stay out too late.”

This time she very definitely directed her eye roll at him. On stage, Corrine’s impressive guitar work on the instrumental piece concluded, Jenna grabbed for the microphone.

“How ’bout I give you something to talk about?” she asked, then launched into the Bonnie Raitt song of the same name, interjecting the lyrics with a country twang. Corrine expertly accompanied her on slide guitar, but it was Jenna’s throaty voice that filled every corner of the bar.

Darcy listened for a few moments, obviously enraptured. “She’s good.”

“She is,” Clay confirmed.

“Hey, Clay, is a Long Island Iced Tea the sweetened or unsweetened kind? And where do we keep it?” Nick, the new bartender, cupped his hands around his mouth so Clay could hear his shouted question.

Hiding a groan, Clay held up a finger to indicate he’d be with Nick momentarily.

Darcy leaned over the bar and asked, “Did your bartender really just ask that?”

“He’s new. A friend from high school.”

“You want me to help him out?”

He wanted Darcy to take it easy and get well. “I’ll handle it. You enjoy the music.”

“Not a problem,” Darcy said, her eyes on Jenna. “I’m going to find a table nearer the stage.”

She left before Clay could say anything more. He frowned, realizing he hadn’t thought past getting Jenna to Memphis. He didn’t plan to keep her connection to Darcy a secret, but neither had he considered how to break the news.

“I got a customer waiting.” Nick sidled over to him, panic in his wide, unknowing eyes. The seats at the bar had started to fill up, something Clay had failed to notice.

“A Long Island Iced Tea is a mixed drink, Nick. Equal parts vodka, rum, gin, tequila and lemon, with a splash of Coke for color. It’s listed in that bartender’s guide to mixed drinks I gave you.”

Nick’s brow furrowed. “Vodka, gin, whiskey and what else?”

“Not whiskey. Rum and tequila. But never mind. I’ll make it. You help some other customers.”

The next half hour passed in a blur even though the bar wasn’t near capacity, mostly because of Nick’s inexperience.

“I asked for a Vodka Collins and got a Vodka Martini,” a customer groused to Clay. “Took a long time to get it, too. If not for the music, I’d be out of here.”

“We’ve got a new bartender,” Clay said. “Tell you what. The martini’s on the house, and I’ll personally make your next drink. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds like I’m staying through the next set. Where’s the duo from anyway? They’re terrific, especially the singer.”

“Little Rock. First time performing in Memphis. Tell your friends,” he said into the silence that signaled the band was taking a break. Music from the jukebox kicked in.

He glanced at the wall clock, noted the time at nearly eleven and looked up to check on Darcy only to find the table where she’d been sitting empty. Unease pricked the back of his neck as he scanned the bar. Surely she’d have told him if she planned to leave.

Vicky approached, curly red hair streaming behind her, barking out a drink order to Nick as she came. “Three Bud drafts and a glass of white wine.”

Clay made sure Nick pulled out the right glasses, then met Vicky at the bar. “Hey, Vick. Do you know where Darcy is?”

Vicky nodded toward the exit. “She followed that singer outside a couple minutes ago. Said she wanted to tell her how much she likes her singing.”