by Loree Lough
Now Taylor shrugged, remembering how tired he’d sounded during their phone call last night. “Some problem with his tour bus. Said he’d leave as soon as he lined up the repairs. I’m guessing he won’t be here before tomorrow at noon.”
“Excellent! That means he’ll be here when Dr. Haughty brings Eli home on Sunday night … give him a chance to see how a real man treats people.”
“Tootie… .”
“Okay. All right. I can take a hint.” She held up her hands. “No more badmouthing Dr. Thinks-He-Hung-the-Moon.”
And chickens have lips, Taylor quoted silently.
“So how long is our favorite country singer staying this time?”
“Ten days.” Jimmy had said that he wanted to fine-tune a few older songs and finesse a brand new one before he went back to his recording studio.
Tootie leaned back in her chair. “Oh, wow. A new song. What do you bet it’s about you … again?”
Taylor only sighed.
“If he doesn’t make a move on you this time, I’ll eat my hat.”
Taylor had tired of this conversation, too. “You aren’t wearing a hat. In fact, I’ve never seen you in a hat. Do you even own one?”
“No, unless you count that knotty knitted mess I wear to shovel snow. But so what. I can always borrow Jimmy’s tengalloner. Or Dr. Haughty’s know-it-all cap.”
Sometimes, Taylor wished it was in her nature to say something like Back off, Tootie! or Put a lid on it, will you! Instead, Taylor bit her lip and covered the cookie plate with a blue gingham towel. “Jimmy is a friend. That’s all he’s ever been, all he’ll ever—”
“C’mon, Taylor. We’re BFFs. You can be honest with me.”
“I am being honest with—”
Tootie counted on her fingers: “One, he practically owns that gorgeous island off the Gulf Coast. Two, he’s got a fully-staffed yacht. Three, every time we see a picture of him, he’s posing with one of his Hollywood pals … and looking miserable as miserable can be. Four, he could afford to spend months in Europe or Tahiti or anyplace else in the world, but where does he go when he has time?”
Here.
“Now seriously, girlfriend, tell me why would a guy like that reserve an entire B&B, over and over for weeks on end, unless he’s sweet on the innkeeper?”
She had to admit, the thought had crossed her mind a time or two. But she’d dismissed it. Jimmy was rich and famous, and could have his pick of Hollywood starlets and up-and-coming girl singers. What did he want with her!
“He comes here for peace and quiet and privacy, to work on his—”
“Pah! You might be able to convince me that he’s just a friend, if he booked concerts in Blacksburg or Roanoke or someplace close. You know, to make the long stopovers here worth his time and money. Or if he brought a lady friend with him now and then.”
“Jimmy works hard, touring the country, going overseas to entertain the troops. He’d have to entertain a lady friend, instead of settling in to—”
“Uh-huh. And those chickens wear lipstick.”
“He misses Mark almost as much as I do.”
“Oh. Right. It’s clear as glass now: he misses Mark. That’s why every last one of his top-ten hits is all about unrequited love. And why every four months, he puts his career—correction—puts his entire life on hold, to spend two weeks in the middle of nowhere to write another one here at the Misty Wolf.”
Taylor exhaled a sigh of frustration. She supposed all this protective stuff was proof that Tootie meant it when she said, “I love you like a sister!” Then … why couldn’t her “sister” see how uncomfortable things like this made her?
“Look, I know it’s none of my business,” Tootie said, standing, “but how else can you explain that he leaves a stable full of thoroughbreds on his fancy Nashville ranch to ride your bad-tempered dapple grays?”
“They aren’t bad-tempered … if you know how to handle them.”
“How big is that quilt of yours gonna be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She didn’t mind at all, especially considering it changed the subject. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m guessing big enough for a full-sized bed?”
“Then it looks like you have a lot of sewing left to do. Why not use the machine, instead of hand-stitching it?”
“Because most of the pieces of fabric are old. I don’t want to risk pulling a thread.” And besides, she thought, it’ll feel good knowing that I finished every single stitch exactly the way Mom would have… .
“See ya later … Artful Do-o-odger-r-r,” Tootie sang.
Taylor put down her quilting and followed Tootie onto the porch. How like her to get in a parting shot, and then hightail it out the door! “Just because I can’t explain the whole Jimmy thing doesn’t mean I’m dodging anything. Mark was Jimmy’s drummer, and they worked together nearly every day for years. They were closer than most brothers. A few days before Mark died, I heard him ask Jimmy to check in on me from time to time. If anything, he’s using the visits to keep that promise to Mark.”
Tootie threw a leg over her bike seat. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“Anything … unless it’s Jimmy-related.”
“Pay attention to the way he looks at you. I mean, really pay attention, okay?”
He would look at her the way he always had … as his best friend’s widow. “I hate to sound like a nag, but that’s Jimmy-related.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, nudging up the kickstand, “some things just have to be said.”
“Oh, really. And why is that?”
“Because you’re the only one who can’t see that he’s crazy about you. If you ask me, it’s kinda mean-spirited to string him along.”
“String him along? Holy mackerel, Tootie, that’s just … well, that’ s just plain silly is what it is! You’re the one who’s always saying that with his good looks and talent, all he’d have to do is snap his fingers and a parade of beauties would line up to audition for the role of Mrs. Jimmy Jacobs. What would a guy like that want with me?”
“You’re impossible,” she said, rolling forward, “but I love you like a sister. Even if you are stubborn as a mule.” The ten speed tick-tick-ticked as it carried her toward the road. “See you in the morning,” she called over her shoulder.
“Oh, fine,” Taylor whispered, “I’m stubborn because I don’t agree with you?”
“Mark my words,” Tootie hollered, “if you’ll just look, you’ll see that I’m right!”
Oh, she’d look, all right.
The only question, really, was whether Tootie would prefer salt and pepper or hot sauce when she made good on her bet to eat Jimmy’s Stetson!
4
After tossing and turning for hours, Taylor decided to make one more check of the suite Jimmy would call home for the next ten days. Unfortunately, she’d made one last check so many times before turning in that not so much as a speck of dust had settled on the gleaming mahogany furnishings.
So she checked the rest of the guest rooms and all five attached baths. The library. The parlor and the dining room. And finally, the sun porch. It hardly seemed possible that in a house this size, she couldn’t find a single chore to take her mind off the bothersome notions Tootie had planted in her brain, not the least of which was Reece’s limp. While Margo was alive, Taylor might have had a chance to find out if injury or birth defect caused it, if it caused him pain. In the ten or so years since they’d met, he’d never mentioned it, so expecting the subject to come up during an everyday conversation wasn’t likely. “Well, Tootie,” she said to herself, “ ‘whiner’ sure isn’t something you can add to your list of insults!”
The grandfather clock in the front hall announced the five o’clock hour, startling her. Just last week, one of her guests—a self-professed clockmaker—spent the better part of an hour explaining how she could silence the chime between 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. She appreciated the subtlety of his complaint—his hadn’t been the first—and to show her gratitud
e, sent him and his wife on their way with a fully stocked picnic basket, free of charge. She’d had every good intention of following up on his suggestion, but a wind storm loosened some shingles on the chicken coop roof, and a rotting tree near the road had fallen onto the paddock gate, forcing her penciled “buy clock parts” to the end of her to-do list … already sixteen items long.
With the storm little more than a blustery memory, she made quick work of replacing the shingles, and the logs Isaac stacked after cleaning up tree debris would assure plenty of firewood to feed the parlor woodstove this winter. It felt good, hearing the weatherman predict three days of sunshine, because Jimmy had never been fond of cloudy skies.
She’d still been hard at work on the quilt when the clock struck three. Few things annoyed her more than leaving a task unfinished, but she’d nodded off while stitching a scrap of Margo’s cheerleading uniform to Eliot’s flannel shirt. Though that finger-prick to the thumb hadn’t stained the material, it seemed best to quit.
“Might as well enjoy a cup of tea,” she whispered, “since there’s nothing else to do.” Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, Taylor remembered her earlier conversation with Tootie. If she truly believed her own words—that Jimmy’s feelings for her were strictly platonic—what difference did today’s forecast make? Should the weather turn, he’d find ways to brighten a cloudy day, just like any other guest.
Right?
She poured steaming water over a teabag, and eyes closed, inhaled the scent of spicy peaches. Like it or not, there was nothing ‘just’ when it came to Jimmy. He’d been like a brother to Mark, and over the years, had become a dear friend to her, too.
Taylor sat at the table and opened the most recent issue of the New River Valley magazine. She’d held a subscription for years, mostly so that her guests could peruse the colorful pages to find nearby sights and activities to fill their days at the Misty Wolf. Seeing to their needs meant that she rarely had time to read it herself. Restaurant reviews, profiles of local artisans, recipes that featured produce grown in the area, and an article explaining the ups and downs of the stock market kept her reading until her cup was empty.
She checked the time and groaned. “Oh, great,” she muttered, scribbling “Change battery in kitchen clock” at the bottom of her to-do list. The glowing numerals on the microwave matched the ones above the stove, but not the ones on the clock. “Good thing I can count on you guys for accuracy.”
And then she chuckled under her breath. Good thing there were no guests around to hear her talking to herself, or they’d pack up so fast, all she’d see was the blur of their cars, speeding down the drive. Either that, or the Misty Wolf would attract a whole new type of visitors—the kind who were attracted to ghosts and goblins and crazy innkeepers.
“Maybe you should get a cat,” she told herself. As she refilled her mug, Taylor added “At least then if anybody catches you talking to yourself, you could always say you were talking to the—”
“Funny. I always figured you for a dog lover.”
Taylor spun around so fast that she sloshed hot tea all over her white socks. “Good grief, Jimmy,” she sputtered, free hand pressed over her hammering heart, “you just shaved the last ten years off my life!”
“Way I hear it, those are the worst ten years, anyway, so I guess you owe me one for sparing you that.”
As he put down his guitar case and hung his Stetson on the hook behind the door, Taylor wondered how he’d managed to get here hours ahead of schedule … and into the kitchen without a key. And did his warm hello hug feel slightly tighter, last a little longer than usual, or did it just seem that way because of everything Tootie had said?
“You look great,” he said, holding her at arm’s length.
Instinct made her run a hand through her curls. She hadn’t brushed her hair—or her teeth—since heading up to bed last night. Fingertips over her mouth, she put one white-socked foot atop the other and thanked God that the hem of Mark’s old denim shirt hung past her knees.
Stepping back, Jimmy pointed, first at the coffee maker, then at her mug. “Is your coffee pot broken?”
“No, but I didn’t see much point in brewing a whole pot, just for me.”
“That’s good, ’cause I don’t know what I’d do if you went over to the other side.”
“What other side?”
“You know …” He held one pinky aloft. “Traded your coffee addiction for tea?” Laughing, he leaned his backside against the sink. Arms folded across his chest, he added, “You need to take that TV commercial a little more seriously.”
“What commercial?”
“You know, the one where the beautiful woman says ‘I’m worth it.’ ”
She giggled because he looked even sillier than he sounded, trying to imitate the actress’s posture and voice. “Is that your understated way of saying you’d like a cup, right now?”
“Understated,” he quoted, one eye narrowed as he tapped his bristled chin. “Now there’s a word that’s never been used to describe me.”
Taylor filled the carafe with water, and emptied it into the reservoir. “So enlighten me, O understated one, when did you start wearing the five o’clock shadow all the movie stars and singers are sporting these days?”
Jimmy shrugged one shoulder. “When you mow the lawn, you don’t go clean down to the dirt, do you?”
She thought about that for a minute. “No, I guess not, but—”
“I drove straight through, so I’m whipped, but I’m not that tired.”
She hit the On button and faced him.
He winked. “You think I didn’t notice how you shifted the focus from you to me?”
“I hate to admit it, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He said it a little too knowingly for Taylor’s taste, but she didn’t dare admit it. Out loud, anyway.
“The commercial, remember, where the girl says she’s worth it? The gist of it being, why not give Taylor the TLC she deserves, at least once in a while?” He nodded at the coffee pot. “If you want a cup, then perk it, even if it means you’ll pour the second one right down the drain, because …”
“ ‘You’re worth it,’ ” she quoted. He’d said things like that before. Everybody in her life, it seemed, had said things like that before! She could feel him watching as she arranged a mug, the sugar and milk, and a spoon on the placemat nearest him. If Jimmy—and the rest of them—knew how many ways she’d let down the people closest to her, they’d sing another tune.
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow, at the earliest. How’d you manage to get away so early?”
When his left brow rise slightly, she half expected him to adopt Tootie’s “You’re the Artful Dodger” attitude. Instead, Jimmy said, “I gave Cory a bonus, put him in charge of the bus.”
“The bus? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing serious. Fuel pump, I think.” He shrugged. “Cory’s better at that kind of stuff than I am anyway,” he said as she put the mugs on the table. “And with another kid on the way, I figure he can use the extra money. Plus, it keeps him close to home.”
His tone made her look up, and it surprised her to see that his expression was even grimmer than his voice. Shouldn’t this be good news? “That’s wonderful! What does this make for him and Julie … four?”
“Uh-huh.” Jimmy shook his head and pointed. “I think we should contact the Guinness people about that coffee pot of yours.”
She perked coffee in a big, shiny urn on mornings when the inn was all booked up. When it wasn’t, Taylor had the same complaint about this one: it gave new meaning to the word slow.
And then it dawned on her that Jimmy had been here five minutes without a single reference to Eli. That wasn’t like him. And … had he deliberately changed the subject from Cory’s growing family to sluggish coffeemakers, or did it just seem that way?
“Wasn’t very smart, driving straight through from L.A. to Bl
acksburg. What did it take you … twenty, thirty hours?”
“Close.”
No doubt he’d encountered traffic jams, road construction, bad weather, or all three. No wonder he didn’t seem his usual fun-loving self! “Guess it’s a good thing,” she said, handing him a mug, “that I used decaffeinated grounds, huh?”
“Why?”
“Because you look like something my nonexistent cat might have dragged in, that’s why, and high-test would only keep you from falling asleep quickly and getting the rest you need.”
“Gee, if the Guinness book has a ‘Good for a Guy’s Ego’ category, you’re in like Flynn, Bradley!”
It wasn’t like him to pout. Wasn’t like him to call her by her last name either. “Now, now, you know I didn’t mean it that way. You look as handsome as ever, just a little tired and rough around the—”
“Even days on the road and more than two thousand miles?” Chuckling, he puffed out his chest.
Her guests rarely had to ask for anything, from second helpings to extra amenities for their rooms, because she’d learned to read their faces, their voices and posture; anticipating and providing what they needed kept them coming back year after year and recommending the Misty Wolf to friends and family. Right now, she read Jimmy’s expression as hopeful.
But hopeful about what? Had Tootie been right?
“More than two thousand miles,” she echoed. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Aw, now,” he drawled, “don’t worry your pretty li’l head. I squeaked in a few hours here and there.”
Where, she started to ask, on the side of the road? But Tootie’s warning stopped her. “Well, you’re here now, safe and sound. That’s all that matters.”
Something between affection and appreciation glowed in his eyes. “And I’d bet my next contract that my room is ready and waiting, and exactly the way I like it.”
“If I’ve forgotten anything,” she said, “I expect you to tell me.” Eyes narrowed, she aimed her pointer finger in his direction. “Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pulled out a chair—the very one Reece had chosen hours ago—and invited him to sit. Thankfully, Jimmy had never been a fussy guest, like the ones who insisted on Starbucks’ coffee or eiderdown pillows. It had been quite by accident that she’d learned about his allergies to her brand of fabric softener; the fact that he would have put up with the itchy rash rather than complain or put her to any extra trouble made her want to take better care of him. As he stirred milk into his coffee, Taylor said, “Hungry?”
