by Ava Miles
“I’m twenty-four,” she told him, and it galled her that he didn’t know her age.
That growl again. “You’re still in school.”
“I’m in law school, Clayton. Don’t make it sound like I’m a schoolgirl in pigtails. We both know my family made me grow up a whole lot faster than most girls.”
“You mean your blueblood Southern family?” He took off his cowboy hat and slapped it against his thigh. “Look, I’m not going to argue with you about your maturity. Or anything else. I’m done talking about this. You can help out with the concert, but nothing is going to happen between us. Don’t make me tell you again.” He tipped his hat to her like a gentleman would and headed to the door.
That was all he was going to say to her? “Clayton.”
He halted, but didn’t turn around. “I told you. Don’t.”
Then he walked off, his shoulders as stiff as an over-starched shirt.
The urge to scream in frustration was hard to suppress as she watched him disappear from view. She’d always thought it inevitable that she’d wear down his resistance some day, but now he seemed like an immovable rock, her arguments like raindrops that would take millions of years to change him.
Well, she’d been told how things were going to be before, and she hadn’t listened. This time she’d just have to do what she always did.
Insist on her own way.
Sweet talk when she had to.
And never back down.
Chapter 2
Usually Tory’s cooking filled Clayton’s belly with old-fashioned goodness. Tonight he felt like that time in Gulf Shores when he had the fish surprise for dinner and was surprised hours later with food poisoning.
The fall air was still warm and humid as he slammed the door to his pickup truck after dinner. Amelia Ann gave him a playful wave from the top of the driveway, standing there with the moonlight turning her blond curls almost white. Even the shadow she cast depicted the luscious curves of her body. He jerked his gaze away and punched the gas.
But he couldn’t get her image out of his mind as he drove to the highway.
Amelia Ann.
Her name was as lyrical and intriguing as the woman she was growing into. She’d been in high school when he’d met her for the first time, backstage at one of her brother’s concerts. Her beauty had held the promise of a prized flower then. Over the years, he’d seen her blossom into the fully exotic specimen she was now.
Heck, she even wore a magnolia fragrance—all sweet Southern sass—that only made her seem more like a blooming flower.
She wanted him. On that point, she never prevaricated.
How did a man forget a woman who’d asked him to be her lover? At Rye’s wedding, when she so boldly asked him to dance—implying that it was just a euphemism for more—he’d felt his gut clench with heat. But thankfully a cooler head had prevailed. He’d tried to send her back to the schoolroom by treating her like a child. She’d only fought back more, this time with the Southern belle ways she still used to her advantage when it suited her.
If there’d only been heat between them, it would have been easier to resist her. But there was respect and tenderness too. She’d cried in his arms on a moonlit night he’d never forgotten, and he’d wanted to level all the reasons for her tears. Her transformation from a Stepford-wife-in-training into a confident, independent woman impressed the hell out of him. He knew the chains she’d snapped to become the first woman in her family to attend law school.
But that didn’t mean things could happen between them.
Especially with Rye being her brother and all. His friend might have mellowed since reconciling with his family and getting hitched, but he could still kick ass. And while he was happy as could be that Tammy had found her match in J.P., Clayton knew an older sister was different from a younger one. He could already feel the sting of Rye’s boot on his backside. It hurt even worse to contemplate the loss of a man he considered a brother.
Amelia Ann weakened his resolve, which was something he couldn’t allow. People who made themselves vulnerable got hurt, end of story. Right now he needed someone to remind him of that, and he knew the perfect person.
If Megan Proctor were home, she’d pick up the burner cell phone. If not, he’d hang up. He never left a message.
“Hello, Clayton.”
“I thought I’d call and see what you have for me.”
“I’m working as hard as I can to get you the actual name of the leak, but it isn’t easy. Just getting Gunner to tell me it was a female family member was hard enough.”
While Clayton understood that, it didn’t change their need for the actual name. The one person they’d believed the leak to be—Rye’s mama—had denied it vehemently. That meant they needed to continue to prove that Rye’s mama had lied, which wasn’t beneath her. Or that someone else had done it.
“You knew this was going to be a tough assignment when I hired you, Megan.”
“As I’ve told you over and over again, Gunner is still being very careful. It’s only been three weeks since I got him to let me use his home computer. It’s not my fault he doesn’t keep any work on it. It’s going to take longer to get him to bring me to his office, and even then, I’ll have to figure out a way to get on his computer there. This is all assuming he actually wrote the leak’s name down somewhere.”
“He’d have to tell his editor, and J.P. tells me the lawyers would have to know about it. They’d fear Rye would sue them over the story if their source wasn’t above reproach. There will be a record somewhere.”
There had to be. He was hitching all his hopes on Megan visiting Gunner Nolan’s office at The Southern Mirror.
“I need that name,” he told her.
Since the story about Rye Crenshaw paying his sister’s ex-husband a million dollars to secure her divorce, Clayton had tirelessly pursued the leak. He and J.P. had used every legal means to make the reporter produce the name, but freedom of the press was a bitch. The reporter was protected.
So they’d resorted to a sneaky approach to discover the leak. They’d hired a hungry, unemployed actress to date Gunner Nolan, hoping she would secure his confidence enough to learn the name. Megan was the third woman they’d employed after the other two failed to catch Gunner’s notice. She was gaining his trust, and Clayton thought it was only a matter of time until she could give them what they wanted. Once they had the culprit’s name, the person could finally be punished, and it would send a clear message to the world to never mess with Rye or his immediate family again.
“You need to be patient,” Megan told him. “Making a man fall in love with you is hard enough, but…I’m starting to feel guilty here, Clayton. The more I get to know Gunner, the less right this feels.”
The last thing they needed was for her feelings to get involved. “You agreed to do this job, and you’re making a lot of money. If you can’t do the job anymore, we can end this arrangement.”
Starting over from scratch would be a bitch, but Clayton always kept his eye on the prize. It was something he’d learned from his mama.
“No! I can do it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a human being.”
The lady had claws. They’d hired her for exactly that reason. Few women could pull off this act for a prolonged period.
“Are you implying I’m not human?” he asked since he damn well knew an insult when he heard one.
“You’re the boss. Would I ever say that?”
The sexy pitch of her voice would have made any man quiver with need. He could see why she was the one who’d finally landed Gunner.
“I need that name, Megan.”
“I know, dammit. Let me do my job my own way. We all know Gunner can’t suspect anything. You guys have a lot to lose if he starts investigating why I’m asking so many questions. One thing I do know is that he’s a damn good reporter.”
“You have everything to lose too,” he reminded her.
“I know. I’ll call when I have something.�
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“Fine.”
He hung up and slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. At times like this, he wondered if they would ever learn the leak’s name—a quest that had come to feel all too personal. Going home held no appeal. It was barely nine o’clock.
He dialed up the third member of his and Rye’s Vandy trio. They’d become fast friends in college, and now they all worked together to support Rye’s superstardom. “Hey, J.P. What are you doing tonight, bubba?”
“I’m about to head over to Tammy’s house to watch a movie. The kids are finally asleep, and we haven’t had much alone time this week. What’s up with you?”
Nothing. Just hoping we could grab a beer like old times.
Their old times were gone now that his two closest friends had settled down, but he didn’t say that. Clayton was happy J.P. had found the woman of his dreams. No one deserved happiness more than his friend and Tammy and her kids.
“Nothing. Just leaving Rye’s.”
“Lucky you. What’d Tory cook for supper?”
Rye’s pint-sized wife might be a Yankee, but she could sure cook like a Southerner. “Hoppin’ John and the best skillet cornbread this bubba’s ever tasted.”
“That woman is a marvel.”
“Don’t I know it? Well, I’ll let you get on to your own woman.”
J.P. laughed at that. “My woman. Yes, yes she is. Everything all right, Clayton?”
Leave it to J.P. to pick up on his disquiet. He was the most sensitive of all of them. Clayton attributed that to him being a songwriter as well as a respected lawyer for country music’s biggest stars.
“Fine. Just a little frustrated. I talked with Megan. She’s not any closer to discovering our leak’s name.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then J.P. said, “While I’m not completely comfortable with this situation, maybe you should let me be her point of contact. Talking to her only reminds you of Amanda.”
Amanda. The only woman Clayton had let himself fall for, the only woman he’d ever taken home to meet his mama. A tabloid reporter, she’d lied about her job in order to pump him for information about Rye, and even worse, his own revered daddy, Jimmy Ray Chandler, whose country music legend lived on from the grave.
Clayton had thought they were getting closer, so he’d privately shared certain details he knew as Rye’s deputy manager, only to see them featured in her newspaper not long after. If that hadn’t been devastating enough, his personal recollections about the night his daddy and his band members had died in the accident were released shortly thereafter.
He knew the bitter sting of private information made public, and it was what made this whole mess so personal to him. He wouldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let it go.
Amanda had been his inspiration for hiring Megan. Any man could be brought down by a combination of lust and sweet-talking. Hadn’t he been a prize stooge? Gunner wouldn’t be any different.
“You want to swing by and have a quick beer?” J.P. asked.
He knew J.P. meant it, but it would be rude to take him up on the offer. “Maybe later this week when you have a night off. Don’t want to keep your woman waiting.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a holler. Night, Clayton.”
“Night, bubba.”
When he hung up, he headed into Nashville to one of his favorite honky tonks. Just because he was going out without any wingmen these days didn’t mean he couldn’t find some fun. And if carefree women with bawdy laughs and big hair weren’t doing it for him as much these days, well, he would apply himself to the task with renewed dedication.
More than anything, he needed to steer his mind off the past and the threat Amelia Ann embodied to his present.
Chapter 3
In Susannah McGuiness’ family, the seventh day of the week had always been held sacred. She and her three siblings had dressed in their best clothes to attend church with their mama, and in the afternoons they’d all enjoy a big meal together. Now they had the privilege of listening to their mama preach. But though Reverend Louisa tended to a large flock, her family always came first, and they still kept their Sunday tradition of spending the afternoon together. And since her brother had found the love of his life, Tammy, their family tradition had expanded to include her and her family.
J.P. was a hard man to track down these days. He’d always kept busy with work, and now he spent most of his free time with Tammy and her two adorable children. Susannah couldn’t be happier for them, but darn it all, she missed her brother. Since he was hosting Sunday dinner today, she’d decided to head to his house early so she could talk to him privately before dinner.
J.P.’s country house was even more picturesque now that Tammy had completely redesigned the grounds and gardens. How lovely that she had planted her roots here at the very beginning, not knowing how they would intertwine with J.P.’s. Smoothing back her brown hair from her face, Susannah checked her reflection in the rearview mirror of her sporty Audi.
In her sermon this morning, Mama had told the story of a young mother who’d prayed for another child after losing her baby. After two years, God had finally answered her prayer. Susannah had been moved to tears, which wasn’t abnormal in one of her mama’s sermons. Mama usually messed up her makeup. But she looked more put together than she felt. Decent hair day despite the persistent humidity. Mauve lipstick on her lips. No mascara smudges around her green eyes. Presentable. Then she laughed at herself for sitting in her brother’s driveway and staring at herself in the mirror.
Someone rapped on her car window, and she jumped in her seat. Her brother’s grinning face peered inside. Great. He’d caught her primping.
She opened the car door and swung her legs out, rearranging her tan skirt over them.
“We have a full mirror inside if you’d like a better view, Narcissus.”
For that, he got a slight punch in the stomach before she hugged him. “Funny.”
“Oh, Susannah, oh don’t you cry for me,” he sang out in his fabulous voice, a long-time family joke.
“I still don’t know why God gave you such a beautiful voice when I sound like a frog.”
“You do?” a little voice asked. She looked over to see the son of her brother’s heart.
Rory was the sweetest boy alive, and though he was only seven, he was an old soul who’d seen things no kid should see. Moving to Dare River had brought some of his innocence and playfulness back, largely because her brother loved goofing around with him.
“Ask her to croak like one,” J.P. said, biting his lip to control his laughter.
“Can I hear you?” Rory asked.
He was so adorable with his little blond cowlick and polite manners that she let out a ribbit, and J.P. laughed himself into stitches.
Rory only stared at her and said, “That was really good.”
“She practices three times a week,” J.P. told Rory with a straight face.
“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered under her breath.
He grabbed her and pulled her close. “Best not. Mama wouldn’t like it if you committed one of the Big Ten. On a Sunday no less.”
The Big Ten. They’d always joked about that growing up. Preacher kid humor.
“I wanted to come over a little early so we could hang out,” Susannah said.
There was a ripple of surprise across J.P.’s face as he pulled back to look at her. “You did? What’s the matter?”
“Not a thing, darlin’,” she said with a smile. “I’ve just missed you is all.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. While all the McGuiness siblings were close, Susannah and J.P. had always shared a special connection because they were the two eldest.
“I’ve missed you too, honey. Rory, why don’t you run inside and check on the dogs? Make sure they’re not driving your mama crazy.”
The little boy gave a “Yes, sir,” and ran off.
He reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk by Dare River. You can catch
me up on everything before the masses descend.”
She glanced at the house. “Are you sure you don’t want to check with Tammy? I don’t want her to have to get everything ready without any help.”
“Everything’s ready. She’s sitting down with Annabelle, telling her stories about the chocolate fairies. Annabelle wanted to know what happens to them when the plants die down in the fall and winter. She’s afraid she’ll lose her chocolate fix every morning.”
It was hard not to smile as they walked across the expanse of his yard toward the path that cut through the woods to the river. J.P and Tammy had concocted a magical story for the kids about chocolate fairies who lived in the chocolate garden Tammy had planted in J.P.’s yard. It had helped the kids feel safe here, and the piece of chocolate they got on their pillows each morning had become a much-loved tradition. All the McGuinesses were crazy for chocolate, so the garden—and the story that went with it—was now a part of family lore.
“Annabelle is a smarty,” she told her brother as a woodpecker drummed its bill against an oak tree above them.
“You bet. I’ll have to keep on my toes with that one. She never forgets a thing. We’re discovering she has her Aunt Amelia Ann’s penchant for remembering everything she reads. Of course, she’s only just started kindergarten, but still…it looks like an eidetic memory runs in the family. Her teachers are amazed.”
The stroll in the woods soothed her like it always did. Someday she would have a place in the country like her brother. She couldn’t wait to walk in the woods with her own children and tell them fantastical stories about chocolate fairies, sleeping beauties, and rosy-cheeked dwarves.
“You’re so lucky to have those kids, J.P.”
“Don’t I know it?” His steady steps brushed the leaves on the path, and she sensed he was choosing his words carefully. “You’ve been running off after church ends the last few weeks, and I wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”
