Fireflies and Magnolias (40 page)

“With what?”

“With my house,” he explained. “I had to fire my decorator today after I realized she didn’t understand what I wanted. I told her I liked country, and she took that to mean I wanted a massive flag in my entryway in something called a glass float.” He ducked his head again. “I’m more patriotic than most, but I don’t want people to feel they have to break into ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ each time they come through my front door.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Okay, and to restrain herself from asking who his decorator had been. “I can understand your point.”

“Then there’s the six-point buck she hung in my den.” He gestured to his waist. “I think she got the idea from my belt here. I don’t fancy having it stare at me with its beady eyes as I watch TV.”

She felt her ribs creak from the laughter she was holding in. “I’m not fond of hanging dead animals myself—unless the client expressly wants it, of course.”

“I know you’re a decorator,” he said, “and although I don’t know you well, you don’t strike me as the kind to stick a giant flag or an animal head in my house.”

She knew where this was going. “No, neither would be my first choice.”

“I’d really love for you to share your artistic gifts with me and my house.”

So, this was a job offer, not a date. He wasn’t going to ask her out after all. She masked her confusion and disappointment by crossing her arms over her chest. “I have some other clients ahead of you, but I could help you after I finish up with them.” To do otherwise would be churlish and childish, and she wasn’t that.

A smile flashed across his face, and in the face of his infectious joy, her attraction for him surged. Darn it all.

“Wonderful! I’ll have the old decorator remove her stuff—except for the bed. I’m used to army barracks. I can live pretty bare bones if I have to.”

It was hard to imagine this beautiful, larger-than-life man in nothing but a bare room lined with bunk beds, sleeping with other soldiers. She studied him closer, and her mind produced the image of him in a camouflage army uniform, gun in hand, a helmet covering his beautiful hair. Now she could see him as he’d been for ten years. It would make a great painting.

“I bet you were a good soldier,” she told him.

Surprise rippled across his face, and then the shadows returned. “I just tried to serve as best I could. Thanks for helping me out, Susannah. I’ll pay you, of course. I hope you weren’t thinking I was asking you to do it for free.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” she said easily, growing more aware of the quiet around them in this portion of the house. Too intimate. “I should get back to the others.”

“Me too,” he said as he fell in step beside her. “I don’t usually like after-parties, but this one is special. It’s been an honor to meet all the women in the features and their families.”

She was put out that she’d so badly mistaken his intentions toward her—surely it was partly his fault for leading her on—but it did nothing to diminish his natural charm. How sweet of him to have taken the time to speak to them at a party full of bigwig country music types.

“I haven’t met all of them yet,” she said as they walked up the stairs. “My sisters wanted to tell me what a great job I did, and then we wanted to talk to Tammy…” She was babbling. “Time got away from me.”

“Have you met Hazel?”

“No. I was sitting by Winnie and her family and someone pointed her out to me, but it was too crazy to go over and say hi to her after the concert.”

“Well, I’ll take you to her if you’d like. She’s the sweetest teacher you’ll ever meet. Reminds me of my first grade teacher, Mrs. Watkins. She gave us apples from her orchard every fall and showed us how to make apple cider from them.”

The music and conversation from the party reached her ears, and she knew their time was growing short. “Where did you grow up?” she asked even though she feared she shouldn’t. Was she showing unnecessary interest in him? Then she realized knowing a bit about his background would help her decorate his home better. Or so she told herself.

“Arkansas,” he said, “not too far outside Little Rock. And please, no Clinton jokes. I’ve heard them all.”

That made her laugh. “I don’t have any of those in my repertoire.”

He winked conspiratorially. “Good. Let’s go find Hazel.”

His hand extended to her before he winced. “Sorry. There must be something about you. Every time I see you, I want to hold your hand.”

When he lowered it, she was even more confused. Didn’t that mean something?

As he took her to meet Hazel and her family, he did place his hand on her back like a lot of men did when leading a woman through a thick crowd. Her muscles bunched, almost like they were trying to move closer to his touch.

And as she talked with the group, she couldn’t ignore the feel of his hand as it hung next to her own, almost like it was still reaching for her.

The after-party was in full swing, and Amelia Ann felt it was her duty to play hostess to their honored guests from the various women’s groups they’d invited to attend, as well as Martha, Winnie, and Hazel and their extended families. Some of the younger kids lay sleeping on their mamas’ laps while the group chatted around them.

Everyone couldn’t say enough about the concert. When Rye joined them, his entire face and ears flushed red from their praise. He immediately said it was little enough and deflected the praise onto the women who’d participated by sharing their stories. The press took pictures, but Amelia Ann declined to be in any of them. Word would spread about her relationship with Rye after this concert, but she didn’t want to be in the spotlight anymore than was necessary.

After years of training with Mrs. Augusta, she knew how to comport herself socially while her mind buzzed with activity. It was like her brain had divided into two parts, one conversing with these amazing people, the other obsessing about Clayton’s donation and the tickets he’d given to Jasinda and her children.

As midnight came and went, her group started to leave, needing to put their children to bed and prepare for the holiday the next day.

After showing the last of her special guests out, she closed the door and turned around to rest against it. As her Granddaddy Crenshaw would say, she was plain tuckered out.

“Did everyone get off all right?” she heard a familiar voice say.

Amelia Ann watched Clayton come into the foyer, and she wondered if he’d sought her out. His face didn’t convey any emotion, but his eyes told a different story. The gray reminded her of a hundred overcast days in a row.

“Thank you for arranging for Jasinda, Calvin, and Kylie to come tonight,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

“You’re welcome,” he said in a grave voice.

Best to spell her thoughts out. “And the donation to the clinic? I don’t even know what to think of that.”

He lifted his shoulder. “It’s pretty simple. I wanted to support the clinic now that I know about the work y’all do there.”

His statement had been carefully enough worded that it was impossible to read anything into it, and the urge to step into his face and go toe-to-toe with him for a real answer was impossible to deny.

“But it’s a million dollars, Clayton,” she said with some asperity in her voice. “And I work there.”

“Amelia Ann, if you had any concept of the wealth I have from my Daddy’s estate, you’d know a million dollars is small potatoes. I wanted to support the clinic’s efforts, so I did.”

Somehow she’d never thought of the wealth he and his mama must still be receiving from his Daddy’s old songs. The stubborn look on his face told her he wasn’t giving anything else away, assuming there was anything, and she felt like a fool.

“I should let you get back to work,” she said and pushed off the door. Then she stopped herself. If she wanted real answers, she was darn well going to get them. “Why did you really invite Jasinda and her kids, Clayton?”

He’d already taken a few steps away in the opposite direction, but he halted. Swiveling around, he tugged his black cowboy hat down, shielding his eyes from her. “I thought you’d like it.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but in Clayton-speak it was. More than anything, she wished she could simply walk into his arms right now and forget everything that had happened.

“I did,” she said instead.

“I also wanted you to know I understand why you did what you did to help Tammy.”

The urge to cry was strong, so she dug her fingernails into her palms to quell the tears. “But you still can’t forgive me.”

He didn’t say anything.

A fresh wave of pain rose over her, more than she could bear. “I can’t keep seeing you like this. Maybe…I should transfer to another law school and finish my degree there. With you working for Rye…we won’t have the space we need to…” God, was she really saying this? “Get over each other.”

He tugged his cowboy hat off and ran his hand through his coal black hair. “Don’t…leave. There’s no reason. It would hurt you to be away from your family, and your brother would only blame me.”

His response only hurt her more.

“Don’t worry about Rye. He’s not the one feeling all this.” She gestured to her body.

Striding across the short distance between them, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t go. We’ll find a way to…be okay with each other.”

Be okay? Be okay?
she wanted to shout. How was she ever supposed to feel okay about him after what they’d shared? How was she not supposed to miss him when he was within arms reach? She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching for him. His own eyes were tortured like hers must be, and he rubbed his thumbs against her shoulders in an achingly sweet caress that reminded her of all they’d lost.

“I can’t shut things out like you can.” She stepped away, needing to escape the memory of his touch before she embarrassed herself further. “I’ll have to think on it.”

“I’ll stay out of your way, Amelia Ann.” He slapped his hat against his thigh, and it echoed like a thunderclap. “Just don’t leave.”

She cleared her throat. “I can’t promise that,” she whispered.

And right there and then, she realized she was going to have to give the notion serious consideration. It would be impossible to move on if she didn’t, though the thought of leaving her family and her life here was too much to contemplate. Walking away from him, the urge to bawl rose within her. She wasn’t going to make it through the night without breaking down. Better to duck outside now, even if it was freezing, and let some of the pressure in her chest out. She would feel better—please God—and her remaining time at the party would go smoothly.

After locating her coat and gloves, she let herself out the back door. She knew where she could be alone. She’d cried there before.

But then it had been in Clayton’s arms.

Clayton resumed his duties after speaking with Amelia Ann in a daze. He conversed about Rye’s upcoming album release with one of the biggest radio station heads in Nashville. His mama brought over one of the execs from Rye’s label to talk a little about follow-up promotion from the concert. They’d been a bit squeamish about the concert’s focus, but now they were all daisies and buttercups about it.

He was too cynical to be surprised after all the years he’d spent in the business. If the record label made money, they were happy, and it was his job to see to it Rye always made money. Tonight, they’d made both money
and
history.

The national attention the concert was receiving was incredible. Rye’s concert was trending on Twitter, and his new song, which they’d released right after the concert, was already topping the charts with a record number of downloads. Clayton knew he and Mama would be working on Thanksgiving to deal with all the media requests that were already starting to rain in. He’d ducked away to check his e-mail during the party, and fifty-five messages had already landed.

And that was when he’d spotted Amelia Ann, sagging against the door like her life force was waning. Even exhausted, her beauty moved him. The simple gold dress reminded him of the one she’d worn on their date to Rolf and Daughters, though this one was more demure, with long sleeves and a high neckline.

That night, she had been on fire, and it had all been for him.

Tonight, she’d blazed brilliantly at the concert in front of twenty thousand people, but offstage her usual flame seemed to have been snuffed out.

Maybe it was his presence.

Didn’t a flame need oxygen to survive? Had he taken that away from her?

He thought of her talk about leaving, and he felt like someone had extinguished a cigarette in his belly. She
couldn’t
leave. This was her home. She had school, her volunteer work, and a family who loved her. It would crush her and everyone who cared about her if she moved away.

Including him, he realized.

“Mr. Chandler,” he heard a woman say, and he turned around to see Rye’s mama standing there.

“Mrs. Hollins,” he responded politely.

She’d never much cared for him. He’d always suspected she blamed him for taking her son away from the life she’d planned for him.

“May we speak privately?” she asked.

He thought about telling her to go to the devil. What in the world would this woman want with him? For years, he’d hated her for her treatment of Rye. Now he hated her for what she’d done to Amelia Ann and Tammy. He’d been stunned speechless when Rye had told him his mama was coming to the concert, but that’s all his friend had told him. And he was not a man to shy away from a reckoning, if that’s what she wanted.

Though he didn’t know the particulars of what had passed between them, Clayton could tell Rye was struggling to handle his complex emotions about his mama. Was Amelia Ann feeling the same way? He’d seen her with her mama tonight, and while she hadn’t glowed like usual, she had been… What? Calmer in her presence.

“Of course, Mrs. Hollins,” he finally responded. “If you’ll follow me.”

Usually a gentleman let the lady precede him, but he wanted to lead her to somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted…or heard. He decided Rye’s study would be the best. When he closed the door behind them, he gestured to the sofa.