Secret Vows

“Put your money away, Jason,” Chase ordered. “I’ve got this round.”

Grasping Greer’s hand, Jason gently squeezed her fingers. “Take it and keep the change.” Pushing back his chair, he stood. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to get something to eat. And, Doug, you’ve got yourself a keyboard player.” Agreeing to sit in with the band was a no-brainer, but getting to see Bobby’s niece two nights a week was an added bonus. He wasn’t certain what it was about her that drew him, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.

There hadn’t been so many women in his life that he hadn’t been able to recall their names or faces. However, none of them were willing to take a backseat to his music. His last relationship had ended when a woman he really liked had complained that she didn’t see him enough. Writing and editing music and working long hours with temperamental singers didn’t lend itself to a nine-to-five workday.

Jason likened his lifestyle to the wind. It could change direction at any time. There was no pressure for him to marry and give his parents grandchildren. His brother, Gabriel, and sister Alexandra had fulfilled that obligation. Ana and Jacob had decided to wait until their six-month anniversary before starting a family. No one was more surprised than Jason once his twin announced she didn’t want to end her marriage of convenience to Jacob Jones. The man who’d appointed himself her protector had become her lover, husband and life partner.

Picking up a plate, Jason moved along the buffet station, selecting baked chicken, dirty rice and collard greens with pieces of smoked turkey. He viewed the dessert section, eying a sweet potato casserole with a pecan crust. He’d never been one to favor dessert, but as a born and bred Southern man, he loved sweet potatoes. Moving over to the beverage section, he filled a glass with sweet tea.

By the time Jason returned to his table, karaoke had begun in earnest. One young woman with waist-length extensions belted out “Proud Mary,” while her two backup dancers gyrated as Ikettes. He enjoyed the dance moves more than the vocals. An elderly man, supporting himself on a cane, had to be lifted onto the stage. He sang an incredible rendition of Louis Armstrong’s version of “Hello Dolly.” Everyone stood and applauded him as he bowed before someone physically lifted him off the stage.

MC Oakie applauded along with the others. “Good people, I’d like to call Stella’s own Greer Evans to the stage.” An eerie hush fell over the assembly as she made her way to the stage. Oakie dropped an arm over her shoulders. “Have you selected your song?”

She nodded. “I’m going to sing ‘And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going’ from Dreamgirls.” She took the microphone and waited for the musical lead-in and lyrics to appear on the screen.

Jason felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up the moment Greer opened her mouth. If he hadn’t been there in person, he would’ve sworn it was Jennifer Hudson singing the heartfelt torch song, along with superb acting that had earned her an Oscar.

Doug whispered a curse under his breath. “I had no idea she could blow like that. I’m going to ask her to sing with the band.”

Doug wanted Greer to sing with a local band of musicians who, although extremely talented, still hadn’t made it big. Their only recording credits were on records produced by Serenity. Jason witnessed in Greer what he and Ana had recognized in Justin Glover. It was untapped raw talent. The song ended to stunned silence. Seconds later Jason found himself on his feet, applauding and whistling through his teeth. She was magnificent!

Greer stepped off the stage, eyes downcast as she walked quickly in the direction of the kitchen. She smiled at Bobby who shook his head in amazement. He extended his arms, and she moved into his strong embrace. “You were great.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beats of his heart. “You’re biased.”

Bobby dropped a kiss on her hair. “Damn straight. You sing as well as my Stella. I used to love to listen to the two of you singing whenever you cooked together.”

“Do you know that I still cook and sing?” Greer had stopped trying to understand why her aunt’s quirks and idiosyncrasies had influenced her more than her mother’s. Perhaps it was because her mother was a scientist and only dealt in what could be proven so that Greer had found her aunt’s lifestyle much more offbeat and exciting.

Easing back, Bobby cradled her face. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “So am I.”

At no time since she’d come to Mission Grove had Greer forgotten why she was working at the restaurant. She wasn’t here to reconnect with her uncle or old-timers who’d watched her grow up. Someone was selling guns to those who couldn’t pass the background check. Every two hours she took a break, lingering in the parking lot to observe those coming and going. Charles Bromleigh was still the only name on her list of suspects. He came to Stella’s a minimum of four of the six days they were open for business. Chase always sat at the same table, ordered the day’s special or took advantage of the buffet Thursdays through Saturday. Tap beer was his drink of choice, with never more than two glasses on any given day. Despite his taciturn demeanor he was generous when it came to tipping. Most of the restaurant patrons avoided him as if he carried a communicable disease. The exception was Jason Cole.

She patted Bobby’s shoulder. “I better check the buffet trays. It looks as if the dim sum, pot sticker dumplings, spring rolls and barbecue spareribs are a big hit tonight.” Greer’s favorite was the steamed dumplings filled with chicken, pork or prawns.

Her uncle had hired an assistant cook whose mother’s ancestry was traced back several generations to Western China. Although they’d intermarried and assimilated, the women in Andrew’s family continued to prepare the dishes that had been passed down from great-grandmother to grandmother to mother to daughter.

Greer walked out of the kitchen as Andrew walked in through the opposite swinging door carrying an empty tray. He winked at her. “Great job.”

She smiled at the slender blond man with sparkling hazel eyes who had legions of young women chasing him. What they hadn’t known was Andrew was in a committed relationship with a much older woman.

“Thank you. What needs replenishing?”

“Nothing right now.”

She returned to the dining floor, picking up discarded plates and flatware, and stacking them in a large plastic bin for the waiters who did double duty as busboys and dishwashers on buffet nights. Greer acknowledged those with a smile and a nod whenever they complimented her singing.

“Yo, miss. Over here!”

She turned and made her way to a table with six young men, some who didn’t look old enough to shave. “Yes.”

One with a five-o’clock shadow held a twenty dollar bill between his fingers. “I’d like to order a pitcher of beer.”

Resting her hands at her waist, Greer gave him a direct stare. “I have to see some ID. You must be twenty-three to be served alcohol.”

“Isn’t the legal drinking age twenty-one?”

“It is.”

“Then what’s the deal?” he asked.

“The deal is I can’t serve you alcohol unless you’re twenty-three.” She smiled when he tucked the bill into his shirt pocket. “There is unlimited soda, tea and fruit punch.” Greer turned around so they wouldn’t see her smile, running headlong into Jason. She almost lost her balance but he managed to steady her, his hands going to her shoulders. Standing so close to him made her aware that he was very tall. She was five-seven but he had to be at least three or four inches over the six-foot mark. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I should be the one apologizing,” Jason countered.

Why, Greer thought, hadn’t she noticed his slow, drawling speech pattern that identified him as someone who’d grown up in the South? His voice was deep and soothing at the same time. He also smelled wonderful. His cologne was a combination of musk, sandalwood and a hint of bergamot. It was as intoxicating as its wearer.

“Is there something I can get you?” she asked quickly, recovering her physical and emotional equilibrium.

Jason handed her a folded napkin. “I’d like you to call me.”

Greer glanced at his name and a number on the paper, recognizing the Florida area code. She continued to stare at the napkin rather than let him see the delight shimmering in her eyes. Jason had made the first overture, which eliminated her need to concoct a ruse to come on to him.

“Why?” she asked, not wanting to appear too eager that the record producer had approached her.

“I’d like to discuss some business with you.”

She looked up at him. “You want to talk business? What happened to your business card, Mr. Cole?”

Jason looked sheepish. “I didn’t think I’d need them tonight. I could always go home and bring some back with me.”

Greer saw people watching them instead of directing their attention to the stage where a quartet harmonized a Boyz II Men classic. “Please follow me.” She led him down a narrow hallway to an Employees Only door, stepping out into the cool late-summer night. Stopping, she turned to face Jason. The light over the door illuminated the area where Dumpsters were labeled Garbage, Paper, Plastic and Glass. Bobby was pedantic when it came to recycling.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Greer angled her head. “What type of business did you want to discuss?”

Jason didn’t want to believe Greer wanted to carry on a conversation surrounded by Dumpsters. He wrinkled his nose. “Is there someplace else we can talk without smelling garbage?”

Greer shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this is the only place where we can talk without someone eavesdropping.”

“Okay, then I’ll make this quick. I’d like to make a tape of you singing several songs.”

“As in a record?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

Pushing both hands into the pockets of his slacks, Jason gave her an incredible stare. “Has anyone told you that you have a remarkable voice?”

Greer shook her head. “No,” she admitted truthfully. She’d been told she had a good voice, but not a remarkable one.

“Well, you do.”

“Because you say so?” she asked.

“No,” Jason countered. “Because I know so. You have perfect pitch.”

Greer paused, stalling for time because she had to make him believe she was wary that he’d approached her. “How do I know if I can trust you? I’ve heard too many stories about men offering women—”

“Stop it, Greer,” he interrupted. “I’ve never taken advantage of any woman and I happen to have too much respect for Bobby to mess over you.”

She decided on another approach. “Let me think about it, and then I’ll call you.”

Jason smiled. “Thank you.”

She returned his smile, silently admiring the dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re welcome. Hold on,” Greer urged when Jason reached for the door handle. “I have to unlock it.” She hadn’t yet put the key into the lock when the door opened. Danny stood in the doorway gripping a black plastic bag.

He stared at her. “Sorry. I didn’t know you...”

“It’s all right, Danny. We were just coming in.” Jason’s arm circled her waist as the ex-Marine continued to stare at her.

“Is he your man?”

A beat passed as she replayed the totally unexpected question in her head. Jason wasn’t her man, and if he was, then what was it to Danny? Something about the way he was looking at her was off-putting, and Greer wondered if he was experiencing a flashback.

* * *

Jason didn’t know if Greer and the man she’d called Danny were previously involved with each other, then remembered Chase’s comment about her going through a nasty divorce; he doubted whether she would continue to work with a man to whom she’d once been married.

“Yes, I am her man,” he stated firmly.

The tension-filled moment passed as a half smile lifted a corner of Danny’s mouth. “That’s good. She needs someone to take care of her.”

“Thank you,” Jason drawled. “I’ll make certain to always take care of her.”

Danny extended his free hand. “Danny Poe.”

Jason had to drop his arm to shake hands. “Jason Cole.”

Greer rested her hand on Jason’s back, feeling his body’s warmth through the cotton shirt. “I have to get back before Bobby comes looking for me.” The mention of her uncle’s name galvanized Danny into action as he headed for the Dumpsters.

“Is he all right?” Jason whispered in her ear as they reentered the restaurant.

Going on tiptoe, Greer pressed her mouth to his ear. “Iraq.”

He laced their fingers together. “Is he in therapy?”

She nodded. “I really have to get back. And I promise to call you.”

Jason leaned against the wall, watching the seductive sway of Greer’s hips in a pair of fitted jeans as she walked away. He didn’t know why he’d admitted to Danny he would take care of Greer because that wasn’t even a remote possibility. She didn’t need a protector when she had Bobby Henry.

He followed Greer, losing sight of her in the crowded restaurant. People were up on their feet singing and fist pumping to Flo Rida’s megahit “Wild One.” A woman grabbed his hand, leading him to a space where the tables were pushed back. Jason found himself caught up in the infectious rhythm as he danced with the petite buxom blonde. Dancing had reminded Jason of how long it’d been since he’d been to a club. Earlier that year he’d dated a woman living in Miami. She had professed to be a certified party girl, and after two months of nonstop partying, Jason was forced to break it off. Their weekends began Friday nights and didn’t end until Sunday morning. He’d been so sleep deprived it had taken several months for him to reestablish a normal sleep pattern.

The song ended and he managed to escape the woman’s clutches, making a beeline toward the exit. He left Stella’s, driving to an all-night mini-mart where he bought milk, eggs, butter and bread. As he drove back home, he thought about how his best-laid plans had suddenly changed. He was now a member of a local band, and he hoped Greer would honor her promise and call him.

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