LITMIR.BIZ

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no clues about Jeff Wright but discovering his sister Jenna worked as an accountant at a firm called Morgan and Roe in Little Rock.

      After the friendly secretary at Jenna’s office blabbed that Jenna would be singing tonight at the Blue Mockingbird, Clay had hopped in his car for the two-hour trip from Memphis to Little Rock. He’d turned over various ways to approach her as he drove but ruled them all out when she started to sing.

      He would have disagreed the end justified the means before Darcy became ill, but he no longer believed that. Since Jenna hadn’t recognized his name, fate was on his side.

      “I guarantee the offer’s on the level,” he said. “My bar is called Peyton’s Place.”

      Corrine’s expression brightened. “Like that TV soap opera from the sixties? My mom used to talk about that.”

      Clay didn’t bother to correct her, finding it smarter not to reveal the true inspiration for the name. “I bought the bar a year ago. Recently, I decided live entertainment would help business.”

      Recently, as in about an hour ago.

      Jenna’s eyes seemed to narrow, but Clay could be imagining her skepticism. Despite everything, his conscience panged.

      “I’ve grown up listening to rhythm and blues. I can recognize talent, and you ladies have it,” he continued. “I couldn’t walk away tonight without making you an offer.”

      A heavy dose of truth ran through his proposal. Jenna and Corrine had a rare chemistry, made extraordinary by the raw, sensual power of Jenna’s voice. Persuading the duo to perform at Peyton’s Place could help the bottom line—even if assuring Jenna had regular contact with the half sister she might come to love was his main objective.

      Corrine placed her elbows on the table, as though readying herself to get down to business. A very good sign. “So where in Memphis is this bar of yours?”

      “Beale Street.” The legendary Home of the Blues, Beale Street was the second most-visited street in the south, trailing only Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Musicians made reputations there. “It’s on the very end of the section of street blocked off to traffic, but it’s still a great location.”

      “Anywhere on Beale’s a great location,” Corrine declared.

      “How long are you under contract to the Blue Mockingbird?” Clay asked.

      “Only until the end of the long weekend,” Corrine said. “The owner might want to extend our gig, but we’re free to entertain other offers.”

      “Wait, Corrine.” Jenna placed a hand on the table. Clay noticed she’d painted her fingernails bright red, an interesting quirk in such a conservatively dressed woman. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

      Corrine looked beseechingly at Jenna, something unspoken passing between the two women. “What’s wrong with listening to what Clay has to say? C’mon, Jenna. This is Beale Street.”

      Jenna hesitated, then conceded, “I guess it can’t hurt to just listen.”

      Sensing resistance, Clay named a figure higher than what good sense dictated for an establishment that had just started to turn a profit. “If that’s not more than the Blue Mockingbird is paying, I’ll top their offer. I’ll also commit to a six-week engagement. How does Wednesday through Saturday nights sound?”

      “Impossible.” Jenna emphasized her response with a shake of her head. “I should have told you right away I can’t perform in Memphis. I have a job here in Little Rock.”

      A job that would blow Clay’s plan apart. His heart seemed to slam to a stop.

      “Jenna’s an accountant.” Corrine sighed, as though sharing that bit of information pained her.

      Jenna straightened her spine, and her mouth tightened. “That’s right. I am an accountant. Singing’s a hobby.”

      “You’re talented enough to sing full-time,” Clay said.

      “And give up my job security? No, thanks. I wouldn’t be singing at all if Corrine hadn’t been obligated to the Blue Mockingbird. Once this job’s over, I’m through singing. I certainly can’t run off to Memphis for half the week.”

      Clay deliberately misunderstood the thrust of her argument. “What if the performances are only on Friday and Saturday nights? The bands on Beale don’t get going until about nine, so you could leave Little Rock after work Fridays.”

      “It’d be fun, Jenna,” Corrine interjected. “We can drive down to Memphis together. You’re the one who always says we don’t hang out enough.”

      Sensing Jenna’s reluctance to disappoint her friend, Clay jumped in. “I’ll sweeten the pot by paying for your weekend hotel stay.” An expense he really couldn’t afford.

      “We can’t turn that down, Jenna.” Corrine had definitely gotten into his corner. “I know you feel strongly about the singing being temporary, but it’s only six weeks. That’s no time at all.”

      The jukebox stopped playing, signaling the time had come for Two Gals to begin its second set. The bar crowd generated an impressive amount of noise, but silence resonated at the table.

      “What do you say, Jenna?” Clay prodded.

      Jenna gazed back and forth from Clay to Corrine, who practically vibrated while she waited for her friend’s answer. The silence stretched into what seemed like an eternity. “I suppose we can give it a try.”

      “Awesome.” Corrine clapped her hands.

      Clay tried to hide his overwhelming relief. “I’ll have a contract drawn up, but for now a handshake will do. Corrine, you’re the deal maker, right?”

      “Right.” Corrine eagerly stuck out her hand.

      Clay clasped Corrine’s hand but watched Jenna. She appeared wary, as though she didn’t entirely trust him. She shouldn’t, considering his whopper of an ulterior motive.

      He shook off the image of himself as a fraud, preferring to think of himself as a loving brother trying to provide Darcy with a chance at a normal life.

      Jenna would surely offer to get tested once she knew and loved Darcy. If the tests determined Jenna could be Darcy’s kidney donor, Clay would console himself that the end really did justify his means.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME. I’ll be fine.”

      After her declaration, Darcy Wright deliberately raised the edges of her lips. The way she’d trained herself since learning four days ago that she needed a second kidney transplant.

      Darcy’s mother, standing in front of her dressed in a trendy tennis outfit, expected that sort of blind optimism. So did her brother Clay. Besides, if Darcy let the happy mask she’d worn during the Memorial Day weekend slip, she might not be able to put it back on.

      “This doesn’t feel right, Darcy. I shouldn’t be playing tennis at the country club while you’re getting your first dialysis treatment.”

      “I appreciate that, Mom. I really do. But I’ve gone through dialysis before. I know what to expect. And it’s not like I’ll be there all alone. Kenny’s coming with me.”

      After breaking the news to her boyfriend of six months that her kidney was failing, Darcy had let her stiff upper lip quiver and asked him to keep her company at her initial session. He’d been as sweet as the sugar-coated chewy candy she used to snack on years ago, before doctors instructed her to carefully monitor her diet.

      “I adore Kenny. You know that. But I’m your mother. I should be there, too.”

      Not if Darcy could help it. She’d learned from experience that her mother had an even harder time watching Darcy go through dialysis than Darcy did experiencing it.

      “I

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