by Lin Stepp
Vivian leaned over, tucking the stairs back up into the step stool. Hmmmm. Scott found himself watching her more closely then, because he realized she wasn’t wearing very much in the way of clothes. Just some kind of long t-shirt with little knit shorts peeking out underneath it. He watched her walk back across the kitchen and let his eyes drift up over her body. Apparently, she wasn’t wearing a bra, or any kind of underwear that he could discern, and she was barefoot, too.
“What are you staring at?” she asked self-consciously, catching his gaze moving over her.
“Just trying to read what’s on your shirt.” He answered her casually, not wanting to let her know he’d been ogling her.
She looked down, as if trying to remind herself what she was wearing. Then she turned towards him so he could see the words across the front of her shirt.
“Chick with Brains,” he read. “And accompanied by a badly faded picture of a baby chicken wearing horn-rimmed glasses.”
She smiled and shrugged. “It’s an old shirt. I’ve had it forever. A friend gave it to me for Christmas one year.” She pulled the shirt down nervously, making it clear to Scott that his observation about the lack of underwear had been a correct one.
He caught her glance and grinned. “Let me guess. You just got up and you haven’t gotten dressed yet.”
“It’s only eight o’clock,” she countered, misreading his message completely. “And I was looking for the coffeemaker when you came in and scared me again. By the way, do you know where it is?”
“Yeah,” he answered, walking over closer to her and almost backing her up against the kitchen counter. “I do know where it is, and I brought breakfast makings, too, since I thought you might not have had time to get out to the store yet. But there’s one thing I need to check out first.” He moved still closer until he could look down into those deep blue eyes.
Zing. There it was again. That spark. Just like electricity. Lord, it felt great. Scott grinned a long lazy smile down into Vivian’s indigo eyes.
“You’re making me uncomfortable, Mr. Jamison.” Vivian’s breath came out fast after her words.
“Yes, I know, Dr. Delaney. In case you haven’t noticed, we have some kind of nice little chemistry thing going between us whenever we get too close.”
A cooling look came into Vivian’s face and Scott watched her put on her professor’s face and manner. “We have no thing between us, Mr. Jamison. Except perhaps a legacy of annoyance from the times you’ve come into my house here and tried to upset me.”
“The name is Scott,” he answered, as a slow smile crept over his lips. “And technically this is my house, not yours. Or at least my family’s house.” He looked down at her shirt again, his eyes lingering over the words on it and more precisely exactly where those words were situated. He noticed a physical change underneath the thin layer of material and began to feel a little physical change of his own.
“You know, Vivian,” he said on a husky note, enjoying the sound of her name and how well it seemed to suit her. “If you are indeed a ‘Chick with Brains,’ I’d advise you to go get some clothes on while I start some coffee and get our breakfast going. Otherwise, you may become breakfast if we linger around here much longer. We valley men have a bit of the wolf in us that you need to be careful about. Running around in pajamas in front of us is not a good idea.”
Her mouth set itself in a firm line and her eyes blazed back at him then. “If you’ll remember, Mr. Jamison, you are the one who came walking in here this morning without an invitation. I didn’t invite you in, and I certainly have not been parading around in front of you, as you put it. I live here now, if you’ll recall ….”
He stopped her words by leaning over to put his lips against hers. “You know, you’re just getting me more excited by being mad.” His mouth touched hers lightly. She froze for a minute, just long enough for him to get a taste of her, a minty taste of morning toothpaste with a touch of something strawberry on her lips. His head spun, and he knew she felt the jolt when it came again, because when it hit, she just fell into the kiss, her reason and anger slipping away for a minute.
Scott had a moment then to deepen the kiss and get sensually lost in the taste of her before she recovered and jerked back.
“You had no right to do that,” she challenged, but her voice was a little shaky from the moment.
“I know, but it was worth it.” He grinned at her, his heart still beating madly and his mind reeling. “You’d better go get dressed now, ‘Chick with Brains,’ before you tempt me to do it again.”
She stomped out of the room, mumbling some sort of verbiage about how rude he was and that she was going to have to get a lock put on the door, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. Instead, he watched her from the back, running his eyes down the long expanse of the back of her legs and up to the peep show of the bottom of her hips showing just beneath the pajama shorts.
“Whew.” He exhaled out loud when she left the room. “Hershel was right. She’s a stunner.”
It was going to be a lot more trouble, or perhaps a lot more fun, than he had expected having her here. She was sweet, really sweet, and there was something incredibly exciting going on between them. But she didn’t want to like him. In fact, judging from her reactions, she was obviously fighting her attraction to him. He laughed over that. That just made the challenge better. He loved a new adventure and a goal to win. And he definitely wanted to find out more about Miss Vivian Delaney. To be honest, Scott couldn’t remember feeling this way around a girl since he’d been a fresh-faced kid with his first crush.
A scratching on the back door interrupted his thoughts. He opened the kitchen door to a tail-wagging Fritzi and a streak of cat through the door as Dearie headed for the laundry room and her food bowl.
“Well, there you guys are.” Scott reached down to scratch Fritzi’s head behind her ears. “You two are a couple of traitors. It wasn’t very loyal of you to come over here and leave me alone last night.”
“They showed up just after you left,” Vivian told him, coming back into the room. “Probably followed you over when you came.”
She was dressed now, wearing old jeans and a faded navy t-shirt that set off the blue of her eyes. Her thick hair was still pinned up in that little bun in the back, tendrils wisping down her neck and little strands of her bangs flirting with her eyebrows. She hadn’t fussed with her hair one bit since she left or put on any makeup for him. Scott liked that. She wasn’t making any effort to please him or to attract his notice.
“You haven’t started the coffee,” she remarked tartly.
“No, I was greeting my traitorous friends here.” He walked over to dig out the coffeemaker from under the counter and started to spoon coffee into it. “I assume they wheedled you into letting them in last night.”
She nodded. “They’re both yours?”
“They are now, but they belonged to my Gramma Jamison before she died. They still think of this place as home. I hope that won’t be any trouble. They’ll both probably be underfoot with someone staying here now.”
“It won’t be any trouble. I like animals. They’re a comfort.”
He started to work on the eggs now, while Vivian made herself useful finding plates and putting toast in the toaster. Scott liked the fact that she wasn’t making a big deal out of the kiss. Most girls would have been simpering and making up to him now, assuming some big passionate love affair was getting started between them. Vivian was ignoring the whole situation and moving on. Like a professional. He grinned. She was a professional.
“Tell me about your grandmother,” Vivian said, perching on the step stool.
“Margaret Mary Jamison was her name.” He smiled at the memory. “But everyone called her Mamie. Born and raised not far from here in Townsend. Met my grandfather, Stuart Truman Jamison when she was sixteen at a Friday night square dance at an old barn here in the valley. They got married a year later and first moved into the starter house behind his parents’
place and then they built this house.”
“What’s a starter house?” Vivian asked, interrupting him.
“It’s a little house that Appalachian families used to build behind the big family home for newly married children to start housekeeping in. Sometimes the senior adults would move over to the starter house later in life, as well.”
“How interesting.”
“Here, take a plate over to the table,” he said to her. “And see if you can find some jelly in the refrigerator on your way.”
He took his own plate and the platter of toast she’d made into the dining room off the kitchen, and came back to pour two cups of coffee.
“Do you like strawberry?” Vivian held up a jelly jar in question. Remembering the strawberry taste of her lips suddenly, Scott almost spilled the last cup of coffee he’d poured.
“Yeah,” he answered, keeping his back to her while he rearranged his thoughts. No need to start up anything else right now. He was enjoying the comfortableness of getting to know her.
They settled down to eat, and Scott noticed that she ate with relish. No picking at her food and talking about how many calories were in everything.
“So what happened next with your grandmother?” Vivian asked him, pressing him to tell her more of the story he had started.
“My granddad practiced law and farmed. He became rather respected around here for his fairness, and he became a judge later on. My grandmother ran the home and helped with the farm work, did her needlework, and raised six children.”
“Four boys and two girls.” Vivian’s voice was almost dreamy. “The boys were – let me see if I can remember - Sterling, Franklin, Lionel and Warren - and the girls were Eugenia and Dorothy.”
He looked at her in surprise. “So where did you pick all that up?”
“From the samplers in the bedrooms upstairs - one over each child’s bed. Did your grandmother make those for each of her children?”
“Yes, she was always great with a needle.”
“I saw her work everywhere when Fritzi gave me the tour of the house. I was just sure it was hers. She must have been a wonderful person, Scott.”
Scott found himself almost misting up at that. He hadn’t thought this much about his grandmother in a long time.
“You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” Vivian said, watching his face.
“Everyone loved Mamie.” He made an effort to sound casual, not wanting to give away his deeper feelings.
“That’s not an answer,” she pressed. “You loved her yourself and you loved her strongly, too. It comes out in the way you talk about her.”
Her insight surprised him, but Scott could hardly deny her words. “Yes, we were really close, my Gramma and I. I came to live with her after Poppy Stuart died. My brothers were off in college then, and Gramma needed someone here with her. I’d stayed with her a lot in the summers anyway. I loved this place, and I liked to be around the camp. I’ve always loved the camp.”
Vivian watched him with a little half smile and listened raptly. Scott found it oddly calming and comforting just being in her presence. She had one of those low, melodious voices, too, kind of like a newscaster’s.
He studied her thoughtfully then. She stayed quiet while he did so but, after a moment, gave him a soft, slow smile. It flickered at some place deep inside him.
“How did you end up with the camp, Scott?”
“Well, the camp belonged to Bernie and Myrna Taylor for as long as I can remember.” Scott settled back to continue his story. “A church affiliation owned it before the Taylor’s bought it, but they worked with it even back then. Bernie and Myrna came to the camp as kids, then as counselors, and then as live-in directors. Bernie was great. I guess he was my hero growing up - a terrific guy. I still keep up with him and Myrna. They retired to Florida to live near their kids and grandkids.”
He stopped to get up and get some more coffee for both of them.
Vivian took her cup gratefully and poured milk into it. “Did you go to camp there, too, when you were little?”
“From the time I was old enough to get in the door,” he admitted with a grin. “My brothers and I went to Buckeye Knob Camp every summer, and often for several sessions of camp since mother worked with dad in the real estate business. It kept us busy and active a good part of the summer, and the rest of the time, we usually stayed here at Gramma’s and Poppy’s during the week. So, of course, we were often over at the camp then, too. When I got too old for camp, I worked as a counselor there. Even when I got quite a bit older and could have gotten better summer jobs like my brothers, I kept going back. I just loved the place.”
He looked thoughtfully out the window. “You can’t imagine how I felt when I learned that Bernie and Myrna were going to sell the camp. Land in this area has become more valuable over time, and I had a vision of the camp being demolished for streets of nearly identical Smokies rental cabins. I was torn apart to think about that.”
“What happened?” Her eyes widened and she looked so riveted by his tale that Scott wondered if her interest was sincere or feigned now.
“Listen, you don’t have to act polite and hear all of this old story.” He drew back, giving her an opportunity to opt out gracefully. “It’s probably boring to you.”
“No story with heart and passion is boring, Scott Jamison. Don’t you know that?”
He studied her again, sensing her sincerity, and felt an odd pull at his heart. She was such an intense little thing.
“What happened next?” she asked him once again. “Finish your story.”
“Well, my grandmother said: ‘Go talk to them, boy. Tell them you want the camp. Tell them you want to keep it going. They’ll listen.’”
He looked at Vivian and smiled. “I hadn’t even acknowledged to myself that I wanted the camp until Gramma said that. But then I knew. Just like that. I had to borrow money from everywhere and use my trust money. But I got the camp. That was four years ago. I worked with Bernie and Myrna that last summer they ran the camp to learn everything I could from them. Then I spent the next year renovating and, also, marketing and advertising the camp in every way I could.”
He sat back then with a smug look. “That’s my specialty area. I majored in marketing and advertising in college, and I had been working for LeConte Agency out of Gatlinburg doing just that type of work for companies all over the area since I’d graduated. I was good at it, too.” He grinned at her. “Now I got to turn those nice skills toward growing my own business.”
“And have you done that? Have you grown your own business?”
“Yes, I have,” he answered with a touch of pride. “I’ve taken the camp from being a small summer camp that was losing money to being a large camp with a strong profit flow now. About 1400 campers can come to camp here every summer now and make the kind of memories my brothers and I once did. Plus, during the year, I have weekend conferences and corporate retreats coming in to use the lodges that Kyle and I added to the camp.”
“Who’s Kyle?”
“My younger brother. I’m the middle child. Raley, my older brother, went into the family real estate business with Dad and Mom in Sevierville and then opened a second branch up in Gatlinburg. But Kyle always loved the building end. He’s a contractor now, specializes in log homes and vacation houses. He and his crew helped me renovate the first year I got the camp. We updated all the kids’ cabins, built some new lodge houses, and expanded some of the area buildings we use. You’ll have to come over to see it.”
“I’d like that.”
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me for coming over here with a gun last night and scaring you?” he teased.
She gave him a prim look. “I don’t recall that you offered an apology to that incident so I could consider whether I’d even want to forgive you or not.”
He winced at that.
“Why is it so hard for men to apologize?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Generations of species training in bei
ng the strong hunter and provider that does no wrong?”
She laughed. “Took your psychology classes in college, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned back.
“That still doesn’t let you off the hook from apologizing, Mr. Jamison,” she added smartly.
“I really am sorry if I scared you, Vivian Delaney.”
“Well, I’ll give thought to getting over it.” She paused to look at him. “A first impression’s a powerful thing, Scott. You’ve showed yourself to be a somewhat impulsive person so far, and I haven’t seen much since to dissuade me of that impression.” She got up and started gathering up the dishes to take to the kitchen.
“The world needs impulsive people,” he suggested. “Without the adventurous, the risk-takers, the people not afraid to follow their impulses, the world might have stayed a little stagnant. The Wright brothers might not have tried to fly that little plane at Kitty Hawk. Lewis and Clark might not have set out on that expedition to explore the west. Margaret Mead might not have ventured to other cultures to learn how differently people in other countries did things from the way we do.”
“You think well on your feet, Mr. Jamison.”
“And you like that?” He knew he was baiting her.
“I like articulate people who know how to express their ideas and thoughts. And you seem to do that very well.”
She looked out the kitchen window then, studying the sky. “It’s going to be a nice day today,” she said, changing the subject. “Would you have time to show me around the farm before you go back to work? I’d like to feel a little more comfortable about the property. Not have any more surprises.” She gave him a pointed look.
“I’d be glad to.” He grinned at her, ignoring the subtle jab. “And, later, if you like, I’ll show you around the camp, too. Possibly cook you dinner.”
“Maybe,” she replied evasively. “I still have some unpacking to do today. And then there are some calls I need to make.”
He smiled to himself. She wasn’t going to be easy, this one. For one thing, she had her own life going. She wasn’t looking for some man to make her happy or complete. She already was complete. He’d have his work cut out for him chipping through her professional veneer and getting close to her.
