Southern Comforts

by Nan Dixon

Rule #37—A weary traveler must rest his head. It might as well be on our pillows.

  Mamie Fitzgerald

  ABBY ADDED A note to her to-do list. Was it only two weeks since her mother had announced her engagement?

  Gray had been gone more than he’d been in Savannah. Absence didn’t make the heart ache less. That lesson had been brutal to learn.

  Stay busy. Even though she had months to create a menu for her mother’s reception, Abby wanted to keep her mind off Gray.

  She knew what cakes she would bake. Mamma wanted an almond-flavored white cake for herself and a chocolate cake for Martin. Appetizers were easy. What should she do for the entrée? She flipped through recipes. Prime rib might be nice. Or something lighter—lobster or fish?

  Marion brought in the last of the breakfast dishes. “I didn’t think the Shelbys would ever leave.”

  Abby smiled. The newlyweds were in their seventies. “They’re a cute couple.”

  Marion started to scrape and load dishes into the dishwasher.

  “I can get that.” Abby waved her off.

  “You look like a breeze would blow you over.” Marion glared. “Sit. I’ll do it. What are you working on?”

  “Putting together ideas for Mamma’s reception menu.”

  Marion’s expression softened. “It’ll be nice to see your mamma getting married again.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy.”

  “I wish some of you sisters would get off the starting line and get yourself husbands. I want grandbabies to play with.”

  “Check with Bess and Dolley.” Abby closed the cookbook and opened another. Marion’s words sliced little pieces off her heart. Abby was in no hurry to fall in love again. It hurt too much. She was still bleeding from Gray.

  Marion closed the dishwasher and started it. “Haven’t seen Gray around for a while.”

  “He’s back in Boston.” Abby didn’t look up, just kept turning pages.

  “The time sheets are on your desk.” Marion set her hand on Abby’s shoulder.

  Abby wanted to lean into the older woman’s strength, but she couldn’t. If she started to lean on anyone, she would crack wide-open.

  “I can enter the hours.” Marion gave her shoulders a gentle massage.

  “Oh, that feels good.” She forced her muscles to relax under Marion’s strong fingers. “I’ll get the hours entered before the payroll deadline.”

  “You need to let up on yourself, girl.” Marion pulled away and bopped her on the head. “You need to take help when it’s offered. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re more stubborn than my husband was, and that man sure tried my soul.”

  Not this again. “Everyone works hard here. And I’m ahead on my baking.”

  Marion started to leave. “Why don’t you get ahead on your sleep? That’s what you need.” She pushed open the door, but added, “If you need me, I’ll be folding linens.” She laughed. “Of course, that would entail asking for help.”

  Why was everyone accusing her of not taking their help? Abby flopped the book closed. If Marion didn’t have so much to do herself, Abby would take her up on her offer.

  In any case, it was easier to stay busy. Then maybe she wouldn’t miss Gray so much. Her head knew that he’d destroyed her dreams, but her heart still ached for him. She’d lost both Gray and Carleton House at the same time.

  She headed to her office to enter the payroll hours. Otherwise she just might curl into a ball and cry.

  * * *

  GRAY TAPPED THE appraisal packet on the conference table. He’d been back in Boston for most of the week. “That’s a lot of zeros in the estimated value.” He’d gone through the assumptions but hadn’t found any flaws.

  “Once we bring the condos on line, they’ll be snatched up,” Gray said.

  “Absolutely.” Phillips, his project manager, nodded. “Forenaught will expect top dollar.”

  Gray paced his attorney’s conference room. “I’ll have to go after more investors.”

  He’d been stupid, making all those financial commitments in Savannah. All for a woman who didn’t believe in him.

  “My dad and I will keep a majority vote,” he said. “We’ve already got a lot of people interested.”

  “Will they understand they’re silent partners?” Phillips asked.

  “That’s the problem with people and their money. For some reason, they want to be in control.” That was Gray’s role. He controlled the Whaler. “They’ll have to toe the line.”

  Jacob, his attorney, knocked. “We’re closed on Carleton House.”

  Gray forced a smile on his face. “Thanks.”

  Carleton House. What the hell would he do with the old mansion?

  He’d intended to help finance Abby’s expansion. He was still a little fried that his big gesture had blown up in his face. Abby’s banker wouldn’t have lent them ice in a desert. With Abby refusing to take any help from him, what should he do with Carleton House?

  * * *

  GRAY STEPPED AROUND the scaffolding in one of the third-floor units in his Savannah warehouse. “They’ve hustled.”

  Daniel nodded. “Humidity dropped again, so the tapers finished this weekend.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it dropped.” Gray wiped the sweat off his brow.

  “You’ll only have to deal with it for a couple more weeks, right? Then you can head north. How many inches of snow do they still have up there?” Daniel held the door open for Gray as they left the condo.

  “Ha-ha. Snow melted this morning.” He headed for the stairs.

  “How’s the bid on the project up in the frozen north coming?” Daniel asked.

  “Good. Wish you and your team could come up and do the work.”

  “It sounds like a peach of a project, but I’m not leaving Savannah.”

  Before falling in love with Abby, Gray had planned to leave as soon as the condos were roughed in. He would have come back to check on sales and additional work, but he wouldn’t have been living here. Now he also owned Carleton House. He had no clue what to do with the property.

  “You up for lunch?” Daniel asked.

  “I’m meeting with Amanda from Fawcett Realty in the model downstairs.” Gray glanced at his watch. “I can catch up with you after that.”

  “Works for me.”

  Gray took the stairs down to the model suite.

  “We’ve had our first offer,” Amanda called out as he came in the door. A smile filled her face. The older woman was the perfect choice for this office, knowledgeable but not pushy.

  “Let’s see it.”

  Gray and Amanda huddled around the small conference room table, reviewing the purchase agreement.

  “It’s ten thousand dollars lower than I’d hoped.” Gray poured a cup of coffee from the machine and doctored the brew with powdered cream. Yuck.

  Amanda tapped her manicured nail against the papers. “I know this Realtor. He’s aggressive. He wanted to know if we’d had any bids yet.”

  “What’s your recommendation?” Gray asked.

  “The offer’s low.” Amanda tipped her head. “There’s a balancing act between getting someone in the space and how much of a haircut you’re willing to take.”

  Gray nodded.

  “I recommend you counter,” she said.

  It was worth getting the first contract signed. One sale could start an avalanche of others. Then he could head back to Boston. And leave Abby.

  If he got the Whaler, there was no question he’d be hauling his ass home. But each time he went north, it was as if he was walking into a foreign country. He didn’t know where he belonged anymore.

  He and Amanda constructed a counteroffer.

  She gathered the papers. “This is mor
e than fair. I’ll present the terms tonight and let you know.”

  Gray could almost hear the strings connecting him to this city and Abby snap.

  Outside, he found Daniel checking the brick’s tuck-pointing.

  Daniel looked up. “Ready for lunch?”

  “Good to go. Got the first offer on one of the top-floor units.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled. Did you accept?”

  “We’re countering.”

  They turned in tandem and headed down River Street. The heat and humidity slowed their pace, as if they were pushing through warm syrup. They stepped into the dim pub, and he pulled in a breath of cool air.

  The hostess showed them to a table, and they ordered sandwiches and beers.

  The two men had settled into a comfortable friendship. Gray had known men longer, yet he felt closer to Daniel than anyone from Boston.

  But it was the same old story. Gray had hired Daniel. Was Daniel a friend, or was he just protecting an income stream?

  Right now, Gray needed a friend. He heeded to believe he’d found one in Daniel.

  He shredded his paper napkin into small pieces. Looking up, he said, “I need to tell you something.”

  “’Bout time,” Daniel said.

  “What?”

  “Are you finally going to confess that you made the offer on Carleton House?” Daniel stared at him.

  Gray blew out a big breath. “It closed yesterday.”

  Daniel leaned across the table. “What the hell are you going to do with that old mansion? A house the Fitzgeralds want?”

  Their beers arrived, thank goodness, giving Gray time to respond.

  Daniel tipped back his glass. The good-old-boy look on his face had evaporated. “What’s going on?”

  “I bought the damn house for Abby. I knew the Fitzgeralds wouldn’t get the loan. Lennertz has a vendetta against the family.”

  “Man.” Daniel ran his hand through his hair, making it stand straight up.

  “Stupid, right?”

  “But Dad says you and Abby aren’t speaking.”

  The damn Forester communication channels were good. Gray threw the napkin pieces in the center of the table. “Sucks to be me.”

  * * *

  ABBY OPENED THE ladder and positioned it below the burned-out bulb. Why couldn’t lights have a ten-year life? She loved the kitchen’s high ceilings. She just didn’t love changing the inset cams. Standing on her tiptoes was the only way she could even reach the bulb.

  She tried to unscrew the bulb, but it was stuck in there as though it had been glued. She twisted harder.

  The ladder rocked. “Whoa.” She grabbed hold of the top step.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Gray’s voice echoed behind her. She hadn’t heard him come in but couldn’t let that distract her now.

  Abby stretched. She needed just a little more leverage. If the wall was closer, she could use it for support, but there was nothing.

  “Damn it, Abby.” The ladder rocked beneath her. “Let me do this.”

  “I’ve almost got it.” She stretched and twisted. The bulb gave a little. Off balance, she slipped down a step with a gasp.

  Footsteps shook the ladder. Gray’s arms appeared on each side of her body. “You’re getting off this ladder before you kill yourself.” He tugged at her waist. “Now.”

  “I can do this.” She didn’t need help.

  “You’re too short.” He tugged again. “It’s not safe to stand on the top. You know that.”

  “Fine,” she spit out.

  He moved, and she followed him down. Stepping back, she crossed her arms as he headed up. He didn’t have to step on the top to reach the bulb. It just wasn’t fair.

  He twisted, and the lightbulb came out as though it was greased. She’d probably loosened the thing.

  He waved the offending light down at her. “Do you have a new one?”

  She grabbed it from the counter and moved up the ladder, exchanging the bad light for the good. “Here.”

  “Don’t snap at me because you got caught doing something stupid.” Blue fire seemed to erupt from his gaze, and she had to look away. “You’re just too stubborn to ask for help.”

  Never yell at guests. But Gray had ceased to be a guest months ago. “I can change a light.”

  He gave the bulb one more twist. Light blazed down on his clenched jaw. His work boots thumped on the metal steps.

  “You could also fall and break your neck.” He snapped the ladder closed and the sharp sound punctuated his words. “Does this go in the carriage house?”

  “I’ll put it away,” she shot back.

  He glared but set it by the door.

  She should have been thanking him. But she couldn’t choke the words out.

  Abby didn’t have time to fight with Gray. Three couples were coming in for a wedding tasting tonight. She checked her menu to see what needed to be prepped next.

  He stomped over and leaned on the other side of the counter. “Would it hurt to ask for help? It doesn’t even have to be me.”

  “I am sick of hearing that phrase.” She stirred the glaze for the chicken and tasted it. More ginger. “You’re a guest. And this is my business. I don’t ask anyone...I mean, any guest, for help.”

  “You got it right the first time.” He pointed a finger at her. “You don’t ask anyone for help.”

  “I ask for help,” she yelled. Gray was so irritating.

  “Where’s Nigel?” he shouted back. “He’s tall enough to change the bulb without breaking his neck.”

  “I can change my own lights.”

  “Apparently you can’t. Couldn’t this have waited until I got home?”

  “Home? You’re a guest, remember?”

  His teeth snapped shut.

  She wouldn’t dream of asking him to help with something like this. She grabbed a handful of crystallized ginger and began to mince. She wished it were Gray’s words she was slicing through. A part of her knew he was right. She just couldn’t ask for help from...most anyone. She was responsible for Fitzgerald House.

  She chopped more quickly. “Have you forgotten you live in Boston?”

  “How can I when all you want is to get rid of me?” Gray flung his arms wide. “Of course, you want the money from our agreement. You just don’t want me with it.”

  “It’s always you and money.” She swept the ginger into the honey glaze and stirred. “Does your cash keep you warm at night?”

  “Warmer than your independence. At least I know how to ask for help.”

  “Right. You ask for bids—not help.”

  “I delegate. You should learn how to do it if you’re in charge of a B and B.”

  “It’s so easy to delegate when you’re rich. Especially when you let everyone know by flashing your money around.” She aimed the dripping spoon at him. “Have you ever helped someone when it didn’t involve spending your money? Just your time?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the ways I’ve helped ungrateful people.” He winged the words at her.

  “You mean me?” She pointed a finger at her chest. “With your help, we’d end up being employees, not owners.”

  He slammed his hand on the counter. “I am not interested in acquiring you!”

  “Your actions paint a totally different picture.”

  “Then you need glasses.”

  Without thinking, she yanked open the oven and grabbed the pot of short ribs.

  Pain seared through her palms. She dropped the handles and stumbled back.

  “Abby!”

  She held out her hands. Her palms and fingers were bright red. Stabbing pain radiated up her arms. Her legs wobbled.

  “Oh, Abby.” Gray gently lifted her of
f the floor.

  When had she sat down?

  “We need to get these in water.” He guided her to the sink. “How bad is the burn?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “Cool water, not cold.”

  The water deepened the ache, bringing tears to her eyes. She wiped her cheek with her shoulder.

  “I’ll take you to the doctor.” Gray cupped her hands under the water.

  “No.” Her body was starting to shake.

  “Then, do you have ointment?”

  The shape of the handle was burned into her palms. How could she have forgotten to use a pot holder? The burn on her right, her dominant hand, was darker red. “No ointment. I have some honey I use. But I’ll also need gauze and wrap.”

  “Where?”

  The room started to spin. “I need to...”

  Gray hugged her from behind, holding her up. “I’ve got you, Abby.”

  She rested against his chest. “Could you...put water in a bowl for my hands?”

  “Sure. Sure.” He helped her over to the love seat. “Put your head between your knees.”

  The movement of the air on the burns sent splinters of agony through her hands. She held them up but lowered her head. She took deep breaths, trying to relax. Nothing worked.

  Gray came over with a large pot of water. “Okay. Set your hands in here.”

  The water eased the pain to a dull roar. “The first-aid supplies are in the cabinet above the phone.”

  Cupboards banged as Gray searched. Abby closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid?

  Arguing with Gray about their faults had made her careless—and crazy.

  She hung her head, ashamed. She’d treated Gray—a guest, and a man she’d thought she’d loved—abominably.

  “Here.” Gray rushed back to the love seat.

  Kneeling, he ripped open the gauze. “Now what?”

  “Pat my palms dry.”

  He swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  It was too late to worry about that. And she wasn’t thinking about her hands. She pulled her hands out of the water and held them, palms up, to him. Closing her eyes, she said, “I’m ready.”

  He was so very gentle as he dried her hands. “I shouldn’t have been arguing with you.”