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“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.”
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER SPENDING THE PAST few hours inside Clay Dillon’s bar, Jenna expected the fresh air to invigorate her but humidity still hung heavily over the night.
“You were good in there,” a man old enough to have listened to his share of the blues told her. “Kind of reminded me of Etta James.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t hide her delight at being compared to a blues great. Getting out into the humid air had reinvigorated her after all.
Peyton’s Place was situated at a portion of the street that had a much quieter feel than the busiest part of Beale.
Not many people milled about except for herself and a quartet of young men, drinks in hand, clustered around a young blonde who’d exited Peyton’s Place. Sensing trouble when the tallest and broadest of the four released a piercing wolf whistle, Jenna started toward them.
“Wanna party with us?” the big guy asked the blonde.
“Sorry, boys. I don’t drink,” the blonde said firmly but sweetly.
“Who said anything ’bout drinking?” The shortest of the four slurred his words and took what Jenna perceived as a threatening step toward the young woman.
“Mind your manners,” the blonde scolded, still in the same sweet tone. “What would your mama say if she heard you?”
The other three erupted into good-natured laughter, ribbing their drunk friend until he was laughing, too.
“Give Peyton’s Place a try tonight,” she told them. “My brother owns the bar and he brought in a fabulous rhythm-and-blues duo.”
The sweet little blonde who’d deftly handled the four raucous young men was Clay Dillon’s sister? Able to drum up business for her brother’s bar with the brilliance of her smile?
“We’ll do that,” the man who’d whistled at her said.
“You won’t be sorry.” She walked away from the men, straight toward Jenna, not stopping until she reached her. “I just had to come out here and tell you how much I love your singing.”
“Thank you,” Jenna said. “I’m a fan of yours, too. I saw the way you handled those guys just now.”
“Oh, that was nothing.” She waved a hand in the general direction of where the men had been. “They were harmless. Just had a little much to drink, is all.”
A slight southern accent softened her syllables, adding appeal to her voice. No more than five feet four with delicate features and golden-blond hair, she looked fabulous although dressed casually in jeans and a blue V-necked tee. Jenna couldn’t determine the color of her eyes, but she was betting on blue.
“I heard you say Clay’s your brother.” Jenna didn’t mention that she’d never guess they were related if she hadn’t.
She brightened. “My big brother. Couldn’t ask for a better one. A smarter one, either. He hired you, didn’t he?”
Jenna laughed. “We’ll see how that works out for him. Corrine and I aren’t exactly an established act.”
“But you’re so good,” she enthused, then made a face. “I’m gushing, aren’t I? My excuse is that I was bowled over by your singing. Are you saying you’re just starting out?”
“Starting over is more like it. Corrine’s the professional musician. I’m an amateur who hasn’t sung in ages.”
“Why not?” No sooner had she asked the question than the young woman put a hand to her lips. “Listen to me, prying into your private life when I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Darcy.”
“Darcy Dillon, that’s cute. I’m Jenna.”
“The name’s actually Darcy Wright. Clay and I have different fathers.”
All sound—tires swooshing over pavement on a cross street, guitar music from a street-corner musician, the voices of the other people nearby—seemed to cease.
Darcy Wright.
Although she hadn’t heard the name spoken in years, Jenna recognized it immediately. It had been branded into her brain on that day her grandmother called to report her father’s new wife Margo had given birth to a baby girl.
A baby girl named Darcy who had grown into a pretty blonde who looked uncannily like Jenna’s memory of Darcy’s mother. Jenna had only seen Margo Wright once, with Jenna’s father in front of a restaurant when Jenna’s parents were still married, but she’d never forgotten.
“Jenna. Are you alright?” Darcy cocked her head, her bow-shaped mouth pursed in concern.
Jenna hadn’t used her surname in the introduction, and her first name obviously hadn’t resonated with Darcy. The limited contact Jenna and her brother had with their father had dwindled in the years after their parents divorced until his visits had stopped. Eventually, so had his phone calls and birthday cards. Jenna didn’t imagine her father had often spoken of her to his second family, if at all.
“I’m fine.” Jenna gestured to the bar. “It’s just that I’ve got to get back inside.”
“Oh, yes. Clay will be wondering where you’ve gone, especially when his customers start clamoring for you to start singing again.”
The shock of finding herself face-to-face with Margo’s daughter wearing off, Jenna belatedly processed the information and realized exactly who Clay Dillon was. Margo’s son. The eight-year-old who’d moved into her father’s grand old house after Jenna, Jeff and their wounded mother had been shunted aside.
The knowledge that Jeff had been right about Clay Dillon shocked her to her core.
Clay and his offer really had been too good to be true.
CLAY SWEPT PAST THE FOUR young guys who came into the bar carrying plastic cups of beer, not bothering to direct them to a table or tell them it was against bar policy to bring in outside alcohol.
He burst through the exit into the humid night, his frantic gaze searching the immediate vicinity. The streetlight caught the sheen of Darcy’s blond hair, but he was too late.
His sister stood facing Jenna Wright, who held herself more stiffly than the giant replica of the Statue of Liberty that one of the downtown Memphis churches had erected a few years back.
He half walked, half jogged toward the two women, intent on damage control.
“Clay, there you are.” Darcy greeted him with her customary smile. “If you’re here for Jenna, I’m through flattering her. So you two can go on back inside.”
Darcy hadn’t guessed who Jenna was, he thought, his mind turning over ways to tell her. His gaze moved to Jenna, whose glare could have frosted the Memphis air.
Jenna had figured it out.
A car horn sounded from the cross street. He looked up and saw his mother’s Jag idling at the curb.
“I called Mom to pick me up so I’ve got to run. Jenna, nice meeting you. Maybe next time I’ll be able to keep my eyes open longer so I can hear more of you.” Darcy stood on tiptoes, kissing Clay on the cheek. “Bye, Clay.”
She headed toward the Jaguar, her steps not as quick as they could have been. Was she leaving because she didn’t feel well? Or had her stamina simply given out? Her next dialysis treatment, Clay knew, was ten the next morning.
“That’s her in the car, isn’t it?” Jenna’s voice couldn’t have been colder. “That’s Margo.”
The way she said his mother’s name spoke of unresolved anger, another variable Clay hadn’t anticipated. He thought any residual anger on her part should be directed at her late father.
Jenna didn’t wait for his reply. “This isn’t a coincidence, is it? You knew who I was all along.”
“I can explain,” Clay said.
“I doubt that.” Her eyes flashed with the inner fire she’d displayed in a much more positive light on stage. Her hair seemed fiery, too, the streetlamp highlighting the auburn hue. “There’s no possible way you can justify not telling me who you were the minute you introduced yourself.”
“I did tell you. Clay Dillon, owner of Peyton’s Place.”
“Don’t play games. You knew I didn’t recognize your name.” Her voice trembled with anger. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Like I said, I can explain.”
“Go ahead,” she challenged, taking a step closer and glaring up at him. “Explain.”
Clay hesitated. If he told Jenna about Darcy’s need for a donor kidney now, before she had time to process what a truly amazing person Darcy was, she’d walk away and never come back.
“I’m waiting,” she snapped.
He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what he could say that wouldn’t make the situation worse. “You’re right. It wasn’t a coincidence. I found out you were singing at the Blue Mockingbird and went to Little Rock to persuade you to get to know Darcy.”
“Why?”
Although he couldn’t reveal the whole truth yet, he could tell her part of it. “It seemed wrong that you two had never met. She’s as much your half sister as she is mine.”
“I don’t think of her that way. How could I after your mother broke up my parents’ marriage?”
Clay bristled. He suspected his mother had been involved with Donald Wright before Donald was divorced, but he loved her all the same. “My mother wasn’t the one who left your family. She didn’t make any vows to anybody.”
“You’re twisting things around.” With a slash of her hand, Jenna completely dismissed his argument. “Nothing you say can justify you tricking me into coming to Memphis, anyway. What kind of a man does something like that?”
A man desperate for his sister to live a long, healthy life, he thought.
“I didn’t plan it. I was blown away by your voice. Even if you weren’t Donald’s daughter, I’d have tried to hire you.”
Skepticism descended over her face. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me you were Margo’s son.”
