Down by the River (22 page)

He stood up to get a better look at her as she let the dogs into the back door of the porch. And, then, as if sensing him watching her, she turned and saw him, standing on the patio. The full moon made him visible on the hill. She hesitated for a moment, looking toward him, and then she waved and started down into the yard again.

Jack sucked in his breath. She was coming to him. Jack wasn't sure if that was a good thing. His thoughts were wolfish, and his body was hungry for her. What was she thinking—coming to him like this? He stayed on the patio, trying to calm himself as he watched her walk down through the yard, across the swinging bridge over the river, and then out of sight for a few minutes as she climbed the hillside path.

She emerged at the side of the patio and smiled at him shyly. “I saw you and decided to come up and see if you'd talked to Morgan.”

“Sit down,” he offered. He gestured to a chair, not moving closer to her—afraid to get too close to her.

She sat down easily, crossing one leg over the other, beginning to kick her foot up and down lightly. Her feet were bare in her slides. He tried not to look at them or at her.

Jack cleared his throat. “It was good of you to warn me that Morgan had something on her mind. It was a weighty topic. We needed to talk about it. She told you what it was, didn't she?”

Grace nodded. “I've been thinking about it all evening. Wondering if she talked to you—and how it went.”

“It went okay. Better than I might have imagined.” He frowned. “But the girls were hurt. I knew they would be. Morgan was angry, and Meredith cried.”

He heard Grace sigh deeply. “Those poor girls. It was a hard thing to learn.”

“Yes.” Jack's voice felt tight.

Seeming to pick up on the pain in his voice, she came over and knelt beside his chair. “And how about you, Jack? Are you all right? I've been worried. I knew it would be hard for you to tell your girls that story of when Celine left.”

He put out a hand to touch her face. His voice in reply was ragged and husky with emotion. “You should know better than to come and offer your sympathy and kindness to a man who is hurting—especially in the dark under a full moon. And especially to a man like me.”

She looked up into his eyes.

“You're a good man. I'm not afraid of you, Jack Teague.”

“You should be.” He rasped the words out before he leaned over to slip his arms around her and bury his lips in hers. It was heaven, and the little moan that escaped her only escalated his emotions. He teased at her lips with his tongue until she let him in. Their passion flamed then, and Jack lifted Grace up from her knees to pull her across his lap. The feel of her against his body was glorious. She wriggled on him as she settled herself into his arms, driving him crazy. He buried his hands in her silky hair and his mouth into her soft neck, tasting her skin, enjoying the floral scent of her that filled his senses.

“Oh, Jack,” she murmured in her deep, throaty voice as his mouth skimmed under her ear. He recognized the arousal in her voice, and it stirred him even more. He moved his lips back to take hers hungrily once again.

As his hands played over her back and as he drew her more tightly against him, Jack remembered her earlier words, said to him in such trust:
You're a good man. I'm not afraid of you.
He grinned to himself. Walking down front Sunday had resurrected his conscience, he guessed. He hadn't heard from it in a long time.

He pulled back from his kiss and took Grace's face in his hands. “You have no idea what you do to me, Grace Conley.” His voice was soft, and he traced his fingers over her lips tenderly. “Everything about you calls to me like a siren. I hope you know what an incredibly beautiful, sensual, and desirable woman you are. Everything in me wants to make love to you, Grace, to see you naked in my bed, to feel your body under mine, to take you to the peaks and to hear you cry out my name in rapture. Since I can't do what I yearn to do with you, I have to at least tell you what I want to do.”

Her eyes grew dark with arousal and pleasure. Jack groaned.

“Come here and let me kiss you again. At least I can have that pleasure. And I'm going to touch you some, until I have to stop myself.”

Jack gloried in her then for a little while, until his desire had his breathing heated and his body throbbing. He lifted Grace off him then and pulled her to her feet as he stood. He missed the warmth of her as soon as she pulled away from him, so he gathered her against him again—body to body, head to toe, loving the way she felt against him as they stood together. He let his hands rove down her back and to her full hips. Tempting himself, he pulled her against himself once again.

He looked down into her eyes—silvery green and swimming with emotion. Saw her passion and desire. And saw more. Deeper feelings that she had been trying to hide, the kind of feelings that only slipped out of people when their bodies were stirred and their defenses were down.

“I don't deserve your caring, Grace Conley, but I treasure it. My feelings toward you are strong—stronger than I've ever felt for a woman before. I want you to know that.” He traced a finger over her full lips again—moist and lush from where he'd kissed them.

She smiled at him with her heart in her eyes, melting him.

“Listen, Grace. I want you to know how sorry I am about that day with Ashleigh. I was drunk. I wasn't myself. It's not an excuse, but I regret it.” He looked down into Grace's eyes and wanted to be honest with this woman above all things. “I hadn't been with a woman before that afternoon with Ashleigh since I met you, Grace. You had consumed my thoughts. And I haven't been with anyone since that time. I don't know if hearing that makes any difference to you, but I wanted you to know. I'm sorry I was with Ashleigh that day. I don't even remember what happened.”

Grace smiled a small smile. “According to Ashleigh, nothing much did. As she put it, you were in no shape to perform; you'd had so much to drink.”

He leaned back his head to shake it. “Mercy. Women tell each other everything. A man has no secrets—even from his shames.”

She dropped her eyes.

Jack studied her. “Just knowing I couldn't . . . uh, perform . . . doesn't redeem me much. You still found me in the woman's bed sheets in my boxers.”

She traced her finger across his mouth, stirring him again. “Well, it did help a little when she told me you kept calling out my name. She said it sort of killed the mood.”

Jack laughed. He couldn't help himself.

Grace giggled a little, too.

“You see, Grace Conley, even drunk and with another woman, I was thinking of you. You've gotten a real hold on me.”

She gave him a considering look then. “I'm not a woman who will share, Jack. You should know that about me. If we became more serious, I would never tolerate indiscretion. You need to know that. I know some women are very tolerant in that area, but I am not.”

“I hear you.” He met her gaze with a thoughtful one of his own. “I'll be honest enough to admit I couldn't bear to think of another man's even touching you. I don't know what that says about our relationship, but we're both on the same page there.”

She smiled at him coyly then. “Do we have a relationship?”

He laughed. “According to Morgan, no. She says a man has to take a woman out on dates to show her he likes her. You think you might be game to start dating an old reprobate like me, Grace Conley? I'm working a lot on changing lately, but I might still be a poor risk.”

Grace gave him a pleased smile. “I think some dating might be just the thing. We have gotten the cart before the horse somewhat in our relationship.”

He winked at her. “Makes you wonder what it might turn into when we do all the wooing and courting before the end of the evening, doesn't it? I don't know if I can stand much more sensual tension with you, woman. You already drive me crazy.”

She pushed at him and laughed. “Honestly, Jack. You embarrass me.”

“Too late for that.” He smiled down at her and traced his finger over her mouth and then leaned to kiss her with warmth again. She went limp and soft in his arms, and he reveled in the power he had to arouse her.

“I need to go back,” she said at last, pulling away and looking thoroughly well-kissed.

Jack smiled at her. “When can we go out, Miz Conley? Tomorrow night?”

“I think we could do that.” She smoothed her hands over her hair, making an effort to straighten it. “I have guests at the inn for the weekend, but Margaret will be there in case they need anything for tomorrow evening. Where would you like to go?”

“I think we'll go over to Pigeon Forge to one of the dinner theaters. There's a first-rate show at one of them I'm familiar with—and I've heard the menu is good. It will be fun. And it will make a nice memory for our first official date.”

“Well, then.” She looked pleased. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I won't walk down with you, Grace, because I might be tempted to try to come in with you.” He enjoyed seeing her blush at that. “So I'll just watch from here as you walk home, see that you get safely there.”

Jack watched Grace trace her way back down the hillside, across the swinging bridge, and up through the yard to her back porch. An odd joy filled his heart as he watched her. This was proving to be a time of new beginnings for him. Who knew what would come of this? He was certainly in new waters.

G
race walked through the damp yard of the Mimosa Inn, keeping an eye on the dogs—who were nosing through the side brush along the edge of the property. It was a lovely July morning, the day already warming up rapidly.

She and the dogs had taken a walk around the house, past the morning glories in full bloom beside the front porch and past the mimosas now at their peak, the trees rich with color. As they worked their way by the gazebo, Grace noticed an old magazine on the bench. She walked into the gazebo to retrieve it. Flipping it over, she saw that it was a flashy movie star magazine. A page was turned down in the now soggy publication, and Grace opened it to see a picture of a vibrant redhead on the arm of a handsome man in a tuxedo, coming out of some Hollywood event. She saw the words Celine Rosen below the picture and frowned.

This must be a magazine one of Jack's girls left behind. Jack had told Grace, when they went out to dinner the other night, that the girls had only asked a few questions about their mother since their talk. Obviously, from this magazine, they were still interested in learning more about her. Grace stood for a moment, wondering what to do about this information. Then she laid the wet publication back down on the bench and left it there. The girls might come back looking for it. Grace decided to stay distanced from this one. After all, it was normal the girls would be curious. Samantha had said she'd caught them watching the soap opera Celine starred in one day over at her house last week. She'd turned off the show and told them the content was too adult for young girls to watch. Samantha hadn't mentioned the episode to Jack, thinking it would upset him.

Grace made her way across the yard to the back door of the Mimosa Inn. As she let the dogs and herself in, she could hear Margaret playing the piano. Grace walked down the hall and into the parlor. Margaret sat at the piano in shorts and a T-shirt, her fingers moving skillfully along the keys.

“It's a little early to be practicing.” Grace leaned over the grand piano to plant a kiss on Margaret's cheek.

Margaret continued playing a few minutes more and then stopped to write some notes on a musical score she had propped on the piano stand. “I dreamed a song,” she said. “And I wanted to come down and see if I could pick out the melody and get the notes down before I forgot it.”

“It sounded lovely.” Grace looked at the musical notes Margaret had penciled in over several sheets. “Play it all for me.”

Margaret did, while Grace sat on the sofa to listen.

“I heard words, too.” Margaret paused, and then started to sing as she played.

The words were spiritual ones, and the message a sweet one of God's love and grace toward His people. Grace was touched.

“I didn't know you were writing music, Margaret,” she said, as Margaret finished and stopped to make some corrections on her score sheets.

“The songs have just been coming to me lately.” She looked at her mother and smiled shyly. “Jo says it's because I have more of the spirit now—and can hear more clearly from God.” She gave her mother a zealous look. “There is so much more to faith than I ever dreamed before. It's like a journey that just keeps taking me deeper and deeper.”

Margaret had always been passionately consumed by any new interest she became involved in. Reading every single Nancy Drew book one year when she was young, making those notebooks of all the famous composers, collecting stickers, or becoming a fervent fan of some rock group. It seemed odd to Grace that now it was faith Margaret had become so obsessive about.

Margaret looked up at Grace with bright eyes. “Did you know Fanny Crosby heard all the hymns she wrote, too? She said the words and the music rose up through her spirit and into her mind—sometimes a little at a time, and sometimes whole hymns all at once.”

Margaret picked out one of Fanny Crosby's hymns on the piano. “This is one of her hymns.” Grace heard the familiar melody of “Blessed Assurance, Jesus is Mine” float across the room.

Pausing, Margaret added, “Did you know she wrote over eight thousand hymns in her lifetime? And, of course, the most miraculous thing is that she was totally blind when she did it. Isn't that incredible?”

“I seem to remember reading about her life once long ago. How did you learn so much about Fanny Crosby, Margaret?”

Margaret smiled. “Jo has a book about her life. I read it. It was simply fascinating. It made me start praying to hear music—to be used like that.”

Grace caught her breath. “All these changes in you are a little hard for me to keep up with, Margaret.”

“Yeah, isn't it something?” Margaret giggled. “I look in the mirror and can't believe all the changes God has made.” She looked over at her mother. “It seems like I ought to look different on the outside since so much has happened on the inside.”

Studying her, Grace decided there were differences. “You smile more. Your eyes are clearer and happier. I haven't seen that temper you're so famous for in quite some time.” She smiled. “I thought it might be because you were seeing more of Vincent.”

“Hmmmmm. That's one I haven't worked out yet.” Margaret stretched. “Have you eaten breakfast? I'm hungry.”

“Let's go make something together.” The two walked down to the kitchen and began to work on getting out eggs and fruit to make breakfast.

Grace pulled a skillet from the cabinet. “I'll scramble the eggs if you'll cut the grapefruit and slice off a couple of pieces of that wheat bread on the counter.”

Margaret sighed. “I didn't realize how much I loved your cooking, Mother, until you moved away. Elaine just doesn't have your touch.”

“Elaine is a busy working woman and has two small children.”

Margaret carried two grapefruit halves and the loaf of wheat bread over to the table. “That's true. But cooking is a gift, too. Neither Elaine nor I inherited the cooking talent you have.”

This backhanded compliment pleased Grace.

“That's one of the reasons your inn is so successful, Mother. All your domestic skills are a perfect fit for running a bed-and-breakfast.”

Grace brought their eggs over to the table, and they sat down to eat.

Margaret pinned Grace with a thoughtful look. “You're dating Jack now. If things get serious, will you give up the bed-and-breakfast? It would seem sort of a shame to do so.”

Grace found herself instantly annoyed. “Just because I'm spending time with Jack Teague doesn't mean my life is getting ready to change, Margaret. I like the Mimosa. I don't need to think about giving it up—like I might have had to do when I was younger.”

“See, that's what worries me.” Margaret scowled. “If I allow myself to get serious about Vincent, I might need to make some big decisions I'm not ready to make.”

Grace raised her eyebrows at her.

“You know. I'd have to be a minister's wife. Vincent would want to have children. There would be housework and socks to fold and ironing to do.” She wrinkled her nose. “I'm not very interested in those things.”

“Have you talked about marriage with Vincent?”

“No!” Margaret's answer was emphatic. “And I don't think I want to. I mean I
like
him. A lot.” She considered that. “Maybe more than a lot. But other things are important, too. Like the piano. And my music. Those are my priorities.”

“And you feel you'd have to give those up to be married?”

“Jane said you couldn't have a serious musical career and be married.” Margaret sectioned her grapefruit with ferocity. “That's why she waited to marry until she was ready to come off the stage.”

Grace shook her head. “And even after she did come off the stage, we
all
heard a million times what a sacrifice it was for her.”

“She
was
very good, Mother.” Margaret's answer was defensive.

“Of course she was. I know that. But your life and Jane's are not the same. You have to find your own way that is right for you, just as Jane found hers.”

Margaret blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know. That's the problem. I'm not totally sure just what I want anymore.”

“And what does Vincent say about all this?”

“Oh, you know Vincent.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “He never worries about anything. As he says, he just ‘lays everything up into the hands of the Lord.' I'm afraid I'm not quite there yet.” Her tone was snappy.

Grace laughed. “Neither am I. And I know that I worry too much.”

Margaret took a big bite of toasted wheat bread spread with mountain honey. “Will you teach me how to make this bread sometime?” She gestured to the loaf of homemade wheat bread on the table.

“Sure. It isn't hard.”

Margaret got up to get herself another glass of juice.

“What are you going to do today, Mother?”

“I'm going to sew and make some more of those quilted purses. I've sold almost all the ones I had in the shop.” Grace finished up her last bite of egg. “And then I have the Scout meeting this afternoon. We're going down the street to tour the Little River Railroad and Lumber Company Museum on our community walking tour. The girls are looking forward to it. What about you?”

“I'm going to go do some shopping. I'm going up the highway to Boyce Hart's gallery. I think Boyce's wife Jenna is working today. I like her. We talk about New York. She still has an apartment there, you know. She said I could go stay there if I ever wanted to check out music schools in the city.” Margaret finished off her toast. “I think I'll get one of Boyce's Smoky Mountain paintings for Vincent for his birthday while I'm there. There's one of this old historic church in Cades Cove that he really loves. I can afford a small signed and numbered print, and Jenna said they'd give me a special on the framing.”

“When is Vincent's birthday?”

“Next week on Wednesday. I sort of hinted that we might invite him for dinner that night—have a special supper and a cake or something. I thought I'd ask Jack, too.” She grinned at Grace mischievously, more like the Margaret who Grace knew so well.

Grace cocked an eye at her. “And can I assume that I'm cooking this birthday dinner?”

Margaret grinned. “I was hoping you would. Vincent loves your roast beef and mashed potatoes. Maybe we could have that? I'll help. And I can make the cake.”

“That sounds like a good deal. I can do Wednesday.”

Later that day, Grace wandered through the Little River Railroad and Lumber Company Museum on the River Road with the Scouts. She'd walked by the train engine and the museum hundreds of times, but she'd never taken the time before today to actually walk through the museum or to explore the museum gift shop. The historic museum proved to be interesting—and the little gift shop charming.

Grace and the girls were reading about Colonel W. B. Townsend's life and the early days of the Townsend community, when Grace's cell phone rang. Grace fished it out of her shoulder bag to answer it.

“Mother!” Margaret's voice rang out, frightened and strained. “That man is following me—you know, Crazy Man. I
know
it's him. I sort of recognize him from the times I thought I saw him watching me. He has on that same hat—like a cowboy hat. I thought I saw him sitting in an old black truck when I came out of the Hart Gallery, but I wasn't sure. But now he's following me.”

“Good heavens, Margaret! Where are you?” Grace asked, pulling away from the talk of the girls to hear Margaret better.

“Well, I was driving down the main highway through Townsend heading back toward the inn, but when I saw that man following me in my rearview mirror, I turned off on the Wears Valley Road—trying to lose him. I didn't think he would turn and follow me, but he did. He's staying a good distance behind me, but I swear, I really think he's following me, Mother.”

“Oh, Margaret.” Grace paced anxiously. “Look for some business or place where you can pull over along the road and run inside.”

“There really isn't much along here. It's rural, and the road is narrow and winding. Listen, you call the sheriff, okay? Maybe he can come follow us and catch this man—if it's him. Describe the truck to him and tell him where I am. I'm going to keep driving down the highway. Give the sheriff some time to get here. After a while, I'll find a place to pull off. Or I might speed up and try to lose him. Maybe go to that waterfall place Vince took me to . . .” Her voice crackled out. “I'm losing my phone signal now. Call the sheriff, okay? . . .” And then Margaret's voice faded out.

Panicked, Grace called into her cell phone. “Margaret? Margaret? Are you still there? Are you all right?”

Morgan came over to stand close to Grace. “Are you okay, Ms. Grace?”

Grace saw that most of the girls were watching her with concerned faces. She patted Morgan's shoulder. “No, dear. I'm afraid I'm not okay. There's some trouble with Margaret. I need to go home.”

She looked around in panic for Kyleen and then quickly explained the situation to her. “Can you watch the girls and walk them back to the house? I need to make several calls in the gift shop quickly and then run down to the house in case Margaret tries to call me on the land line there.”

Her heart pounding, Grace raced over to the depot gift shop to look up the sheriff's number. After reaching him—and then phoning Jack—she headed out of the shop to start back toward the Mimosa. Kyleen and the girls rushed out to follow her.

“The girls want to go back with you.” Kyleen looked apologetic. “They heard us talking and they're all worried about Margaret. They're also scared about Crazy Man and what he might do.”

Back at the Mimosa, the girls called their mothers one by one to come pick them up. Grace tried her best to put up a valiant front, not wanting to make the girls any more fearful than they were. Word got out quickly in the community. Jack came over to stay with Grace as the last of the girls were being picked up. Meredith was in tears by now, worrying about Margaret—and Morgan, as usual, was angry, talking about what people should do to someone who scared people like Crazy Man did.