CHAPTER 13 #3
“Well, it’s settled, then.” Clayton stood from the couch. “Any allergies or things you can’t eat?”
She thought about the long list of Derrick’s dietary restrictions—gluten, dairy, shellfish, tree nuts, peanuts, and a bunch of fruits she couldn’t keep track of. She smiled at Clayton and replied, “Nope. ”
A little while later Ruth arrived at the ranch with Jamie’s carry-on bag and her Martin guitar. Jamie sighed in relief at the sight of them, reaching for the guitar case first, her fingers brushing over the worn leather handle.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Jamie said, giving her friend a grateful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Her assistant hugged her. “Same, James.”
“Thanks for coming to this dinner thing with me,” Jamie said, sitting on the couch. “As you know, I’m not great with parents, especially mothers.”
Ruth had agreed to stay for dinner, partly because she never turned down a home-cooked meal, but mostly because she wasn’t about to pass up a chance to see Nolan.
“Are you serious?” Ruth popped her gum. “I like nothing more than a family get-together.”
“You’re a sick puppy.” She glanced at Ruth before pausing. “Can you believe that after five years of dating Derrick’s mom still has pictures of his ex in her house?”
“Mrs. Anderson isn’t very nice,” Ruth said as she reached into her bag. “I know you’re not getting service out here, so I grabbed some magazines.”
“Rags.”
“They’re mostly about Derrick and what they’re calling his ‘child bride.’”
Jamie wiggled her fingers. “Hand them over.” Ruth gave her a stack of tabloids. “Wait, is there anything about me?”
“Not much.” Ruth shrugged. “You’re hardly mentioned.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.”
A car honked in the driveway and Jamie’s stomach churned. She gripped the kitchen counter, silently praying for some last-minute catastrophe—an earthquake, a blackout, a meteor crashing through the roof. Anything to get her out of this dinner.
But the universe, as always, was unhelpful. So was her immune system. She hadn’t been sick in years, thanks to that damn flu shot.
Derrick, of course, wouldn’t have that problem. He was an anti-vaxxer—claimed he didn’t trust putting “unnatural chemicals” in his body unless it was Botox.
The horn blared again, longer this time. Impatient.
Jamie exhaled slowly, steeling herself. One dinner. Just one.
She could survive it. Probably.
“That must be Clayton,” Ruth said, handing Jamie the bottle of wine and the flowers she’d brought. “Are we taking Poppy?”
“No, the lazy princess is sleeping. Plus, Duke’s a disaster when they’re together.” Jamie smirked, picturing the chaos that always ensued when her poodle and Clayton’s lab got together. One more thing she and Clayton couldn’t agree on: dog discipline. Not that it surprised her.
She opened the front door just as a truck pulled up, Nolan behind the wheel and Clayton lounging in the passenger seat like he owned the place. Of course he didn’t just sit, he sprawled, all long legs and careless confidence.
“Hi, Nolan!” Ruth waved as she brushed past Jamie, practically vibrating with excitement .
“Hi, ladies!” Nolan called back, his easy smile making Ruth nearly sprint toward him. Jamie sighed. Subtlety was not her best friend’s strong suit.
She turned her gaze to Clayton, who was already watching her. He didn’t say a word, just winked. A slow, cocky, damn-well-knowing-what-he-was-doing wink.
Jamie rolled her eyes as she climbed into the truck’s cab, determined not to let him get to her. But the way his gaze lingered made her pulse stutter for half a second longer than she’d ever admit to.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ruth,” Nolan said, grinning as he held the door open for her. “Hi, Jamie.”
Ruth giggled—actually giggled. “The pleasure’s mine, Dr. Langley.”
Jamie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Ruth, ever the picture of charm, had suddenly turned into a nervous mess. She was never going to let her live this down.
“Where are the girls?” Jamie asked.
“At Momma and Daddy’s,” Clayton said. “They were out riding.”
Jamie swallowed. “I’m nervous about meeting them.” She had no experience with kids and worried her sharp tongue and quick temper might make her a bad influence.
Clayton glanced over. “Fair warning, they may ask for an autograph.”
She blinked. “You never told me they liked my music.”
“You never asked.”
The truck rolled past the barn, tires crunching over the gravel driveway.
As they rounded the circular loop a stately brick house came into view, towering white columns stretching toward the sky.
Jamie had read about homes like this earlier—Antebellum, the book had called it.
Built before the Civil War, its history was etched in weathered brick and timeworn shutters .
Clayton hopped out and opened the back cab door for her, while Nolan helped Ruth down.
Jamie swatted his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.”
She let out a short laugh. “I don’t need your help.”
“Well, you did this morning when you damn near set my house on fire.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Ruth gasped. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” they said together. Some things were better left unspoken.
Clayton rang the doorbell at his parents’ house, a courteous gesture since their door was unlikely locked.
A striking woman in her early sixties with long gray hair opened the door.
She was the same height as Jamie and had voluptuous curves that hugged her dress.
Assuming it was Mrs. Langley, Jamie handed her the bouquet and the bottle of wine.
“Thank you!” She accepted the gifts and hugged her. “And you must be Ruth. Welcome to our home.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Langley,” Jamie said. “Thank you for the food in Clayton’s fridge. It’s delicious.”
“My pleasure, and feel free to call me Birdie, sugar,” she said with a smile. “Everyone does.”
Clayton held the door open and Jamie stepped inside, pausing just long enough to slip off her boots. She wasn’t sure if it was expected to, but the quiet weight of his gaze made her aware of the moment.
“I’d keep your shoes on if I were you,” an older man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair said. He extended his hand. “Dr. Elroy Langley—Doc for short.” There was nothing short about Doc; he was at least Clayton’s height, maybe taller.
She shook his hand. “Jamie Keaton. ”
“I’m well aware.” He released her hand. “The girls are beside themselves.”
“Where are they?” Clayton asked.
“They just got in,” Doc said, pointing upstairs. “Your mother’s having them wash up before supper.” He shook Ruth’s hand. “You must be the assistant.”
“I’m Ruth, sir. I’m from just outside Tulsa.”
“God’s country.” Ruth nodded and smiled. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
“A vodka and soda for Jamie,” Clayton said. “Ketel One.”
“You know how to make it,” Doc said to his son, then turned to Ruth. “And what about you?”
“I don’t drink, sir.”
“Neither does he.” Doc pointed at Nolan. “You two go easy on my mix, now.”
A few moments later the pitter-patter of little feet raced toward the living room. Clayton scooped up each girl and gave them airplane rides, one tucked under each arm. It was the cutest thing Jamie had ever seen. She couldn’t imagine AJ putting down his cigarette long enough to hug her properly.
“How are my rabbits, Flopsy and Mopsy?” Clayton asked his daughters.
“Daddy!” The girls howled with laughter. “We’re not rabbits!”
“I’d like y’all to meet Daddy’s friend, Miss Jamie Keaton.”
Jamie knelt at eye level with them and extended her hand. They were identical and looked so much like Clayton—his auburn hair, dark eyes, and those deep dimples. His daughters were beautiful, but she would never say that out loud .
AJ had drilled one thing into her head since she was young: she was pretty enough to marry rich. That had been his only dream for her. But Jamie had always wanted more than just being someone’s wife, especially Derrick’s.
“You can hug them,” Clayton said. “They won’t break.”
With some hesitation Jamie embraced the girls and said, “It’s nice to meet you.” The girls hugged her tightly, nearly squeezing the breath out of her.
“Now, let her be,” Clayton said.
The girls loosened their python-like grips and she laughed. “It’s okay.” Surprisingly she didn’t mind being touched by them—it felt comforting.
The girl on her right spoke first. “I’m Emily and this is Charlotte, in case you can’t tell the difference, ma’am.” That was helpful information, given they wore identical dresses.
“You don’t have to call me ma’am,” Jamie said.
“They sure do,” Clayton replied. “This is a Southern house.”
“‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.” She turned to Clayton. “Can’t they just call me Jamie?”
“Girls, you may call her Miss Jamie if it suits you.”
“Yes, sir,” the twins said.
“That’s much better.” Jamie smiled at Charlotte. “Were you named after the city in North Carolina?”
“After Charlotte Bronte,” the girl said. “And my sister was named after her sister, Emily.”
Clayton’s daughters had probably read more books than she ever did, considering they didn’t have a TV in their house.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise. AJ didn’t believe in formal education, claiming street smarts were more important.
Easy to say for a man who dropped out in the tenth grade to hustle pool tables and con his way across the country .
“Want to see our room, Miss Jamie?” Emily asked.
Jamie raised her eyebrow at Clayton and he nodded, signaling it would be okay. “I’d love to.”
An hour later everyone sat down to feast on Birdie’s home-cooked meal: roast beef, tender new potatoes, corn, and green beans.
Jamie couldn’t recall a time when a parent had cooked dinner for her—certainly not her own, and definitely not Derrick’s.
When her mom was still around she’d bring home leftovers from the casino, and with AJ meals were mostly bar food or takeout.
“May we be excused?” Emily asked. “I can’t breathe in this dress.”
Jamie looked at the girls and could now distinguish between them. Charlotte, like her dad, was left-handed, while Emily wasn’t.
“That’s a little dramatic,” Clayton said. “But yes, you may leave the table.”
The girls picked up their plates and marched them into the kitchen.
“This is on you, son,” Birdie said, fixing her eldest with a pointed look. “Those girls ain’t got a lick of ladylike in them—riding horses, playing ball like a couple of ranch hands. I’m trying to raise proper Southern women here. Lord knows Tammy ain’t around to help.”
“Momma!” Clayton’s cheeks flushed red.
“Sorry, sugar, but the facts don’t care about your feelings.”
Clayton placed his knife and fork on the table. “You could be nicer to her.”
“I’m as nice as the situation calls for. Anything else she can take up with Jesus. Bless her heart.”
“What situation?” Ruth inquired.
“Ruth!” Jamie exclaimed, mortified that her assistant would ask such a personal question. Yet she was just as curious and hoped Birdie would respond to it .
Ruth turned to Birdie. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m only asking because Jamie has been getting some threatening messages.”
“What kind of messages?” Clayton asked, furrowing his brow.
“It’s not a big deal,” Jamie said, stabbing the last piece of meat on her plate. “Probably just some deranged fan.”
Ruth explained, “It’s mostly been messages telling her to stay away from Clayton.”
“That sounds like Tammy.” Birdie folded her napkin into a neat square and placed it on the table. “Told y’all she was trouble.”
“Take it easy on him, Birdie,” Doc said. “She’s got some problems.”
“Problems? That woman doesn’t have the good sense God gave a goose, Elroy.” Birdie cleared her throat. “What kind of mother doesn’t want to see her own children?” Birdie crossed her arms, appearing to wait for Clayton to respond.
“Mine,” Jamie said, immediately regretting her words. She never spoke about her mother, especially not to strangers.
“Oh, sugar.” Birdie grasped Jamie’s hand, her shoulders tightening.
She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Clayton, you best step up and keep Jamie safe, you hear?” Birdie said, almost demanding her son to act.
“What you need is a damn haircut,” Doc chimed in, glancing at Nolan. “That goes for you too, Dr. Langley.”
“Doubt the threats are coming from Tammy,” Clayton said. “But I want you to keep my house locked from now on, just in case. Should probably stay there at night. I’ll use the guest room.”
“Thanks, but I can handle it.” Jamie forced a steady breath. She wasn’t about to accept Clayton’s charity—or his offer to stay. She’d been a latchkey kid since her mother disappeared. And she had Poppy. That was enough for her.
Birdie flashed a smile. “Sugar, this ain’t up for debate.”