Forgiving Jackson (33 page)

“Can I come if I eat in the kitchen with the help?” Christian said.

“Not serving that meal without you—though I doubt Gabe or Jackson will stand for any of us to eat in the kitchen.”

“Jackson won’t be there,” Emory said.

“No?” Gwen lifted an eyebrow.

“They’re rehearsing every day, all day, until nine or ten o’clock. That’s what he said.”

Gwen looked at the table and ran her finger through the water ring from her tea glass.

“Jackson has really been there for you during all this, hasn’t he?” Gwen said.

“You’ve no idea. I never could have done it without him.”

“Sure you could have,” Christian said.

“Well, I never had. Who knows if I would have ever been able to? I’ve still got a ways to go, but it’s so much better—just telling my story to the police and being believed and knowing he’s in jail. It’s huge. And Jackson—and Dirk—did all that.” She closed her eyes and considered before speaking. “Also, before, I couldn’t be touched. And now … well, let’s just say no man could have been kinder or more patient. It’s like he always knew the right thing to do and say.”

Christian smiled. “I’m so glad.”

“Emory.” Gwen bit her bottom lip. “I think I was wrong about something.”

“What?”

“When I told you to be careful of Jackson? I said he doesn’t love many people back and that
is
true. But he does love a few people and I think you’re one of them.”

Christian gave out a gleeful little laugh and clapped her hands in front of her face.

“Do you really think so?” A warm feeling shot through Emory at Gwen’s validation of what she’d been feeling.

She had been afraid she could never give him real sex, but that certainly wasn’t a worry anymore. There could even be children … Her stomach bottomed out at the thought of a little girl with silver-sage eyes and a voice that would lift in perfect pitch, or a little boy with dark hair and a smile that could rule the world. It could happen. Was it possible that he loved her? She
felt
loved. That meant something, didn’t it?

Her face went warm. “I mean, we got off to a pretty rocky start and it hasn’t been that long. And he
is
Jackson Beauford.”

“And you’re Emory Lowell,” Christian said with delight. “Never underestimate that. And after all you’ve been through, you deserve a happily ever after.”

Even Gwen had let go of her little worried frown. “And believe me, it doesn’t take long. I think it was about seventh grade when Dirk and I got around to looking across the room at each other and it was all over.” She laughed. “I think that was about the time some hormones had started to come into play.”

“Yeah. That’s the way of it,” Christian muttered and took a sip of her tea. “This is how I see things—bad things happen to good people all the time but, in the end, something good comes along to make you think that if it took that bad thing to get you to this point in your life—well, it might not be
worth
it exactly. That’s hard to measure. But it helps you let go of the bad. You might have to wait a really long time on that good thing, so long that you might think it’s never coming, but it will. Every single thing we do affects the rest of our lives.” She gestured around her. “This lunch, the clothes we picked out this morning, and that I’m going to let those awful women take over my pool. That’s my bad thing. I’ll be looking for the good.”

They all laughed. “Spoken like a true dreamer,” Gwen said.

“All I’m saying is both Jackson and Emory have had their share of bad and this might be the good they’ve got coming.”

“I don’t know about all that, but Jackson
has
been through the wringer.” Gwen took a sip of her tea. “I know he’s got baggage, and plenty of it, but he seems happy lately. I’d like to see more of that. I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

“How so?” Emory asked.

“We don’t talk about it much. It was a sad time. Dirk joined the army right after high school and had his heart set on being a Ranger. I got a job waiting tables at an upscale restaurant in Nashville. My parents were glad to feed and house me but they couldn’t afford to send me to culinary school.

“The plan was, we were going to save some money and after a year, get married, but I’d keep living with my parents, quit my job, and start culinary school. It didn’t work out that way. When Dirk was home for Christmas, I got pregnant.”

That didn’t add up. Emory did some quick math and knew this was going to be sad.

“Aside from Dirk getting away for a weekend in February so we could get married, we decided the basic plan didn’t have to change. It wasn’t feasible for me to go back with him. It was looking like Ranger school was a real possibility but I knew he had to stay focused if it was going to happen. And he didn’t want me there, pregnant and alone, while he was moving around during the training. And I still wanted to go to culinary school.

“But in April my parents and I were on our way to visit my sister in Chattanooga and we had an accident. They were killed and I lost my baby.”

“Oh, Gwen.” Emory laid her hand on Gwen’s arm.

“I remember,” Christian said.

“Yeah. I was a nineteen-year-old mess. Dirk couldn’t come home except for the funeral. By the time we paid off their debts and buried my parents, my sister and I got not quite four hundred dollars each and I’d lost my job. Dirk’s dad wanted me to move in with him but that was never going to happen. He really was a good man. He was sweet when he was drunk and repentant when he was sober but he wasn’t sober much.”

Christian smiled. “But Jackson to the rescue.”

“And Miss Amelia. Jackson was just getting on his feet. He’d had that first hit and he was on the road, opening for George Strait. He flew home, moved me into Beauford Bend, and paid for me to go to culinary school, all the while pretending like there was no way Around the Bend could do business without me.” She laughed. “Looking back … My specialties back then were mushrooms caps stuffed with sausage and Pepperidge Farm breadcrumbs, and cream cheese with canned crab and cocktail sauce poured over the top. It’s a wonder I didn’t put them out of business.”

“I didn’t know,” Emory said.

“You wouldn’t. Jackson has never told, and that story would be a public relations dream. Remember, he was nineteen, too. He was finally making some money, but not a ton. The twins and Beau were still at home and Beauford Bend was about to fall apart. So it wasn’t without sacrifices that he and his family did that for Dirk and me.”

“So that’s why Dirk would take a bullet for Jackson?” Emory said.

“No.” Gwen shook her head. “Dirk would take a bullet for anybody because that’s who he is. That’s why Dirk would take a whole clip of bullets for Jackson.”

Emory placed her hand over her heart. Just when she thought she couldn’t have been more in love with him.

“In view of this, I guess we don’t have to worry so much about Around the Bend getting closed down,” Christian said.

Oddly, Emory hadn’t thought of that, at least not lately.

Less than forty-eight hours until the concert and Jackson was beginning to think it really was going to be all right. He might be able to have his career after all, might even be able to go on the road again. He could hire more security, take more steps to insure everyone’s safety. He didn’t know what those things were but that’s what Dirk and Ginger were for. If he did do this thing—if he was able—he was going to give Ginger a raise and call her what she really was. It was a joke to keep calling her his personal assistant. His former manager, Brandon, had been extremely competent but it hadn’t been a good fit. They’d never really seen eye to eye.

It was almost midnight when he parked his truck in the garage and started walking toward the carriage house.

“Jackson.” The voice came from the side porch.

“Hey, Gabe. You alone?” He stepped up on the porch and took the chair beside Gabe’s.

Gabe looked around. “Yeah. I seem to be.” There was a little wonder in his voice.

“That almost never happens.”

Gabe laughed. “I was waiting for you. Good news. Beau called.”

A thousand pounds lifted from Jackson’s shoulders and calm settled over him like it did every time he heard again that his little brother was alive.

“Thank God. Is he all right?”

“Yeah. He tried to call you but your phone went to voicemail.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Hell’s bells and damnation! I let it die. Let me have yours. I’ll call him back.”

Gabe shook his head. “Too late. He’s at Fort Bragg but he only had fifteen minutes. I’d have driven to where you were if I could have gotten there in time. He’s got a day or two before his next assignment. He said he’d try you again tomorrow.”

“Well, hell. But he’s safe. That’s what matters. Did he say anything?”

“To tell you he’s okay. But about what he’s been up to or where he’s going next? No. I called Rafe and Missy.”

“Are they okay?”

“Yeah. Missy can’t come to the concert. Lulu has strep throat. She’s on the mend but Missy won’t leave her.”

“Missy’s a good mother.” Emory would be a good mother, too, to some lucky children.

“I guess. Jackson, about the fire … ”

Jackson let out a sigh. “Which one?”

“The last one. I’m sorry about it.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“That’s all I was going to say—all I know to say.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. Has Ginger talked to you about the award presentation?”

“About eighteen times, the last time about an hour ago.”

“Yeah. I got Sammy to bring her back here a couple of hours ago. Her leg was hurting, though she didn’t want to leave.”

“She’s still afraid you’re going to bolt.”

“I won’t.”

“So the rehearsals are going okay?”

“Yeah. Pretty well.” There had been some rough spots, but there had been no panic, no smell of smoke. “I suck.”

“I doubt that.”

Jackson shrugged.

“So the guys are okay?” Gabe asked.

“It was pretty emotional the first day but everybody’s just glad to be back together playing music. And I guess that includes me.”

Gabe nodded. “Ginger was worried about the new rhythm guy.”

“Me, too,” Jackson admitted. “Since I play my own lead guitar, I knew I had to have a certain chemistry with him, you know?”

“Like a receiver and a quarterback.”

“Exactly. But every name I came up with, I couldn’t see for one reason or the other. But then I remembered this kid I played with a little at The Café Down On The Corner. He’s a good guitarist, got his own style. And he can sing. We’re doing all right together.” Mostly, Jackson thought, because Chase wasn’t trying to emulate Trace.

“That’s good.” Gabe got up and stretched. “I think I’ll go to bed. I was just waiting to tell you about Beau.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Goodnight, Jackson.”

Jackson got up and made his way to the carriage house. She’d left the light on for him. That was nice. He moved through the rooms quietly, determined not to wake her. There was a plate covered in foil on the kitchen table with a note on top. “If you’re hungry. Don’t worry. I didn’t make it. Gwen did.” But instead of signing her name, she’d drawn a little heart. Not that it meant anything—no different than drawing a smiley face. He’d had Taco Bell earlier so he put the plate in the refrigerator and tossed the note into the garbage—but thought better of it and plucked the note out again.

It was written on a heavy, creamy note card, engraved with her initials—and it was really engraved, too. Not printed. He wasn’t exactly proud that he knew the difference but it was impossible to have been raised by Laura Jackson Beauford and Amelia Beauford and not pick up a few things that no heterosexual Southern man ought to know.

But Emory had used her best paper to write him that little note—and she’d drawn him a heart.

Sometimes, he thought if there was any chance at all that he could take care of that heart the way it should be cared for—

But no. She needed her real life back, or at least to have the choice—though he’d been thinking more and more that he wouldn’t close down Around the Bend. So she might stay. Of course,
he
might go.

Still.

He shook the thoughts away. He had a show to do and that wasn’t a done deal yet. He needed to do that and just see. What if he could take care of her heart?

He looked from the note in his hand to the garbage can.

Then he folded it and tucked it away in the back of his wallet.

Tonight was the night and two armies of butterflies were fighting to the death in Emory’s stomach. She hadn’t talked to Jackson since early this morning when she’d gotten up and attempted to make him a celebratory breakfast—an omelet that looked nothing like the picture with the recipe and tasted nothing like an omelet should. The instant grits and precooked bacon had turned out better.

Gwen looked at her phone as they approached the entrance of the Ryman. “Christian says they’re already in their seats. We’re right in front of Gabe and the houseguests.”

“Wonder how we rated that?” Emory said.

“Yeah, I wonder. And I wonder where Sammy is. Christian didn’t mention him.”

“Jackson’s letting him hang out backstage and help the techs.”

“I’ll say this,” Gwen said. “Since he’s become Jackson’s own personal slave, Sammy has become much more capable.”

Emory laughed. “Sammy’s not a slave. He’s a very willing … aide? Assistant?”

“Manservant? Houseboy? But as long as he’s happy, and he is.”

Weren’t they all?

As they entered, two men wearing headphones and security shirts approached them.

“Mrs. Thornton? Ms. Lowell? I’m Warren.” He didn’t wait for verification but handed Emory a laminated card on a lanyard. “Ms. Lowell, if you’ll put this on.”

“What is it?”

“A backstage pass. He wants you.”

He
wanted
her. He’d proven that at five o’clock this morning. Her heart gave out a little flutter. She hadn’t expected to see him until he stepped on stage.

“Mrs. Thornton, Eli will see you to your seat. Ms. Lowell, if you’ll follow me?”