Darlene Gardner - The Other Woman's Son

“No, thanks. I brought some work with me, and this afternoon would be the perfect time to do it.”

“No way,” Corrine exclaimed in dismay. “The weekends are supposed to be about the music.”

“I’ll be singing the blues Monday morning if I don’t get this stuff done, but we could go to the exercise room together. The caffeine’s starting to kick in, so I have enough energy for a workout.”

Corrine noticed for the first time that Jenna was dressed in yoga pants and a dri-fit top. “Are you kidding me? I burn plenty of calories playing my guitar, thank you very much.”

After Jenna’s laughter faded and Corrine was once again alone in the hotel room, her gaze fell on the cell phone she’d left on the bedside table.

If she called home now and Maurice answered, she’d know he was telling the truth about getting the newspaper when she phoned the first time. If not…

She heard the seconds tick by on the bedside clock radio until one minute had passed, then two. Before the minute display could click over a third time, she anchored her hands on the bed and rose.

As she rummaged through her suitcase for the clothes she’d change into after her shower, she pointedly ignored the phone still lying where she’d left it.

JENNA STEPPED INSIDE Peyton’s Place and removed the sunglasses that had shielded her eyes from the brightness of the Saturday afternoon sun.

The bar looked different than it had the night before, the green of the tile and the booths more vivid, the wooden surface of the bar more glossy, the crowd even thinner.

But she could still feel the energizing thrill that infused her when she sang to the crowd—and the anger that had engulfed her when she learned the reason she’d gotten the opportunity.

Determination had replaced the sharp edge of the anger, fueling her steps as she marched up to the bar. She’d finished her accounting work hours ago, but now needed to take care of the real reason she’d skipped the trip to Graceland.

“Is Clay Dillon around?” she asked a tall, shaggy-haired bartender of about twenty-five who hadn’t been on duty the night before.

“He’s in the kitchen. Should be right out. Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?” He had an engaging manner which made Jenna like him instantly.

“I’d love a double shot of whiskey,” she said, thinking it would help her get through the confrontation to come, “but I don’t drink in the afternoon.”

His grin transformed his long, narrow, freckled face into something special. “How about a cola then?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “All I need is for you to let Clay know I’m waiting.”

“Sure thing.”

She chose a booth farthest from the bar and a good distance from the other customers. Then she drummed her fingers on the table, fighting fatigue from her poor night of sleep. She wasn’t sure whether her tossing and turning had kept Corrine awake or vice versa.

It hurt that Corrine hadn’t confided what was bothering her, but then Jenna hadn’t shared her problems, either. From past conversations, Jenna was well aware that Corrine believed she should become acquainted with Margo’s daughter.

Corrine didn’t understand how Jenna felt. She couldn’t. Corrine hadn’t been the one who’d watched her mother struggle to rebuild her life. Or who’d grown up in a house with a gaping hole where a father should have been.

A warm, male laugh drew Jenna’s attention. Clay, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners, his lips split into a grin as he traversed the passageway leading from the kitchen. The grin disappeared as the bartender gestured to her table, but Clay didn’t waste time in approaching her.

He moved with the grace of an athlete and the confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. The soft blue shirt he wore with faded jeans of almost the same shade softened his appearance, but Jenna wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating what he’d do to get his way.

“Jenna. I didn’t expect to see you.” If he were anxious about encountering her at Peyton’s Place in the middle of the afternoon, he didn’t let on.

“You didn’t expect to see me right now or you didn’t expect to see me at all?” she challenged.

He slid into the booth across from her, his expression guarded. “I’m an optimist. I was betting on you showing up tonight.”

“I’ll be here tonight. And I’ll keep coming until the terms of the contract are up.”

He nodded, neither gloating nor showing surprise, as though he’d expected her to say what she’d said. It ticked her off all over again, because he didn’t know anything about her.

“We moved to Little Rock after the divorce, because my mother couldn’t stand the thought of running into your mother,” Jenna said. “She got child support but no alimony, so she worked menial jobs during the day and went to school at night. I was seven. My brother Jeff was twelve. He watched me night after night, because my mother didn’t have the money for a babysitter.”

Clay said nothing, his eyes steady on her as she talked.

“We moved into a tiny house that was too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. We were all homesick for Memphis. Those first few years, my mother cried all the time. We rarely saw my father. But eventually things got easier and we got through it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Clay asked when she paused to gather her thoughts.

“Because my mother used to say the three of us were all the family we needed.” She sucked in some oxygen, finding the tale hard to tell. “That’s the way it was. That’s the way it still is. So I want to make it clear I won’t have a relationship with your sister.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “How about me? Will you have a relationship with me?”

She fidgeted, annoyed at herself for reading nuances into the question that weren’t there. He was talking about a business relationship, not a personal one.

“I realize it would be impossible not to because you own the bar. But we don’t have to be…” She groped for a word. “…friendly.”

He uncrossed his arms, leaned his strong forearms on the table and looked at her from under long, male eyelashes. “So sitting here like this, talking together, that’s out?”

She had to clear her throat before she could manage a reply. “Unless it’s about business, yes.”

“Will you be unfriendly to Darcy, too?”

“Not if you don’t try to push us together. That’s why I came here today. To get assurances from you that you’ll respect my desire not to get to know her.”

He expelled an audible breath through his nose. “I can hardly tell my sister she’s not welcome to drop by my bar.”

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