Welcome to Last Chance (Last Chance #1)(19)
Author: Hope Ramsay

He snorted. “Aunt Mim knows better than to meddle in my life.” He turned and looked over his shoulder. “But she appears to be doing a good job of meddling in Clay’s life. Just imagine Ricki Wilson coming back to town, Dottie. It’s got the Lord’s Plan written all over it, don’t you think?”

“Hush up, Dash.” Dottie ran a dishrag over the counter before placing another Coke in front of the big man. She looked over at Jane. “Clay and Ricki ran off to Nashville after graduation and everyone, including Miriam, figured Clay would do just like his older brother and marry his high-school sweetheart. But I reckon Ricki had other ideas.

“That girl broke Clay’s heart. Ran off with some producer or something. She—uh-oh, trouble…” Dottie interrupted herself in midstream.

Jane looked over her shoulder in time to see Ray Betts come bopping through the door. He took one look at Jane, gave her his goofy grin, and made a beeline toward her.

“April,” he said. “You’re here.”

Jane heard Dash groan under his breath.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Ray asked.

“Um, no, Ray, I already have a Coke.” She gave him a careful smile. Jane had learned from Ruby about the head injury that left Ray brain-damaged.

The band went on break, and someone punched up some songs on the jukebox. That Tumbleweed song—“I Gotta Know”—was the first one that came up. Dottie put a beer in front of Ray.

“I declare,” the bartender said as she leaned onto the bar with a dreamy look. “That song does something to me every time I hear it. It’s about the most romantic thing I’ve heard in ages.”

“Well I guess it’s a good thing you like it,” Dash said. “Seeing as Bubba Lockheart punches it up on the jukebox every five minutes. But that’s only because Rocky Rhodes broke his heart.”

“Rocky?” Jane said. “Don’t tell me, this is another one of Clay’s relations.”

“His sister. She left town to go to college and in the process dumped Bubba—hard. Which explains why Bubba drinks too much and is a sucker for every sad country song on Dot’s jukebox. I wish my aunt would get to work on him, but Aunt Mim says she has to wait on the Lord, and the Lord hasn’t yet revealed what’s in store for Bubba. If you ask me, the boy needs rehab first.”

“You don’t really believe that stuff, do you? I mean about Miriam?”

“Honey, I know it sounds far-fetched,” Dottie said, “but what they say about Dash’s aunt is true. She has a way of seeing things that is a little strange, if you ask me. Anyway, if she tells you something, you better resign yourself to it. I reckon the Lord is going to hand you a Sir Lancelot, whether you want him or not.”

Jane didn’t want a Sir Lancelot. All she wanted was a chance to sing “I Will Always Love You” for Clay. She looked over her shoulder just as Clay came down off the stage and gave the blond bombshell a full-body hug.

Heat rose inside her. Was she jealous or just flashing on how it had felt on Wednesday to be in his arms?

Wow, Clay was really snuggled up tight to the woman, wasn’t he?

She turned around, disappointment hollowing out her middle. With Ricki over there smooching with Clay in public, Jane had zero chance of sweet-talking him into playing piano for her while she sang “I Will Always Love You.” And now that Bubba had punched up songs on the jukebox, her plans for impressing everyone were unraveling like a worn-out sweater.

“Hey,” Ray said in a voice that sounded like a child’s as he followed Jane’s gaze. “Ricki’s here. Did you see, Dot? I haven’t seen Ricki in seventeen years and three months.”

“Yes, Ray, I saw,” Dottie said, rolling her eyes in Jane’s direction, as if in warning.

“She’s perfect for Clay’s list,” Ray exclaimed with a wide-eyed look on his face. He pulled a piece of wrinkled notebook paper out of his jeans and took a pencil from his shirt pocket. He spread the paper on the bar, tried to press out the wrinkles with his hands, then licked the tip of his pencil and began to write.

Dottie studied the paper with a frown. “Ray, what are you up to?”

Ray looked up with a childish grin. “It’s Clay’s list.”

“What list? And why does it have my name on it?”

Ray looked down. “Well, of course it does. You’re one of the single white ladies of Last Chance, aren’t you? And let me tell you, Dottie, you have scored high on all of the important tests.”

“Ray?” Dottie’s voice had taken on a dangerous tone. “What’s this about?”

“Clay is looking for a wife, and I’m helping him,” Ray said.

Jane choked on her Coca-Cola.

“You’re helping him?” Dash asked as Jane gasped and hoped her beverage didn’t end up coming out her nose. Dottie pressed a napkin into Jane’s hand as she sputtered.

Meanwhile Dash leaned over, snatched the paper away from Ray, and began to read it, his eyebrows arching and his mouth curving up on one side. “Holy crap, boy, this is pretty impressive. You keep this up, and you’ll be giving Aunt Mim a run for the money.”

“Dash Randall, don’t you encourage him, now,” Dottie said, one fist on her hip.

Dash’s gaze shifted toward Jane, who had stopped coughing. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but your name doesn’t appear on this, although your alter ego is here. What’s this desirability index mean, Ray?”

“Oh, that’s the score each lady gets on my survey.” He turned toward Jane. “I’m sorry, April. You are a truly beautiful woman, but I’m afraid your desirability index is kind of low. On the other hand, aside from her age, Dottie is just about perfect, and she owns a bar, too. She gets bonus points for that.”

“What?” Jane snatched the paper out of Dash’s hand. It was a matrix of columns with names of women in the first column. The second column had comments about their good qualities, the third column comments about their bad qualities, and the fourth column was headed by the words “Desirability Index.” Under this heading, each woman had a score. April’s score was a three. Dottie’s score was a fifteen. Betty Wilkins, the waitress at the Kountry Kitchen, had a score of eighteen with a note that her pies were just as good as Jenny Carpenter’s.

Jane handed the ratty paper to Dot, who studied it for a long time with a neutral expression. Then Dottie handed it back to Ray with a gentle smile. “Ray, honey,” Dottie said. “Clay didn’t actually have anything to do with that list, now, did he?”

“We discussed it,” Ray said.

“Uh-huh. He tell you to put Betty’s name on it?”

“No, that was my idea.”

“I see,” she said in a gentle tone. The bartender turned toward Jane. “Well, honey, I reckon you can rest easy since only April’s name is on it. Don’t take it too personal.”

“But she is April,” Ray insisted.

Jane knocked back the rest of her Coke and turned around to look over her shoulder. Clay and Ricki sat at a table near the stage, with Clay leaning his whole body in toward Ricki, and Ricki leaning right back at him.

It was time to go. Her positive plans for the evening had just gone up in flames, proving that the Universe could and did screw up everything if given sufficient time.

“Well, I guess I better be going,” she said, pushing away from the bar.

“So soon?” Ray asked, disappointment in his voice.

“Gotta work tomorrow.” She smiled as sweetly as she could.

She turned and headed for the door, only to have Dash Randall call her back.

“Hey, Jane, wait up,” he said. She turned, and Dash had already picked up his cane. Oh, great, this guy looked like a cowboy who’d been ridden hard and put away wet. He was a real-deal bad boy and in a whole different league from Clay, who, let’s face it, was not really a bad boy at all, seeing as he drove a minivan, played organ at Christ Church on Sundays, and was apparently looking for a wife.

Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face because the big dude smiled a crooked smile and said, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I make it a point to give damsels in distress a wide berth. I ain’t about to attempt any rescues, since I am mostly working on my own recovery these days. You are absolutely safe with me. I just need a minute, is all.”

“Sure.” She turned toward the door, trying hard not to watch Clay and Ricki as their heads got closer and closer together.

When Jane and Dash reached the sidewalk, Dash stopped. “I figured you might want to know about April, since Ray seems to think you’re her.”

Jane looked up at the big man. “Was April Ray’s old girlfriend in high school or something? I mean before the car wreck. I heard all about the wreck today at the beauty shop.”

Dash shook his head. “No, ma’am. If you must know, she’s Miss April from the Working Girls Go Wild calendar from five or six years back. I’m afraid I gave Ray that calendar for Christmas one year, and we haven’t heard the end of it. The woman in question is dressed like a firefighter, and she’s wearing a pair of suspenders and a fire hat and not much more. No disrespect, honey, but if I were you, I’d take Ray’s attention as a compliment.”

Jane looked up at Dash and knew a moment of utter humiliation. She swallowed hard. “Working Girls Go Wild?”

Dash shrugged. “Don’t take offense. He doesn’t intend any.”

Jane nodded and managed to smile in spite of the fact that her emotions had taken a tumble. “Well, thanks,” she said. “I’ll be heading home now.”

She turned on her heel before he could say another word and before her phony smile faded into tears. The Universe had this way of spitting in her eye at the most inopportune moments.

Just when things were looking up and she was starting to feel positive, up popped the past like a bad penny. She was supposed to blow Clay away tonight by singing “I Will Always Love You.” But instead, Clay was in there falling head over heels for his long-lost love, and she was out here wondering how long she might have before the narrow-minded folks in this one-horse town figured out that crazy Ray Betts had it right.

She was April.

Chapter 9

At two-thirty in the morning, Clay pulled his Windstar into the driveway of the small house on Baruch Street that he’d been renting for the last few months. It had two bedrooms and a single bath, with a screen porch on the back. It was just big enough for him, his portable piano, and his sorrows.

He unfolded himself from the driver’s side, opened the passenger door, and gave Ricki his hand to help her down. As her fingers touched his, a flood tide of memories washed through him. She hopped down from the seat, filling his personal space with her heavy perfume.

Ricki might have arrived on the nine-thirty bus. And once, a long time ago, she might have lit up the moon for him. But tonight, for some reason, he just couldn’t help comparing Ricki to Wanda Jane Coblentz. And right now, with Ricki standing there in the van’s doorway, he just couldn’t get Wanda Jane’s scent out of his head. Or the crazy, immature way Wanda Jane had made him feel on Wednesday when she’d stood in that spot, and he’d given himself permission to go to hell and the Peach Blossom Motor Court.