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“Terrified, more like.” Dirk was menacing, though it wasn’t his shaved head and warrior’s build that made him intimidating. In spite of his dimples and pretty boy mouth, there was something in his eyes that let you know he’d been there and was willing to go back if he had to. Jackson sometimes wondered if, after all Dirk was bound to have seen, he was really satisfied with keeping fans knocked off his fortress. Tonight was probably the most excitement they’d had in years.

  “Scared. Contrite. Who cares? I’ll take their phones back to them in the morning but they’ll find empty photo and video folders. Why should my guys waste their time going through every picture one by one, when they could be watching porn?”

  “Maybe we should have made Emory do that.”

  “Watch porn or wipe the phones?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m hilarious.” A frown appeared between Dirk’s eyes. “Jackson, Emory didn’t tell Sammy to bring those kids up here. And Sammy didn’t mean any harm. He’s just very naive.”

  “I got that,” Jackson said. “But that doesn’t negate the sins of Emory Lowell.”

  “What sins would that be?” Dirk reached into the basket and found some stuffed mushrooms and little meat pies that Jackson had missed.

  Of course. Dirk didn’t know.

  Jackson took a deep breath. “First off, after Aunt Amelia’s funeral, I hired her to manage the estate and the business with the stipulation that she was to stop booking events and take steps toward shutting down Around the Bend. Hell, I gave her a big raise. I assumed she was doing as I asked but apparently not. Then, two weeks ago, I told Emory I was coming home and to fire everybody except security and cancel the remaining events. She said she would and then ignored me.”

  Dirk looked surprised but nodded. “I see. That would have been right after the fire.”

  “More or less. A few days later.”

  “I tried to call you fifty times and you never picked up.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to my brothers either.” Though he would have picked up for Beau, wherever the hell he was. His heart started to pound like it did every time he had to wonder if his little brother was still alive.

  “Jackson, I’m sorry—”

  Jackson held up his hand. “Dirk. No.”

  Dirk took a deep breath. “Okay.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It kind of sounds like you’re talking like you’re here to stay—beyond the three months that you think you need.”

  Jackson nodded and put a bite of food in his mouth. “Three months for sure. Then we’ll see. I canceled the tour. They threatened to sue me but I paid them off.”

  “I’m sorry, buddy. Wish I could help. Wish I’d been there.”

  Jackson shrugged and took another swig of beer.

  “So Emory ignored you?” Something played with Dirk’s mouth that was too close to amusement to suit Jackson.

  “Yes. The only bright spot in that is I didn’t want Gwen fired. I wasn’t thinking. I wouldn’t fire Gwen. If that had happened, I would have rehired her.”

  Dirk laughed a little. “Hire her for what? What would she do if there’s no event business?”

  “Cook for me. And I might have a party some time.” That was a lie but Dirk didn’t have to know that. “And the twins and Beau might come for Christmas. There’d be that.”

  “Listen, Jackson. That’s not what Gwen does. She’s a hell of a chef but she’s also an organizer and manager. She’s never going to be happy scrambling you an egg and roasting your Christmas turkey. But don’t you worry about her. If you want to shut down the business, Gwen can go to work at Beauford Catering or anywhere in Nashville. She gets offers all the time.” Dirk squinted at him and was quiet for a moment. “But you don’t want to shut down Around the Bend.”

  There it was. Dirk acting like he knew things he didn’t. “You’re wrong. But what makes you think that?”

  “Because if you really wanted that, you would have called me and I would have made sure it happened.”

  “Why do you think that? Security is independent from Around the Bend. Emory is the estate and events manager. Everyone here—except you and your guys—answers to her. It was her job to shut it down.”

  “I’ve never let the absence of authority stop me from enforcing your will.”

  “Really? What about the night you drove Beau to the bus station to join the army?”

  “Still haven’t forgiven me for that, huh?” Dirk sounded bored. They’d had this conversation a hundred times. Beau had been supposed to leave for college in the fall. The twins hadn’t had as many choices but by the time Beau graduated from high school, Jackson had made enough money that the world was Beau’s for the taking. He was supposed to be using that big brain of his to practice law or buy and sell bonds—something safe and clean. But on graduation night Beau had gone to Dirk and Dirk had helped him run away.

  Jackson pushed on. “You should have told me. I could have stopped him. And I haven’t noticed you asking for forgiveness.”

  “True,” Dirk said cheerfully. “And as I’ve told you, Beau didn’t come to me that night with a boy’s whim. He came to me as a man with a made up mind. But you’re trying to pick a fight with me because you don’t want to talk about the fire or shutting down Around the Bend. You’re trying to pretend you’re leaving the music business and plan to hole up here like some kind of new-wave Howard Hughes.”

  “How do you know I’m pretending?”

  Dirk popped a mushroom in his mouth and chased it with beer. “Because, like I said, if you were serious, you would have called me to make sure Emory did what you asked. You’ve always called me to follow up when something was really important to you. But we’ve come full circle here.”

  “Why do you think she didn’t do it? She had to know it was going to catch up with her.”

  Dirk laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not going down that rabbit hole. I’ve never been good at playing Woman’s Brain in Wonderland. You’re going to have to talk to her about that.” He pointed at the television. “Can’t you find us a movie with some helicopters and a kidnapping?”

  Chapter Six

  Emory poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the round table in her sunny little kitchen. Usually, the room with its painted blue cabinets and happy checked curtains cheered her, but not today. It might be her last day here. Hell, it might be her last day not in jail. She hadn’t broken the law but that wouldn’t stop Jackson Beauford if he decided jail was where he wanted her.

  How long before she had to face the music? Face the music—ha! More like face the music man. Ah, what wouldn’t she do to amuse and distract herself?

  Not much.

  It was almost eleven o’clock but who knew when he got up. Should she go looking for him? She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t even know where he’d taken up residence and she wasn’t likely to go opening doors hunting him.

  She reached for her laptop. Might as well find out what was happening in the world if she was going to have to go back out in it.

  As if she could. Beauford Bend, with its high stone walls, state-of-the-art security system, and Dirk and his staff, felt like the safest place on earth. At first, after returning, she wouldn’t leave the grounds. But gradually, the bounds of her sanctuary had crept outward until she could walk down the streets of Beauford or zip over to Firefly Hall to visit Christian without fear. But she had not so much as gone to Nashville for a meal in two years. It was unthinkable.

  And speaking of unthinkable, her doorbell rang.

  Little doubt who that would be. Gwen and Dirk would have taken their kids to Sunday school by now. Christian would still be dealing with the wedding party from hell. Anyone else would have called first.

  She swung the door open and there he stood in running shorts, a tight black t-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses hanging around his neck. He looked good enough to eat—if you liked your dessert with a side of sweat. Clearly, he’d been running.

  “There you are. I tho
ught you might be at church repenting for all that lying you did last night.”

  She leaned on the doorframe. “Normally, I do go. But I was so sure you’d be there repenting for your high-handedness that I stayed home today.” In truth, she’d been so drained from last night that she couldn’t get up in time.

  He walked past her without being invited in, like he owned the place—which, come to think of it, he did.

  “Got a towel?”

  She retrieved one from the bathroom and tossed it to where he stood in the middle of her small living room. “If you’re going to run, you need to get up earlier when it’s cooler.”

  “Yeah.” He dried his face and head. “Long day yesterday. Late night.”

  She headed back to the kitchen with him behind her and her good manners made an appearance. “Do you want some water? Or coffee?”

  “Both.” He sat down across from where her favorite coffee mug sat—the bright yellow one shaped like a beehive with the smiling bumblebee perched on the handle.

  She filled an ugly, mud-brown mug that had been here when she moved in and turned toward the refrigerator. “Cream and sugar?”

  “No. I’m a simple man.”

  “Sure you are.” She settled the mug and a bottle of water in front of him.

  He almost smiled and twisted the cap off his bottle. “My mug is nowhere near as festive as yours.”

  “I’d swap with you but I’m not a simple man. My coffee is full of sugar and salted caramel macchiato creamer.”

  He drank down half the bottle of water in one gulp. “You don’t seem to be a man at all. But I guess one can never be sure.”

  He looked at her through his eyelashes and smiled a smile that ought to come with a warning label. If she was going to have any prayer at all of handling this man she was going to have to stay ahead of him.

  “You were pretty sure the summer I came to charm school when I was fifteen. You took me out to the rose arbor during the Saturday night dance and kissed me. It was my first kiss.”

  His head snapped up. “I did not.”

  She laughed. Mission accomplished! She’d caught him off guard.

  “You did! Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know. But you’ve been lying to me ever since I set eyes on you.”

  “I’m not lying. I pined for you for a while. Then I found out I wasn’t the only one who’d been out to that rose arbor with you.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  So, she’d been right. He didn’t remember.

  “Maybe. But you look doubtful. So it might be true. Right now, you’re trying to run through your head all the girls you took back there.”

  “You’re lying. Amelia told you how I got in trouble for that.”

  “But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

  “I know. I’d remember. And about that—I don’t know what Amelia thought was going to happen. She made us squire all those pretty girls around and dance with them. Kissing was going to follow.” He took a drink of his coffee. “But not with you. You’re lying to distract me from the matter at hand.”

  He was right—not about the lying but the attempt at distracting.

  First things first. “Jackson, I didn’t tell those people that they could see your suite. I’d never do something like that.”

  To her surprise, he nodded. “I know that. Did you fire Sammy?”

  “Of course I didn’t fire Sammy.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s worked here for seven years. Amelia hired him to wash dishes and clean up at events when he was fifteen. Now, he’s one of the few full-time employees we have.” Was it possible that Jackson wasn’t going to shut down Around the Bend after all? Otherwise, why discuss Sammy’s future? “His judgment might not always be what I would like but he’s eager to please and will do anything I ask. And he works very, very hard.”

  “Apparently, he does some things you don’t ask, too.” Jackson shook his head. “Not that it matters. Emory, I said I wanted Around the Bend shut down and I meant it. I want to spend the summer at home—maybe longer. And I don’t want to run into a gaggle of debutantes or a crazy bride every time I want to go into my own yard—not to mention a bunch of drunks in my music room doing their best to destroy priceless, historical instruments.”

  “That wouldn’t happen again.”

  “Probably not. But it’s for sure not because I’m not going to have it. I’ll stand by my severance offers for you and the staff. I’ll pay it out of my own account because I doubt if Around the Bend could cover it.”

  “We do all right.”

  “No, you don’t. I get a report every month. You cover expenses and you have enough in reserve for exactly one event to go belly up. That’s not good business, Emory. And to be fair, for as hard as you work, your salary is a joke. I walked through the main house and over the grounds this morning. It’s perfect. There’s not a thing out of place. It’s like no party every happened. When I was growing up we’d spend all the next day, sometimes two, putting things in order. You must have been up all night.”

  “No. Only until about two. We’re a well-oiled machine and everyone works hard and fast.”

  “You could do far better somewhere else.”

  Panic set it. She didn’t want to do better. She couldn’t leave Beauford Bend. She wanted to scream but her voice came out calm. “My needs are simple.”

  “Apart from the cinnamon crunch chocolate brownie cream cheese coffee creamer?”

  He was smiling again—probably not because he felt like it but because he’d learned that his smile would get him not only what he wanted but how and when without any trouble. And he wanted her to like what he was demanding.

  Not likely.

  He made his eyes go smoky. How did he even do that?

  Still, not likely.

  “Apart from that.” She nodded.

  “But, Emory, make no mistake about it. I am going to have this. I am going to have it today.” The charmer went out the window and the hard ass returned She could deal with that, too.

  “Today? No. We have three tours this week and anniversary parties for the next two weekends. There’s a quilting guild from Savannah coming to Firefly Hall next Tuesday to stay for the rest of the week. They’re coming over every day for lunch and to study the Beauford Bend quilt collection. Noel from the quilt shop in town is going to come out and give them lessons. They’ll spend a fortune in her shop.”

  He shook his head. “No, Emory. This business is closing. Now. You can do it or I'll do it. Cancel these things. I’ll take care of the people who work for Around the Bend—full- and part-time. I’ll be fair.”

  “Really?” There was a nugget of something materializing that might be hope. “What about Christian? What about Noel? What about all the artisans and business owners in town? What are you going to do about them?”

  He looked puzzled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Ha. He really didn’t! He had no idea that he was terrified of hurting people, had no idea he even had a chink in his armor.

  She shook her head and took a deep breath.

  • • •

  Jackson braced himself for the next pack of lies that were undoubtedly about to flow from Emory’s lush little mouth. He couldn’t wait to hear this. “What am I supposed to do about Christian? And the others?”

  “Let me ask you something.” Emory got up and poured them more coffee. She took her good, sweet time going to the refrigerator, fetching her sissy creamer, pouring said creamer, tasting, mixing, and adding more sugar. You’d think she was mixing an antidote for king cobra venom. Of course, by now the poor snake-bitten fool would be dead. Now she was going back to the refrigerator—which was very neat, he noted—to replace the creamer. Everything had a place. The creamer apparently belonged on the bottom shelf because she had to bend over to put it there, which resulted in a good view of her khaki-shorts-clad bottom. Though calling them shorts might be pushing it. They c
ame to her knee and were at least one size larger than they needed to be, as was her pink polo shirt. She sat back down, crossed her legs, took a sip of her coffee masterpiece, and ran her tongue over her bottom lip to capture a little drip of coffee. The gesture wasn’t meant to be provocative; she wasn’t the type. She also wasn’t his type. He needed to remember that. Plus, he was firing her.

  She looked at him like she knew all the answers to the midterm. Poor thing. She didn’t stand a chance.

  “Do you care about Christian?” she asked.

  What kind of question was that? “Christian Hambrick? From Firefly Hall? Sure. I care about her. Not in a romantic way. She’s Beau’s age and four years is a lot when you’re kids. But our parents were friends and I’ve known her all her life.”

  Emory wound one of her curls around her finger and pushed it behind her ear. “So you never took Christian to the rose arbor?” She was laughing at him—not overtly, but he knew when he was being laughed at. He didn’t like it worth a damn.

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Do you want a scone? Gwen made them so they’re really good.” And when she got up and breezed by him he caught her scent. Oranges. Mint. Vanilla. His stomach turned over. He’d read that a smell could bring back a memory faster than anything else. Was it possible she’d used the same soap, sparkle lotion, and stuff all these years? Probably not. But he took another whiff and the picture came together—the white baby curls, a little longer back then, the sweet mouth that he had decided he wanted a taste of. Hell’s bells and damnation. He even remembered her dress—well, the color, anyway. Blue, like those big round eyes. So, yeah. She had been one of his rose arbor girls—but not one of his let me show you my room girls. She’d been way too sweet and innocent for that. He didn’t seduce. He let himself be seduced. That hadn’t changed.

  She held a plate of scones before him and looked at him with a question in her eyes. She shook the plate a little. “They’re blueberry.” Blueberries, blue eyes, blue dresses, blue days.

  “Sure.” He was pretty sure his voice came out normal. He took a scone and took a bite. “I did not take Christian to the rose arbor and I didn’t take you.” He didn’t even feel guilty for saying it. She had a lie coming.