Fireflies and Magnolias (17 page)

“Some might see it that way, although it’s not business-related.”

“I see,” she said, her eyes troubled now. “Rye’s downstairs, working on a new song for the Thanksgiving concert.”

He walked in the direction of his doom. No need to put it off.

Sure enough, Rye was sprawled on the couch, playing a soulful melody Clayton hadn’t heard before.

“What do you think of this?” Rye asked without moving from his perch.

Clayton stroked his jaw, anticipating the crunch of his best friend’s fist. “I kissed your sister.”

Rye continued strumming the guitar. “Tammy’s so cute and sweet; it’s hard not to kiss her.”

Shit. The man didn’t have a clue. “Not Tammy. Your other sister.”

A B-flat echoed out, not the right chord for the melody, and Clayton knew his friend had finally processed what he was saying.

“Amelia Ann?” Rye asked, his brow scrunching together like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “Come on now. You’re pulling my leg.”

He stood his ground, even though his belly rolled like a ship at sea. “No, I’m not. Wish I was.”

The guitar was set aside with less care than usual as Rye stood to face him. “You
kissed,
kissed her?
My baby sister, Amelia Ann?”

The burn of embarrassment flushed to his ears. “Yes.”

Rye’s mouth flattened into a straight line, and his eyes turned mean. He moved fast and slammed Clayton against the wall. “Why in the fuck would you do that?”

“Rye Crenshaw! What in the world are you doing?” Tory asked, running into the room. She must have followed him down the stairs to get there so fast. Likely she had guessed that whatever was burdening Clayton spelled trouble.

“Clayton kissed Amelia Ann,” his friend ground out, his hands fisted in Clayton’s shirt.

Even though Tory was barely shoulder height for them, she wedged her way between them and gave her husband a pointed look. “Well, it’s taken longer than I expected, but I knew this was coming.”

“You did?” Clayton and Rye asked at the same time.

They both stumbled back, Rye releasing his grip.

Tory rolled her eyes and gave her husband a not-too-gentle shove. “Of course I did. I have eyes, don’t I? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And heaven knows, you fight like cats whenever you’re around each other. Rye and I did the same thing when we first met.”

Clayton’s gut twisted. Tory and Rye had fought each other like pros until they’d…no, it couldn’t be the same between him and Amelia Ann…could it?

“How
do
they look at each other?” Rye asked.

Her flat stare was answer enough.

“Well, I haven’t seen them fighting like hellcats.” Rye grabbed his head and started pacing. “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I want to wake up.”

Clayton agreed. This was a nightmare all right. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep the truth from you.”

“She
let
you kiss her? Why would she do that?”

“I would think that would be obvious,” Tory told him, earning her a narrowed glance.

“I just can’t wrap my head around this. Dammit, Clayton, you’re way too old and—hell, I cannot believe I am saying this—experienced for my baby sister.”

“I know it,” he said, looking down at the boots he’d shined this morning before coming over.

“Then why in the world did you do it?” Rye asked, punching the air. “You’re one of my best friends.”

Tory laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Rye, they want each other.”

“Don’t say it like that. She’s my sister.”

The shudder that went through his friend ripped Clayton’s guts open. He hated that he was the reason Rye felt this way.

“But he’s—”

“No buts,” Tory interrupted, elbowing him. “I know this is hard for you to hear, but people don’t always plan these things. If they did, you and I would never have fallen in love.”

Love?
He wasn’t that far gone. He couldn’t be. Love meant destruction. Amanda had taught him that. “It’s not like that. I only kissed her.”

Rye put his hands on his waist like he was about ready to go at him again. “How much?”

He gulped. “How much what?” he asked although he knew what he meant.

“How
much
did you kiss her?”

Tory socked him. “Enough. Rye. That is none of your business. Clayton, I know Rye appreciates your honesty even though it wasn’t necessary for you to tell him.”

Rye’s hands settled on her shoulders. “Wasn’t necessary? Woman, what’s gotten into you?”

“Common sense, Rye Crenshaw. You should find yours. Clayton and Amelia Ann like each other. It’s none of your affair, and you aren’t going to stand in their way.”

Holy hell. Tory thought they were dating? The need to backpedal became an undeniable urge. “It’s not like that.” It couldn’t be like that. He couldn’t
let
it be.

Tory turned on him like an avenging angel, giving him a glance that could have brought Lucifer to his knees. “Are you saying you just want her for sex?” she asked baldly.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “Forgive my language.” He was only digging himself a hole here with his big mouth.

“You’re forgiven,” Tory said, leaving her husband’s side and coming to stand beside him. “Are you or are you not planning on dating Amelia Ann? Isn’t that why you kissed each other? Why you decided to risk being punched—”

“Or fired,” Rye added, his eyes full of fire.

“—by telling this jackass here.”

“Jackass?” Rye called out. “What did
I
do?”

Tory strode over to him. “I’ll tell you what you did. You’re acting like something was done to you, and it wasn’t. Clayton and Amelia Ann are old enough to make their own decisions, and if they want to kiss each other and have sex—”

“Stop. Please. I’m her big brother.” Rye planted his hands over his ears.

Running from the house and never coming back seemed like an appealing option right about now. “We’re not—”

“Clayton Chandler, are you telling me that you don’t want Rye’s…oh heck…blessing on you spending time with his sister?”

The question rooted him to the ground. He hadn’t expected anyone to toss out a line about the future. Rye was supposed to shut this down like Clayton thought best.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s Rye’s sister, and he’s my best friend and boss. Nothing can happen between us.”

“Now you’re thinking right, bubba,” Rye ground out.

Tory scratched her head, looking fit to be tied now. “Oh, is that the problem, Clayton? Because I don’t think you’re thinking straight. Not for one minute. Why don’t you head home so Rye and I can continue to talk about why this is none of his business?”

“None of my business?” his friend said, flinging his arms out in exasperation. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Tory told him. She hooked her arm through Clayton’s. “Come on, I’ll escort you out.”

“But I’m not done talking to him!” Rye nearly shouted.

“Yes, you are. Come on, Clayton.”

Her little hand dragged him from the room, and Clayton couldn’t help but be impressed with the way she’d handled Rye. She was a heck of a lot stronger than he usually gave her credit for. When they reached the front door, she turned to him and patted his cheek, making him feel like he was a six-year-old kid.

“You did the right thing,” she told him. “Now you and Amelia Ann need to decide what you two want. Once you regain your senses.”

“But I just told you…” He suddenly felt some sympathy for Rye. Tory wasn’t listening to him either.

“Sounds to me like you’re far from sure. I know when I hear guilt and fear talking in a man. You’re no different than Rye when he fell for me.”

“Tory—”

“I feel bad for my sister-in-law just now. When you finally admit how you feel about her and decide to ask her out properly, please make sure you have your head on straight.”

Admit how he felt about her? Ask her out?

Tory opened the front door and gave him a slight shove between the shoulder blades when he stood there stupidly.

He tripped on the threshold and remembered his manners. “Thanks…ah…Tory.”

“You’re welcome…ah…Clayton. You men! How you ever get us to go out with you mystifies me. It has to come down to hormones.” She shook her head and slammed the door.

His feet felt two sizes too large as he walked in a daze to his truck. Rye hadn’t punched him, and his pint-sized Yankee wife was clearing the path to him dating Amelia Ann.

This visit had gone nothing like he’d expected.

Amelia Ann was running through a draft of the protection order for one of their new clients when she heard a knock on the door. Looking down at her wrinkled white cotton pajamas dotted with roses and the matching robe, she eyed the clock. It was eleven a.m. on Saturday, and she hadn’t dressed for Community Legal yet. Edging over to the door, she peeked through the peephole and was surprised to see Tory and Rye standing there. Usually they called.

Seeing her brother made her feel guilty. She knew he’d throw a fit if he found out about her and Clayton. Not that she expected anything more to come of it since she hadn’t heard a peep from Clayton since he’d left her that night other than a brief text the next morning to say he’d secured another junker for her and not to ask about the old one. It had been delivered an hour later by a local car dealer, and she’d forced herself to silence the images of Damon destroying her old vehicle in a fit of rage. When she texted Clayton to thank him for his help and the car, his only response had been,
No thanks needed.

He hadn’t said a single word more.

Odious man. He could have at least called. Didn’t he know he’d raised her hopes by kissing her? She’d fought with herself over whether to use the concert as an excuse to see him and won the battle. She’d decided to let things simmer.

If he felt even a fraction of the passion and connection she did, a mere taste wouldn’t be enough for him. He would come around, she told herself. He was only processing everything. But she knew Clayton—better than he thought—and she feared the brief note and the silence that followed it were signs he was trying to create distance between them.

She smoothed her hair and opened the door. Tory was holding a basket of muffins—freshly baked, judging from the mouthwatering smell of ginger and cinnamon reaching her nose.

“Hi, y’all. I’m still in my pajamas and have to leave to do…some ah…legal stuff pretty soon, but come on in.” This was certainly not the right time to tell them the truth.

Then she had a thought. Clayton hadn’t gone back on his word and told them, had he?

“That’s okay, Amelia Ann,” Tory said, giving her the basket and kissing her cheek. “We only wanted to pop in for a bit. Right, Rye?”

When Amelia Ann looked at her brother, she noticed he wasn’t his usual smiling self. In fact, he was gazing at her like their old aunt Hattie used to look at people after she lost her mind, God rest her soul. Something hot and prickly touched her neck.

He knew. Blast Clayton to hell.

She pasted on a smile. “Rye, you look about as cross as a bear.”

Tory gave him a pointed look, and in that one glance, Amelia Ann’s stomach dropped to the floor. This was going to be bad.

“No need to pretend, darlin’,” Rye said, kissing her cheek as well. “Clayton paid us a visit and told us everything.”

Her anger spurted to the surface like newly drilled oil through the earth.
How dare he!
No wonder he hadn’t called her. She was going to chew him up and spit him out for this.

But she had bigger fish to fry right now. She braced herself for an attack. This was her life, and it was her decision where she wanted to volunteer her time.

Tory elbowed Rye, causing him to grunt. “Not that it’s any of our business, but we thought it might help matters if we came and told you we understand you and Clayton are both adults. Able to make your own decisions.
Right, Rye?”

Her mind spun. Oh, no.

His brother’s deep sigh could have blown over a sapling in the woods. “That’s what I’m
supposed
to say, but it’s stuck in my throat. I’m sorry, Tory. So how about we all sit down, and you can tell me what in the name of all that’s holy made you kiss a man who’s as old as me?”

Tory locked her arm through her husband’s and tugged him through the door, then shut it behind them. “Rye, please try and be reasonable.”

He ran a finger down her nose. “Sweetheart, I love you. I truly don’t mean to hurt you by saying this, but you don’t have any siblings. Trust me, this isn’t a normal boy-meets-girl situation. But I will try and be reasonable if that makes you feel better.”

Amelia Ann bit her lip for a moment. Suddenly it was like being back at Mama’s house, getting called onto the carpet for some transgression or social error.

Mama’s house.

That snapped her out of it. She was an adult now, and her own woman. Time to act like it.

“I suppose I should be glad Clayton told you, Rye,” she began, forming her argument like she would as a lawyer. “Now everything’s out in the open—”

“Just tell me this, Amelia Ann. Why Clayton? He’s—”

“Amelia Ann, you don’t need to tell us why you’re attracted to Clayton,” Tory interrupted. “Any woman with a healthy set of eyes can see that. Plus, he might act like a tough guy, but we all know he has a heart of gold. Rather like someone else I know, who needs to remember what we agreed upon before we came here.”

The basket of muffins in Amelia Ann’s arms suddenly felt like a bad prop in a community theater production.

Rye sighed again. “Why am I the bad guy for not liking the idea of you being with him? I think we need Tammy’s opinion.”

Wouldn’t that be peachy? They should call a family quorum.

Tory wrapped her arm around Amelia Ann’s shoulders and led her to the kitchen. “Let’s have some muffins and drink a cup of tea. And Rye, we don’t need anyone’s opinion. Amelia Ann and Clayton can and will figure it out for themselves.”

“But he said—”

“Rye, we talked about this,” Tory said in a stern voice.

Her brother followed them, his steps heavier than usual, clapping loudly on the hardwood floor and then changing tune once they hit the tiles in her kitchen. “But, sugar—”