by T. E. Woods
Because he needed better than me.
“Like I said, there’s a big world out there.”
“For you, maybe. What I want is to be Mrs. Parton Jennings. We’ll get married at All Saints in the spring with a dinner dance at the club. My colors will be peach and pale green. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait until I’m the last Kappa to say ‘I do.’ ”
Miranda ignored the temptation to point out Natalie’s curse. Instead, she looked down at her newly pink toenails. She had to admit her feet looked terrific. “If you want it this badly, why not ask him yourself?”
“Ask who what?”
“Parton. If you want to marry him as much as you say you do, why don’t you ask him?”
The color drained from Natalie’s face. “Are you insane? He’s the boy.”
Miranda felt her spine straighten. “If you want something, and you know what it is, you have to reach out and take it, Natalie. It’s yours. Don’t let anyone or anything stand in your way. God wants you to have everything you want. But you have to take it.”
“Not that stuff again. You’ve been hanging around Daddy and his nitwit preacher too long. It just isn’t done, Miranda. Things are done the way they are done. There’s no other way.”
“Take it. Take what you want.”
“You’re talking crazy.”
Miranda reached for her purse and pulled out a five dollar bill to tip her pedicurist. She stood in front of Natalie’s chair.
“Don’t let anyone stand in your way, Natalie. You’ve got to learn to take what is yours.”
Chapter 13
Nancy Richardson seemed hell-bent on lecturing her daughter on what to do about Miranda’s appearance at Hush Money on Christmas Eve.
“That woman’s up to no good,” she warned her. “Listen to me, Syd.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mom. Really, I do. But whatever’s going on between Clay and Miranda is his to deal with. I’m steering clear. I wish Ronnie hadn’t shared it with you.” She nodded toward the clipboard on her mother’s lap, hoping for an acceptable change in topic. “Is that tonight’s specials list?”
Sydney wondered if her mother’s pursed lips were her way of trying to keep another set of directives from tumbling from her mouth. “It is.”
“Terrific. What’s Roland the Magnificent got in store for tonight?”
Nancy read from the sheet with all the enthusiasm of someone listing the line items of her household budget. “Pan-seared rib eye basted with rosemary butter and served with herbed fingerling potatoes. Salmon in parchment with a fennel glaze served with radish noodles and sweet peas. The dessert special is an individual lemon bombe sheathed in meringue that’s glazed tableside.”
“Sounds like another terrific lineup. How’s his mood?”
“Better than mine right now.”
Sydney dodged the bait. “And the reservations?”
“We’re full. Should be able to have three complete seatings. Latest reservation is for eight-thirty.”
“Great.” Sydney stood and glanced through the window into Hush Money’s kitchen. “Looks like everything’s under control. How about you go check on the servers while I make a couple of phone calls before we open the doors?”
Nancy stood. “Talk to Clay, Sydney. Think of it as a warning. Clay has a right to know what’s coming. That woman’s up to something and I don’t want you or Clay getting blindsided.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Sydney waited until her mother was out of her office before she pulled out her phone. There was a text from Ronnie asking the name of the spice Nancy used on the pasta salad she’d served at Christmas. She hit respond, typed tarragon, added a heart emoticon, and sent the message. Before she could set her phone back down, it pinged, indicating she had an incoming text. Warmth flushed over her when she saw it was from Clay. Her fingers traced the intricate braiding of the chain and locket he’d given her as she read his message.
Merry day after. Hope your Christmas was grand. Miss you. Can you come by Low Down after you close tonight? Did I mention I miss you?
She tapped the reply button.
Christmas was wonderful. Yours?
A few seconds later the bubbles on her screen indicated he was already replying. She waited for his message to appear.
Different. We’ll talk.
A tug of alarm dissolved the smile his first playful text had brought her. She shoved it aside, reminding herself she had nothing to fear from Miranda spending Christmas Day with Clay. It had been a special request from Steel. Clay had been up front about the entire thing. She took a breath and texted her reply.
Look for me around ten-thirty. I’ll be the one happy to see you.
* * *
—
She walked into the Low Down Blues a few minutes later than she’d hoped. Hush Money had had a good night, but Roland had seemed even more the soap opera diva than was typical. Sydney’d spent the evening trying to keep the kitchen staff calm while her chef fumed and threatened to fire anyone who so much as missed a parsley garnish. She’d been unsuccessful in her attempts to determine the underlying cause of Roland’s near-manic frenzy. Finally, when the last table of guests had been served dessert, she pulled him aside and told him to go home. She’d supervise post-dinner cleanup.
“You’re ordering me out of my own kitchen?” he’d thundered.
“I’m urging you, Roland.” Her eyes signaled there was no room for negotiation. “You’ve had a rough night. Quite frankly, the staff has had enough of your pouting and so have I. Go home. Get some rest. I’ll be in tomorrow morning around ten. We’ll have a long talk then.”
“There are things…”
“Go home, Roland. I’ll take care of everything here.”
Her chef drew himself to his full height, turned on his heel, and stormed out. She’d been impressed with the way the entire staff, back and front of the house, pulled together to bring Roland’s kitchen back to pristine readiness for the next day. By the time she began her two-block walk to Clay’s place, she was certain she needed a drink.
Clay was leaning against the bar when she entered, talking to two men. His eyes caught hers and she saw him disengage from his conversation and head her way. He pulled her into a tight embrace without preamble and seemingly without a care for what his customers might think.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured into her ear. “I don’t like going an entire day without seeing your face.”
Sydney leaned gratefully into the comfort of his arms. “I’m wearing your gift. Whenever I missed you today I touched it.”
“There’s a pretty picture. C’mon, let me get you a glass of wine. We probably have about five minutes before the music starts again. I want to hear about your Christmas.”
She resisted the temptation to tell him she wanted to know the same about his. “Where’s Steel tonight?”
“He’s with his mother. Dinner and a movie.”
“Just the two of them?”
Frowning, Clay shook his head. “Apparently, they’re a trio now. Miranda has a young woman with her. I forget her name. Someone she’s coaching or mentoring. Steel will spend the night in Miranda’s hotel suite.”
“You okay with that?”
“I suppose a bit of extra time with his mother is a good thing. Let him fill up his tank with memories of her while he can. C’mon. Let’s sit down.”
Do you know Miranda’s planning on staying in Madison?
“You’re all alone tonight?” Sydney asked.
“It would appear so. Any ideas?” The light tone was back in his voice.
Sydney held out her hand. “Give me the key to your house.”
“What’s going on in that glorious brain of yours?”
“Call it a surprise. Give me your keys and get on home as soon as you finish up
here.”
He dug into the front pocket of his jeans and handed her his key ring. “The square one’s for the front door. The round is for the side. Don’t be afraid to jiggle the handle. It can stick sometimes.”
“See you around two-thirty?”
“Francie’s closing tonight. Make it midnight.”
She slipped the ring of keys from his hand. “See you then.”
It was eleven-thirty by the time she got to Clay’s place. She’d gone back to her condo, packed her sheerest negligee as well as clothes for the next day into an overnight bag, and drove back to Hush Money, where she grabbed a pint of hand-churned double vanilla ice cream. On her way out of the restaurant, she tossed a handful of votive candles into a box. She set the box on Clay’s kitchen counter and allowed herself to enjoy the sexy ripple of anticipation as her mind built the scene she’d create to greet him when he walked in. She tucked the ice cream into the freezer next to a seemingly endless stack of frozen dinners.
We’ll eat it in bed afterward…or perhaps between.
She carried her overnight bag into the bathroom and changed into the gossamer-sheer pink negligee. Pulling out the clips holding the chignon behind her neck, she brushed her hair until it rested softly on her shoulders. She took off the silver locket and chain, leaving it to rest on the bathroom counter. He could see her wearing it in the morning.
The ticking clock added to the sexual urgency. Sydney took the votive candles into the master bedroom, set three on his dresser, and two on each of the nightstands. On her way back to the kitchen she turned on one lamp in the living room, allowing nothing but a dim glow to permeate the space. She grabbed the box of matches Clay kept on a shelf above his stove and headed back to the bedroom to light the candles.
It will be perfect. Just the two of us.
She heard the side door open as she blew out the last match. The room was perfect.
“Syd?” Clay called out from the kitchen.
“In here,” she answered. Suddenly, she decided standing next to the bed wasn’t the seductive first glance she wanted him to see. She folded back the duvet covering her side of Clay’s king-sized bed. She was about to settle herself into her best come-hither pose when her eyes caught sight of something. A froth of deep red. On the floor between the bed and the nightstand. She bent to pick it up, standing in disbelief at the precise moment Clay entered the bedroom.
“If this is your idea of a surprise, I’m getting you your own set of keys tomorrow,” he said.
She stood there, holding the satin and lace panties. She looked at him.
His eyes telegraphed a sexy promise. “Are you putting those on or taking them off?” He walked toward her, unbuttoning his shirt as he approached.
“These aren’t mine.”
The ice in her voice stopped him midstep. “Well…whose…Oh. Sydney. This isn’t what you’re thinking.”
“That’s pretty cliché for a musician.” She stepped toward the door. He reached out to her.
“Don’t.” Her tone left no room for him to do anything but let her pass.
“Miranda was here last night,” he blurted.
“Obviously. Goodbye, Clay.”
“Sydney, stop. You knew she was here for dinner. I went to bed. She and Steel stayed up late. Talking, I guess.”
Sydney went straight to the bathroom.
“I fell asleep.” Clay continued his explanation from behind the closed and locked door. “Next thing I knew she was on the bed. Nude. That must have been when she left those.”
Sydney pulled the clothes she’d packed for the next day out of her bag, stripped off her negligee, and dressed as fast as her shaking hands allowed. Panties. Bra. Socks.
“Sydney, nothing happened. I told her to get out.”
She wiggled into her jeans, hopping on one leg to get far enough into them to zip up.
“I was in the bathroom as she dressed.” Clay’s insistent voice was earnest. “She was gone when I got out. C’mon, Syd. Come out. Don’t let Miranda’s shenanigans ruin our evening.”
She yanked her sweater over her head and jammed everything that was hers into her overnight case. She reached for the braided silver locket and chain, then she stopped. Leaving them on the bathroom counter, she zipped her bag, turned, and opened the door.
“Let me pass, Clay.”
“Let’s talk this out.”
“Let me pass.”
“Sydney, please. Don’t go.”
“Do you want to be that guy, Clay? The one who doesn’t respect a woman’s request to let her walk away?”
Their eyes locked for several seconds. She saw the sadness in his and hoped he could see the resolve in her own.
He stepped aside.
She retrieved her parka from the dinette table and pulled it on. She took one last look around, making sure she had everything.
He could keep the ice cream.
“Listen to me, Sydney. Nothing happened. There’s nothing here.”
“You’re right. I thought there might be, but you’re right. There’s nothing here.”
Chapter 14
“Are you sure?” Ronnie’s voice was filled with so much concern Sydney could hear it through the phone. “This isn’t the time for knee-jerk reactions.”
“Her panties were on the floor. Next to his bed. Would any straight man turn away from a woman as gorgeous as Miranda if she turned up naked in his bed?”
“Stop it, Sydney. You know as well as I do that men…okay, most men…aren’t the shallow, sex-crazed fiends you’re trying to make Clay out to be. I think you’re feeling vulnerable. That’s your go-to stance whenever anything goes wrong. Geez! It’s like your own concept of original sin. I’m Sydney. I was abandoned by my birth parents. Therefore I’m not entitled to anything good in life, and everyone’s out to hurt and disappoint me. Boo-hoo.”
“Are you deliberately being cruel?”
“I’m deliberately being blunt. Miranda’s a part of Clay’s past.”
“They share a child.”
“Who’ll be twenty in a month! Don’t make him out to be an infant whose parents are drawn together out of a duty to raise him. Miranda’s been gone from Clay’s life for twenty years. Two decades! He raised his boy, built his career, and—fasten your seatbelt—fell in love with you!”
“Then why didn’t he tell me what happened? He could have texted me. Called me. Stopped by Hush Money and said hey, guess what happened to me last night. He didn’t do any of that.”
“Could be the man wanted to save you the freak-out.”
“Could be the man wanted me never to find out.”
“Urgh!” Ronnie’s groan was so loud Sydney pulled the phone away from her ear. “I’m not going to participate in this. It only feeds your insecurity.”
“My insecurity? Red panties at the side of his bed and I’m insecure?”
“It doesn’t happen often. I want to be clear about that. Most days if anyone asked me to name the top five strong women in my life, your name would be on that list, Syd. But every so often that string gets plucked. The one your birth parents stretched to the breaking point when they gave you up for adoption. And when it does, things get ugly real fast.”
“And you think that’s what’s happening here? You think if it was you, and you picked up the panties—”
“Will you stop saying panties? I don’t know why, but it sounds weird.”
“If it were you and you picked up what I picked up…and by way of explanation your man said, ‘Oh, yeah. Some naked beauty came by last night, don’t worry.’ You’re telling me you’d be fine with that.”
“First off, I’d love to be in that pickle. It would mean I was having sex on a regular basis. That said, I think I’d be furious. And curious. And I hope to God smart enough to have a knockdown, take-no-prisoners scr
eaming match until I knew exactly—like I know my own name—what happened. Then I’d make my decision. I might still storm out like you did, but I’d probably be in less of a stew.”
“I am not in a stew.”
“Then why are we talking about this?”
Sydney loved so many things about Dr. Veronica Pernod. Chief among them was her friend’s ability to tell things like they are. “Let’s change the subject.”
“We can talk about anything you’d like, but you know I’m right. You can’t leave things with Clay like this.”
“What’s your day today?”
Ronnie sighed and Sydney heard her shifting gears, moving away from the topic that was too hot to continue discussing. “Clinic all day. Patients till four. Case notes will keep me here till at least five-thirty.”
“Come by Hush Money for dinner.”
“I can’t afford it. That place costs a fortune.”
“I know the owner. There’ll be a bowl of gruel for you.”
“And a martini, maybe?”
“Extra dry with four olives.”
“I’ll be there by six. Yikes, I’m getting paged. Gotta go. See you tonight, barring anyone going into labor. And, Syd?”
“Yeah?”
“No rash moves, okay? Nothing that can’t be undone. Promise?”
Sydney flashed again on the mental image of Clay and Miranda together. On Christmas Night. In his bed.
“I’ll try, how’s that?” She ended the call and set her phone aside, but not before checking to see if there were any texts she’d missed.
There weren’t.
She forced her attention to month-end paperwork. December was rapidly drawing to a close, which meant she had year-end duties, as well. She was engrossed in separating Hush Money’s receipts from those of the Ten-Ten when Roland Delmardo rapped on her office door.
“It’s ten o’clock, massa. I be here, just like you wanted.” He stood in her doorway, arms folded across his broad chest and a look of defiant insolence on his face.
“Come on in.” Sydney pushed three file folders aside. “Close the door behind you.”
