Free Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) by Brenda Sinclair Page B

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