The Other Woman's Son

She didn’t need to look at him again to know he still regarded her with that same single-minded concentration. She drew energy from that knowledge, pouring it into her music, infusing it into her voice. By the end of the set, she’d thoroughly captured the crowd’s attention.

“This is great. Did you hear the groan when you announced the break?” Corrine asked when they stepped off the stage.

“I did,” Jenna said.

“Keep it short. I like the idea of striking when the crowd is hot for us.”

The adrenaline that had fueled Jenna through the performance dropped off, and she collapsed into a chair beside the wooden table nearest the stage. Corrine sat down next to her.

“You knocked them dead.” Corrine reached for her hand, briefly squeezing it. “But next time, take pity on my nerves and show up on time.”

“I couldn’t help it. I warned you it’s tough to get out of the office Friday nights. I have a job, remember?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, but I have to say this. Singing should be your job.”

“Singing’s a guilty pleasure,” Jenna said. “Accounting pays the bills.”

To bolster her position, Jenna could have pointed out the struggles Corrine endured to be a musician: Low pay, irregular bookings and zero job security. Before Corrine had married personal trainer Maurice Sweetland, her friend had worked on and off as a waitress to supplement her income.

“So you keep saying,” Corrine said, but her attention wasn’t on Jenna.

Following Corrine’s gaze, Jenna spotted the dark-haired man navigating the labyrinth of tables. She guessed his age at about thirty, his weight at maybe two hundred pounds, his height at six feet two. Too tall, she thought. His lean, hard body hinted that he worked out with weights. There was nothing soft about him except, perhaps, the texture of his thick hair, the ends of which nearly reached his collar. Too long. He wore jeans and a collarless, short-sleeved knit shirt in a deep shade of brown that hugged his chest. Too casual.

It quickly became clear that the man was headed for their table. Jenna’s heart took a leap worthy of Dwyane Wade, her oldest nephew’s favorite NBA player.

“Do you know that guy?” she asked Corrine.

“Never seen him before. But even us married ladies can enjoy the view. Besides, you’re the one he’s coming for.”

He stopped shy of the table, standing there for long seconds, drinking her in with those midnight eyes that complemented brown hair so dark it verged on black. Jenna’s cheeks grew warm, a puzzling response. She never reacted this way to a man, especially to a man who was so not her type.

“At the risk of telling you something you’ve heard before, you, lady, can really wail.” He delivered the line in an understated southern accent with a charming half grin that softened the angular planes of his face.

“She has heard it,” Corrine interjected with a friendly smile. “From me. About thirty seconds ago.”

“Then you’re as smart as you are talented.” The man smiled back at Corrine. “You play a mean guitar.”

He wants something, Jenna thought. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the suspicion it might be her. She dated semiregularly, but usually she met the men through work or friends. She didn’t let herself get picked up in a bar.

“We appreciate the compliments.” Corrine included Jenna in her reply. “You know, with a tenor like yours, you can probably wail yourself.”

His half grin become full fledged. “You’d be the one wailing if you heard me sing. In pain, I’m afraid. I’m Clay Dillon.”

The name seemed vaguely familiar but Jenna would remember if she had ever encountered this man before. She was closer to him than Corrine so she was the one to whom he offered his hand.

“Jenna Wright.” She fought off her reluctance to touch him and shook. His skin was warm, his touch firm, the feeling it elicited uncomfortable. He might not be her type, but he’d managed to get her to notice him. “And this is Corrine Sweetland.”

He let go of Jenna’s hand, turning to shake Corrine’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. You ladies mind if I join you?”

“If it’s okay with Jenna, it’s fine by me,” Corrine said, obviously charmed.

When her friend stated it that way, Jenna could hardly refuse his company without seeming rude. “Sure.”

He settled into his seat with long-limbed grace, aiming his dark gaze at Jenna. “I confess I have an ulterior motive for coming over here.”

“Oh?” Jenna had already made up her mind to refuse should he proposition her, but her pulse rate still rocketed. “And what is that?”

“I’d like to hire Two Gals to play at my bar in Memphis.”

CLAY KEPT HIS EYES fastened on Jenna Wright, refusing to feel guilty for not telling her they shared a half sister.

He could see nothing of Darcy in her, except a certain gentleness in her expression he might be imagining because he wanted it to be there.

She seemed to have gone through pains to play down her appearance. She’d rolled up the sleeves of a fawn-colored blouse more suited for the office than the stage. She hadn’t bothered to play up her appealing features with makeup, which rendered them ordinary from a distance. And she wore her auburn hair in a conservative shoulder-length cut instead of long and loose.

He’d been watching the entrance so had noticed her arrival but hadn’t pegged her as the singer until she took the stage. The transformation from inconspicuous to vibrant had been amazing, as though a different woman lived inside this button-down version.

Tracking her down had been surprisingly easy. He’d pumped his stepfather’s former law partner for information, yielding no clues about Jeff Wright but discovering his sister Jenna worked as an accountant at a firm called Morgan and Roe in Little Rock.

After the friendly secretary at Jenna’s office blabbed that Jenna would be singing tonight at the Blue Mockingbird, Clay had hopped in his car for the two-hour trip from Memphis to Little Rock. He’d turned over various ways to approach her as he drove but ruled them all out when she started to sing.

He would have disagreed the end justified the means before Darcy became ill, but he no longer believed that. Since Jenna hadn’t recognized his name, fate was on his side.

“I guarantee the offer’s on the level,” he said. “My bar is called Peyton’s Place.”

Corrine’s expression brightened. “Like that TV soap opera from the sixties? My mom used to talk about that.”

Clay didn’t bother to correct her, finding it smarter not to reveal the true inspiration for the name. “I bought the bar a year ago. Recently, I decided live entertainment would help business.”

Recently, as in about an hour ago.

Jenna’s eyes seemed to narrow, but Clay could be imagining her skepticism. Despite everything, his conscience panged.

“I’ve grown up listening to rhythm and blues. I can recognize talent, and you ladies have it,” he continued. “I couldn’t walk away tonight without making you an offer.”

A heavy dose of truth ran through his proposal. Jenna and Corrine had a rare chemistry, made extraordinary by the raw, sensual power of Jenna’s voice. Persuading the duo to perform at Peyton’s Place could help the bottom line—even if assuring Jenna had regular contact with the half sister she might come to love was his main objective.

Corrine placed her elbows on the table, as though readying herself to get down to business. A very good sign. “So where in Memphis is this bar of yours?”

“Beale Street.” The legendary Home of the Blues, Beale Street was the second most-visited street in the south, trailing only Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Musicians made reputations there. “It’s on the very end of the section of street blocked off to traffic, but it’s still a great location.”

“Anywhere on Beale’s a great location,” Corrine declared.

“How long are you under contract to the Blue Mockingbird?” Clay asked.

“Only until the end of the long weekend,” Corrine said. “The owner might want to extend our gig, but we’re free to entertain other offers.”

“Wait, Corrine.” Jenna placed a hand on the table. Clay noticed she’d painted her fingernails bright red, an interesting quirk in such a conservatively dressed woman. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Corrine looked beseechingly at Jenna, something unspoken passing between the two women. “What’s wrong with listening to what Clay has to say? C’mon, Jenna. This is Beale Street.”

Jenna hesitated, then conceded, “I guess it can’t hurt to just listen.”

Sensing resistance, Clay named a figure higher than what good sense dictated for an establishment that had just started to turn a profit. “If that’s not more than the Blue Mockingbird is paying, I’ll top their offer. I’ll also commit to a six-week engagement. How does Wednesday through Saturday nights sound?”

“Impossible.” Jenna emphasized her response with a shake of her head. “I should have told you right away I can’t perform in Memphis. I have a job here in Little Rock.”

A job that would blow Clay’s plan apart. His heart seemed to slam to a stop.

“Jenna’s an accountant.” Corrine sighed, as though sharing that bit of information pained her.

Jenna straightened her spine, and her mouth tightened. “That’s right. I am an accountant. Singing’s a hobby.”

“You’re talented enough to sing full-time,” Clay said.

“And give up my job security? No, thanks. I wouldn’t be singing at all if Corrine hadn’t been obligated to the Blue Mockingbird. Once this job’s over, I’m through singing. I certainly can’t run off to Memphis for half the week.”

Clay deliberately misunderstood the thrust of her argument. “What if the performances are only on Friday and Saturday nights? The bands on Beale don’t get going until about nine, so you could leave Little Rock after work Fridays.”

“It’d be fun, Jenna,” Corrine interjected. “We can drive down to Memphis together. You’re the one who always says we don’t hang out enough.”

Sensing Jenna’s reluctance to disappoint her friend, Clay jumped in. “I’ll sweeten the pot by paying for your weekend hotel stay.” An expense he really couldn’t afford.

“We can’t turn that down, Jenna.” Corrine had definitely gotten into his corner. “I know you feel strongly about the singing being temporary, but it’s only six weeks. That’s no time at all.”

The jukebox stopped playing, signaling the time had come for Two Gals to begin its second set. The bar crowd generated an impressive amount of noise, but silence resonated at the table.

“What do you say, Jenna?” Clay prodded.

Jenna gazed back and forth from Clay to Corrine, who practically vibrated while she waited for her friend’s answer. The silence stretched into what seemed like an eternity. “I suppose we can give it a try.”

“Awesome.” Corrine clapped her hands.

Clay tried to hide his overwhelming relief. “I’ll have a contract drawn up, but for now a handshake will do. Corrine, you’re the deal maker, right?”

“Right.” Corrine eagerly stuck out her hand.

Clay clasped Corrine’s hand but watched Jenna. She appeared wary, as though she didn’t entirely trust him. She shouldn’t, considering his whopper of an ulterior motive.

He shook off the image of himself as a fraud, preferring to think of himself as a loving brother trying to provide Darcy with a chance at a normal life.

Jenna would surely offer to get tested once she knew and loved Darcy. If the tests determined Jenna could be Darcy’s kidney donor, Clay would console himself that the end really did justify his means.

CHAPTER TWO

“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.”