Chapter 8 #2
“Never thought of it that way,” he said. “I have a question. You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal or painful, but why were you so upset when you arrived here?”
“It is very personal and painful, but here it is,” Clara said. “There seems to be a pattern in my family. Sisters who are very different, and at odds with each other most, if not all, of the time.”
“Aren’t they all?” Nash asked.
“This family takes it to the extreme. Aunt Bernie owns a bar. My grandmother is super religious and condemns Bernie for her lifestyle. Aunt Bernie had no children, but Nana had three—a son, and two daughters. Mark, Marsha, and Mary Jane. If I ever have kids, I’m not going to give them all names that start with the same letter.
Marsha is my mother, and she is a chip off the old block.
She and Nana are very quick to pass judgment.
Believe me when I say it’s either their way or the highway, and I’m living proof of that statement. ”
“Hold on a minute and let me get this straight. I can see where Bernie and her sister would be very different, and there would be hard feelings there, but what has that got to do with you?” Nash asked.
“I’m getting to it,” Clara answered. “You heard Aunt Bernie’s story of how her generation of two sisters have always been at cross horns.
Then my mother comes along, and she and her sister are wildly different.
My mama was an FBI agent until she retired and got all wound up in the church with Nana Vernie Sue.
Her sister, Mary Jane, lives in an old brothel called the Paradise, and she writes steamy romance books.
In each generation there is a set of sisters.
One is a pretty white sheep, and the other is a coal-black one. ”
“I’m beginning to see what you are talking about. What about you?”
“I have a sister, Myra, who is married to a preacher,” Clara answered. “It doesn’t take a genius to know which one of us…”
“No, it doesn’t,” Nash butted in. “But I’m still in the dark as to why you were so upset.”
“I lost my bartending job in Amarillo and waited until I was on the verge of living in a shelter before I swallowed my pride and went home to Fritch. I needed a place to stay until I found a job, but when my mother and grandmother found out what I had been doing, they really did want to send me off to that rehab place I told y’all about.
I hadn’t seen Aunt Bernie in years for all the reasons I just told you about, but she was my last hope. ”
Clara stopped and stared out over the wooded area.
She drew in a long breath and went on. “I half expected her to tell me to hit the road, but she has showed me nothing but love and compassion from the time I walked into her bar. I was crying because I was angry, humiliated that I had to come to her for help when the family had treated her like a pile of steaming cow manure, and I was quite literally broke and hungry. Twenty-eight years old, third-generation black sheep, and needing help.”
“That kind of situation would bring a grown man to his knees,” Nash whispered.
Clara was so sleepy that when she blinked, she had trouble opening her eyes. “Thank you, and now I suppose we had better call it a night. I’ve got to go to the Paradise with Aunt Bernie tomorrow. I hope you were serious about me working here if you buy the place.”
Nash put out his cigar, stood up, and extended a hand toward her. “Very serious, and I appreciate that you shared your story with me.”
She put her hand in his, felt that familiar zing, and could almost see the sparks competing with all the stars in the sky. “Thank you for listening and for offering me a job.”
She let go of his hand and stumbled over the chair when she took a step.
She grabbed for something to break her fall and had a split-second visual of breaking her neck as she pitched backward.
Suddenly Nash’s strong arms wrapped around her body, and her chest was pressed tightly against his.
Her pulse had jacked up so high that her heartbeat pounded like a rock band’s drums. She intended to move away from him and make a joke about being clumsy, even though she felt so safe right where she was.
But when she pulled away and looked up into his eyes, she froze.
He moved his hands from her waist, tucked her messy red hair back away from her face, and cupped her cheeks in his big hands.
Desire shot through her body when his thumbs made lazy circles on the soft spot below her ears.
For the first time, she truly understood the old saying about being putty in a man’s hands.
The song that had played on the jukebox that evening ran through her mind.
The lyrics asked if he would lay with her in a field of stone, and would he still love her when she was down and out.
Everything, including doubts, fears, songs, and adages left her mind when she saw his thick dark lashes flutter, his eyes close, and realized that he was going to kiss her. She moistened her lips, tiptoed, and moved her hands up from his chest to wrap them around his neck.
For the next few moments, she and Nash were the only two people on earth in a vacuum-sealed bubble. His lips on hers and the passionate kisses gave them life, and if they ever stopped, she felt as if she would evaporate into nothing but a vapor.
But then the bubble popped, and reality hit her like a wrecking ball.
“That was a mistake,” she muttered.
“I disagree,” Nash said with a smile.
“We can’t… We work…together,” she stammered.
“We can, and we do, and we are adults. We can compartmentalize our work and personal lives.” He grinned as he drew her close for a hug and then kissed her on the forehead.
“Good night, Clara,” he whispered.
His warm breath melted all the determination to not get involved with him right out of her heart and soul.
Who would have ever thought that cigar and whiskey breath could make such fiery-hot kisses?
Or was it the tickle of his soft beard on her face?
Then he walked away into the darkness, leaving her shivering even though the temperature was still in the high eighties.