Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) (8 page)

Clayton shook his head and tossed the cloths onto the counter. “Sorry. Dinner out together would amount to the most monstrous mistake imaginable. Plan on dining alone on Sunday, and every other night of the week, too, for that matter.”

Cassidy dropped her hand onto the bar. She sat, open-mouthed with a murderous expression. “So, you’re just blowing me off.”

“Looks that way,” muttered Clayton, sauntering toward the kitchen.

Cassidy stood, charged through the swinging doors and stomped down the hallway toward the staff locker room.

Clayton suspected he’d really ticked her off by refusing her invitation. But his ego still smarted from trusting Barbara with his heart and everything else. How could a woman profess her love for a guy and then treat him like crap? Quite easily apparently, if you’re an experienced gold digger and a first-class bitch like Barbara.

Clayton worried though. Cassidy wasn’t a gold digger. But he suspected she wasn’t the type of woman who gave up easily. And she definitely looked the type who demanded revenge.

Chapter 7

“Clayton, a Coke, please.” Cassidy hopped onto a barstool at Gold Diggers before her shift started. Two weeks had passed since the bartender declined her dinner invitation.

“Wouldn’t a cold beer go down better?” Clayton paused for her answer.

“My shift starts shortly.” Cassidy smiled, sweetly. “No drinking on the job. One of your rules, remember?”

“I didn’t realize you were scheduled to work tonight.” Clayton popped the metal tab on the Coke, grabbed a glass off the overhead rack, scooped up some ice, and slowly poured the soda in.

“Right.” Cassidy frowned. “Certain you weren’t testing me?”

Clayton raised one eyebrow and then set her drink in front of her. Without exchanging another word, he turned on his heel and strode to the far end of the bar.

Cassidy downed half the beverage and placed the ice cold glass against her forehead. She almost sighed aloud with relief. The weather reached an unprecedented high today. She spent the entire morning wandering through tourist spots and then dropped by Endless Nights for a post lunch-rush meal with Patricia. Later at home, she napped in the shade on a backyard deck lounger and awoke in time to shower, change and dash to work.

While she sipped her Coke, Cassidy observed Clayton out of the corner of her eye. He chatted with two women tourists—the white-haired grandmothers flirted shamelessly with him—and totally ignored her.

She’d managed to alienate him further during the past two weeks, attempting to extract an acceptance to dinner from him. She’d used every excuse in the book: new to town, could use a friend, to repay him for praising her work. She’d suggested a steakhouse, a burger joint, even breakfast at a coffee house. Nothing had worked, however, and Clayton’s humiliating refusal to accept her invitations stung. The nerve of him! Finally, she’d vowed to win an invitation from Clayton on principal alone. And especially annoying was the fact she was actually attracted to the guy.

Just then, a native man stepped into the bar carrying a battered guitar case in one hand. He wore a dark blue business suit, white shirt, and striped tie loosened at the neck. A braid of raven-black hair, secured with a beaded strip of hide, hung down his back. She caught a whiff of after-shave lotion as he walked past, but she couldn’t name the brand.

“Hi, Rain Cloud,” muttered Clayton, glancing up from the Singapore Slings he was mixing.

“Hello, White Boy.” The native man balanced his guitar case against the bar and then slumped onto a barstool.

Clayton walked the Slings down to the end of the bar, set them in front of the ladies he’d chatted with, and then returned.

“What’s new?” he asked.

“Losing money on the stock market.” The native man scowled.

“So then, nothing’s new, Chief.” Clayton bantered.

“Not a damn thing.”

“What can I get you?”

“Why do you ask me that every time? You know damn well I never order anything but a double rye on ice.”

“I always ask because it always annoys you. How was the vacation?”

“Great.”

Clayton’s cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “Been waiting for this call. Be right back to pour your drink.” He headed toward the swinging doors in back, presumably on his way to his office.

“No rush,” called Rain Cloud, as the bartender disappeared from sight.

Cassidy overheard the entire conversation, and she’d almost choked on her Coke while listening to their exchange. She seriously doubted his real name was Chief Rain Cloud. Why does such an obviously professional, well-educated man tolerate such politically incorrect name-calling? she wondered. Judging by their banter, were Clayton and the native guy friends?

Cassidy grabbed her Coke and hopped onto the stool beside him. She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Cassidy Du Pont.”

The Chief’s eyebrows rose, and he appeared startled by her forwardness. Taking in her appearance, he shook her hand and asked, “Are you employed here?”

“I started a few weeks ago.” Cassidy wore her short denim skirt, cowboy boots, and a white long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. It didn’t require someone with a Mensa I.Q. to figure out she worked here. “I love the job more with each shift, and I adore the regulars I’ve met. But I haven’t encountered you before.”

“Away on vacation.”

“Sounds like you and Clayton are good friends.” Despite his grouchy demeanor, she saw wisdom, kindness, and perhaps even a little loneliness in the chocolate brown depths of his eyes.

“Yes, I’d say we’re good friends.” Rain Cloud leaned back and crossed his arms.

Cassidy checked her watch. “Still a half hour before my shift starts. Would you pass me some of those peanuts, please? And if you care to share, I’d love to hear how you and Clayton met.”

“Well, Clayton and I became acquainted about a month after Gold Diggers opened. Must be two years now. Doesn’t seem we’ve been friends that long, but I guess we have.” Chief Rain Cloud placed the bowl of peanuts in front of Cassidy.

“Thank you.” Cassidy shelled one and popped the peanut into her mouth.

“Anyway, I wandered in here dressed like I am today, in my business suit and tie, and flopped onto a barstool at the end of the bar.” Rain Cloud grinned. “I growled my drink order at him, sounded about as pleasant as an old grizzly bear, and Clayton called me on it right away.”

“What did he say?” asked Cassidy, and then sipped her Coke.

“Informed me he hadn’t witnessed such a serious case of ‘Leave me the hell alone, I’ve had a terrible day’ in ages. Pointed out that a big old black cloud followed me into the bar, and that’s when he started calling me Chief Rain Cloud.”

“What’s taking Clayton so long?” Cassidy hopped off the barstool and strode behind the bar. She grabbed a short highball glass and added a small scoop of ice. “Is this your usual brand?” she inquired, holding up a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Got it right first try,” answered Rain Cloud.

Cassidy measured two shots, pouring each into the glass, and set the drink in front of Rain Cloud before headed back to her barstool. “So, from the start you accepted this Rain Cloud thing?”

“From the broad smile on Clayton’s face and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, I recognized his motive right away: having a little fun, attempting to elicit a smile out of me. He talked my damn ears off, and we even compared notes on colleges—NYU psychology degree for me, Seattle U Masters in Finance for him.” Rain Cloud lifted his glass, smiled at Cassidy accompanied by a toasting gesture, and then sampled his drink.

Cassidy gaped. “Clayton earned a Masters in Finance?” So, I’m not the only person working here who’s not what they seem, she thought. A lowly bartender with a Masters? If she ever dated Clayton, and her father did find out, it would more likely impress him rather than tick him off. So much for her grand plan.

“Yep. He mentioned resigning from his family’s accounting firm and relocating up here. Didn’t provide any reason, and I didn’t pry into his business. I consider my buddy Clayton a rebel with a shot glass.” Rain Cloud chuckled at his own joke.

Cassidy swiveled on the barstool. Why would Clayton resign as an accountant to work as a bartender? Especially from a family firm? Had there been a falling out within the familial ranks? Had Clayton been charged with a crime? Surely, he hadn’t been stupid enough to attempt embezzling funds or some such thing. That couldn’t be it, she decided, or Gold Diggers’ owner wouldn’t have trusted him to manage his business. Perhaps he’d experienced something as innocent as burnout.

She leaned her arm on the counter, faced Rain Cloud, certain there was more to come.

“Clayton commented on my grouchy mood and inquired if I worked as a psychologist with a bunch of wealthy complainers whose mothers hadn’t loved them. I assured him he wasn’t even close, explained I worked with troubled youths.” Rain Cloud glanced away for a second and then met Cassidy’s eyes. “One of my kids had committed suicide the night before.”

“Oh, no!” Cassidy touched Rain Cloud’s arm. “No wonder you were upset.”

“Times like that, I wonder if I’m doing any good at all, believe my efforts are useless. Clayton suggested I quit my job if I hated it so much. But it’s not that I hate what I do. The kids just drive me crazy sometimes. One minute they demonstrate enormous potential. And then something happens and they piss away every opportunity that’s handed to them. Some days I wish I could just shake some sense into them.” The Chief tapped the bar with his knuckles.

“What you do is commendable.” Cassidy smiled. “You’re molding so many young lives in a positive way, creating innumerable opportunities for them to better themselves and their community.” She almost blurted out how many troubled youths—both poor as church mice and privileged beyond belief—she’d defended while living in Chicago. But she caught herself in time.

“On a good day, I’d concur. Then a bad day comes along again, and….” Rain Cloud downed the remainder of his drink.

“Want another?”

“No thanks. My set starts soon.”

Cassidy noticed the guitar case on the floor beside his barstool. “So how did that initial conversation result in your working here as a singer?”

“Clayton asked if I always wander into a bar when I’ve had a bad day.” Rain Cloud stood and grabbed his guitar case off the floor. “I told him I usually headed home, hauled out my guitar, and sang a few country tunes. All those sad songs about lost jobs and broken love affairs and the dog up and died. Soon, all those troubles seemed worse in comparison to mine, and in no time, I returned to my cheerful old self again.” Rain Cloud sauntered across the room and climbed the two steps to the stage area.

“Did you audition?” asked Cassidy, following.

“Clayton just asked if I was any good, and I assured him I’d never heard any complaints. So, he suggested I fetch my guitar, get my butt back here, and sing everyone a couple of country tunes.” Rain Cloud set his guitar case down, plucked his guitar out, and plugged it into the amplifier. “I figured he’d given me a nickname, he was getting one, too. So I warned him, ‘White Boy, be careful what you ask for. I might just take you up on that offer.’ He answers, ‘Fair enough, Rain Cloud, you’re tonight’s warm up act for the band. Your set starts at eight. Don’t be late.’”

Cassidy grinned. “You actually returned at eight o’clock?”

Rain Cloud tested the microphone. “Drove home, contemplated the whole idea for thirty minutes, and then packed up the old guitar and headed out the door. I’ve performed three or four sets a week here ever since.”

“Does Clayton pay you?” Cassidy stood arms crossed.

“Nope. But every time I stomp in here, guitar in hand, everyone knows I’ve had a bad day. Everybody duly avoids me until I’ve downed a drink and sung a few tunes. Afterward, Clayton pours me another drink or two on the house, and all is well with my world again.”

“I don’t believe this. You work for free. You exchange derogatory greetings which you consider totally acceptable…”

“We understand each other just fine.” The Chief interrupted, smiling.

“I’d be suing for slander!”

“Cassidy, names aren’t racist unless purposely intended as hurtful toward the recipient. Our banter really isn’t what it seems. White Boy and I understand the nicknames are meant in fun.”

“You should consider an alternative way to shake off a bad day.” Cassidy met his eyes. “How about a nice dinner out?”

“A nice dinner out?” asked Rain Cloud, incredulously. “And who would accompany me on this nice dinner out?”

“Me.”

“You?” Rain Cloud sounded stunned at her suggestion.

“Why do you consider the idea so far-fetched?” Cassidy contemplated his reaction for a few seconds and then felt her face redden. “Are you married?”

“Nope, single man. Far-fetched? Let’s review. You don’t know me. I just met you. We probably haven’t one thing in common. Should I continue?” Rain Cloud raised an eyebrow.

“Consider dinner together a therapeutic opportunity to become acquainted.” Cassidy leaned in closer, whispering in a conspirator-like fashion. “On second thought, consider dinner with me an opportunity to possibly inflame an unprecedented jealous streak in Clayton. I’m new in town and he refused to accept my invitations to dinner.”

Chief Rain Cloud’s expression changed. He’s obviously found that idea intriguing, she thought.

“So, you’re falling for Clayton, are you?”

“Hardly! Well, I think he’s handsome. That doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, if I agree to this little caper, what do you have in mind?”

“Just dinner for two, your choice. Anything is fine with me.” Cassidy had worked with Hispanic people, African-Americans, Middle East immigrants and Caucasians, of course, but few Native Americans. She’d suggested dinner with Rain Cloud to annoy Clayton, but something about the impeccably dressed, well-spoken, well-mannered, well-educated man fascinated her.

“Anything?”

“Chateaubriand or bannock and stew. You choose.” Cassidy grinned. “There’s one condition, however.”

Chief Rain Cloud met her eyes. “So, as co-conspirator in your ‘make Clayton jealous mission’, I now must meet a condition? What?”