Sweet Home Carolina (8 page)

“Now, where is this school? Josh? Is he your little boy? He
will like a ride in this car, no?”

Amy rewarded him with a suspicious glance — obviously she
was very bright — gave the directions to the elementary, and returned to
nervously slapping her sandal up and down. “Yes, of course, he’s a first
grader. Listen, I’ve already had lunch, and the café closes at three. We really
should save this for the phone.”

“The café closes? How can that be? Where will we eat?”

“In Asheville, I assume, since you don’t like red meat or
iceberg lettuce. That’s about all the steak house down the road serves. The
Stardust only serves dinner on weekends, and now that the tourist season is
over, we may quit doing that.”

Amy watched as he mulled that over. Despite his nonchalance,
Jacques was obviously a man who took control and kept it. It should be
interesting to see how he dealt with this minor hitch in his plans. She was
beginning to understand that, despite his tailored elegance, he wasn’t the kind
of man who would walk away from an obstacle as she’d expected.

It was hard to ignore the sense of anticipation that seemed
to crackle in the air when he was around. If she’d let herself think about it
at all, she’d know it was because his flamboyant charm covered a deep pool and
not shallow waters, and she wanted to see what he did next.

His slacks outlined the brace on his knee, but the man
exuded male energy that negated any minor handicap. Amy wore heels so she
didn’t feel short next to everyone else, but sitting down, he still towered
over her. She wouldn’t call herself fragile, but she’d seen the strength of Jacques’
upper arms when he wielded the crutches. This was not a man she’d want to
tangle with physically or intellectually.

His mother was Virginia
Adams
.
Amy couldn’t decide whether to weep or knock her head against a wall. A man
with those kind of high-powered connections would not want to run their tiny
little country mill. He moved on a scale so far beyond that of her world that
she could scarcely imagine it. His smiles were meaningless. He was simply using
her to get whatever it was he wanted, and that seemed to be the pattern cards.

Sinking deeper into the leather seat and glaring out the
window, Amy decided that when her ship came in, she’d hire a therapist to find
out why the only men who interested her were men who wanted to use her.

“You are open for breakfast and lunch, no?” he asked,
tapping his fingers against his knee and studying the more immediate problem of
food.

“We are open for breakfast and lunch, yes,” she agreed,
trying to be polite, as one would to a guest, but fearing the sarcasm bled
through. Or her fear. “But the lunch menu is hamburgers and not sun-dried-tomato
paninis. This is a blue-collar town where people work hard and eat large.
French fries are as close to European dining as you’ll get.”

She felt him turn that sizzling blue-black gaze on her and
wished the driver would turn up the air-conditioning before she roasted beneath
the blaze of Jacques’s regard.

“You can prepare tomato paninis?” he inquired.

Assertive, she told herself. Be assertive. “It requires
equipment the restaurant does not own.” Well, that wasn’t exactly assertive,
but it was better than admitting that she could prepare them, yes.

“Ah, if that is all….” He snapped open his cell phone,
pushed a few numbers, and as the Hummer skirted the line of parents waiting to
pick up their children at the elementary school, he began a rapid spate of
French to his assistant.

Amy was ready to crawl under the front seat as people stared
at the flat-topped monstrosity bypassing the line.

While Jacques talked, Amy leaned forward to talk to the
driver. “You’ll block the school buses,” she explained quietly. “Pull around
back where the teachers park. I can go in and find Josh.”

Instead, the driver halted the Hummer directly in front of
the school, next to the line of buses and cars, climbed out, and held open the
door for her.

Amy thought she would shrivel up and die of embarrassment as
she took his hand and climbed down. As Evan’s wife, she’d been one of the
wealthiest women in town, but she had never, ever flaunted the fact. She’d
grown up here. These people had known her as a snot-nosed kid. Pretension would
only get her snubbed at church on Sunday.

Chin high, she marched up the walk as if she arrived in a
chauffeured Hummer every day. One day out of a lifetime was no big deal.

Josh ran out to meet her, and with relief Amy kneeled down
to hug his sturdy little body. She didn’t mind if he got chocolate stains on
her silk shell — it was washable, and she reveled in the nondemanding love and
acceptance of his hug. She blew a raspberry on the back of his neck just for
the reassuring familiarity of his giggle.

Holding his hand, she hurried back to the drive, praying a
dozen buses weren’t blowing their horns in fury.

The Hummer wasn’t there.

She almost had a panic attack until she realized Luigi had
merely circled the drive and was pulling back around again. She was used to
being abandoned. She wasn’t used to intelligent drivers.

Luigi parked, and Amy hurriedly opened the latch before he
could get out and perform the whole door-opening ceremony again. Josh was
wide-eyed and openmouthed as she lifted him into the back and scrambled up
after him. She buckled him into the middle seat and slammed the door after her,
under Luigi’s disapproving gaze.

Off the cell phone now, Jacques held out his hand. “Good to
meet you, Master Josh. Did you have an entertaining day at school?”

So eager for male attention that he would have spilled his guts
to any hobo wandering through town, Josh bounced excitedly and began reciting
his day in detail, punctuated with a barrage of questions about the masculine
vehicle they were riding in.

Amy gave up any hope of fighting her competition when — instead
of impatiently brushing off Josh’s questions — Jacques answered them all in a
manner a small boy could comprehend. She wondered if he knew pain shadowed his
eyes when he looked at Josh. It could be his knee, of course, but somehow, she
didn’t think so.

If she didn’t drive the man out of town soon, she could
learn to adore him just for taking time to listen to her children. Obviously,
Josh wasn’t the only one starved for male attention.

Jacques thought he deserved an Academy Award by the time
Luigi pulled up in front of the café. He’d done a superior job of keeping up an
amusing conversation with the towheaded charmer while a knifing pain of regret
minced his gut into pâté. He’d thought he’d gone beyond grief years ago, but
the interaction with the child was too close and personal without a shield of
activity and people to protect him.

He could have had a son of his own by now. He hoped any son
of his would have been as bright and eager as this child, with his mother’s shy
smile and inquisitive mind. Danielle had been a mama’s girl, loving frilly
dresses and shiny shoes, and he’d worshipped her, but he’d never had a son to
wrestle about the floor and romp in the grass with. And now he was too set in
his ways — and too busy — for wrestling and romping.

An auto accident on a snow-laden highway had stolen that
dream ten years ago, and it was too late to regret his decision not to pursue
another. He couldn’t let a child’s smile and a woman’s winsome nature make him
question his choices or distract him from his goals — not for more than a day
or two, anyway.

You can’t lose what
you don’t have
, he reminded himself. He’d lost quite enough for one
lifetime and doubted he’d survive losing more. He’d learned to endure physical
pain as an athlete. He’d just have to learn to endure a little emotional
discomfort for as long as it took to get those designs.

Under the interested stares of an audience of locals,
Jacques swung his crutches into the café. He glanced at his Rolex. It was
two-thirty on a Monday afternoon. Shouldn’t the place be nearly empty if it
closed at three?

“Hey, Hoss, what are you doing here?” Amy asked, confirming
Jacques’s suspicion that the number of customers at this hour was unusual.

While Amy helped Josh onto a counter stool, Jacques took a
seat at the booth occupied by Pascal and Brigitte. Both were sipping espressos
and pushing french fries around their plates with distaste.

“You found a grill for the panini?” he asked Brigitte.

“I will have to order it,” Brigitte said. “I could not
locate a local shop.”

“Bed, Bath and Beyond in Asheville,” Amy suggested,
returning to their table. “But if you’re staying in Asheville, you don’t need a
grill. I’m sure the resort can fix paninis if you ask.”

Jacques gestured for her to sit across from him, next to
Brigitte. She hesitated, but he would not speak until she finally surrendered
and joined them. It was obvious Amy did not quite grasp the intensity of his
determination once he’d made up his mind, but she would.

“I am staying here in Northfork,” he enunciated carefully,
looking straight at her. “I need to spend more time at the mill and speak with
these people whose names you will give me.”

He smiled hopefully to get his point across, while erasing
her concerns. An interesting blush stained her cheek, and she tightened her
lips and looked away rather than flirt with him. It was a challenge wooing a
woman who didn’t wish to be won.

Did he wish to woo her? He would be here only briefly, but
he had a feeling they could warm the cockles of each other’s hearts very nicely,
and still part friends.

She had recently come out of a broken marriage. Perhaps
temporary was exactly what she needed.

“Hey, Amy, you gonna introduce us to your friends?” The man
she’d called Hoss earlier propped a possessive hand on the back of the booth
behind her. Tall, forty-something, muscular and stocky, with gray in his
close-clipped beard, the stranger eyed Jacques as if he were not human.

Not wishing to drag out the crutches to stand, Jacques
merely extended his hand. “Jacques Saint-Etienne. My assistant, Brigitte. My adviser,
Pascal. How do you do?”

Hoss gripped his hand and squeezed. Jacques squeezed harder.

He didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the other man wince.
Interestingly, Amy tugged Hoss’s work shirt to force him to release his grip in
an apparent attempt to protect her guest. Jacques grinned at the idea of his
needing a woman’s protection.

“Cut it out, Hoss. Jacques is here about the mill. Hoss owns
the white-water rafting company on the river.”

“Jack, is it?” Hoss asked. “I thought you was buying the
mill, Amy.”

“You know perfectly well that the town is trying to buy the
mill, so quit your country bumpkin act. Everyone profits if the plant is
returned to production, no matter who buys it. Now play nice,” she scolded
mildly.

She wanted the town to
acquire the mill.
That explained a great deal. Jacques suffered a twinge of
guilt at her words. He wasn’t in the business of operating mills and had no
intention of putting the outdated plant into production. The logistics were far
more than his small company could manage. He could not see how it mattered to a
woman like Amy, who had family all around her and no need of a filthy mill.

“Hey, Hoss, you got the turkey shoot lined up yet?” a
blue-jeaned farmer-type called from the counter.

Hoss turned toward the speaker. “Ain’t got enough entries
yet to make it worth my time, Jimbo.”

“Now that Jo isn’t the prize, you’re not offering anything
worth ours,” George Bob, the man introduced as the local insurance agent,
complained.

The young waitress arrived with glasses of water — with
lemon slices, Jacques noticed with approval. “Can I bring you anything?”

“Heat up some of the soup I have in the freezer,” Amy told
her before Jacques could say a word. “There are some seven-grain rolls left in
the bread drawer, and chicken salad in the blue container on the second shelf.
I’ll be there in a minute to help, and I’ll clean up so you can leave on time.”

The waitress looked relieved and rushed away. With increased
interest at this bossy side of the lady, Jacques raised a questioning eyebrow.

Amy pushed up from the booth and shrugged. “It’s that, or
french fries. At least the minestrone is vegetarian. Back in a minute.”

Across from him, Brigitte snickered into her espresso.

“When in Rome,” Pascal quoted back at him, “you take orders
from Romans.”

Not only had the woman chosen his meal, she’d walked off and
left him! Obstinate. And bossy. Intriguing. Jacques surreptitiously watched Amy
behind the counter. There was something ultimately sexy about a woman preparing
a nurturing meal.

“Laugh, if you will,” he said gallantly, “but see, she is
taking care of the boy, and her hired help, and us, all at once.” He nodded
toward the counter where Amy was kissing her son’s head and handing him a plate
of peeled fruit, while helping the young waitress prepare a plate for their
late customers. “She is kind even to strangers who are her adversaries.”

He’d not intended to get involved when he’d come here. He
had just been looking for new mountains to climb. It looked as if he’d found
more challenge than he’d anticipated.

“Hey, Ames, reckon Flint would want to join the turkey shoot
if he’s in this weekend?” Hoss had returned to the counter when Amy did, as if
he were standing guard over her.

Jacques narrowed his eyes and considered the beefy older man
following her around. Surely this was not his competition?

“Ever shot a turkey?” Pascal murmured, following his
thoughts.

“There are some turkeys I would not mind shooting,” Jacques
replied noncommittally, sipping his water.

“Flint might if the boys are allowed to enter,” Amy replied
while arranging the chicken salad on a bed of lettuce. “You’d snare him even
faster if you let Jo shoot.”