Welcome to Last Chance (Last Chance #1)(11)
Author: Hope Ramsay

She would have to be willing to relocate, because the entire point of the exercise was to get Clay to move back to Nashville so he would quit hovering over Ray and trying to look after him. He wrote that down. He suspected that finding folks willing to leave Allenberg County wouldn’t be all that difficult. The difficult part would be in finding an eligible woman, since women in these parts all seemed to be hot to leave town.

He studied his list for a long time as the gloom outside receded and the storm passed over. He added several criteria and then began writing out the algorithm for determining each potential candidate’s overall score on the test—a score he termed the “desirability index.” If the electricity had been running, he would have started programming the application directly into his computer, but that wasn’t possible.

So he wrote the computer code longhand and would transfer it to the computer later. Now, with that finished, he needed to collect the data.

Ray folded up the original list and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he took the sheets of paper and put them carefully by his computer in the den, where he wouldn’t forget them.

The sun had come out, although the electricity was still off. His stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He wondered if the Kountry Kitchen was open.

He smiled at the thought. Betty was probably still on shift. He blew out the candle he’d been using in the kitchen. Then he left the house, forgetting to lock up after himself. He turned left on Oak and walked two blocks to the corner. Then a right on Palmetto Avenue.

Clay knew the exact moment Jane walked into Dottie’s place, even though he had his back turned toward the door and his head deep in the music he was playing on the upright piano. The hairs on his neck stood on end, gooseflesh prickled up his back, and his whole body went zing.

He missed a note with his left hand and stumbled through three entire measures of “Honky Tonk Moon,” losing the meter of the song in the process. The air became thick with charged electrons. He forced himself to concentrate on the piano, but it took almost all of his will not to look over his shoulder to confirm that Jane had arrived.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sashay up to the bar on those high-heel boots and ask Dottie about the free hash.

And Dottie, warm-hearted woman that she was, smiled that Amanda Blake smile of hers, ignored Jane’s baggy fatigues and shirt, and said, “Darlin’, I certainly am handing out free hash. I borrowed Clay’s Coleman stove, and I’ve got two whole cases of that stuff left over from that hash-eating contest we ran last summer. You just set yourself down, and I’ll get you a whole plateful. I figure there are lots of folks without warm food tonight, and it’s the least I can do.”

The bartender turned to fetch the food. Jane hopped up on the stool and turned her head. She looked right at him.

And he, like some stupid sixteen-year-old, turned his head and looked at her. And missed another beat.

Crap.

He needed to get this girl out of town before he took her back to the Peach Blossom Motor Court—or, worse yet, invited her home to sleep in his own bed. Forget about Ray and his delusions about this girl. This woman was dangerous. Clay’s body was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted a second round. And she looked so forlorn in those baggy clothes. Feeling lust for a needy woman could set him back on his plans of finding a real relationship with a mature, straightforward, and self-reliant woman.

He turned his attention back to the keyboard and tried hard not to think about her. He failed.

• • •

Jane was in serious trouble. The Universe might have provided free food and beer, but it required her to sit here at the bar and listen to Clay play piano.

He had skills as a fiddler, but when he sat at the piano, he blew her away. She had heard that piano all the way down the sidewalk as she searched, in vain, for an open grocery or convenience store. The music had drawn her into Dot’s Spot more than the sign for free hash.

She listened as he ran through a bunch of country standards. But when he started playing “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places,” it was almost as if he conjured up Ray.

With the opening verse, the little guy sauntered through the doors. He waved toward Clay, then he marched right up to the bar and hopped up on the bar stool next to Jane.

“Hey,” he said with a goofy smile and a bobbing Adam’s apple.

Clayton P. glanced over his shoulder, watching Ray. That was interesting. It sure did look like Clayton P. thought he was Ray’s bodyguard or something. The big question was why.

Dottie worked the hand pump on the keg she’d hauled behind the counter and drew a lukewarm draft that she set in front of Ray. “So,” the bartender said as she picked up a dishtowel and started wiping glasses, “where are you from, sugar?”

Yup, this was definitely small-town America. “I’m from Florida,” Jane said, not willing to give the whole sordid story of her life and the bad choices she had made.

“She’s April,” Ray said with a bob of his head.

“Uh, no, Ray, my name’s Jane,” she said. Behind him, Clay rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Well, Jane, welcome to Last Chance, home of Golfing for God,” Dottie said.

Clay squeezed his eyes shut as if he were experiencing a sudden, swift pain.

“I’ve heard about that. I’m going to have to get a ride out there just to take it all in.”

“You do that. It’s good for the economy.”

“Hey, Dottie, I got a question for you,” Ray said, changing the subject.

“Okay.”

“Do you know how to play pool?”

She smiled. “I do, as a matter of fact. Met my late husband playing pool. He was something of a hustler, though. Which is why I don’t have a pool table in my bar. I’m afraid it would remind me of him and make me sad. That, and I’m already in trouble with the holy rollers around this town. Bad enough I serve liquor without the inevitable gambling a pool table brings.”

“That’s good,” Ray said bobbing his head, and Jane wondered what, precisely, was good about it. But before she could ask, Ray turned toward her. “You know how to play pool, April?”

Ray was challenged, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it was clear Clayton P. considered Ray one of his friends, and Clayton P. was, actually, a pretty okay guy. “Um, actually, no, I don’t know how to play pool,” she said.

He stared at her for a long moment, and Jane got the impression that she had somehow disappointed him. “That’s too bad.”

“Ray, why do you have pool on your mind?” Dottie asked.

“Oh, no particular reason, Dot. Just doing a survey.”

“A survey?”

“Yeah. I’m collecting data on the women of Allenberg County.”

“Uh-huh. And why are you doing that?”

“Because it interests me.” He gave her a speculative look. “Do you know how to play poker, Dot?”

“My late husband and I were both pretty good Texas Hold ’Em players. Donnie was practically a professional before he died.”

“That’s good, Dottie.” Ray turned on his bar stool. “How about you, April?”

“I’m afraid not, Ray. I wouldn’t know a good poker hand if it came up and bit me,” Jane said.

He frowned. He looked really forlorn. “That’s too bad,” he said.

“Ray, honey, is this survey about games of chance?” Dottie asked.

“Oh, no, it’s a more widely ranging survey than that,” Ray said.

“Uh-huh, you got any more questions?” Dot asked.

“Well, yes, I do.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Can you bake a cherry pie?”

Dottie snorted. “From scratch or with a crust from the freezer section at the Piggly Wiggly?”

“Hmmm. That’s a good question. I hadn’t thought about that variable.” Ray frowned.

“About what?” Dottie said.

“Whether it’s necessary to bake the pie from scratch?”

“Well, using Flako is practically like making it from scratch. I mean you still have to roll the crust,” Dottie said.

“Good point. So can you?” Ray asked.

“Of course I can. Donnie used to especially like my peach pie. But peach or cherry, it’s all in the crust. For the record, I usually make my piecrust from scratch.”

Ray turned on his stool. “How ’bout you, April?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Can you bake a pie?”

Jane stared down at the little guy. “To be honest, I try hard not to eat pie, because it’s fattening.”

“But can you bake one?”

“I haven’t ever tried, so I don’t really know.”

“Didn’t your momma ever bake pies for you, sugar?” This from Dottie.

Jane didn’t want to answer that one. Ma’s idea of cooking was running out to McDonald’s. “I’m afraid not.”

Ray’s eyes got round, like he pitied her or something. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” But somehow it wasn’t okay.

“So can you cook anything?” Ray asked.

“Why is this important?”

“I’m collecting data on the women of—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard that, but I’m not a woman of Allenberg County. I guess all the women around here can cook, but I’m a call-up-for-carry-out kind of girl. Which is why I’m here eating hash.”

“That’s too bad, April.”

The music stopped abruptly. Jane, Ray, and Dottie all looked over toward Clay. He was glaring back at them, mostly at Ray. “Ray, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. I’m just conducting an informal survey of the women of Allenberg County.”

“Well, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pestering Jane and Dottie.”

“Aw, c’mon, Clay, I’m just working on that problem we discussed today at the store. And besides, Betty didn’t mind when I asked her these questions.”

Clay’s brow lowered into a scowl. “Ray, I told you to quit. Now quit, okay?”

“What problem?” Dot asked. Her gaze shifted from Clay to Ray with the avidity of a bloodhound on the hunt. No one had a nose for gossip like a bartender, unless it was a church lady.

“Never you mind, Dot,” Clay said. “Just watch him, will you?”

Clay’s gaze shifted and suddenly Jane found herself caught up in the light of those pale wolf eyes. That stare of his was so intense, it practically burned a hole in her middle.

It took almost all of Clay’s willpower to tear his gaze away from Jane. Even dressed in baggy fatigues and a sweatshirt, she looked good enough to eat. He flashed on the heat of her skin last night and felt his face burn.

He turned back to his piano. He gulped down a breath and blew it out. He needed to have a long talk with Ray. The boy seemed to be on a mission to find him the perfect pool- and poker-playing woman.

Although why Ray would think he wanted that kind of thing in a woman was beyond Clay’s understanding. But who knew how Ray’s scrambled brains worked.