“Oh.” Emma’s mouth went completely dry. “No.” She cleared her throat, and then bit the corner of her lower lip. “That’s not really … No.”
“No?” One of Avery’s eyebrows formed a perfect raised arch.
“No, Mother. The thing is … the fact of the matter is …”
“Emma Rae, if you don’t want me included on your dinner with your friends, just say so. I can easily drive out to Brookhaven and fend for myself this evening.”
“No, it’s not that, Mother.”
“Then what is it? Georgiann has extended a perfectly lovely invitation and, if you don’t want me to accept, you’ll have to give me a reason.”
Emma shifted all of her weight to one hip, lowered her head and tucked her hair behind one ear. When she looked up again, both Avery and Georgiann were staring her down.
“It’s Daddy.”
“Gavin? What about him?”
“Well, he’s in town.”
“What is that man doing in Atlanta?” she asked, as if the divorce decree had only allowed him access to the portions of the country that were north and east of Georgia.
“He wanted to surprise me.”
“Your father never could comprehend the discourtesy of surprising a woman on a whim.”
Emma cleared her throat again. “Well, the truth is … Georgiann’s sister, Norma, invited Dad to be her houseguest.”
“I see.”
“And the dinner is sort of … he’s kind of …”
“The guest of honor,” Avery finished for her.
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Emma didn’t like it when Avery went quiet that way. She shifted to one leg, and then the other. “But you know—”
“Your father is so fond of surprises,” Avery interrupted. “What do you say we give him one tonight?” Emma’s heart palpitated. “What would surprise him more than you showing up for dinner with me on your arm?”
“Oh, Mother, I don’t—”
“What a wonderful idea!” Georgiann exclaimed. “I was just about to head over there myself. Avery, why don’t you ride with me, and Emma can follow in her little toy car.”
And before the tornado siren in Emma’s head could sound the alarm of approaching disaster, Avery had kissed her daughter on the cheek and crossed through the lobby with Georgiann.
“There’s my Princess!” Gavin exclaimed as Norma escorted Emma into the parlor.
“Hi, Daddy.” She kissed his rough cheek and squeezed his arm.
“Your father has been regaling us with tales of life in our nation’s capitol!” Norma announced. “He’s quite the business tycoon, your father.”
Emma nodded, then glanced around the room to make sure she hadn’t just missed Georgiann’s car out in the drive.
“What do you have there, Emma?”
“Oh!” She’d almost forgotten that she had brought something along for dessert. “I’ve been experimenting with a new recipe, and I think this batch turned out very well. I’m calling them Mocha Latte Cookies; they’re dipped in chocolate. I thought you might like to have them for dessert, or perhaps just keep them around for another time.”
Norma peeked into the open box and swooned. “I don’t know how you do it, Emma. They’re just beautiful. I’ll have Harriet put them on a tray to serve with coffee after dinner.”
Emma handed over the white box and moved toward her father. “Dad, there’s something I need to tell you,” she whispered under the guise of an embrace.
“What is it, Emmy?” he asked her, and his brown eyes sparkled at her as he ran a hand over the dark gold and silver-streaked hairline that had receded more than an inch since the last time he’d come to town.
“I didn’t plan this. I mean, I didn’t even know she was—”
“Greetings, Gavin.” Her mother’s smooth, low voice sliced Emma’s warning right into pieces.
Gavin’s face glazed over, and he looked down at Emma and groaned. Under his breath, in his signature gravel-and-molasses tone, he muttered, “Hide the women and children.”
“I’d like you all to meet Emma’s mother, Avery Travis,” Georgiann announced. “Avery, this is my sister Norma, her husband Louis, our other sister Madeline, and Jackson’s longtime assistant Susannah.”
Avery spread her greetings around the room, and then landed back on Norma. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to join your festivities.”
“We’re happy to have you.”
Gavin took a step back when her gaze found its way to him, and Emma bristled.
“No need to stand guard, darling,” Avery told her. “Your father and I are civilized Southern people.” With a sassy little grin, she added, “Oh wait. That’s just me.” Moving toward him, she took his hand. “How are you, Gavin?”
“That depends. Does your kind still devour their prey?”
Avery smiled. “Only if it’s appetizing, so I think you’re safe.”
Amusement popped around the room, then Emma realized that hers was the only laughter fraught with tension. Everyone else seemed to be taking this meeting in stride. She hoped they wouldn’t end up strangled by their own cluelessness in the next several minutes.
“So where is the man of the hour?” Avery asked as she turned toward Georgiann. “Wasn’t your brother supposed to be here tonight? I’d like to shake the hand of the man who recognized the mastery in my daughter, the baker.”
“He just called a few minutes ago,” Susannah answered. “He should be here any minute.”
“Pork tenderloin for dinner,” Norma announced. “I hope everyone likes pork?”
“My favorite kind of hoof,” Gavin replied, and Emma masked the cringe that involuntarily popped up to her face.
“Why don’t you help me with beverages,” Norma said as she touched Emma on the arm.
“Um, okay,” she replied.
“You can stop hovering, Emma Rae,” her mother assured her. “We can be trusted.”
Emma puffed out a little chuckle and followed her hostess across the room to the carved wooden cart set up next to the fireplace. As Norma filled several crystal glasses with sparkling water, Emma’s eyes meandered across the room to where her mother joined the other women. Her father stood across from Louis Blanchette, entertaining him with conversation that she couldn’t quite make out.
The sleeves of Gavin’s expensive suit jacket were pushed up toward his elbows, and his dark brown tie was knotted loosely beneath an open collar. He’d always been one to tell a story with his hands, and she noticed as he moved them that his breast pocket was stuffed with several cigars. She had still been holding out hope that he’d given them up.
“These are for Louis and your father, dear.”
Emma accepted the glasses and delivered them to the men at the other side of the room.
“Thank you, Princess.” Gavin took a sip and then pulled a sour face. “What is this?”
“Mineral water.”
“Mih-neral water,” he repeated with a grunt. “I thought people still drank bourbon in Southern parlors.”
“Not this one, Dad,” she replied in a whisper. “Behave yourself.”
His chuckle and the glistening spark in his eyes told her he’d just been teasing her, and Emma shook her head and sighed as she walked away from him.
Once she’d delivered a tray of drinks to the women, Emma straightened and her eyes met Jackson’s where he stood in the entryway. Just the sight of him caused her heart to leap a little. Suddenly, she wasn’t alone in this. Relief pushed a grin up and over her face that Jackson returned with a reassuring nod.
“Jackson, come in here!” Georgiann exclaimed, and she hurried to his side and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You have to meet Emma’s charming parents.”
His eyes had darted back to Emma on the word “charming,” and just as fast he headed straight for Avery and took her hand in both of his.
“Mrs. Travis, I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Well, well, ar
en’t you just as handsome a man as I’ve ever seen here in Atlanta,” she returned. “It’s such a pleasure, Jackson.”
“And this—” Norma said, leading him by the arm to the back of the sofa. “This is Emma’s father, Gavin Travis.”
“Mr. Travis,” Jackson said, and Emma watched as her father sized him up over their handshake.
“Good to know you.”
“Your daughter has played a very big part in making The Tanglewood even more than I’d planned it to be,” he told them. “I’m very fortunate to have her on board.”
“Yes, you are,” Gavin replied gruffly, and then he and Jackson exchanged smiles. “I’m probably a little biased, but I happen to think Emmy’s the cream of the crop.”
“Well, I agree,” he said, and Emma’s pulse fluttered. “I hope you’ll both be able to stay for the opening?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Avery chimed, and Georgiann clapped her hands in response.
“I was hoping you’d grace us,” she said, and then looked toward Gavin hopefully.
“I’ll do my best,” he added.
Jackson followed Emma to the beverage cart, and she poured him a glass of sparkling water.
“No bloodshed yet,” he softly observed. “How long before the lions are released?”
She handed him the glass. “Shouldn’t be long now.”
A gentle knock on the door hushed the hum of conversation.
“That will be Fee,” Emma announced.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” Georgiann said. “I invited her, but she already had plans tonight. She said to tell you she was very sorry she missed the fun, but she wanted to hear all about it in the morning.”
“Oh.” Emma was disappointed. Fee was so familiar with her family history that she would have been a nice buffer for her. “Then who’s at the door? Are we missing someone?”
“Yes. I invited—” The entrance of the final dinner guest halted Georgiann’s words. Then she lifted a wide grin and finished her thought. “—my nephew. Miguel, come in and meet Emma’s parents, Gavin and Avery Travis.”
Emma watched as Jackson’s solid shoulders sank ever so slightly.
“You’re just in time,” Norma said as she greeted Miguel. “We were just going to sit down to dinner.”
Emma took her father’s arm, and they followed Louis into the rectangular dining room. A beautiful mahogany table occupied the center of the room, comfortably flanked by twelve chairs with generously padded rose tapestry seats. A starched-white tablecloth was set with deep indigo placemats embroidered at the edge with tiny white flowers, and the blue-on-white place settings glistened beside crystal goblets and shiny silver flatware. The centerpiece, an arrangement of burgundy and steel-blue flowers, was impeccable in an oblong crystal vase.
“Your china is exquisite,” Avery said as she and Norma passed through the entryway. “Is it Churchill?”
“You have a wonderful eye!” Norma exclaimed. “English Blue Willow Ware.”
“It’s just stunning.”
Louis pulled out a chair and motioned for Emma to take a seat beside her father. She sighed as Avery sat down at the opposite end of the table. If one of them couldn’t be seated at a table in the next county, she’d take whatever distance she could get.
Jackson’s eyes met Emma’s and she smiled, but just as he headed toward the empty seat next to her, Avery caught him by the wrist and looked up at him.
“Jackson, will you sit beside me?” she asked. “I’d like the chance to get to know you.”
He hesitated. The empty seat beside Avery was flanked on the other side by dark-haired, dark-eyed Miguel, and his thought process was unmistakable.
“Of course,” he finally replied, and he exchanged a nod with Miguel when he took the chair.
Jackson glanced at Emma, and she could almost hear the soft click as their gazes locked for one frozen instant. The twitch of his eyebrow and the upward tilt of one side of his mouth told her everything he might have said aloud if they were alone.
Two uniformed servers filed into the dining room, one with a large platter of sliced pork tenderloin balanced on her arm, the other bearing lovely china bowls. They announced the menu items as they approached Georgiann first, at the head of the table.
“New potatoes with rosemary and minced garlic, and steamed asparagus with your choice of butter or hollandaise.”
“Lovely. Thank you.”
Gavin leaned in close to his daughter and whispered, “Tomorrow night, it’s Morton’s for a rib eye.”
“Just what you need, Dad. A pound of red meat to clog up your arteries.”
“At what point when I wasn’t watching did you transform into your mother?”
Emma’s Mocha Latte Cookies (v.4—Final)
Melt 2 squares (2 ounces) of unsweetened chocolate in a small pan, and let cool.
Combine 2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon cinnamon and ¼ teaspoon salt.
In a large bowl, beat ½ cup shortening and ½ cup butter until soft.
Add ½ cup granulated sugar and ½ cup brown sugar, and mix well.
Add 1 tablespoon double-strength espresso to the butter mixture with 1 egg and the melted chocolate.
Fold in the flour mixture and mix well.
Cover the bowl and refrigerate for two hours.
Shape the dough into two equal rolls and seal in plastic wrap.
Chill overnight.
Cut the rolls into ½-inch slices.
Bake at 350 degrees on ungreased cookie sheets for 10-12 minutes.
Remove and cool.
Heat 1½ cup semisweet chocolate chips and 3 tablespoons shortening over low heat until melted.
Dip ½ of each cookie into the chocolate mixture and place on wax paper to cool and set.
12
The French doors from the dining room to the veranda were propped open, and Jackson had a clear line of sight of Emma where she sat outside and sipped from a cup of tea, gazing out over the grassy slope of Norma and Louis’s backyard.
He popped the last bite of her cookie concoction into his mouth and picked up his coffee cup. Stepping out onto the veranda, the soft clink of spoons against china cups harmonized with the hum of conversations behind him. He grinned at Emma as she looked up at him.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” she asked as he sat down on the iron bench beside her.
“It is.”
“It’s been so cold lately. But tonight is really mild.”
“And no bloodshed,” he pointed out. “I’m thinking you may have overstated the rot in your family tree branches, Emma Rae.”
She chuckled, then sipped again from her tea. “Are you disappointed?”
“Maybe just a little,” he replied. “In that mixed bag way that you’re disappointed when storm clouds blow over without bringing on the storm.”
“Can I join you?”
Their attention darted to the doorway as Miguel stepped out to the patio.
“Of course,” Emma replied. “Pull up a chair.”
“Actually …” He hesitated when his eyes met Jackson’s. “I was hoping to speak with Jackson.”
“Oh.” Emma started to get up, but Jackson touched her arm.
“No, you don’t have to leave.”
“I think I do,” she said warmly, and her smile caressed his face before she headed inside.
Miguel took her place on the iron bench, and he swung one leg casually over the other. “How are you, Jackson?”
“I’m all right, Miguel. How about yourself?”
Several beats of silence nudged Jackson to turn toward Miguel.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Jackson swallowed hard as he thought about denying it. But something in his throat wouldn’t let him. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Have I offended you in some way?”
“No,” he said, and turned and faced forward again.
“Talk to me, Jackson. We used to be pretty tight. At least, I t
hought we were. But after Desiree—”
“It was a hard time for me,” he interrupted.
“I know it was. But every time I reached out to help you through it, you rejected my help. And now I feel like it’s become a real wall between us.”
“No,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Not a wall.”
“You can be straight with me.” Jackson felt the weight of the words close in on him a little. “What’s changed?”
He cleared his throat, then he leaned back against the cold metal scrollwork.
“I guess—” He paused and cleared his throat again. “Well. Losing Desi was quite a blow for me, Miguel.”
“I know it had to be.”
“I never thought I’d find someone like her. And nobody else thought I would either.” He chuckled. “I was all about business and more business.”
“I remember,” Miguel added softly.
“But she was the first and only woman I’ve ever loved in my life. Losing her was like cutting out a chunk of me.”
Miguel gave Jackson’s shoulder a couple of firm pats, then Jackson turned toward him and looked him squarely in the eye. “Having someone tell me that God had a plan in that kind of thing, Miguel … well, that was something I just couldn’t hear.”
Miguel nodded thoughtfully. “And now?”
“I still can’t hear it, even now. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to hear it.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Miguel stated. “Do you want to know why?”
Jackson sighed. “Sure.”
“Because the God that I was talking about lives inside you. He always has. And even though things happen that we can never understand, that we can’t reason out or make sense of, He is still there. Your mind is battling against your spirit right now, but deep inside I believe you know the truth.”
Jackson inched forward slightly to the edge of the slatted wooden bench.
“There’s a saying in Latin,” Miguel continued. “Vocatus atque non vocatus dues aderit. It means, ’Bidden or not bidden, God is present.’ “
Jackson sighed. This was what he had been avoiding all along: a sermon from the gospel according to Miguel.
Always the Baker, Never the Bride Page 12
