One More Taste (10 page)

That was it. That's was had started this whole mess tonight. For all he knew, it was Emily who'd tipped off Granny June that Shayla was having dinner with him. For all he knew, she'd masterminded this dredging up of ancient pain as a way to weaken him, to throw him off his game.

Movement of light on the deck caught Knox's eye. It was the faint blue glow of a cell phone. Emily. Coherent thought was impossible as Knox flung the door open and stormed outside. His hands curled into fists. He planted his shoes on the decking and stared her down, ready to call her on her manipulation.

Emily shot to her feet. Even in the dim light from the window, he could see a look of innocent concern on her face. “Is something wrong?”

Hell, yes, there's something wrong.

He opened his mouth. Then it hit him how out of control he was acting. More than his treasonous thoughts about his father keeping secrets, Knox was allowing his emotions to run roughshod over his self-control—and that was just as disloyal to his father's memory. Was Knox really so weak-willed that a tasty bowl of stew and the ramblings of an old woman would make him crumble?

On his next breath, he looked into Emily's searching eyes. His fight wasn't with her or his grandmother or even his father. The only person he was fighting was Ty Briscoe. One more breath, and he'd found the strength to wrestle his anger back into its box and lock it closed.

“The stew was exceptional,” he said.

The stiffness in her shoulders drained away. “I know.”

Her reply diffused the last of his misplaced anger, it was so
Emily.

He nodded to the empty bowl on the bench where she'd been sitting. “You and I have a deal. Tomorrow night, you'll dine with me, and every night after that until the challenge is done.”

Her attention drifted to the view beyond the deck railing. “Why?”

It was a question he refused to investigate too deeply. “Because it suits me.”

The door to the kitchen creaked as it opened. Shayla stood in the doorway. “Hey, Knox, I was going to wait until you came back inside, but I'm tired. I'm headed to bed. I've got a long drive back to Dallas in the morning.”

It was only nine o'clock, but Knox knew his sister well enough to know she was as emotionally drained from the meal and Granny June's stories as he was. But rather than deal with discomfort and painful memories of their past, Shayla was checking out. She'd been that way their whole lives. Perhaps that was the reason she'd avoided the anger issues that plagued Wade or the overdeveloped sense of responsibility that Knox had cultivated.

“Understood. It's been a long day.”

Shayla offered Emily a little wave. “Dinner was great. Thank you.” And then she was gone.

“I'd better head back in, check on Granny June,” Knox said.

With a nod, Emily stood and gathered her dinner dishes, then followed him to the kitchen.

Granny June was up from the table and shrugging her coat on. “Emily, my dear, you outdid yourself with that meal.”

Emily helped her smooth down her coat collar. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Ready to leave? I don't know how you got here, but I'm happy to take you home,” Knox said. Of course, he'd have to borrow Shayla's car, since Granny June lived in the Briscoe family compound in the northwest corner of the resort grounds and Knox wasn't about to take a chance that his truck would agree to get her all the way home.

Granny June took her cane in hand. “I'll certainly take you up on that offer, but first, I'm curious. Is the old boathouse still standing?”

“It is. You know a thing or two about this house,” Knox said.

“The Madisons, the couple who lived in this place for ages, were good friends of Tyson and mine. They had a boy, Jacob, who was your daddy's best friend. Those two were inseparable right up until Clint left.”

Knox sifted through his memories but came up blank. Then again, his father rarely spoke of his childhood, and he especially never reflected on happy memories. The sellers hadn't been the Madisons, but the Rozcowskis, and his dad had never mentioned a friend named Jacob. Had his dad been forced to give up his best friend when he was banished from the family? “What happened to the Madisons?”

“After Jacob and his sisters graduated and moved on with their lives, Agnes and Chuck decided it was time to move on, too. We're friends on Facebook. They're in Florida, doing well.” She took Knox's hand in hers and her eyes twinkled with fondness. “I don't think it was an accident that you ended up buying this house. I think God brought you back to us and set you down here in this very house for a reason. If that boathouse is still here, then it has a secret I'd like to show you, something about your daddy that I think you'll appreciate, if you'll walk with me down there.”

Knox was suddenly envious of Shayla's graceful escape. He wasn't sure he could handle any more memories or revealed secrets that night. “Of course. Let me get my coat.”

“Emily, you come with us, too,” Granny June said. “I think I'm going to need both of you to help this old lady find her footing on the path.”

After Knox had located a flashlight, the three of them picked their way down the stone and dirt path to the lake.

“As soon as Clint and Jacob were old enough to run a boat on their own, they took up fishing. And, oh boy, did they ever fish. They were obsessed. Every so often, we'd catch Clint sneaking off in a skiff from the resort across the lake in the middle of the night to meet up with Jacob, who'd snuck out, too, to do some night fishing or camping out in sleeping bags on the lakeshore. They were wild boys like that. Never minded the dark or the wilderness. After a while, we stopped minding Clint sneaking away because we always knew where to find him. Right here.”

Knox's dad had always professed to hate fishing. Swore he didn't have the patience for it. Yet another facet of his father that he'd never known.

The boathouse was little more than a glorified shack situated at the water's edge. It was large enough to fit a couple of kayaks, along with boating and fishing supplies, but little else. Truth be told, Knox had been considering tearing it down and rebuilding a new one with modern amenities and more weatherproof building materials.

By the light of her cell phone's flashlight app, Granny June led the way around to the back of the boathouse, though their progress was halted by the thick brush surrounding the building. “Move those branches, there,” she said, pointing with her cane.

Knox handed his flashlight to Emily and moved to do Granny June's bidding. When he saw what the secret was, his ribs squeezed tight and his breath caught, the discovery was so exhilarating.

On an old, weathered board, beneath the crudely fashioned, burned letters reading
Clubhouse
were the names
Jacob
and
Clint
.

There was no doubt in Knox's mind that his dad's ghost had led him to this property, to this lake, so Knox would find these clues about his dad's childhood. This wasn't about secrets, but about discovery. It was about growing even closer to the father he'd lost too soon.

This time, the emotion fuzzing up his head was love and peace, a renewed closeness to his dad, and an appreciation for his childhood at Briscoe Ranch. His dad hadn't always been so bitter. He'd been a young man, full of energy and a bounding joy for life. Knox would give anything—
anything
—to have an hour with his dad again, to ask him about growing up in Dulcet, about fishing on this very lake, but having his spirit guide him here, to this place in this moment with Granny June and her treasure trove of stories, was the next best thing.

With his finger, he traced the burnt letters of his father's name. As soon as he could, he'd hire landscapers to clear away the brush from around the boathouse, and he'd hire a contractor to renovate the structure, rather than tearing it down. Knox had never put much value in old buildings and sentimental treasures—his job of renovating businesses practically demanded that he didn't—but this discovery changed everything. If Knox had had any doubt about his mission in returning to Briscoe Ranch and restoring his father's legacy, he sure didn't now.

What other treasures about his dad's past did the resort hold? Where else had his dad left his mark for Knox to find?

By the time Knox roused from his thoughts, he realized that Granny June and Emily had relocated to the dock. They stood arm-in-arm in the moonlight, chatting.

“How's the fishing been for you?” Granny June asked when he'd joined them.

Knox cleared his throat. “I never fished much. Or at all. It's on my ‘to do' list, though. As soon as I have the chance to give it a whirl.”

If either Granny June or Emily thought it odd that his dad hadn't taught him to fish, then they kept it to themselves. “I'm sure Ty would be happy to teach you,” Granny June said.

Knox bristled. Ty was the reason Clint had given up fishing, his friends, his life. Knox would no more seek out Ty for advice than he'd ask the Devil. “I think I'll be fine teaching myself.”

“Well, when you catch one, I'll cook it up,” Emily said.

“Deal.”

Granny June tucked her cane on her elbow and rubbed her hands together, her eyes twinkling again. “Have you ever seen the view of Briscoe Ranch from the water at night?”

“No,” Knox said. “It's good?”

She gestured to the rowboat moored to the dock, the one the previous owners had left behind. “Tonight seems as good a night as any.”

As drained as he was, he found it impossible to turn Granny June down. “If that's what you'd like. I haven't been out on the water yet, but I rowed crew in college, so I'm sure we'll manage. As long as the boat doesn't spring a leak,” he added with a wink.

Emily took a step back. She gave a little wave. “See you two tomorrow. I've got to get on with the dishes and then get out of here. It's a long drive home.”

She'd been quiet and unobtrusive during this walk, as she had throughout the day. He'd thought he'd overshared with her about himself and his dad while in his truck that afternoon, but now that he was considering it, she probably knew more about his family history than he did. She'd been that same quiet observer to the Briscoe family's goings-on for more than a decade.

Her calm presence, and the fact that she wasn't a Briscoe, with that same loaded history, was comforting. He was glad Granny June had insisted she join them on their stroll, but there was no logical reason that his personal chef should take a boat ride with him and his grandmother. The trouble was, he found himself very much wishing she would, and yet he had no earthly idea how to ask her to stay without making it weird.

“Wait just a second, there,” Granny June said, looping her arm with Emily's. “I insist you come along. Besides, you're my ride home. Make an old woman happy and take a rowboat ride with us.”

“I thought Knox was going to drive you home.” Emily blinked, then a thought dawned on her and she looked at Knox. “Oh. Your truck. I forgot, you can't. Yeah, I'll have to be the one to drive her.”

Knox could have corrected her—he
should
have corrected her—and told her about him borrowing Shayla's car to get Granny June home. But he didn't.

Emily looked at him pointedly and nodded at the rowboat, as though checking in with him for permission to join them. He faked a nonchalant nod and shrug, as though to say,
Why not. There's no harm in it.

“All right, then. A boat ride it is,” Emily said.

But if there was truly no harm in Emily joining them, then why did it feel dangerous for her to take his hand and step onto the boat with him. Why did it feel as though they were crossing over into uncharted territory?

After helping Emily get seated, he reached a hand back to aid Granny June, but headlights distracted him. A red, compact car bounded up Knox's driveway.

“Whoops,” Granny June said. “That's Paco. I've got to go.”

What?
“I thought Emily was taking you home.”

Granny June tapped her temple. “This daffy old mind. I can't keep anything straight these days.”

“But…” Emily spluttered.

Knox couldn't decide if he should call bullshit or agree with Granny June because her mind did seem to tip onto the daffy side. Before he could speak, Granny June had crouched down with a litheness that belied her age and untied the boat from the dock.

“You two go on ahead and have fun. Don't forget to take pictures of the resort from the lake. They'd look great on my Facebook page. Speaking of which—” She brought forth a smart phone and before either Emily or Knox could do more than open their mouths in protest, she snapped a shot, blinding them with the flash.

Knox was blinking away the bright spots from his vision when the boat rocked. Granny June had shoved them off.

“I'd better not keep Paco waiting. You kids have fun, now.”

“But…” Emily said again.

But Granny June was already walking at a brisk clip toward the sedan. It might have been Knox's imagination, but she seemed to have a bit of a skip in her step.

 

Chapter Six

No. No.
No.
Granny June was
not
trying to play matchmaker for Emily. And especially not with Knox, of all the men in the world. Granny June knew Emily didn't date. She knew how critical this month was for Emily's career. What the heck was she thinking?

Over the years, Emily had been a gleeful spectator of Granny June's matchmaking antics around the resort and the town of Dulcet. The woman had practically strong-armed Carina and Decker into falling in love, as well as a lot of other Briscoe Ranch employees. Emily had even played assistant matchmaker on occasion, delivering covert gifts and acting as wingman for Granny June's plots, but Granny June had never tried to set Emily up with a man before, so Emily had figured she was in the clear.