Forgiving Jackson (7 page)

He looked at her through his eyelashes and smiled a smile that ought to come with a warning label. If she was going to have any prayer at all of handling this man she was going to have to stay ahead of him.

“You were pretty sure the summer I came to charm school when I was fifteen. You took me out to the rose arbor during the Saturday night dance and kissed me. It was my first kiss.”

His head snapped up. “I did not.”

She laughed. Mission accomplished! She’d caught him off guard.

“You did! Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve been lying to me ever since I set eyes on you.”

“I’m not lying. I pined for you for a while. Then I found out I wasn’t the only one who’d been out to that rose arbor with you.”

“You’re making this up.”

So, she’d been right. He
didn’t
remember.

“Maybe. But you look doubtful. So it might be true. Right now, you’re trying to run through your head all the girls you took back there.”

“You’re lying. Amelia told you how I got in trouble for that.”

“But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

“I know. I’d remember. And about that—I don’t know what Amelia thought was going to happen. She made us squire all those pretty girls around and dance with them. Kissing was going to follow.” He took a drink of his coffee. “But not with you. You’re lying to distract me from the matter at hand.”

He was right—not about the lying but the attempt at distracting.

First things first. “Jackson, I didn’t tell those people that they could see your suite. I’d never do something like that.”

To her surprise, he nodded. “I know that. Did you fire Sammy?”

“Of course I didn’t fire Sammy.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s worked here for seven years. Amelia hired him to wash dishes and clean up at events when he was fifteen. Now, he’s one of the few full-time employees we have.” Was it possible that Jackson wasn’t going to shut down Around the Bend after all? Otherwise, why discuss Sammy’s future? “His judgment might not always be what I would like but he’s eager to please and will do anything I ask. And he works very, very hard.”

“Apparently, he does some things you don’t ask, too.” Jackson shook his head. “Not that it matters. Emory, I said I wanted Around the Bend shut down and I meant it. I want to spend the summer at home—maybe longer. And I don’t want to run into a gaggle of debutantes or a crazy bride every time I want to go into my own yard—not to mention a bunch of drunks in my music room doing their best to destroy priceless, historical instruments.”

“That wouldn’t happen again.”

“Probably not. But it’s for sure not because I’m not going to have it. I’ll stand by my severance offers for you and the staff. I’ll pay it out of my own account because I doubt if Around the Bend could cover it.”

“We do all right.”

“No, you don’t. I get a report every month. You cover expenses and you have enough in reserve for exactly one event to go belly up. That’s not good business, Emory. And to be fair, for as hard as you work, your salary is a joke. I walked through the main house and over the grounds this morning. It’s perfect. There’s not a thing out of place. It’s like no party every happened. When I was growing up we’d spend all the next day, sometimes two, putting things in order. You must have been up all night.”

“No. Only until about two. We’re a well-oiled machine and everyone works hard and fast.”

“You could do far better somewhere else.”

Panic set it. She didn’t want to do better. She couldn’t leave Beauford Bend. She wanted to scream but her voice came out calm. “My needs are simple.”

“Apart from the cinnamon crunch chocolate brownie cream cheese coffee creamer?”

He was smiling again—probably not because he felt like it but because he’d learned that his smile would get him not only
what
he wanted but
how
and
when
without any trouble. And he wanted her to like what he was demanding.

Not likely.

He made his eyes go smoky. How did he even do that?

Still, not likely.

“Apart from that.” She nodded.

“But, Emory, make no mistake about it. I am going to have this. I am going to have it today.” The charmer went out the window and the hard ass returned She could deal with that, too.

“Today? No. We have three tours this week and anniversary parties for the next two weekends. There’s a quilting guild from Savannah coming to Firefly Hall next Tuesday to stay for the rest of the week. They’re coming over every day for lunch and to study the Beauford Bend quilt collection. Noel from the quilt shop in town is going to come out and give them lessons. They’ll spend a fortune in her shop.”

He shook his head. “No, Emory. This business is closing. Now. You can do it or I'll do it. Cancel these things. I’ll take care of the people who work for Around the Bend—full- and part-time. I’ll be fair.”

“Really?” There was a nugget of something materializing that might be hope. “What about Christian? What about Noel? What about all the artisans and business owners in town? What are you going to do about them?”

He looked puzzled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ha. He really didn’t! He had no idea that he was terrified of hurting people, had no idea he even had a chink in his armor.

She shook her head and took a deep breath.

• • •

Jackson braced himself for the next pack of lies that were undoubtedly about to flow from Emory’s lush little mouth. He couldn’t wait to hear this. “What am I supposed to do about Christian? And the others?”

“Let me ask you something.” Emory got up and poured them more coffee. She took her good, sweet time going to the refrigerator, fetching her sissy creamer, pouring said creamer, tasting, mixing, and adding more sugar. You’d think she was mixing an antidote for king cobra venom. Of course, by now the poor snake-bitten fool would be dead. Now she was going back to the refrigerator—which was very neat, he noted—to replace the creamer. Everything had a place. The creamer apparently belonged on the bottom shelf because she had to bend over to put it there, which resulted in a good view of her khaki-shorts-clad bottom. Though calling them shorts might be pushing it. They came to her knee and were at least one size larger than they needed to be, as was her pink polo shirt. She sat back down, crossed her legs, took a sip of her coffee masterpiece, and ran her tongue over her bottom lip to capture a little drip of coffee. The gesture wasn’t meant to be provocative; she wasn’t the type. She also wasn’t
his
type. He needed to remember that. Plus, he was firing her.

She looked at him like she knew all the answers to the midterm. Poor thing. She didn’t stand a chance.

“Do you care about Christian?” she asked.

What kind of question was that? “Christian Hambrick? From Firefly Hall? Sure. I care about her. Not in a romantic way. She’s Beau’s age and four years is a lot when you’re kids. But our parents were friends and I’ve known her all her life.”

Emory wound one of her curls around her finger and pushed it behind her ear. “So you never took Christian to the rose arbor?” She was laughing at him—not overtly, but he knew when he was being laughed at. He didn’t like it worth a damn.

“No! Of course not.”

“Do you want a scone? Gwen made them so they’re really good.” And when she got up and breezed by him he caught her scent. Oranges. Mint. Vanilla. His stomach turned over. He’d read that a smell could bring back a memory faster than anything else. Was it possible she’d used the same soap, sparkle lotion, and stuff all these years? Probably not. But he took another whiff and the picture came together—the white baby curls, a little longer back then, the sweet mouth that he had decided he wanted a taste of. Hell’s bells and damnation. He even remembered her dress—well, the color, anyway. Blue, like those big round eyes. So, yeah. She had been one of his rose arbor girls—but not one of his
let me show you my room
girls. She’d been way too sweet and innocent for that. He didn’t seduce. He let himself
be
seduced. That hadn’t changed.

She held a plate of scones before him and looked at him with a question in her eyes. She shook the plate a little. “They’re blueberry.” Blueberries, blue eyes, blue dresses, blue days.

“Sure.” He was pretty sure his voice came out normal. He took a scone and took a bite. “I did not take Christian to the rose arbor and I didn’t take you.” He didn’t even feel guilty for saying it. She had a lie coming.

“So you say.” She handed him a little linen napkin and bit into her scone before sitting down. “But you
do
care for Christian and what happens to Firefly Hall?”

“Sure. I want her to do well. Is something wrong with Christian?”

“No, but there will be if you close down Around the Bend.”

What the hell? “What? Are you blackmailing me? If I close down Around the Bend, are you threatening to put out the word that Christian uses rat meat in her breakfast casserole? Or maybe you’re just going to go ahead and beat her up.”

At that, he dissolved into laughter. He couldn’t help it. Christian Hambrick was 5'10" in her bare feet and had been the best basketball player Beauford High School had ever seen; she had gone on to play for Pat Summitt at UT. The thought of this little puff of a thing beating her up was too funny to ignore.

“You’re pretty when you laugh,” she said.

“I’m pretty when I don’t!” And he laughed harder, but it wasn’t feel-good laughter. It might even be bordering on hysterical laughter. He bit the inside of his cheek and shook it off.

“I guess that’s over,” Emory said and all of a sudden she looked very serious. “Eighty-seven percent of Firefly Hall’s business is directly related to events held at Beauford Bend.”

“You’re making that up.” He reached for another scone. Sugar made him sluggish but so what? He didn’t have to push his body to the limit for three hours tonight in front of twenty thousand people. Or tomorrow, the next day, or ever.

“I am not.” She opened her laptop, stroked a few keys, and spun it around. “I asked Christian to track Firefly Hall guests and their reasons for staying there. She sends it to me to analyze.”

“Damn, Emory. You have a spreadsheet—with numbers and everything.” Probably manufactured.

“And it’s color-coded. Green is for miscellaneous. People pass through and show up for no reason. Or they have family in the area. That’s the smallest percentage. Next is orange. That is directly related to the artisans in town. Most of that is made up of people who come here to shop or pick up something they’ve ordered. Occasionally, a master craftsman will come to town to do a demonstration or seminar. They’re also included in this category.”

“I would have thought shoppers alone would keep Firefly Hall busy.” Beauford was forever being touted in travel literature as one of the best artisan boutique towns in the country. In high season, the streets overflowed.

Emory shook her head. “For the most part, people coming from any distance stay in Nashville. We may have some of the best craftsmen anywhere, but the same people who are interested in leather goods don’t necessarily care about furniture, blown glass, or jewelry. They come, they buy, they go back to Nashville for music and fine dining. And it only takes a day for those who do want to poke around and look at everything.

Unfortunately, that made sense. But Christian and Firefly Hall were not his responsibility. Were they?

Emory scooted her chair around closer to him in order to manipulate the touchpad.
That smell again!
“You’ll see the blue is by far the star of the show. Those people stayed with Christian because of something going on here.”

“This is only for three months,” he pointed out.

She pushed the computer closer to him. “Scroll down. I have two years’ worth of data. Trust me. If you close down Around the Bend, Firefly Hall won’t be far behind.”

He scrolled through page after page, searching for clues that this was a sham, that she had put it all together in an hour. But no. Sometimes she wrote out the name of the month; sometimes she used a number. Sometimes she abbreviated names and functions, other times not. True, she
could
have thought of all that to make it look authentic, but that was doubtful.

“Why do you only have two years’ worth?” he asked, mostly to give himself time to think.

“I’ve only been here two years.”

“I guess Aunt Amelia didn’t keep a lot of records.”

She nodded. “Amelia was more concerned with the creative aspect. There were good records up to a point and then—”

She stopped and looked at her hands. They both knew when those good records had stopped. When his mother burned to death in a fire that was his fault.

He took a deep breath. “Look, Emory. This is my home.”

“You have three others.”

“No. I have one
home
. I have three other houses, two of which I haven’t seen in nearly a year. But that’s beside the point. I’m sorry Firefly Hall is dependent on Around the Bend but it’s not my job to be a host for a parasite.”

Any softness Emory might have felt at almost mentioning his mother left the building. “Firefly Hall is
not
a parasite. We’re dependent on each other! We are not set up here to house people overnight. Where do you think our clients would stay?”

“When I was growing up, Firefly Hall was still a private residence and we did all right.”

“No, you did not. The only reason you made any profit at all was because of all the free labor. You had events for locals and people within driving distance. The girls who came for charm school boarded with people in town and it was a nightmare to orchestrate. It had gotten to the point where people didn’t want to do it anymore and the charm school would have died if Christian’s mother hadn’t finally moved to Florida and agreed to let her open the B&B. Now, we have people who come from all over.”

There was truth to what she said. And after he had become successful, until recently, Around the Bend had run in the red every year and he had picked up the slack. Finally, Amelia could have the business she wanted with the best dishes, finest linens, and all the help she needed. It had been her playground and he didn’t regret indulging her for one second. She had worked herself to death for him and his brothers. She had made them all take music lessons and, when Jackson had showed promise, had gotten him better and better teachers. He still wasn’t sure how she had afforded it. And even if she’d been a little disappointed that he had no interest in becoming a concert pianist, she’d gotten him a guitar anyway.