Fireflies and Magnolias (22 page)

Somehow the nickname he’d used for her for so long had turned from sarcasm into sweetness.

Though she knew better than to tell him, or anyone, she loved him.

And after today, she thought he just might be falling a little in love with her as well. Why else would he say he wasn’t ready to make love with her when she knew it wasn’t his usual response?

For once, everything she wanted seemed to be falling into place.

Clayton texted Amelia Ann the next day to see how she was, telling himself he was only checking up on her. She worked at a dangerous place. Then he laughed at himself. It was Sunday. She would be having dinner with her family.

He was in a sorry state, all right. It had been the right decision to send her home last night instead of making love to her. If he was like this now, he’d be hung over the moon once he’d loved her like he dreamed of doing.

Amelia Ann answered his text immediately and said she was having a great day so far and would be sending him her top ten choices for the charity concert in an email. Her work on the media features had been incredibly efficient and timely. He knew Susannah McGuiness was working on the in-your-face collage as he liked to call it, but he’d been told not to expect to see it until she was done. That had almost made him laugh. Amelia Ann had a decided way of giving orders, but instead of putting him off, he rather appreciated it.

He found himself fantasizing about laying her down on his desk as he unveiled the soft skin hiding under her professional business attire.

He reined in his thoughts as best he could. Rather than doing some chores of his own, he waited by his computer for her email, and when it came, he immediately dug in. Her passion for these stories was another key to the many rooms that made up Amelia Ann, and he was eager for the opportunity to peer into her soul.

He only made it through the first two women’s stories before he needed to take a break to scrub his face. It was impossible to continue entertaining his fantasies about Amelia Ann after reading such horrifying tales. It amazed him that she had been strong enough to hear stories like these, to look into the bruised faces of the women who’d survived them. And it made him consider the impact Susannah’s collage was going to have on him…on everyone at the concert. He suspected no one would be the same afterwards.

The first two candidates for the feature had been beaten nearly every day by their husbands for over a decade apiece until they’d summoned the courage to leave with their children. Both had left with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Their paths had not been easy. Martha’s husband had burned all her things in the parking lot of their apartment complex. Winnie’s husband had violated the protection order and beaten her nearly to death until he was arrested, found guilty, and put in prison. But after that rough start, each had pulled together a new life for herself. They’d gotten jobs—Martha as a waitress, Winnie as a checkout clerk at the nearby grocery store. They’d pulled extra shifts whenever possible, cut coupons, and put their kids’ education before everything.

And rather than just surviving, they’d thrived. Martha now managed the restaurant and was known for remembering the name of every person who walked through the door, providing that Southern charm for which Nashville was famous. Winnie had become a bookkeeper at the grocery store, and ten years later, opened a small accounting firm serving mostly single moms or divorced women on fixed incomes. Now she was on the board of one of Nashville’s biggest women’s shelters as the treasurer.

Both women praised the legal clinics that had supported them throughout their ordeals. They didn’t name any names, so Clayton wondered if they’d been served by Community Legal.

Having seen Amelia Ann’s passion and grief over helping these women, he wondered if she’d cried while reading these stories. The thought of her like that—so vulnerable—made his chest swell with emotion. That feeling didn’t go away as he read the remaining eight stories. Once he was through, he sat back and let the feelings stew inside him. How was he supposed to only choose three women for the concert when each one of them was so compelling? How could he turn down any of them after all they’d been through?

Well, Amelia Ann might have a sense about that, so he texted her again and asked if she wanted to meet him for dinner to discuss the features. She didn’t respond immediately, which made him restless. Maybe she’d already gone to her family dinner. When his phone chimed, he fought the urge to lunge for it.

Hey there! I’m glad you had a chance to read their stories. Amazing, right? And as for dinner, please tell me we’re mixing business with pleasure.

His first thought was to reply that pleasure should come first, but that was too bold. Wasn’t it? He sat on the edge of his desk, filled with self-doubt, and hit his cold coffee cup with his hip. He watched it spill coffee all over his papers in slow motion.

“Shit,” he cried out, diving to pick up the papers and shake the coffee off. The rest of the mess was running on the floor.

Great. He’d become a lovesick fool.

After cleaning everything up, he eyed the wet and now stained documents on his desk. He’d have to reprint the women’s stories now. No way was he about to explain to Amelia Ann why he’d upended cold coffee onto them. It was mortifying.

He stared at his phone for a few minutes. Typed a few words and then erased them. He was acting like he was writing the Declaration of Independence or something.

This had to stop.

But he didn’t want them to have dinner and talk about only business. He wanted to hear her laugh. Hell, he wanted to kiss her again and feel her in his arms.

Dinner with you sounds mighty fine. How about Rolf and Daughters?

That was better. Not too eager. But pretty plain in its intent. The Germantown restaurant was one of Nashville’s finest, and he’d have to call in a few favors to get them a table on short notice. But she deserved the best, and he would give it to her. His belly gripped with lust at the mere thought of being with her again, of kissing her. He had to remind himself for the thousandth time to take it slow. She was a virgin, for heaven’s sake, and she deserved better from him.

She replied right away, making him smile.

How about 7:30 tomorrow night after I finish at Community? Can’t wait to be with you again.

Funny, but he couldn’t wait either.

Me too.

She added three smiley faces and then wrote:

The clock can’t move fast enough.

Smiley faces? When had anyone ever sent him smiley faces before?

As he finished cleaning up the mess he’d made, he realized he was humming. They were going on a date. It was time to be honest with himself.

This
was
getting out of hand, and part of him couldn’t be more delighted.

His phone beeped again, and he lurched for it, eager for more smiley faces. When he saw it was Megan calling, he shook himself.

“Hello, Megan. Good to hear from you.”

“Hello, Clayton,” she said, and there was fatigue in her voice. She didn’t have good news for him.

“What happened?”

“Clayton, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Gunner finally told me that the paper’s internal policy on anonymous sources is to keep them oral. They decided to do things this way eight years ago when a judge compelled them to turn over their files in a defamation suit. After that, they stopped writing the names down. I suspect I’ve done all I can do. It’s time to call this off.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, his mood shifting from lovesick to bitter frustration. The policy made sense, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“There has to be a way to pry the name out of him.”

“There isn’t. Listen, I know you’ve paid me well, but this has gone on long enough. Gunner might have some rough edges, but I like him. He’s not a bad man. Let this go.”

His head pounded in time with his fingers on the wood. “No. If he told you the source was one of Rye’s female relations, he’ll tell you a name if you ask.”

“And how I am supposed to ask something like that without looking suspicious? It was hard enough to get him to tell me that much. He’ll never do it, Clayton. You may not believe this, but he has ethics. He won’t break the confidentiality agreement.”

Clayton shoved a stack of media flyers out of the way on his desk so he could sit back and kick up his heels, one of his best thinking postures. Then it clicked. “Rye’s giving a huge concert to raise money and awareness for domestic violence.”

“I’ve heard. It’s all over the airwaves. Every radio station I’m listening to is giving away free tickets.”

Yes, he and Mama had made sure they had tickets to give away. It was excellent promo. Not that they were struggling with that. Rye’s concert was gaining national media attention, and
Good Morning America
had just asked him to perform a few days beforehand.

“I’ll invite Gunner to attend the concert under the auspices of…” Of what? He and Gunner Nolan would have met each other on Main Street with six-shooters on if they’d lived in the Wild West.

“I’m sorry, did you finish your sentence? I’m waiting with bated breath for your mastermind plan here.”

That’s what he liked about Megan. She was level-headed and snarky. She didn’t take shit from anyone, him included.

“What if I invited him to bury the hatchet?” he asked.

“He’d never believe you,” she told him. “Everyone knows you hold a powerful grudge once crossed.”

Yes, he did. That was who he was. No one ever got a second chance with him. Amanda had taught him that the hard way.

“Then how about you take him there on a date? Tell him you’d like to see the concert. If he cares for you, he’ll go, but he might bitch about it later if you ply him with liquor.”

“Resorting to getting the man drunk, are we? Then what?”

“Let him release his anger against me and Rye. Feed it by agreeing with him. Gunner most likely thinks Rye’s concert is a publicity stunt, right?”

“Actually, he thinks it’s personal. Now he thinks Rye paid the million dollars to get his sister away from an abusive husband. Before he thought it was just another case of a superstar throwing money around, but he’s come to think there’s more to it.”

So Gunner was on the right track, just like a few other media outlets were. He’d have to talk to Rye about that. Even
GMA
had asked if Rye would be willing to talk about the reasons for this big concert on domestic violence, sensing a story.

“If Gunner is curious about the concert, that’s your hook. Tell him he might learn Rye’s real reason for staging it if he attends. Tell him you’ve heard Rye’s going to give a personal speech during the show.”

That much was public knowledge, so Gunner wouldn’t get suspicious if he asked around, and he had no doubt the reporter would do exactly that. Heck, he might even contact the leak for a follow-up story. After all, wouldn’t Gunner need a source to run with an article about Tammy being the victim of domestic abuse?

“If he discusses the concert with you, play dumb, but ask why he can’t get in touch with his original source on the million-dollar divorce settlement to find out.”

“Clayton, we’re walking a fine line here. Gunner might think I’m being too nosy.”

“You know how to play it, honey. You’ve lasted longer than any of us thought possible. If this were a movie, you’d be honored with an Oscar.”

“Fine. I’ll do what I can. But if this doesn’t work, it ends.”

That wasn’t something he was going to agree to. “Talk to you soon.”

He hung up, feeling more hopeful than he’d felt in months. If he fanned the media’s interest in the story behind the concert, Gunner would take the bait. He knew it in his gut.

But if he fanned the media’s interest, he would be throwing Tammy’s personal life into the arena. So far, he’d only said Rye believed domestic violence was an under-supported cause.

One thing was certain. Rye would have to agree to his machinations before he set any of this into motion. Hell, Tammy would have to want to come forward and tell her story publicly, and though he knew Rye and Amelia Ann had talked with her about doing so, she hadn’t given them an answer. If she didn’t want anyone to know her business, he couldn’t run with his plan. He’d never willingly do anything to hurt that sweet lady.

Was he a dog for thinking like this? No, Rye had asked him to find the leak, and the sordid search had gone on long enough.

It was time to finish this thing.

Amelia Ann was flying high after receiving Clayton’s surprise text and his agreement to meet her for dinner tomorrow. Granted, it was one of her busy days and her shift at Community didn’t end until seven, but she’d just have to rush home the minute it was done.

Things with Clayton were progressing. She knew it. Time to nurture the seed.

“Someone’s pretty happy,” Susannah commented, nudging her in the buffet line in the kitchen.

Tory’s fabulous sweet potato casserole looked heavenly, even with the marshmallows Rory had requested on top. She took a healthy helping. “I am. What about you?” she asked, not yet ready to share her news about Clayton. It would be wrong not to tell her family first.

“Doing okay,” Susannah said, helping herself to the Brussels sprouts Tammy had made.

Why God had made the Brussels sprout, Amelia Ann couldn’t say. “I never did like those things. They’re nothing but mini cabbages that look cute, but they still make you bloated.”

Sadie, who was right in front of her in line, turned around and handed her the spoon for the mashed potatoes. “I know! Every time I eat them, I have to stand outside. They give me the worst gas.”

Amelia Ann burst out laughing. She might talk about being bloated, but she would never talk about having gas out loud. “I guess I was trying to say it more delicately.”

Sadie only blinked at her. “Why? It’s a natural body function.”

“So’s body odor,” Susannah commented, “but you don’t see me talking about it.”