Down by the River (16 page)

Jack caught the soft floral scent of her as she settled into the old metal lawn chair. She slipped off her slides and propped her bare feet up on the chair across from them.

Jack's eyes slid down her legs and across her feet. Agony. He yearned to take her feet into his lap. To run his hands up her legs and under the folds of her plum skirt.

“It's been a nice gathering, hasn't it?” she asked, oblivious to his thoughts.

He nodded. “You've been a good hostess.”

“Thanks, and I appreciate your coming early to help set up the games and tables.” She pointed out into the yard. “Look what a good time the girls are having playing croquet.”

Jack looked out to see Morgan and Meredith laughing and playing with the other children who lived around the River Road.

“The girls were so excited we found that old croquet set in the garage storage room. Plus the badminton racquets and birdies, and the horseshoes.” She looked around the property. “This is a wonderful yard for games—so flat and spacious.”

Jack agreed. “Where are the dogs?”

“On the back screened porch where they can watch everyone.” She laughed. “They were disappointed not to be out here, but with so many people, I couldn't properly keep an eye on them if I'd let them join us.”

“It's wonderful how well you've got them trained. I can see a similar gift of management in operation when you gather the girls together for their Scout meetings.” He shook his head. “I used to pick them up from their Brownie meetings and always found a noisy chaos. Mrs. Waters is nice, but she had no gift for leadership. You, on the other hand, do.”

“Why thank you, Jack. That's a very nice compliment.”

“And well deserved. Kyleen told me you'd agreed to take on the fifth-grade Junior Scouts along with your fourth-grade girls because they didn't have a leader either.”

“Yes, and Kyleen is going to help me with the combined troop. She is fifteen and has always been a Scout. She would be a Cadette right now if there was an active troop, so I told her she could work on her Cadette credentials as my assistant leader. The girls love having an older teenager helping us out.”

“How many girls do you have now?”

“Sixteen. I had eight fourth-grade girls, and now I've added eight fifth-grade girls.” She sighed. “There's been more interest since the word has gotten out, but I'm not sure I can manage more. Even with Kyleen.”

“Samantha told me you even have all the girls showing up for Scout meetings in their uniforms. How'd you manage that? Daisy said hardly any of their group would wear their uniforms to their Scout meetings last year.”

Grace frowned and lifted her chin. “I wear a uniform to every meeting. And I told the girls if they wanted to be in my troop they would have to wear a uniform every week as well. Any girl who does not come in uniform cannot carry leadership roles or have snacks.”

Jack chuckled. “I'd say that last one did it.”

“It does tend to be influential.” She giggled. “I make nice snacks. Or we all make them together when the girls arrive.”

Jack propped his feet up beside hers on the chair, wanting to make physical contact with her. Leaning his bare calf against hers, he felt a sensual thrill.

She grew quiet for a moment, and Jack knew she felt the heat building between them. He trailed a finger along her arm on the chair.

His voice turned almost husky as he continued their conversation, trying to remain casual. “Freda Clark and Sally Carson told me you collected donations from the businesses around the area to buy uniforms, Scout pins, and books for many of the girls in the troop who couldn't afford them.”

“Some of the families around here are not very well-to-do.” She pulled her arm away from his tracing finger. “There are some single mothers and some girls who don't have much. I wanted all the girls to have uniforms without pressure on the families.”

His voice was soft. “You're a good person, Grace Conley. I'll bet you were a good mother, too.”

“She was an excellent mother,” said a voice behind them. Margaret came up, gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, and flounced into one of the chairs across from them.

“Are you behaving yourself, Jack?” She eyed his leg leaning up against her mother's with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely.” He made no effort to move his leg. “How was your badminton game?”

“Vincent and I beat Roger and Samantha by ten points. Samantha took it gracefully, but Roger is still grousing over it.” She got up to go rummage in one of the coolers to find a cola.

Jack laughed. “Sounds like Roger. He always was a sore loser.”

Margaret sat down again and propped her pretty bare legs up on the side of her mother's chair. Jack saw Grace pat Margaret's leg affectionately.

“Seems like I saw Vincent Westbrooke trailing around after you most of the evening.” Jack couldn't resist teasing Margaret. He always got such sparks when he did. “It seems like you've captured our young preacher's attention.”

Margaret's eyes flared. “That's one of the reasons I came over here to hide out with the two of you. I was finally able to make my escape while Vincent got tied up talking to Berke and Sally Carson.”

“You're not attracted to Vincent?” Jack grinned at her. “A lot of young girls in the valley come to church on Sunday just to get a look at him. But it's seldom that one of them ever attracts an eye from him. Most would say you're lucky.”

“Well, I don't feel lucky!” Margaret snapped her answer.

“Margaret, mind your manners,” her mother chided. “Vincent is a fine young man. There's no reason to speak derogatorily about him.”

Margaret heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Mother, Vincent Westbrooke is a
preacher
. And a preacher in a poky little town. Nothing personal, Jack—but this is just
not
my kind of place. And I am absolutely
not
cut out to be linked up with a preacher.”

Jack grinned. “You've got morality issues?”

“No, that's you, Jack!” Margaret sent him an impish smile. “I just have ambitions, and I see no sense in letting Vincent Westbrooke think I have any interest in him whatsoever.”

Jack caught her gaze. “You're lying to yourself, Margaret, if you think you have no interest in him. I've watched you around him. You're attracted to him all right.”

She glared at Jack. “Well, so what if I am? That doesn't mean I'm going to
do
anything about it. I was attracted to the cute UPS man who came to the shop door this morning, too, but I'm not going to encourage him either.”

“Why, you're a snob, Margaret Conley!” Jack loved goading her.

“No, I just know you need to be careful who you get involved with. Some people may be pretty and attractive, but they're the wrong people for you.”

A memory flashed in Jack's mind. His voice quieted. “I know what you mean about that.”

Grace reached over to put a hand on his while Margaret was preoccupied in drinking her cola. She smiled at him softly.

Dang woman. She'd gotten to where she could read his mind. She knew he was remembering Celine. How did she do that?

Margaret's voice interrupted his thoughts. “Your little twins are flirting with those boys over there, Jack Teague.”

“What?” He sat up and looked around to where the girls were still playing croquet. “What are you talking about? They're only playing croquet. They're not even ten years old.”

Margaret blew a stray hair back off her face. “Ten or not, they're flirting with that cute little Dean Clark and the friend he brought with him. What was the other boy's name, Mother?”

“Neal Hancock. He lives farther down the River Road. Dean asked if he could bring a friend so he wouldn't be the only boy.”

“Well, your girls are flirting with Dean Clark and Neal Hancock.” She gave Jack a smug, Cheshire-cat grin. “Must take after their father.”

Jack found his heart pounding. “Do you really think so? Maybe I should do something. Those boys are thirteen. Morgan and Meredith are not even ten yet. They don't know anything about boys.”

Grace's soothing voice spoke out. “Settle down, Jack. This is only innocent childhood flirting. It's normal.” Grace's calm hand came to rest on his again.

She directed a critical glance at Margaret. “And quit teasing Jack about his girls. It's bad enough the two of you spar with each other all the time, but don't bring Morgan and Meredith into it.”

“Oh, all right.” Margaret flounced back in her chair.

Jack continued to watch the girls, still uncomfortable with Margaret's observation. “Do girls really start thinking about boys this early?”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jack. Didn't
you
start thinking about girls that early? Get real. Girls and boys start trying to get the attention of the opposite sex in preschool now.”

Still seeming to sense his discomfort, Grace patted his hand once more. “I'll talk to them about some things if you'd like, Jack. It's probably time they had some personal talks. Especially after what happened with Ruby.” Jack saw Grace glance toward the small figure huddled sleeping in the hammock.

Margaret looked toward Ruby, too. “You know, a couple of times I thought I felt someone watching me around here.”

Jack heard Grace gasp in reaction. “Where were you when this happened?”

“Taking a walk down the street once. Out in the backyard another time. Wading my feet down at the river the last time. It really creeped me out.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Do you think it was just your imagination, since you've heard so many stories about Crazy Man?” Grace studied her daughter.

“No.” Margaret looked thoughtful. “Twice I thought I actually saw someone. You know, like a shadow or a movement behind a tree or a shrub.”

Jack caught Grace's eye questioningly.

She looked at Jack with a worried frown. “Margaret doesn't make things up like this, Jack, even though she tends to be dramatic at times.”

Jack sat up to lean toward Margaret. This worried him. “You should have told us about this before, Margaret. We're trying very hard to catch this man. We really don't know if he might be dangerous or not. If you see or sense anything again, you come straight to me and tell me. You hear?”

“I'll tell
my mother
if I see anyone again.” She gave him a deliberate look. “You're not my father, Jack Teague. So don't give me orders.”

She jumped up and flounced off toward the yard. “I think I'm going to go play croquet with the kids.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Jack asked as soon as Margaret was out of earshot.

“No.” Grace patted his hand again. “What you said sounded like something Charlie would have said to her. It just made her remember.”

Jack scowled. “Well, since she's made it clear she won't come to me, will you let me know if she hears or sees anything again?”

“I will. And let's don't talk about it anymore. Here come Samantha and Roger. They're having such a happy evening tonight. Let's not spoil it by having any more conversations about that demented man.”

A
week slipped by, and Grace had guests at the inn. They sat gathered in the dining room helping themselves to the Sunday buffet breakfast Grace always served. Grace and Margaret sat in the kitchen with plates of their own.

“Good morning,” Vincent said, letting himself in the back kitchen door. “I see there are several cars outside. You must be busy today.”

Margaret mumbled something about how their being busy didn't seem to stop some people from making themselves at home. Grace hid a smile as she went to pour Vincent a cup of coffee.

Vincent was dressed to preach in a tailored, navy, pin-striped suit, and he looked like a million dollars. He even smelled good—wearing some sort of musky scent. Grace watched Margaret assess him covertly. A woman would have to be dead not to notice Vincent Westbrooke, yet Margaret did her best to act cool and disinterested whenever he came around.

Grace put Vincent's cup of coffee on the kitchen table. “Go in the dining room and fix yourself a plate.” She smiled at him. It felt like having Mike or Kenneth back at home for Vincent to drop in every morning. “And introduce yourself while you're there. The Quinn family is leaving for Ohio this morning, but the McAllisters and the Bridges are staying over another night. They might like to visit the church service this morning. You could ask them.”

“I will.” He ran his fingers lightly across Margaret's shoulder as he passed her chair. “I hear you are visiting the church this morning, too. You'll enjoy hearing Mrs. Carson play the piano. She has a gift.”

“So I've heard.” Margaret's tone was sarcastic.

Grace shook her head at Margaret as Vincent went into the dining room. “There's no need to be rude.”

Margaret rolled her eyes and countered in a derisive tone. “Well, it's doubtful I will be impressed with the performance of dear, old Mrs. Carson, playing piano in the Creekside Independent Presbyterian Church in Townsend, Tennessee.”

“There's no need to be smug and arrogant, either.” Grace gave Margaret a critical glance. “Although Mrs. Carson is almost eighty, she's a beautiful, gracious woman. And you may be surprised at how well she plays.”

“Right. I'm sure I will.” Margaret offered her mother a contrived smile.

She got up to get herself another cup of coffee. “Don't worry, Mother. I'll be nice. I promised you I'd visit, and I will. But I'm only doing this to help your business and your image here in the valley. I want the inn to continue to be successful—and the shop, too. So I'm doing everything I can to cooperate. I hope you appreciate that.”

“I do appreciate it.” Grace leaned over to kiss Margaret on the cheek as she sat back down. Margaret had come around about the changes in Grace's life more than Grace had expected her to, and Grace was grateful. “I also appreciate the good reports you've given to Elaine and the boys. I actually think they're all planning to come over when it's time for your school to begin.”

Margaret grinned. “I talked them into packing up the rest of my stuff and bringing it over Labor Day weekend so you and I don't have to drive over to get it. I think Frank was eager
not
to have me come back to Nashville. He was
very
cooperative.”

She took a bite of the egg and sausage casserole on her plate. “I also selfishly wanted them to come to my opening concert at the college. The music department is presenting a concert that holiday weekend so visiting parents can come. It makes the college look good to show off the school's talent. The school is hosting an art show and some sporting events, too.”

“Well, I'm excited.” Grace peeked into the dining room to check that everyone was comfortable. “It will be the first time all of my children have visited me here.”

“Well, they may not be crazy about everything. Don't expect too many compliments.” Margaret was always so candid. “But they will love the river and the yard. This place is remote, but the property is pretty. And the mountains are nearby.”

Vincent came back into the room carrying a loaded plate of egg and sausage casserole, biscuits, and fruit, and then sat down at the kitchen table with them to begin to eat. Margaret all but ignored him, applying herself to her food and reading the Sunday paper.

Grace noticed that Margaret's actions never fazed Vincent, no matter how often she snubbed him. He always treated her with cordial warmth and charm no matter how she acted or what she said.

“Here's the blueberry jam you like.” Grace put a jar on the table in front of Vincent's plate.

“Thanks.” He smiled at Grace—not a rascally smile like Jack's, but a pleasant smile. It crinkled his eyes and brought out the cleft in his chin.

She smiled back at him. “You're welcome.”

Vincent spread jam lavishly on a biscuit and then dug into his breakfast with relish for a few minutes. He caught Margaret's eyes when she glanced over at him and gave her a knowing smile that made Margaret's cheeks heat up.

Vincent pushed back his plate then and started on his coffee. “You both might be interested in knowing we're having a special speaker at the church next Sunday. He's an old colleague of mine from Montreat. I've known him since I was a boy.”

“What's Montreat?” Margaret asked, looking up from her perusal of the Sunday newspaper.

“It's a four-thousand-acre religious conference center in the mountains of North Carolina, not far from Asheville.” Vince focused those intense blue eyes on her. “My family lives in Montreat, and I grew up there. Before I came here to Creekside I worked as the conference director with Montreat's youth and young adult ministry program.”

“You mean you grew up right in the middle of a religious center?” Margaret wrinkled her nose.

Vince smiled. “I did. There were always ongoing conferences for churches and organizations, musical events and meetings of artists' groups, educational association gatherings, and special retreats going on. It was never dull. And the area is beautiful there. Montreat sits amid twenty-five-hundred acres of wilderness.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Margaret mumbled. “Growing up in some religious center in the boonies of the mountains
has
to have its effects.”

Covering for Margaret's rudeness, Grace asked with interest, “What do your parents do there?”

Vincent took a sip of his coffee. “My father is in marketing and development. My mother works in several organizational capacities and is usually a greeter and hostess when new groups come in.”

“That sounds interesting. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have one younger sister, Laura. She always loved the outdoors—dragged me along collecting mushrooms and biological species from an early age. She went into plant pathology, is working on her PhD at North Carolina State.”

Margaret looked up with interest. “Looks like she's going somewhere with her life.” She studied him. “With a smart family like yours, how did you end up in the ministry and in a poky little church in Townsend, Tennessee? Couldn't you have done more with yourself?”

“Margaret!” Grace was shocked.

Vincent, unruffled by Margaret's remarks, reached across the table and put a hand on hers. “I came here for a reason, Margaret. And because I was called. You know, there is a great deal you don't know about me.” He said the latter in a softer, silkier voice.

“Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, too.” Margaret lifted her chin, but then her eyes went back to where Vincent still held her hand. She tried to pull it away, but he held on to it for a minute.

“I may know more about you than you think. I know you cherish a dream in your heart to write music—but you've never told anyone about it. You didn't think it fit in with the program. I know you wrote a song when you were young, but that someone laughed at you over it and it hurt you.”

Margaret flushed and jerked her hand free from Vincent's. “Did Mother tell you that?” She flashed an angry look at Grace.

Grace shook her head. “I didn't even know that. Is it true, Margaret?”

Margaret stood up, her face flushed. “I don't like people probing into my private life, Mr. Westbrooke. Even pastors.”

“Not even God?” he asked pleasantly, standing up also.

She flashed back a quick answer. “I don't believe in that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps not now,” he answered her. “See you in church, Margaret.”

He started for the door. “And thank you for the breakfast, Grace.”

“You know you're always welcome.” She smiled at him. Margaret flounced out of the room when he left. “That man infuriates me. Nosy. Intrusive. Always hanging around here. Never taking the hint that I'm not interested in him. He's insufferable.”

Margaret was stormy throughout the early part of the church service an hour later. Grace felt pleased Margaret had still been willing to come. Margaret was volatile sometimes, and even now, in church, Grace found herself a little worried about what Margaret might do. However, as the service moved on, Grace noticed that Margaret's mood seemed to change.

Watching her, Grace saw Margaret's eyes focused on Jo Carson at the piano in front of the church. The congregation was standing and singing at this point in the worship service. It was the practice of the church to frequently slip from bits of one hymn or song to another, as though the tunes were linked together in a medley. The congregation used their hymnals at certain points, while at other times they followed the words of the songs projected on a screen behind the narthex.

Vincent led the congregational singing himself, in a fine tenor voice. He and Jo Carson seemed to have a special kind of communion about what direction the songs should go in each Sunday. The choir followed along flexibly with whatever pattern they set. Several in the choir had gifted voices and often sang solos.

The services at Creekside were quite different from what Grace had been used to in the big Presbyterian church in Nashville. Vincent's messages were more like teachings and very Bible-based. He included informal times in which the congregation could offer prayer requests or praises. Sometimes he let members give short testimonies about what God had done in their lives. The informality took some getting used to, but Grace liked the differences now.

She had also learned to take her Bible to church every Sunday. Vincent always had the congregation turning to passages while he preached. Grace had felt odd the first Sunday when she realized everyone was participating in the service in this way while she didn't even have a Bible with her.

The service had moved on to the offertory now, and Jo Carson played the piano while the Sunday offering was being taken up. She moved through a medley that included parts of several old hymns that had always been favorites of Grace's.

Margaret leaned over toward Grace to whisper. “She's hardly even looking at her music. Once I even saw her playing with her eyes closed.”

“She's very good.” Grace whispered this comment back and smiled, glad Margaret seemed to be enjoying the service. Grace hadn't been able to persuade her to even go to church for several years.

Leaning in again, Margaret added, “There were some times earlier when I don't think she was sure what she was going to play. She'd stop and look toward Vincent; he'd start to sing something, and she'd pick up and follow him. It was odd. Sometimes she seemed to move into a new chorus after a completed one, and he would follow her. It's as though they were tuned in to each other.”

The offertory ended, and Vincent moved into his Scripture lesson and message. He preached on finding your true calling and vocation in the Lord. It made Margaret squirm. Grace wasn't sure if that was because something in the message made Margaret uncomfortable or if Vincent's compelling voice and intense blue eyes made her uncomfortable. He was a very charismatic speaker.

As the service ended, Margaret surprised Grace by pulling her back from starting out of the church. “I want to go talk to the pianist,” she said.

Jo still sat at the piano bench talking to another parishioner.

Grace spoke to her as they walked up. “I'm Grace Conley, in case you've forgotten my name, Mrs. Carson. I own the Mimosa Inn next door to the church.”

“Yes. And I missed your lovely gathering last week because I had a cold.” Jo smiled and nodded toward Grace cordially.

“This is my daughter Margaret. She's a music major at Maryville—and a pianist. She wanted to meet you.”

“I'm pleased to meet a fellow pianist.” Jo reached out a hand toward Margaret, and Margaret slipped her hand into Jo's for a moment in greeting.

Margaret moved closer to the piano. “I'd be interested in seeing the music you're playing from. You did such diverse medleys, and I liked the way the songs flowed from one to the other so smoothly. Is that a technique you learned in music school?”

Jo Carson chuckled softly. “No, child. I never had the opportunity to go to music school or college.”

“Well, who did you study under individually?” Margaret was curious.

“I never had formal lessons, child. We had the old piano in our home that had belonged to my grandmother, and I picked up playing by ear. Started early, I was told. My father said I just had the gift for it. Later an aunt spent some time teaching me to read music and gave me a hymnal to practice from. Lord, I remember being so excited to get that hymnbook. Over the years, I learned every single hymn in that old book.”

Grace saw that Margaret's mouth had dropped open.

“You never took formal lessons?” Margaret's voice sounded disbelieving. “But how did you play all those songs in the service without music? How did you follow? And sometimes I thought for sure you were hearing a song you already knew and then moved into playing it.”