Down by the River (9 page)

Jack fixed his coffee and then watched her stir cream and a half packet of sweetener into her own cup. He noticed she still wore her wedding ring, along with a milky opal on her second finger beside it. There was a bluish opal on her other hand and a ring circled with diamonds on her ring finger. Jack remembered her opals from before. He saw two more tucked into her pierced ears.

“Born in October?” he asked, making an effort at conversation.

She looked surprised at his question and then smiled as she saw his eyes studying her hands.

He sent an easy smile back at her and propped his feet up on a stool. “I remembered that opals are the birthstone for October.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, and I'm fond of them. And you are right about my birthday being in October; it's October the sixth. Although I think I won't mention the year I was born or what age I'll be this fall.” A touch of a dimple winked in her cheek.

“You have dimples.” He tapped his cheek as he spoke.

“Not like yours and the girls'.” She seemed to study him then before she took a bite from one of the muffins. “Your girls are so charming, Jack. You've done a beautiful job in raising them.”

Jack was taken aback at her comment. Most women didn't even want to talk about his children. In fact, they usually avoided the subject.

Grace crossed her legs gracefully, flipping her foot up and down rhythmically as she talked. Jack tried hard not to let his eyes follow the movement. Her bare foot and leg were tantalizing.

“Meredith and Morgan have both been so gracious to me since I moved in. They come and help me with chores nearly every day. And they're lovely to my guests. Actually, I'm so glad you've stopped by. I've wanted to ask you if it would be all right if I pay them a little something for their work here at the inn—or if I buy them a gift. Of course, I could have asked Aunt Bebe. But it seemed more appropriate to ask you. You are their father.”

She looked up at him with those silvery blue-green eyes, and Jack found himself speechless—like a love-struck adolescent. Not the norm for him.

Not seeming to notice, she put a couple of muffins onto a small plate and passed them over to him. “These are blueberry. I made them this morning. I didn't have guests today at the inn, but Vincent so looks forward to my muffins.”

She lifted a shoulder. “And the girls like to spread them with honey for an afternoon snack.”

Jack bit into a muffin and realized they were homemade and still hot. The taste of warm blueberries and sweet muffin filled his mouth. No wonder Vincent Westbrooke wandered by every morning.

Grace pushed her hair back behind her ear with one hand, and Jack found himself wishing he could have done it. She was a true blond, and her hair had a soft, silky quality to it. It fell just below her shoulders, and Jack could tell a professional had cut it to layer softly around her face.

Leaning over to pour more coffee, he caught the floral notes of Grace's scent again. Without thinking, he asked, “What's the name of that cologne you're wearing?”

“It's perfume, not cologne. Called Pleasures. It was always Charles's favorite.” Her expression darkened then, and she sighed.

“Was Charles your husband?”

She smiled. “Yes. We were married for almost thirty years. I still have wistful moments now and then, of course—when memories come back.” She looked at Jack. “Perhaps you do, too. The girls told me they lost their mother when they were only babies.”

Jack scowled. “I have no wistful moments about the girls' mother, Miz Conley.” His voice sounded overly harsh, even to him. “She walked out on me when the girls were infants. Left me a Dear John note to find in the morning. She discovered the reality of motherhood and being a wife unappealing.”

He looked out into the mimosas, remembering for a minute the pain of that day. The shock and the hurt of rejection.

A hand reached over to wrap itself softly around his. “I'm sorry, Jack. That must have been very hard.”

He looked up to find her watching him.

She traced a finger idly over his hand. He doubted she was even aware she did it. “Being hurt like that might make some men angry at women.”

Not comfortable with her probing, he grinned roguishly and changed the focus of their discussion. “Well, as you know, Grace Conley, I'm quite fond of women.”

She flushed and withdrew her hand carefully from his. “Maybe. And maybe not, Jack Teague.”

A quiet silence fell, and Jack could hear the bees humming around the morning glories still in bloom beside the porch.

“Listen. About the girls.” He spoke at last. “You don't need to pay them to be helpful. It's good for the character to do things without always expecting a reward.”

“You have a point.” She smiled. “But would a gift of thanks be all right?”

“Perhaps.” Jack considered the idea. “However, I think the fact that you're taking on the girls' Scout troop is gift enough. You didn't have to do that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to. No one twisted my arm, if that's what you're worried about.”

Jack ate the last of the little muffins, trying to resist licking his fingers, and drank another sip of his coffee. It felt nice sitting out here on the porch with Grace Conley. He wondered now why he had put off coming over here for so long.

The little tan and white dogs slept quietly under Grace's feet, snoring softly. They hadn't even begged for the muffins Grace had brought out.

“There's another thing I needed to mention to you.” Jack turned to look at Grace. “We have a troubled man around the area who likes to spy on people and leave messages about.”

“A Peeping Tom?”

“Maybe. We're not really sure. Our sheriff here in Townsend, Swofford Walker, has only documented two potential sightings of the man. And neither were conclusive.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a year now.” Jack stretched out one of his legs on the porch. The movement woke the dogs.

Jack leaned over to pat them before he continued. “What the man usually does is leave odd little signs, like warnings or judgments. His notes say things like:
I saw you. . . .
or . . .
Be careful
. The longest one I remember hearing about said:
Surely your sins will find you out.
”

“What does he write these messages on?”

“Note cards. Tear outs from magazines. Postcards. Even on playing cards.”

She sat forward thoughtfully. “Ahhh. I might have gotten one.”

“What?” Jack sat up straight to look at Grace directly then. His sharp voice unsettled the dogs, who looked up at him anxiously.

Grace stood up. “Come in the house, and I'll show you. I put it in the drawer in the entry table. I had no idea what it was. I almost threw it away.”

The small dogs followed them in and headed for the kitchen.

At the entry table, Grace opened a narrow drawer and pulled out a playing card—much like the one Jack had found on the seat of his Jeep.

She laid the jack of hearts card in Jack's hand. “It says
Watch Out
on it.” She pointed to the words, scrawled across the card in black ink.

Jack took a deep breath. “When did you find this, Grace?”

“I found it right after I first moved in last month. It was in the mailbox, mixed in with the day's mail. I thought it might have been a prank by one of the children in the area.” She frowned. “I don't like to remember some of the pranks my own children perpetrated. Especially the boys.”

“You'll need to tell the sheriff about this, Grace. Even though it happened several weeks ago. Swofford is trying to keep a record of all the messages. Hoping to find a thread in them that will help him learn who's doing this.”

She looked at Jack in some alarm. “Do you think this man is dangerous?”

He took her hand, enjoying having an excuse to touch her. “I don't know. Right now his stunts are mostly bizarre. I wouldn't let it worry you. But I would lock my doors at night. And tell the sheriff if you see or hear anything suspicious.”

Grace bit her lip. “Have you or the girls had messages from this man?”

“I have—twice. Usually, like yours, the messages don't make much sense.”

“Oh, I think I know the meaning of my message.” She pulled her hand free of his and looked directly into his eyes. “At first I thought you sent it to me, Jack—as a little joke—telling me to watch out for you.”

Jack felt a rush of anger and frowned at her. “I may have flaws, Grace Conley, but I would never play a prank like that. If I had something to say to you, I'd come over here and say it face-to-face. I wouldn't send crazy messages.”

She gave him a steady look as if assessing the truthfulness of his statement. “Is this who the girls are talking about when they speak of Crazy Man?”

He nodded. “It's a tag he's picked up. It seems to best describe the odd things he does. The fact that he may be mentally unstable is what worries everyone around here the most. With a person like that, you never know when his spying and annoying messages might turn into something more dangerous.”

“I'll be watchful.” Grace tucked the card back into the drawer. “And I'll call the sheriff. Do you know his number?”

“I'll write it down for you.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and jotted down the number on the back with a pen he found on Grace's entry table.

Jack glanced at his watch then. “I can't stay until Swofford gets here. I have an appointment.”

Grace gave him a teasing smile. “It's good to be on time for your appointments, Jack Teague. All sorts of trouble can happen when you're not.”

Jack's heartbeat quickened. She was flirting with him. He plucked up a butterscotch candy from the dish on the entry table, unwrapped it, and placed it slowly in his mouth. Jack watched Grace's lips as he did so.

She licked her lips nervously, and Jack knew she remembered as vividly as he that day they'd met. “Some things are worth the trouble, Grace Conley.”

He turned to go. “You take care, now. It was good to see you again.”

Jack slipped out the door, kind of pleased he'd had the last word this time. As he tasted the burst of butterscotch from the candy on his tongue, he decided he wouldn't wait so long before he came back to visit the next time, either. This situation with Grace Conley was proving to be more interesting than he'd expected.

G
race had known that eventually she would see Jack Teague again. Like a silly schoolgirl, she had thought about it often enough. Wondered how she would act, how Jack would act. Wondered if there would be any attraction again.

As the weeks went by, her days so busy with the inn, she thought she would think of Jack less. But being with his girls most every day kept him close in mind. She'd seen his dimples flash in the twins' cheeks and recognized the sparkle of his chocolate eyes in theirs. As she grew closer to the girls, it became harder to hold a grudge against their father for the way they had met that first day. But that didn't mean she didn't still remember every detail of it.

Walking across the yard at last, Jack flashed her a smile, and Grace worked hard not to suck in her breath at its physical impact on her. Jack Teague was a devilishly handsome man. He made Grace have girlish feelings and yearnings she hadn't felt for many years. Charlie was the last man who had impacted her like this, still able to give her goose bumps after almost thirty years of marriage. With Charlie gone now, she was hardly eager to start a relationship with a man at this time in her life. Especially a man like Jack Teague. He was a heartbreaker if she ever saw one. Plus Grace didn't want her name linked with local names like Ashleigh Anne Layton, and a few others she had heard about, whom Jack had diddled with. No, she would have to be careful about Jack Teague.

Jack cocked an eyebrow at Grace as he stopped a few feet from her, giving her an easy greeting. He wore tan slacks that fitted his long legs neatly and a deep-brown dress shirt matching the rich brown of his eyes. He looked nice. Too nice. And he walked and moved, as she remembered, with a smooth, swaying gait. Confident. Easy. Sexy.

Grace shook herself for her thoughts while she told him, with a calm voice revealing none of her feelings, that she'd been deadheading the flowers. They chatted, and Grace invited him up on the porch for coffee.

She'd expected that eventually Jack would come to talk about the time his girls were spending with her. She hadn't known Meredith and Morgan were his daughters the first day she met them in May. When she learned their last name later, and that Jack was their father, it had been a surprise. A shock actually. Somehow, she hadn't pictured Jack as a father type. It caught her up. Made her realize she shouldn't completely judge someone from only one meeting.

As she'd spent time with the girls, gotten to know them—and Samantha Butler, married to Jack's cousin Roger—she'd learned many good things about Jack. But she had heard a few snippets around the Townsend area, too, that let her know Jack was a man to be careful with, as well. He did have a reputation as a ladies' man.

“Jack can't help it that he's so charming,” Samantha told her one day. “Roger told me ever since they were kids, Jack has attracted too much attention from women.” She laughed then. “Roger always calls it unfair how nature gave Jack this irresistible combination of chemicals that draws women to him like bees to honey.”

Grace wasn't sure how to respond. “I suppose some men possess a sort of sexual charisma—even men who are not always handsome in a traditional sense.”

“Yes, and Jack has the charisma plus the looks. God help him. Sometimes I think it's more a curse than a blessing.” Samantha stopped to pick a stitch out of the hem she was mending on one of Daisy's skirts. “You know, Althea said Jack's father, Verlin, had the same charisma with women. And like Jack, he was a fine-looking man. Bebe—that's my husband Roger's mother and Verlin's sister—said Verlin was a lot like Jack when he was younger. But after he fell in love with Althea, Bebe said Verlin Teague never looked at another woman. He was a reformed rake from then on.”

Grace thought back on that conversation as she fixed coffee for Jack in the kitchen. When she returned to the porch, the dogs slipped out with her. Grace noticed they didn't bark at Jack. A point in his favor. They were usually very protective of her with strangers.

When Jack and Grace settled down to drink their coffee, Jack began to flirt with her. What else could you call it? He noticed her jewelry, her dimples, and asked about her perfume. It wasn't the normal sort of conversation to share with a man you hardly knew. Vincent Westbrooke came by every morning for coffee, and he'd never asked what kind of perfume she wore.

Grace couldn't help thinking of Charlie as she told Jack the name of her perfume. It was Charles who'd picked the fragrance, Pleasures, for her many years ago, saying it perfectly suited her. He'd also kissed her behind the ear and whispered to her that she would always be his greatest pleasure. Grace sighed. There were still unexpected moments like this, when memories of Charlie washed over her and made her sad.

When Jack asked her about him, Grace answered candidly, admitting she often thought of Charlie at odd moments. She assumed he might think of the girls' mother fondly, too. She was wrong. His bitter words echoed in her mind:
I have no wistful moments about the girls' mother, Miz Conley. She walked out on me when the girls were infants. Left me a Dear John note to find in the morning. She discovered the reality of motherhood and being a wife unappealing

His voice took on a different tone as he bit out the words, and Grace saw pain etched across his face when he paused and looked out toward the yard.

She hadn't known until that moment that his wife had left him. From what the girls said, she'd assumed their mother had died. Perhaps he'd told them that. She needed to ask Samantha later.

Moved by Jack's obvious hurt, Grace reached out instinctively to wrap a hand over his where it literally clenched the arm of his chair. She realized then she might have gained an understanding as to why Jack seemed to hold so little regard for women.

A memory played back in her mind of how indifferent Jack had seemed to Ashleigh's attentions. She traced a finger idly over Jack's hand as she considered it. Being hurt made some men angry at women, distorted their trust toward them. When she probed the idea, Jack pulled back, letting Grace know she might have hit a nerve.

He artfully changed the subject then, dismissing the idea of any personal problems by reminding her, with a roguish grin, that he was actually quite fond of women, as she should know from experience.

The little devil, she thought—even as she felt a heated flush run up her neck. She had wondered how long it would be before he made mention of their first meeting.

However, despite Jack's denial, Grace still wondered if an anger toward women didn't simmer deep inside Jack due to the way Jack's wife had left him. Charlie had known a man like that once. Grace remembered him; he used women indiscriminately in revenge for being hurt.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Grace could smell the scent of flowers on the air mixed with the good aroma of their coffee and muffins. Despite their past, she felt a few moments of odd contentment sitting here with Jack Teague on her front porch.

Lost in reverie, she almost missed his next comments about the girls and some local Peeping Tom who watched people and left messages and warnings about. A prickle of unease touched her as he described the warnings, and Grace took Jack into the house to show him the card message she'd received, watched the concern on his face.

Jack Teague wasn't, perhaps, as much a bad boy through and through as she had originally thought. Grace had always been insightful about people. Charles had often said so. He'd frequently asked for her take on people.

Jack was fussing now about her need to call the sheriff, hardly the behavior of a totally selfish and self-absorbed man. He checked his watch, too, worrying that he couldn't stay until the sheriff arrived.

A small memory surfaced, and without thinking she said, “It's good to be on time for your appointments, Jack Teague.” Grace sent him a small smile. “All sorts of trouble can happen when you're not.”

She'd surprised him by teasing him. She could tell by his expression. Perhaps she shouldn't have done that. He turned to study her thoughtfully, and his assessing look began to make Grace uncomfortable. What was he thinking, she wondered?

Jack leaned an arm casually against the wall and reached into the candy dish on the entry table to take out a butterscotch candy. He took his time unwrapping it and slowly put it in his mouth, watching Grace closely the whole time. Studying Grace's mouth, with a touch of a smile, as he savored the candy.

Wretched man. He was reminding her of that day when she'd been eating a butterscotch candy before he kissed her. She licked her lips nervously in remembrance, and his dark eyes caught and held hers. Grace felt a sensuous shiver slide up her spine.

“Some things are worth the trouble, Grace Conley,” he said in a slow voice.

Mercy, she should have resisted the temptation to tease Jack Teague. It was like playing with fire trying to go up against him in the area of flirtation. Whatever had she been thinking? And she a widow, a mother, and—hopefully—a respectable innkeeper.

He turned to leave then, knowing full well he had the upper hand and that he'd flustered and embarrassed her. And then he was gone. Grace could hear him whistling as he walked down the sidewalk. She felt like throwing something after him. He'd certainly had the last word today.

She turned back into the house with a sigh. Well, maybe she wouldn't see much more of Jack after this. He'd avoided her for weeks before coming to have his little talk with her about the girls. Perhaps he'd find himself another young girl to chase now. From what she'd heard, Jack preferred younger women to women nearer his own age as Grace was.

Grace started down the hallway and then stopped at the long mirror on the wall to look at her flushed face. “If you're not careful, Grace Conley, you'll make an old fool of yourself over that playboy. Just because he gives you a zing doesn't mean you have to lose your good sense.”

She studied her figure appraisingly in the glass. “You look pretty good for forty-nine, Grace. But you
are
forty-nine. You remember that. Jack Teague is used to having those sweet young things to kiss and hold. A young, tight body like that is long in the past for you. So I wouldn't get any foolish ideas and start acting like a silly widow who doesn't know her limitations.”

Grace had been a beauty in her youth, sought after in her own time, much like Jack still was. But it was different for women. With time they just became women-of-a-certain-age, even if still attractive. Grace had come to terms with that many years ago—but suddenly she wished foolishly that Jack could have seen her when she was eighteen or twenty. When she could have met his handsome looks with some of her own.

She wandered into her bedroom and saw Charles's picture on her dresser and felt even worse. Charles had always thought that she was beautiful. And he had always been proud of her—and of any of her small accomplishments.

“I miss you, Charlie.” She went over to put a hand on his picture. “Obviously, I could use your stable good sense right now, too. I'm doing fine with the inn. I'm really proud of all I've been able to accomplish, of how easily I seem to fit into this work role. It's perfect for me. And I've found I'm really happy again. I haven't been happy for a long time, Charlie, and the change feels good.”

The bedroom furniture in the master bedroom was the set she and Charles had shared in the Nashville house in Belle Meade. Grace had bought a new sky-blue bedspread to coordinate with the color scheme here, had reupholstered two side chairs, and had changed small things—but the furniture was the same. She thought wistfully of Charles as she sat down on the bed.

“This is the first man who's made me experience any strong emotions since you passed away, Charlie. I feel silly having these emotions at my age. And I feel guilty toward your memory when I do, too. It doesn't seem right.”

She kicked off her sandals and lay back on the bed. “I know we always said that, if anything happened to one of us, we'd want the other to move on. To love again, if possible. To continue to have joy.”

Grace picked up a cushion on the bed to hug it against her. “I just wish my body and heart had more sense than to wake up emotionally to a man like Jack Teague.”

She reached over to put a hand on her Bible on the bedside table and offered up a small prayer. “Lord, you know I've always tried to be a good and righteous woman. You really need to help me here when I'm being tempted by someone like Jack. He may be single, a father, and a respected man in his profession. But he has a dangerous reputation. I don't want to lose what I've been building here by being foolish. So I ask You to help me. Give me a strong dose of wisdom, good sense, and prudence in being around Jack. I admit I am attracted to him. But I know it's not a wise attraction.”

Grace found her thoughts moving oddly to her mother then. And to her sister Myra. Wishing she had one of them to talk to. She'd gone over to see the family when she got back. Shared her decision to buy the bed-and-breakfast. Told them she hoped to see them all more now. But there had been a bit of reserve.

I've been gone a long time, Grace realized. And they have all been here together, moving on and growing closer through the years. I'm the only one who left. And, admittedly, I haven't come back as often as I should have.

Her parents still lived in the same Cape Cod, stone house in rural South Knoxville. Grace felt a rush of sweet childhood memories every time she visited there. Her father and mother, Mel and Dottie Richey, still worked every day in their business, Richey's Formal Wear, out on Chapman Highway. Grace had grown up in and out of the shop. She, her older sister Myra, and her younger brother Leonard, had played hide-and-seek in and out of and underneath the wedding gowns, bridesmaids' dresses, and tuxedos in the shop. Grace had learned to sew there with Mrs. Petree, who did all the alterations. Grace supposed she'd developed her love of fashion in the store.