Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) (7 page)

Cassidy strode into the house and rummaged in her purse for her throw-away cell phone. The number couldn’t be traced. She’d talked to Jeannie a half dozen times since arriving in Anchorage. No one had found her. But did she dare call her mother?

No, she decided, too risky, and she tossed the cell phone onto the bed. What if her father answered? She checked her alarm clock on the bedside table. Ten o’clock in Chicago. Dad would have departed for the office hours ago. Would her mother still be at home? Or out of the house, attending a meeting? Or shopping with a friend?

Cassidy quickly grabbed the phone and punched in the number for her parents’ home before she changed her mind.

“Hello.” The woman’s voice sounded so sad and dejected and broken. Not at all like her mother.

“Mom?”

She heard her mother’s gasp. “Cassidy, darling, is that you?”

“Yes, Mom.” She blinked back tears. “I miss you so much.”

“Come home, darling, come home.” Her mother’s voice pleaded. “I’m certain the difficulties between you and your father can be worked out with a bit of compromise.”

“I’m done compromising where Dad and the office are concerned. But our relationship is totally separate, Mom. I just called to hear your voice, and to assure you I’m all right.” Cassidy fought to control her emotions. Could her mother detect how upset she was?

“I’m absolutely beside myself worrying about you, darling.” Her mother cleared her throat. “Where are you?”

“I’m still in the United States. I didn’t run away to Europe or anywhere too far. But I’ve started fresh, on my own, free of Dad’s influence and control.” Cassidy sighed. “I need this Mom. I can’t entrust my career or future to anyone but me. When I left everything in Dad’s hands, you saw what happened.”

“But Cassidy, so much has happened since you left.” Her mother’s voice brightened. “Please, darling, call your father. He’ll explain everything.”

“No, Mom. I’ve got to go. Just know I love you, and I miss you, and I’ll call you again soon.”

“But darling, you must contact your father…”

Cassidy cut the connection, and then burst into tears.

Talking to her mother, hearing her voice, felt wonderful. She missed her mother terribly, but this separation couldn’t be helped. A price paid. A chosen sacrifice in return for her freedom. She’d made the right decision, but why did her heart hurt so much? Because she might never see her mother again, for years.

After she heard her mother say ‘so much has happened’, Cassidy was sorely tempted to call her father. What had changed? Had her Dad realized what he’d lost by denying her the promotion? Would he reconsider the partnership if she returned? And then she shook her head. There remained the matter of Jonathan Ward. Would the partnership depend on her acceptance of Jonathan as a husband?

No way would she be blackmailed into returning, partnership or no partnership. But would her decision be proven right or wrong?

Chapter 6

Cassidy completed her shift a few minutes ago and cashed out. Now, on route to the staff room, she heard Clayton mumble, “By the way, I’m sorry.”

She stopped in her tracks, convinced she’d heard him wrong. She couldn’t imagine Clayton Morrison apologized for anything, ever. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry I suggested Sherry fire you after your first shift.” Clayton shrugged his shoulders. “When I’m wrong I admit it. And I was definitely wrong about your abilities.”

Cassidy slid onto the barstool opposite the bartender and crossed her arms. From Clayton’s expression, as she suspected, admitting he was wrong about anything probably ranked dead last on his list of favorite things to do.

“How so?”

“Within a week you’ve proven yourself exceptionally capable. I admire your work ethic; you’re always on time. You charm the customers with playful repartee, but never cross the line and openly flirt with any guys. You never mix-up an order, and you can calculate an order in your head faster than the till does it. What can I say? You’re one of the best waitresses we employ here.” Clayton rapped the counter with his knuckles. “What can I get you? On the house.”

Cassidy met Clayton’s eyes and realized she hadn’t acknowledged his apology. “Thank you. I appreciate recognition of my efforts. My granny taught me that ‘any job worth doing is worth doing right.’” She smiled and straightened her back. “I’d love a Harvey Wallbanger, please.”

“Real orange juice, right?” Clayton paused.

“Is there any other way?” Cassidy raised one eyebrow.

While Clayton mixed the cocktail, Cassidy observed him as he worked. If she overlooked his tendency to annoy her at every turn, she had to admit he was extremely handsome. When he was dressed in western gear, you might mistake him for a wrangler right off a Montana ranch. Or not. She’d wager her next paycheck, his lily white hands hadn’t worked a day of manual labor in their life.

His arrogance, which he would consider forthrightness and confidence, definitely grated on her nerves. But his frosty attitude didn’t irritate her half as much, however, when he offered free drinks, sincere apologies, and lavish praise for her work. She’d witnessed him joking and laughing with the customers. Would he actually be fun outside the workplace?

Clayton set the drink on the bar, added a straw, and slid the glass toward her. “Here you go. One Harvey Wallbanger.”

“Thank you, sir. Tonight’s crowd wore me ragged. Very high maintenance.” Cassidy sipped her drink.

“Tourists expect capital ‘S’ service while they’re on vacation. Especially those seniors.” Clayton popped the tab on a Miller and drank deeply. “Seniors are extremely impatient; they want their order yesterday. And they’re notoriously lousy tippers, still living in the ‘good old days’ when leaving a nickel beside your plate after a good meal was considered generous.”

“Oh, please. They aren’t that bad.” Cassidy waved her hand, dismissively. “Those old folks love it when someone bestows a bit of attention upon them. Their children don’t spend time with them, and their grandchildren never visit. When I listen to their stories, they feel special during their vacation.”

“That attitude earns you those generous tips.” Clayton smiled.

Sherry appeared at Clayton’s side and handed him some paperwork. “These require your signature please.”

While her boss perused and signed the documents, Cassidy took the opportunity to further consider her opinion of him.

He was extremely articulate; she’d overhead him discussing a variety of current topics in the news with customers. She even caught snippets of conversation regarding stock options and tax shelters with the happy-hour white-collar crowd. She had to admit Clayton talked a good game. But what bartender required tax shelters?

Just as Sherry retrieved the papers and headed back to her office, Cassidy finished her drink. She slid the glass across the bar. “Thank you, Clayton. That was delicious.”

“Another round?” Clayton met her eyes, an expectant expression on his face.

“No thank you. I’m driving home. One is enough.” Cassidy smiled. “But thank you for the offer.”

“You’ve earned it.” Clayton slipped the dirty glass into the dishwasher rack and hauled it out to the kitchen.

Cassidy smiled with contentment. She’d confided to Patricia that her new job felt like a vacation after working those long corporate hours in her father’s law firm. Eight hours on her feet, usually on the run, proved tiring but exceptionally rewarding. She enjoyed interacting with the customers and staff. Even Clayton participated in a bit of tomfoolery tonight with the bus load of seniors from Canada. She loved this job!

Wouldn’t Dad suffer a conniption fit if he saw me now, she thought. All the thousands of dollars her law degree had cost him, and she was contentedly selling drinks to senior citizens on a northern getaway. She almost laughed aloud, imagining the horrified expression on Theodore Donahue’s face.

Cassidy swung around on the barstool and gazed across the room. The cleaning staff had pushed the chairs aside to vacuum the carpeted areas, while one fellow mopped the hardwood dance floor sticky with spilled drinks. This workplace was miles from where she’d recently drawn a paycheck, she mused, in more ways than one.

And then the most brilliant idea—something even more disturbing than learning his daughter was employed as a cocktail waitress—popped into her head.. What if her father tracked her down and discovered her dating a bartender? How eager would Dad be to learn that his grandchildren could be sired by a fellow managing a western bar, earning a few dollars north of minimum wage?

“Payback if Dad ever tracked me down,” muttered Cassidy. The idea tickled her, beyond delicious, and was exactly what her father deserved for treating her so shabbily.

Nothing serious would ever come of the perceived relationship, of course. The two of them could barely tolerate each other during an eight hour shift. But Dad wouldn’t be apprised of that bit of information. The heart arrhythmia resulting from such a discovery would serve him right. Demanding she accept Jonathan Ward’s proposal. Cassidy shivered at the mere thought of ‘happily ever after’ with that insincere jerk. Well, Cassidy had crossed paths with an arrogant jerk of her own, and she wasn’t above using him for her own purposes.

The problem lay in coercing her boss into being her accomplice.

Just then Clayton returned and slipped in behind the bar—his home away from home—and finished straightening the bottles, glassware and other bartender paraphernalia. He wouldn’t know what hit him, she decided, smiling to herself.

Cassidy leaned forward on the barstool. “Clayton, I’m new in town, and I have a small request...”

*

“Are you serious?” Clayton shook his head, convinced he’d heard her wrong. She’d invited him to dinner at Endless Nights. Her treat! Call him a chauvinist, but his mama had raised him right. And hell would freeze over before Clayton allowed a woman to pay for a meal. Even an annoying woman like Cassidy Du Pont.

“Of course, I’m serious.” Cassidy’s dentist-chair-whitened smile almost blinded him.

“In your opinion, we could actually break bread together in public.” Clayton sniffed at the idea. “We wouldn’t finish the appetizer before one of us tore out the other’s throat.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.” Cassidy raised her hand and presented the three-finger salute. “No arguing. No topics of conversation considered off limits.”

“You haven’t been a Girl Scout in decades.” Clayton imagined her as a child in that cute little Scout uniform, her hair in pigtails and her face splattered with freckles, ringing doorbells and selling dozens of boxes of cookies.

“That’s a mere technicality which doesn’t matter anyway. A Girl Scout lives by the code for life. And honor and honesty top the list.” Cassidy lowered her hand. “So, will you agree to a lovely evening together to partake of Patricia’s culinary delights?”

“Whoa. Back up. You know Patricia? Patricia Graham, the executive chef from Endless Nights?” Clayton stood, hands on hips.

“She’s my housemate. I attended…” Cassidy slammed her mouth shut; her smile vanished.

“You attended what?” Clayton stared at her. She’d changed her mind about whatever she’d almost blurted out.

“I attended an evening cooking course with her sister, Sheila. Sheila introduced me to Patricia.” Cassidy smiled, weakly. “Sheila and I have been friends for years. When I decided to move here, Sheila suggested I share Patricia’s home with her.”

Clayton would bet his new Porsche she was lying. Cassidy couldn’t operate the bar’s coffee maker when she first started. Evening cooking course? Right. And he’d considered taking knitting lessons. “I dine at Endless Nights frequently. Patricia’s a top-rated chef. The owner is fortunate he snagged her.”

“Patricia loves working there. The owner is absent, very hands off. Patricia’s been given free-rein to operate the business as her own. She couldn’t be happier.” Cassidy’s smile returned.

“And you believe we could share a meal together and not create a scene in the most prestigious restaurant in downtown Anchorage?”

“Not only do I believe it, I’ll prove it if you agree to meeting for dinner at seven o’clock next Sunday?” Cassidy stuck out her hand, he assumed, intending to shake on the idea.

Clayton shook his head. Something just didn’t feel right.

He’d bet anything that her auburn hair originated in a bottle. A soft brunette would better suit her coloring. Furthermore, Cassidy had eyed him suspiciously for days, dodged every innocent question regarding her past work and her previous home.

Why the sudden change of heart?

Clayton couldn’t put his finger on exactly what Cassidy intended to accomplish by dragging him downtown to dinner. And if Cassidy intended to pick up the check why not suggest some fast food place? A few customers suffered heart palpitations when they glanced at the prices on the menu at Endless Nights, but she offered to pay their bill on a waitress’s salary.

She’s up to something.

In the past whenever an overbearing woman attempted to attract his attention, Clayton heard a biological clock ticking as loud as Big Ben. But Cassidy didn’t appear ‘motherly’. He’d describe her as kind-hearted, warm, generous and caring. Someday she’d be a wonderful mother. Right now, he just didn’t see motherhood as a priority with her.

She’s definitely up to something.

Did Clayton have ‘meal ticket’ written on his forehead? Nobody ever accumulated wealth by waiting tables. Did Cassidy consider landing a guy in management as the means of attaining a more financially secure life for herself? She couldn’t have discovered who he really was. If he knew women, they couldn’t keep such a discovery to themselves. He hated to admit it, but she wasn’t a gold digger.

Doesn’t matter. She’s still up to something.

Clayton grabbed a wet cloth and mopped the counter top and mixing areas, dried them with a clean towel. Memories of Barbara, his gold digger fiancée, flashed through his mind. Within a two week period, that woman had racked up his credit cards, emptied his checking account, and slept with his best friend. And then she disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d been burned once, and he wasn’t going anywhere near that fire again.