Down by the River (15 page)

Vincent smiled and reached out to take Margaret's other hand in his. He held both hands up to study them and then looked at Margaret steadily.

“Margaret Jane Conley,” he said at last in a silky voice. “I am so very pleased to meet you.”

Margaret, never one at a loss for words, actually fumbled with a reply. “I'm very pleased to meet you, too,” she said at last.

She looked down to where Vincent still held both her hands in his and frowned slightly. “I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Westbrooke, but did you notice that your hands have become very warm. In fact hot. Are you quite all right?”

“I am fine, Margaret. Just fine.” His words seemed like a caress, and he looked down into Margaret's eyes with a deep intensity. “It's simply a small irregularity that happens with me sometimes. Don't let it trouble you.” He released Margaret's hands and smiled at her, a soft, gradual, assessing smile. Grace saw that it was a very different smile than the one Vincent usually gave to her.

The two young people stood staring at each other as several minutes ticked by. Grace felt awkward. She finally cleared her throat and started to make a comment about Vincent's hands and what the heat meant. But then she saw him caution her with a slight shake of his head.

“What brought you by this late, Vincent?” she asked instead. “Is anything wrong?”

He smiled easily. “No. Nothing is wrong, Grace. I was out at a lecture and felt I should stop by to thank you for hosting the get-together for everyone who lives around the River Road this Friday. I'm looking forward to coming.”

Grace patted his arm affectionately. “Well, I'm looking forward to having everyone over.”

Vincent seemed to recover his poise then and to remember Grace's earlier comments. “Let me help bring Margaret's bags in for you before I walk back home.”

“That would be nice.” Grace smiled at him.

Margaret led Vincent out to the car to get her luggage. Grace followed to carry in some of Margaret's other boxes and totes. She knew, from experience, that Margaret never traveled light. It took all three of them two trips to bring everything in.

After greeting the dogs, Vince insisted on helping them carry everything upstairs to Margaret's new third-floor apartment. Since the upstairs rooms had been emptied out by Mavis Oakley, Grace had put pieces of furniture from the Nashville house there that she knew Margaret would like and be comfortable with. It pleased Grace to see Margaret's delight in finding the old familiar pieces in the sitting room and bedroom. The subdued Magnolia theme and muted color scheme suited Margaret, too.

Seeing that Margaret was starting to unpack and settle in, Grace walked Vincent back downstairs to see him out.

“Thanks for the help, Vincent.” Grace smiled at him as she opened the front door. “You came at the perfect time, just as Margaret arrived.”

“Yes. I did.” He looked thoughtful. “Thank you for not telling her about my hands yet.”

“Does it embarrass you?”

“No. Not at all.” Vincent looked surprised. “It's only that there were extra sensations with Margaret. More than the heat. And it didn't seem to be the right time to discuss it yet.”

He paused and studied his hands as if considering this thought before looking up at Grace with a candid stare. “Margaret is the reason I was brought to Tennessee, Grace. I got that witness very strongly. Margaret is the woman I am supposed to spend my life with.”

“Wha . . . what?” Grace knew she sounded shocked, but couldn't help it. “How can you possibly know that?”

“I know. The witness was very clear, and the heat strong.” Vincent looked at Grace calmly and smiled. “I hope you don't mind, Grace.”

“Well, uh . . . no. But, Vincent, you really don't know Margaret very well yet. She can be somewhat temperamental. And she's a little high-strung. She's a musician, a gifted pianist.”

“I felt the creativity.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Margaret has very decided plans and goals, Vincent. Marriage is not one of them right now. She plans to continue her studies, possibly do concert work or teach.”

“Goals are important.”

“There's another problem.” Grace felt she needed to be candid. “Margaret is not in a very strong place in her faith. In fact, of all my children, she has resisted religion the most. There were many times Charles had to threaten to discipline Margaret to get her to go to church.”

“And?”

“And you're a minister.”

Vincent seemed undeterred by her comments. “She's attracted to me, Grace. I could feel it.” He smiled. “And I certainly am to her.”

“Well, yes, and that's very nice.” Grace knew she sounded patronizing, but, really, this conversation was somewhat ridiculous. “But Margaret does not know yet that you are a minister, Vincent. That could be another problem.”

Vincent reached out and patted Grace's cheek. “Don't worry. God will work everything out in His right time.”

“Yes, but God has never had to deal with Margaret.” Grace knew that sounded silly even as she said it.

Vincent laughed. “Well, it will be fun to see how God handles it all, Grace. Won't it?”

He turned to leave, and then turned back toward Grace as an afterthought. “I'll see you in the morning for coffee and muffins. Sleep well.”

Grace shut the door and muttered to herself as she made her way up the two flights of stairs to Margaret's rooms. “I admit I hoped life wouldn't be boring if I moved here, but I never counted on it being quite this eventful.”

J
ack stood on the stone patio behind his house and looked down across the Little River to the Mimosa Inn. He'd come home to eat lunch with Bebe and the girls before heading back over to the office. It was Friday, and it had been a hectic morning. He'd shown several properties and could have shown more this afternoon, but he'd left his hours after lunch open to help Grace set up her backyard for the neighborhood gathering tonight. The weather was perfect—sunny with blue skies and a soft breeze. Jack looked forward to the evening. He was a social animal.

He whistled as he started down the hill. Grace's little shop was open today; he could pop in and visit with her for a short time if she wasn't busy. See what she wanted him to do to help her set up.

As Jack started up the porch of the new Mimosa Crafts Shop, a cluster of tourists came babbling out of the store, carrying mimosa pink shopping bags. Inside, two women were browsing around and talking. He saw no sign of Grace, but as Jack looked around, he saw Margaret come out from the back of the store.

She nodded at Jack in greeting and then held up a handmade, quilted purse to show one of the women. “Believe it or not Mrs. Hensley, I actually found a handbag in the back of the store with the black background you asked me to look for.”

The woman snatched it with excitement. “Oh, it's exactly what I wanted, dear! Thank you so much for going back there to look for me. I'll take it and all these nice things, too.”

She piled a stack of crafts items onto the check out counter and then turned to her friend. “Are you ready to go, Trudy?'

“Yes. But I want to buy that ceramic Christmas tree in the corner there.” She pointed. “I've always wanted one of those. My sister has one that she made, but I'm all thumbs when it comes to making crafts. I am so tickled to find one already made up that I can just buy and take right home.” She frowned. “Dear, do you have a box you could pack it in? I wouldn't want it to get broken.”

Margaret looked across at Jack, lounging against the wall. “Make yourself useful, Jack Teague, and go in the back of the store and get one of those empty boxes piled up outside the storage room. There's one by the door that Mrs. Gentry's tree should fit neatly inside of. And get some of those newspapers, too, so I can wrap them around the tree.”

Jack retrieved the box and helped Margaret pack up the ceramic Christmas tree. She'd rung up both the sales while he was gone. At Margaret's directive, he carried the boxed tree out to Mrs. Gentry's car.

Coming back into the shop, he found Margaret draped over a chair, her feet propped on a tole-painted toy chest. She wore cropped pants, strappy sandals, and a colorful, geometric tunic. She had her hair pulled back into a neat bun, and she looked smart and chic.

“Thank goodness this place is finally quiet for a few minutes.” Margaret blew out a long breath. “I haven't had a minute to sit down for the last two hours. There have been people in here all day! And yesterday was even worse.”

“You sound rather surprised at the shop's success.” Jack perched on a stool and gave her a smug smile.

“Oh, don't you start, too, Jack Teague. I've had various neighbors and friends of my mother's making comments like that to me all day.” She frowned. “Who would have ever thought people would actually like and buy all this stuff? It's unbelievable. Did you see that woman going on and on about that ceramic tree? I remember the year Mother made those. She gave one to my grandmother Jane for Christmas, and Jane gave it to her maid—said it was the tackiest thing she had ever seen.”

Margaret glanced over to the corner where another Christmas tree sat on the shelf. “It lights up you know. You plug in the cord, and all the little colored lights on the tree limbs light up—so it looks like a real tree.”

“You wanna buy the last one?” Jack cocked an eye at her. “Your mom might give you a discount.”

Margaret shook her head. “Not hardly. Go look at the price on that tree. It's simply unbelievable someone would pay that for a ceramic Christmas tree.”

Jack walked over to look at the green tree—all covered in tiny lights with a star at the top. “I kind of like it. My Aunt Bebe has one sort of like this. It wouldn't be Christmas at our place if Bebe didn't set it up in the front window. Aunt Bebe used to always put a few little gifts for my cousin Roger and I under the little tree, too. We got in trouble one year for unwrapping them early and trying to wrap them back up again so she wouldn't know.”

Margaret laughed. “Sounds like you were a rascal even when only a boy.” She looked at Jack thoughtfully then. “I guess you're looking for my mother.”

“I was. Is she at the house?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn't go up there if I were you. She's having a big fight with my Aunt Myra.”

Jack was intrigued. “Grace is having a fight?”

“You got her up on a pedestal, don't you?” Margaret laughed.

“No. I've seen her mad a time or two. I just have a hard time imagining her scrapping with another woman.”

Margaret guzzled some water out of a bottle. “It's more of a word fight than a physical one, Jack.”

She paused. “Aunt Myra came over from Knoxville to check out the grand opening of the shop. Mom had invited her and my grandmother Richey, but only Myra could get away today. I was in the back and missed what set Myra off in the beginning, but when I came out into the shop she was all red-faced and practically hollering about how Mother never understood her or something. She was getting real dramatic and waving her arms all around and everything.”

Shrugging in annoyance, Margaret drank some more of her water. “Mother, being ever the artful diplomat, suggested they go up to the house to talk. There were a few customers in the shop, and they were getting an earful.” She glanced toward the house. “Knowing Mother, she's calmed Myra down by now and has her drinking tea, nibbling cookies, and having a heart-to-heart sister catch-up.”

Jack grinned at Margaret. “So that's how you ended up in charge of the store all by yourself.”

Margaret bristled. “You act like I can't manage it. I'll have you know I'm doing fine. Mother said she'd have been overwhelmed handling everything herself if I hadn't been here yesterday and today. She never had any idea the shop would be this busy.”

“Calm down, Miss Conley. I think you could handle just about anything that came along if you needed to. You're a sharp girl.” Jack reached into the candy dish on the check out counter and picked out a peppermint.

“Why, thank you, Jack Teague. I think that was actually a compliment.”

“You want more compliments?” He gave her an appraising look. “You don't seem like the type to fish for compliments. Surely you get plenty with those classic blond looks of yours. I'd say the boys fill your ears with compliments all the time.”

He paused as he studied her eyes, silvery blue green like her mother's. She was a beauty. Her hair was a deeper blond than Grace's, her lips less full. Margaret was a little shorter than Grace, her figure slimmer. But there was a remarkable resemblance.

She sent him a snippy retort. “Women like compliments on things other than their looks, Jack.”

Jack ignored her. “Did your mother look like you when she was younger?”

She crossed her legs on the trunk and leaned back in her chair. “I don't remember. She was just a mom to me. But Dad had her painted. The portrait is in the back hallway beside her bedroom at the Mimosa. She's really gorgeous in it. Check it out sometime. She has on a long, sleek, blue velvet dress.”

Margaret gave him a cocky grin. “You've got a crush on my mom, don't you?”

“Is that what you think?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“No, actually I think you have
rather more
in mind regarding my mother. But not the honorable ring-on-the-finger kind of agenda.” She gave Jack an appraising glance of her own. “Frankly, I've been surprised that there's any attraction at all between you and my mother. Especially of my mother toward you.”

Jack felt piqued. “Why? You think I've got something lacking?”

“Besides morals? No, not really. It's only that you're not what I would think of as my mother's type. In fact, you're the sort of man Mother always warned Elaine and I to stay far, far away from.”

Jack winced at Margaret's honesty. “And what kind of man is that?”

“Good-looking, charming, oozing pheromones, and dangerous.”

“Well, thanks!” Jack grinned.

“
And
with a bad reputation.” Margaret interrupted him before he could say more. “Don't thank me too soon; I wasn't finished.”

She stood up to walk over and lean toward Jack. “You're very pretty, Jack Teague, but I don't want you hurting my mother. She just lost my dad a couple of years ago and then moved over here against all the family's counsel—all on her own. She stubbornly defied us all. Yet, surprisingly, from what I've seen, she's actually doing okay here. The bed-and-breakfast seems to be doing well, and it sort of suits Mother somehow. She's made friends and actually seems happy.” Margaret stopped. “She's different here. Sort of confident. More comfortable with herself. It's been kind of nice to see.”

Margaret paused as if thinking this out.

“And?” Jack prompted.

She frowned at him. “
And
I don't want her becoming another bullet on your cowboy belt. It would hurt her and cause her to lose respect around here.”

“And you think I would do that?” Jack snarled his answer.

She reached up and stretched. “I don't know what you might do, Jack Teague. I just know what I hear.”

“You been asking questions about me?” He met her gaze.

She gave him a stubborn look. “I have a right. She's my mother, after all.”

Jack bit back an angry reply. He eyed Margaret silently. “Seems to me you're not in much of a position to preach to me. You've done your share of hurting your mother lately. You and your siblings. All stomping around and throwing a fit when Grace wanted to pursue her own life. And follow her own dream. You even tried to make her move into some old folks' retirement center.”

“I wasn't the one pushing her to move there.” Margaret put her hands on her hips, eyes flashing. “That was more Frank and the others—not me.”

Jack grinned, glad to be turning the tables on Margaret. “I didn't exactly hear any tales of how
you
encouraged your mother to follow her heart and her dreams—championed her in wanting to live her own life. Seems like I heard you were right in there calling her stupid and foolish—even bowing up your back and refusing to move over here with her.”

Margaret crossed her arms in annoyance, her face flushing. “You don't understand. We felt afraid for her. We didn't think she could do anything like this.”

“And you were wrong?” Jack knew his words would nettle her.

“Maybe.” She stuck her chin up stubbornly.

“I see. Then
maybe
you might be wrong about me, too.”

“It's possible,” she agreed reluctantly as a group of new customers let themselves in the door. “We'll see.”

Jack took that opportunity to retreat. Taking Margaret's advice, he avoided going up to the house, assuming Myra was still there. Instead, he waited until the evening to see Grace. He found his eyes seeking her out throughout the gathering that night. Watching her. Admiring her poise and ease. She was a consummate entertainer. Circulating around among all the people—gracious, charming, seeing that everyone was taken care of. Spending just the right amount of time with each person before moving on to the next.

“Pretty woman,” Roger said at one point, catching Jack's eyes on her.

“Yes, she is,” he acknowledged.

“Be careful, buddy.” Roger chuckled. “Once you slide down that slippery creek bank, it's hard to get back out.”

Jack didn't answer.

“You in over your head already?”

“I don't know, Rog. But she's messing with my mind and my sleep.”

“Been with anybody else lately?”

“No.” Jack snapped out his reply.

Roger patted him on the back, wisely not making a comment back. “I think I'll go get Samantha to play a game of badminton with Vincent and Margaret. It looks like they're trying to find some partners. Can you keep an eye on Ruby?” He gestured to Ruby who had fallen asleep in the hammock on the patio.

Jack smiled at the sight of Ruby curled up in the middle of the big hammock. “Sure. I'll sit here on the patio and keep a watch over her.”

He went over to one of the ice chests and found a wine cooler to drink. It was the closest thing to an adult beverage Grace would allow with children sharing the evening. Several of the men had argued with her about it, but Grace had put her foot down. Jack smiled remembering it.

“Having nice thoughts?” a quiet voice asked.

Jack turned his head toward the sound to see Grace coming across the patio. She wore some sort of floaty culotte skirt with a matching blouse, both in a rich plum shade. Pretty enough to be dressy, casual enough to play games in. Her outfit was simple, yet striking, setting off her figure perfectly. The rich color complimented the shiny, lighter tone of lipstick and nail polish she wore. Even the slides she wore on her feet were dark plum in color. Jack had always been a man to notice details about women—what they wore, how they acted, how they smelled. And Grace was always beautifully put together.

He patted the seat beside him. “Come keep me company. I'm watching Ruby so Roger and Samantha can play badminton.”

Jack saw Grace glance toward the hammock with a tender expression.

“Precious child,” she said. She picked up a sweater tossed over a nearby chair and draped it across Ruby's legs before she sat down.