by Hope Ramsay
The boy’s eyes grew wide. “I am,” he said.
“Well, he’s a good man to be friends with.” The minister gave the boy a shoulder squeeze and stood up again, facing Ashley.
Who was now frowning. “How did you—”
“I spoke with several of the substitute ministers who’ve been filling in the last nine months.”
“Oh. I didn’t think—”
He interrupted with a smile. “Jackie made quite an impression on most of them.”
Ashley tensed, if that was even possible. The woman was already wound tighter than an overwound clock. She put her hands on her hips and was about to say something she might have regretted when another large man wearing an impressive tool belt strolled through the front door.
“So, this is the vicarage?” he drawled as he stepped up to Reverend St. Pierre and gave him a fist bump to the shoulder. The resemblance between the two men was startling. This newcomer wore a maroon golf shirt with ST. PIERRE CONSTRUCTION embroidered on the chest, and like Micah, his eyes were dark.
The other brother? She couldn’t remember his name. In any event, two St. Pierres in this tiny living room didn’t leave much space for anything else.
“Colton, so glad you could come,” Patsy said.
“Did you call Colton?” Ashley asked.
“Of course I did. After all the problems we discovered yesterday? You didn’t think I expected the Altar Guild to single-handedly repair everything that’s wrong with this house when our minister has a contractor for a brother?” A slow smile turned Patsy’s mouth up at the corners, and her judgmental expression disappeared. Clearly the old woman had done this to surprise Ashley and ease her worries.
Right then Jenna decided Patsy was a good person. And for some reason that warmed her heart a little. Could she be friends with Patsy? Could they one day regard each other as family?
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Miz Scott,” Colton drawled. “I brought help.”
Three more guys in tool belts, work boots, and St. Pierre Construction golf shirts strolled through the front door as if Colton’s words had conjured them from out of thin air.
“Oh, thank you,” Ashley said. “We could use a few experts.”
Colton smiled. “That reminds me. How’s your roof holding up with all this rain?”
Ashley’s shoulders sagged a little. “It’s okay,” she said in a voice that conveyed the opposite.
The exchange confirmed what Jenna already knew. Ashley Scott was in financial trouble.
“Well, you give me a call, and we’ll get it fixed, okay?” Colton said, and then he turned his gaze on Jenna. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Jenna Fairchild. I’m a guest. At the cottage. I came by to help because I had nothing better to do.”
“Well, y’all don’t need to bother. I got this taken care of.” He turned to his guys and issued a few commands. The men spread out like an invading army. One of them headed into the kitchen, and the rest headed down the hallway to the back of the house.
Colton turned toward Patsy. “We’ll have that bathroom leak you called me about fixed in no time at all. And I got some leftover subway tile. It should be enough for the bathroom and the kitchen. Come on, Micah. Let’s get that stuff hauled in here.”
As the two men turned toward the front door, Jackie piped up. “Can I help?” he asked, tagging after them like a puppy.
“Sure you can, matey,” the minister said, stopping for the little boy to catch up and then taking his hand as they walked out the front door.
“I’ll go see if they need any help,” Ashley muttered, following after them, her shoulders tight and her expression still worried.
“Well, that was interesting,” Patsy said as she watched Ashley disappear out the front door.
Jenna turned toward the door herself, suddenly concerned about her landlord.
“Don’t go,” Patsy said, calling her back. “Those boxes of tile probably weigh more than you do. Let the men handle it. Besides, this gives me a chance to figure out what you’re up to.”
Jenna’s stomach dropped a couple of inches as the adrenaline hit her system. Had Patsy figured out her ruse? She turned and met the older woman’s stare, trying to maintain the outward appearance of calm surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, you have to admit you’re a mystery. You don’t fit the mold of Ashley’s usual guests. You’re not obnoxious. You don’t throw your money around. You don’t name-drop. You even offer to help at times. You seem interested in everything. And you attended a town council hearing on development, which is odd. And I’m told that you showed up at church yesterday in the middle of a tropical storm. And you piqued the interest of my husband, who’s sure your intentions toward Jude St. Pierre are not honorable.”
“I’m paying Jude to give me sailing lessons.”
“So I’ve heard. But I’ve also heard other things about you. So, tell me the truth. Are you working for Santee Resorts?”
“No.”
Patsy studied her out of a pair of sharp blue eyes. “I believe you, but you’re not telling the whole truth, are you?”
“I can assure you that I’m not here to spy on Jude, or to compromise him, or to lobby your husband in favor of development. I have nothing to do with any of that.”
“But you went to the hearing.”
“I did. It’s a free country. I was interested in the topic.”
“Why?”
Wow. Patsy was far more direct than her husband. And Jenna had two choices. Make up a lie or tell Patsy the truth.
She ought to tell the truth, but she couldn’t. Not now. There were still secrets she needed to uncover about her father. Besides, she needed to tell Jude the truth before she announced it to the world. She didn’t want him to find out about her through the local grapevine. Not after the way she’d brazenly kissed him and the way he’d answered that kiss.
“The truth is I’m interested in history,” she said. “That’s the reason I went to that hearing. And I’m hoping your husband supports Jude’s petition on that land.”
A little smile twitched on Patsy’s lips. “So, maybe you’re not working for Santee Resorts. To be honest, I would expect one of their people to dress better. Maybe we’ve gotten you all wrong, Miz Fairchild. Maybe you’re one of those Yankee do-gooders, come down here to see if Jude is onto something.”
“Maybe I am,” Jenna said, looking Patsy right in the eye. If she had to choose a lie to live, let it be a lie where she supported Jude instead of working against him.
Chapter Twelve
Hunnuh wake? E dun pass dayclean ya kno.”
The sound of Old Jeeter’s voice out on the porch pulled Jude out of his funk. He opened the door to find his great-uncle standing there in a pair of tattered pants and a golf shirt that had probably come right out of the Salvation Army bin.
Old Jeeter was Granny’s older brother. He was about ninety, although no one really knew for sure. He’d worked as a shrimper for most of his life, but now he lived with Aunt Charlotte, who looked after him. He would still come by from time to time with a cane pole and a basket of crickets or night crawlers, looking for someone to go fishing with him.
Old Jeeter loved to fish, but today he wasn’t carrying his pole or his bait basket.
“Hey,” Jude said.
“Wha hunnuh da do ya ef Colton dey dey?”
Damn. Had Colton sent Jeeter to be his conscience? Come to think of it, Old Jeeter would make a perfect Jiminy Cricket, except the old man spoke Gullah most of the time, so not many folks would understand what he had to say.
Jude shrugged in answer to Jeeter’s question.
“Da ting ain no good!,” Jeeter said. “Ebeedbodee gwine memba dah.”
“Yeah.”
“Go.” The old man pointed a finger at him and then turned and headed down the porch steps, surprisingly spry for his age. When he’d disappeared into the woods, Jude sank down onto the single rocker on his porch.
Damn.
Micah was the last man on earth Jude wanted to help. He was still so angry with his brother for going away seventeen years ago. But Old Jeeter had a way of cutting through the BS and getting right to the heart of things. People would remember that he didn’t help. Colton would never let him forget it.
And Colton was so good at telling him how to live his life. How he was wasting his time trying to get Daddy into rehab. How he should get another job and stop trying to get Daddy to sign over the title to Reel Therapy and give him the reins of the family business. And how misguided his attempts were to save this land from the bulldozers that were surely coming.
Yes. For sure people would remember how he didn’t help his brother. The inevitable tide had turned. Micah was back, probably for good, and Jude would have to learn to live with that.
So he went looking for his tool belt and headed on into town. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the vicarage’s driveway and parked behind one of the St. Pierre Construction diesel trucks where Colton and Micah were working unloading supplies.
“I see Old Jeeter changed your mind,” Colton said, giving his shoulder a brotherly slap and a big smile.
“That was unfair,” Jude said.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Micah said, his expression wide open and kind of vulnerable.
Damn. He didn’t want to forgive Micah. Ever. But staying angry with him wasn’t going to work either. “Yeah, well…” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.
“Thank you. The house needs a lot of work, and I don’t think the church ladies are up to the job.” Micah rolled his eyes. “I have to tell you guys, I’m a little out of my element here. In the navy, I didn’t have a permanent church. And I certainly didn’t have a bunch of little old ladies sticking their noses into everything and giving me endless and contradictory opinions. I only had to help people in crisis, you know?”
Jude shook his head. “No. I don’t know.” He cast his gaze over the ugly ranch house. “So, this is the house they gave you?” he asked, unable to stop being angry.
“Don’t judge,” Colton said. “It’s nicer than the one you’re living in right at the moment. But then…”
“Don’t,” Jude said, shaking his head and giving Colton his super x-ray stare, which tended to bounce off Colton, and always had. Older brothers were a nuisance. “Let’s not argue about Old Granny’s house, okay?”
“We could cash in big, if you would—”
“Come on, Jude. We could use your help carrying this tile,” Micah interrupted, as he reached into the truck’s bed and handed him a cardboard box that turned out to be heavier than it appeared. “This goes in the kitchen,” he said, and gave Jude a push toward the front door.
Behind him, he heard Micah tell Colton to lay off. And for some reason, a little chink formed in the wall he kept around his heart. He’d forgotten how Micah had always stepped in when Colton got dictatorial and bossy.
Jude lugged the box to the open front door, wiped his feet on the big mat that had been placed in the foyer for that purpose, and made his way into the living room. Where he got the surprise of a lifetime.
There sat Patsy Bauman, presiding over everything like the Queen of Sheba. And who was there with her? None other than Jenna Fairchild, wearing a T-shirt with a tiny Buddha on it and one of those hippy-dippy sayings that made no sense at all. Something about how people’s thoughts created reality. Yeah, right.
Why the hell was she there? What was she up to now? How had this stranger posing as a tourist managed to worm her way into the fabric of daily life in Magnolia Harbor?
He stood there holding the heavy box of tile, staring at her.
“Jude,” Patsy said, breaking through his toxic thoughts, “I’m so glad you came too. I was worried that you’re still angry at Micah.”
Damn that woman. She knew too much about him, and the last thing he wanted was her running her mouth with Jenna standing right there taking it all in and making mental notes. “Ma’am,” he said, ducking his head to be polite. “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.
“Over yonder.” Patsy pointed him in the right direction. He put his head down and didn’t look back.
For the next hour and a half, he was too busy following Colton’s, Micah’s, and Miz Bauman’s sometimes-conflicting orders to confront Jenna about this latest invasion of his privacy. The idea of a big-ass resort company coming in here and cozying up to the members of his family and digging into his personal problems with his older brothers was just wrong.
He was not changing his mind. They needed to get that through their thick skulls.
At midday, Annie showed up with enough food to feed an army. There was gumbo, rice and lima beans, okra and tomatoes, and some German chocolate cake brought in by a couple of Micah’s new parishioners. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, and almost everyone adjourned to the back patio to eat.
But not Jenna.
She hung back in the kitchen, her old pants spattered with the off-white paint they were slapping onto every wall in the house. She looked as if she’d been working hard, but that didn’t deter him from cornering her and giving her hell.
“I don’t appreciate what you’re doing,” he said, putting his paper plate down on the counter and folding his arms across his chest.
Her forehead rumpled. “What do you mean? Don’t you like my painting technique?” She was trying to sound innocent, but there was a little vibration in her voice that suggested something else. She continued to play with the rice and beans on her plate.
“You know what I mean. Coming in here and getting all friendly with my family and my friends. The way you and Patsy Bauman have been chatting all morning, you’d think you were long-lost relatives or something. I don’t appreciate it. It’s not fair. If Santee Resorts wants to have a conversation about the land north of town, they can just come in here and talk to me.” He folded his arms.
She put her plate down next to his. “I’m not working for anyone, Jude. I told you that. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because you’re not telling the truth. I can feel it in my bones. And I’m tired of it. I want you to leave Jonquil Island. Right away. And never come back. Is that clear? You mess with my family and it’s over. Understand?”
She stood there for the longest moment as several unreadable expressions crossed her face. “I’m not messing with your family.”
“Then what are you up to? And please don’t give me another lie. I want the truth. I deserve the truth.”
Yes, Jude did deserve the truth, but did Jenna want to tell him?
Karma slapped her in the face. She was responsible for his worry. And it didn’t matter that he’d made the mistake or that the gossips in town had made up a likely story without any evidence to support it. All of that was on her because of her choice to use a false identity. Never had the connection between emotion, intention, and action been clearer. It was exactly as her T-shirt said.
“We need to talk,” she said. “Not here.” She picked up her lunch and headed through the front door and across the street to the rose garden’s rear gate. Jude followed her, carrying his own lunch.
The sun chose that moment to peep from behind a cloud. Ashley’s garden was beautiful, even this late in the season. The roses were mostly finished, but the brown-eyed Susans were lush. Color abounded here, reminding Jenna that the divine could be found anywhere. You just had to look for it.
Even now the divine was lighting up a pathway, steering Jenna toward the porch and a decision.
She stopped and dropped into one of the rocking chairs. Out beyond the hanging plants, the bay still churned in the wind, its choppy water topped with foam.
“Okay,” Jude said, perching on the porch rail, balancing a plate full of ham and okra in one hand and an undersized plastic fork in the other. “I’m ready. Who are you, and why are you here?”
She took a bite of her beans and
rice and chewed them thoroughly before she spoke. “I’m going to tell you the truth. But I need you to please keep it to yourself. I—”
“I can’t make that promise.” A muscle bunched along his jawline.
“Okay. I understand that. But when you learn the truth, I’m hoping you won’t run off to tell Harry and Patsy, okay?”
He frowned. “What do they have to do with anything?”
She put her plate down on the porch floor and leaned back in the rocker, closing her eyes. “They have everything to do with why I’m here and why I attended that town council hearing. My name isn’t Jenna Fairchild. It’s Jenna Fossey.”
She opened an eye when the silence stretched out for an eternity. “You don’t recognize that name?”
He shook his head.
She sat up in her rocker and leaned her elbows on her knees. “If I said my name was Jenna Bauman, would that tip you off?”
“What?”
“If my father had married my mother, that would be my name. But my father didn’t. He died before I was born.” She took another long breath. “He died not even knowing that I existed.” Her voice wobbled. And here she thought she was so strong.
She studied Jude as her throat closed down. He was still frowning as if he didn’t quite get the joke, or maybe because he’d gotten it and was semi-horrified.
“I’m Harry and Patsy’s niece. The one they never knew about. The one who got all of Robert Bauman’s money.” She laughed. “Patsy talks about me in her sewing circle. Did you know that? She must have really wanted that money.”
She shook her head. “Jackie hears a lot of stuff, you know? Like how they all think my inheritance is undeserved. And how I’m illegitimate. I hate that word. It’s makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be alive.”
“Holy crap,” he said, his gaze sharpening into shock. Story of her life. But, then, it didn’t matter. She was self-reliant. She didn’t need these people. Much.
“I came here to see if there was any hope of having a relationship with Harry and Patsy,” she continued. “Because my conscience demanded it. Because of bad karma, you know?”
