Restless in Carolina (35 page)

I back up my thoughts, the wheels of which reverse over Caleb’s words, then shift back into drive. The whole idea to sell the estate in its entirety was based on an assumption. But the assumption may have been wrong. I push my chair back and stand.

Caleb jumps up. “Bridget?”

“I don’t believe we’ll be in touch.”

Irritation distorts his attractive face. “As I said, I’m negotiable.”

“Even so, I think I speak for my uncle when I say you’ll have to look elsewhere for your industrial park site. Good-bye.” I catch the unhinging of his jaw as I turn away. Striding past the other tables, the hem of my skirt flapping at my knees, I put all my hope in having happened on the solution.

Piper thinks it might just fly, but Uncle Obe … It was not a good day for him, according to his daughter and evidenced by his inability to understand the solution I tried to lay out for him. Just when I thought he was tuning in, he tuned out on J. C. Dirk and Caleb Merriman, becoming agitated when I reminded him they were the ones who wanted to buy the estate. He didn’t like that one bit, and Daisy had eased him to his feet to help him to his bedroom. He called her by her mother’s name as she led him from the library, and he went on and on about selling the estate “over my dead body.”

I had hurt for him. And prayed for him when Piper started to cry. For some reason, talking to God for others comes easier than talking to Him for myself. When I mentioned that to my cousin, interrupting the awkward silence that followed my prayer, she said it seemed to her I was a lot further along in my faith than some people.

I don’t know about that, but what I do know as I lie here in the dark is what I keep coming back to. J.C. didn’t lie. He may be guilty of widow sniffing (some) and his investigation into Caleb’s interest in the estate may have been self-serving, but he was telling the truth. As wary as I am of reading too much into what happened between us, I feel it, especially as loneliness reaches out to me from all corners of the bed.

I turn from my back to my side and press a hand to the empty place beside me. It’s not so bad. Even the temptation to sleep in the guest room wasn’t too hard to resist. And I suppose I have Birdie and Miles to thank for easing me into this. There’s still emptiness, but the murkiness has cleared enough that I can see to the bottom of it.

“Thank You, Lord.” My voice slides into the night. “Thank You for letting me have my ‘happily,’ even if not for ever after. Thank You for allowing me to brush my fingertips against Yours, though I know it’s my whole hand You’re lookin’ to hold. And my heart too. Speakin’ of hearts …” I sigh. “I think I mislaid a piece of mine in the vicinity of Jesse Calhoun Dirk. Just a little piece, but I’d like it back—that is, if he has no use for it.
Does
he have a use for it?”

I flip to my back again and try to make out the ceiling. “I was too hard on him, said things I shouldn’t have. If what was between us was real, and it seemed like it, I’ve messed up. But I’d like to try and fix it. And I could use some help.” I close my eyes. “That’s it. For now. So amen.”

Friday, October 29

T
his time J.C. is expecting me, though that doesn’t necessarily mean getting in to see him will be easier than it was the first time. In fact, my advance warning in the form of a phone call might make it harder if he’s set against meeting with me.

Surprisingly, his assistant wasn’t as curt as when I last tried to see him. She asked my reason for wanting to meet with him, and when I told her it was regarding the Pickwick estate, she started to place me on hold. Guessing I was about to be put through to J.C., I told her to tell him I would be in Atlanta around noon on Friday and would see him then. I’d hung up and, since no one called back, assumed it was a done deal.

Now as I cross the lobby, noting the business types awaiting their appointments, the same young woman I slipped past months ago looks up from behind the reception desk. She doesn’t seem surprised, so she probably knows to expect me. A good sign—unless she has a security guard waiting in the wings. Or she doesn’t recognize me.

Far more comfortable this time in a new pair of 501s, a lace-edged cotton top beneath a smart denim jacket, and carrying a courier bag, I halt before the desk. “Bridget Pickwick Buchanan. I’m here to see Mr. Dirk. He’s expecting me.”

“Actually, his brother Parker Dirk is expecting you.”

Not a done deal. I’m a little relieved, a lot disappointed. Still, it’s not
as if the bulk of what I’m here to do can’t be done with J.C.’s brother. As for the rest? If J.C. doesn’t want to see me, it’s probably for the best. And if I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll believe it.

“If you’ll take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Five minutes later, the man who fell victim to our bull mastiffs as a boy enters the lobby. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Buchanan.” He advances on me with an outthrust hand and a seemingly genuine smile that makes his eyes behind his glasses crinkle at the corners.

I stand and slide a hand into his. “And you, Mr. Dirk.”

He releases me. “I’m sorry my brother couldn’t meet with you.”

Couldn’t
or
wouldn’t
?

“Hopefully, I’ll do.”

Though I want to ask why J.C. pushed me on to him, I say, “You’ll do fine. How is your brother doin’—I mean, the one who had the stairway collapse out from under him?”

“Dunn. He and the others have recovered and are back at work.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He glances around the lobby. “I imagine that whatever you’d like to discuss requires privacy.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Shortly, he motions me into a chair before a somewhat unkempt desk and settles his slender form behind it. “May I call you Bridget?”

“Certainly. Parker?”

He nods and clasps his hands amid papers scattered across a blotter. “What can I do for you?”

I glance at the scar above his right eyebrow. “You know the story of the poker game between the Pickwicks and the Calhouns.”

“Too well. I had hoped that when J.C. returned from North Carolina this last time, we could finally put it to rest.”

Meaning Parker was against his brother’s quest?

He opens a hand toward me. “But here you are.”

“Yes, but I also want to put it to rest. Or, at least, try. It’s up to you and your brothers to decide if it’s enough.”

His forehead creases, causing the crescent-shaped scar to kink. “If what’s enough?”

I open the courier bag and pull out a large envelope. “Did J.C. tell you that, for some time now, my uncle has been set on makin’ restitution to your family for the loss of your property?”

His head rocks slowly. “He did, but you do realize we have no proof the poker game was rigged. That it could as easily be our great-grandfather’s bitterness that set the rumor in motion.”

“My uncle is convinced otherwise; the only proof he requires is of his troubled conscience. Thus, he wants to make amends before his dementia is too far along for him to enjoy peace of mind.” I pass the envelope to Parker. “As I’m sure you know, the estate has increased considerably in value over the years. Though there are other wrongs my uncle has righted by sellin’ off properties and family heirlooms, the wrong done to your family requires a larger outlay than he can access. Since it was believed the Calhoun heirs would be more receptive to monetary compensation than the restoration of their land, the estate was listed for sale in its entirety in the belief it would command the greatest dollar amount.” I point to the envelope. “Inside is a proposal that will not only give my uncle peace but allow him to remain in his home for the duration of his illness.”

Parker Dirk glances at the envelope.

“Outside of the acreage my uncle has set aside for my inheritance, the Pickwick estate will be divided into four pieces—the original Calhoun acreage, the acreage to the north, and the acreage to the south.”

He frowns. “You said four pieces.”

“The fourth piece—the smallest—will be cut off from the southernmost acreage, which is the land on which the big house sits. My uncle will retain ownership and continue to reside there. As for the other three pieces, the Calhoun land will be deeded back to your family, who will be given first right of refusal on the other pieces, which will be priced at significantly less than the whole. Since the fourth piece will consist of only twenty-five acres to allow my uncle to maintain his privacy, those three pieces should be enough to build your golf resort if Dirk Developers is still interested. If not”—I shrug—“we’ll sell elsewhere, and your family can do with your land as you please.” I turn my hands up. “That’s it.”

Parker sits back. “What of Merriman?”

Of course his brother told him about Caleb. “My uncle has rejected his offer, since it appears Mr. Merriman’s primary interest in the estate is as an industrial park. A golf resort is one thing”—I shake my head—“an industrial park, another.”

“Good call.”

“Regarding the wrong done your family and the hardship generations of Calhouns have endured, I am here to formally apologize on behalf of the Pickwicks.”

Parker smiles with what could be sorrow. “Thank you, Bridget.”

That’s it, then. If the Calhoun heirs decide to add to their property and take up their original plans, they’ll be in contact. If not, the land
will be sold to another party. I stand. “If you have any questions, my cousin Piper will be happy to answer them.”

“Actually, I do have a question, but one only you can answer.”

The intensity of his gaze and tilt of his head give me pause. “Yes?”

“Is there something between you and my brother?”

Though my insides jump, I keep my features as immovable as possible. After all, Uncle Obe asked the same thing. “Why?”

“Because I know him, and it would take a stronger longing than that of justice to cause him to abandon the responsibility our father put on him. Even our mother, when she was dying, couldn’t completely bring my brother around to letting go of the past.”

My center clinches at the news their mother has passed away.

“To his credit, J.C. made an effort, but then your family’s estate came up for sale and all that effort was put on hold.” Parker spreads his hands. “So I’m asking you what I asked him—what took him longer to deny than it should have. Are the two of you involved?”

I stare at this man whose handsome-enough face resembles his brother’s more than I thought the first time I stood before him. “I’m not sure why I feel inclined to answer a question like that, but there did seem to be something between us. However, seein’ as J.C. isn’t here, I think you can understand why it probably isn’t worth discussin’.”

“No, I can’t. Though I know I shouldn’t interfere, I think you and Jesse ought to sit down and talk this out.”

Jesse
. I can’t help but like the sound of J.C.’s given name, nor silently note it better fits the man who kissed me than the man who deceived me. “Unfortunately, I don’t think your brother is interested.”

He smiles with his teeth, going up a notch on the attractive scale.

I frown. “What?”

“You said, ‘unfortunately.’ ”

“A figure of speech.” I turn away. “Now I need to get to the airport.” In and out, just like the last time, though this truly is the last time.

I hear the sigh of Parker Dirk’s chair as he rises. “I’ll see you out.”

I step from the office ahead of him, but he draws alongside and I allow him to navigate the hallways. Which is why I don’t notice we’re going the long way around until something comes into sight that we didn’t pass on the way to his office—the conference room where I first
knowingly
encountered J.C. And there he is again, leaning over a portfolio, assistant to his left, two women and a man to his right.

Something weak and wanting unfurls within me, and I ache all the way to my fingers that splay off my jeans, as if to take hold of something.

“I know,” Parker says near my ear. “I shouldn’t interfere.”

I look into his face and only then realize I’ve halted.

“I thought if he saw you …” He shrugs.

So it’s not that J.C.
couldn’t
meet with me. He
wouldn’t
meet with me. It’s good to know for certain. “I believe I can find my own way out.” I look one last time at J.C., and in that instant he looks around. And my heart drums. And chill bumps rise on my skin despite the heat rushing beneath it.

“Well, he’s seen me,” I mutter and turn on my heel. “Good-bye, Parker.” Grateful I’m not strapped into heels, I head back the way he led me.

I don’t care to have J.C. chase after me like a tights-wearing fairy tale prince clutching at a glass slipper and spouting “happily ever afters.” And yet I’m disappointed when I make it to the lobby uninterrupted, into the
elevator, and outside onto the sidewalk where late October whispers coolly across my face. Starting to shiver, I wait for an opening in the foot traffic, then hurry out of the building’s shadow to the curb where the sunshine tipping past the noon hour warms me.

“Mission accomplished.” I scan the slow-moving vehicles caught in the congestion of lunch hour. Though it’s four hours until my flight leaves, providing plenty of time to get a bite to eat in the city, I decide to head to the airport. Doubtless, the food won’t be as appetizing, but neither is my appetite what it should be considering all I’ve eaten today is a container of Greek yogurt.