Down by the River

by Lin Stepp

  Jack had left her to her weeding and started his drive down the mountain. He frowned, remembering her words. He’d been called worse names in his time, he knew. Usually, he laughed them off, but lately he hadn’t been able to laugh things off so easily. Maybe Caroline was right. Maybe he was getting old. Hitting his fiftieth birthday last year had caused him to take a second look at himself. His cousin Roger and all Jack’s friends had feted him with black balloons and an over-the-hill party. Jack had gone along with the joke in good humor, of course, but he’d hated it, too. Fifty, at one time, had sounded ancient to him. And now it was his age.

  He looked at his watch. He was really late for his appointment with that lady, Grace Conley, at the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast. His mother had set the meeting up yesterday without realizing how much time the closing with Lanier might take. He knew no way to reach the woman once she’d left her motel either. She didn’t provide a cell phone number. Jack tapped the steering wheel in annoyance.

  In a goodwill effort, he’d sent Ashleigh to let the woman in at the Oakley and to explain why he was running late. With his mother at the doctor’s, the only temp he’d found to cover the phones this morning was Ashleigh Anne Layton. Jack grinned at the memory of talking to her earlier. Cute little number who worked the bar at the Shady Grove on Burke Hollow, but hardly professional office material. Still, Ashleigh offered other attributes. Jack whistled at the thought.

  Checking his watch again, Jack shrugged. That Conley woman probably isn’t a serious prospect anyway, he decided. Ma said she was a widow with grown kids, over here from Nashville to see one of them at a recital at the college. Most likely one of those women who likes to look through houses when she’s bored.

  He glanced at his watch once more as he headed down the highway toward the River Road. Already an hour late. She’d probably left in a huff long ago. People seldom understood the real estate business and why it wasn’t always easy to be right on time for an appointment. It was hard to judge how long each appointment would take.

  Pulling into the driveway that wound down to the Oakley, Jack saw Ashleigh’s little Volkswagen, but no other car. He blew out a frustrated breath. Ah, well. Maybe if the woman was halfway serious she would call back. He’d like to turn over the Oakley place for Mavis Oakley. It had sat on the market for over three years now. A pricey property on the river, and a bed-and-breakfast at that, it would take a special kind of client to buy it. The place needed a new business owner. It would hardly suit a family.

  Jack saw Ashleigh Anne waiting for him on the porch as he pulled up to the house. She waved at him with two fingers and sent him a blatantly invitational look. That girl was a cute little trick and well knew it. She wore a short skirt today that barely covered the bottom of her hips.

  “I guess our client isn’t here now.” Jack sighed and started up the porch steps.

  “Not right now.” Ashleigh rose languidly to her feet and then strolled over to stand close to him with a suggestive smile. “It looks like it’s just you and me here right now, Jack Teague.”

  She looked up at him provocatively, knowing he could see right down the front of her tight little shirt. The girl proved hard to ignore, and that was a fact.

  “You haven’t dropped by the Shady Grove to see me lately, Jack.” She moved closer and ran a finger down the v of Jack’s shirt, fiddling with the top button. “I’ve missed you.” She nipped at his chin with her little teeth, stirring up his blood.

  Delighted at his obvious reaction to her, she pressed closer to him, hoisting one of her legs to wrap it around his. Jack sucked in his breath. Ashleigh was never a girl to beat around the bush. Perhaps he wasn’t so old, after all. He grinned. Ashleigh certainly didn’t seem to think so.

  Jack reached around to catch Ashleigh’s firm little fanny in his palm, and then heard an intake of breath. Looking through the screen door into the house, he saw a vision of a woman on the stairway.

  Mercy, but she was a knockout. And classy to boot. She wore some sort of floaty, silky blue dress that swirled around her knees, her legs long and shapely beneath. The dress, a shirtwaist in style and cinched around her waist with a matching belt, fitted snugly around her well-rounded breasts like a glove. Jack’s eyes roved upward to her face, a classic oval with full lips painted a shimmering coral, her silvery blue eyes almost a perfect match to her dress. Some sort of dangly earrings danced below her ears, and a long chain with a milky gemstone fell to a tantalizing spot between her breasts. A natural blond, the woman had bound her fair hair up in some sort of loose bun that left little tendrils of hair to drift around the sides of her face.

  Jack sighed; he liked women. He’d always liked and appreciated women. And this was one fine, beautiful woman standing poised on the Oakley’s staircase. Wonder if she was the widow he’d been scheduled to meet?

  She frowned at him, and Jack suddenly realized he still had Ashleigh Anne sliding up against him with his hand on her bottom. He sent the woman on the stairs a charming smile and eased his way away from Ashleigh, giving her a pat as he did so.

  “I thought you said the widow left,” he groused under his breath to Ashleigh. “Apparently, she’s still here.”

  Ashleigh made some silly reply and then whispered back saucily, “I never said she wasn’t here, Jack Teague. I just said she wasn’t here right now.”

  After dodging a few suggestive remarks, Jack finally got Ashleigh out of the way. Then he opened the screen door and let himself in. The vision still stood poised on the stairway. When his eyes slid over her again, Jack watched a blush steal over her neck and cheeks at his appraisal. She was obviously aware of him.

  Definitely elegant material, too, and when she started walking down the stairs, she did it regally, like a queen or a model coming down a runway. Jack hadn’t seen anyone like this woman around Townsend in a long time.

  He gave her one of his knock-’em-dead smiles. “You must be Grace Conley.” He held out a hand to take hers as she came to the bottom of the stairs.

  She ignored the gesture and fixed him with an irritated glance. “And you must be Jack Teague. You are an hour late.”

  Now that she stood closer, Jack could see her eyes were a silvery, greenish blue, and the gemstones in her ears, the pendant around her neck, and the stones in the rings on her fingers were milky opals with a complementary bluish caste. She smelled like expensive, sultry cologne. Jack let the scent flow up his nostrils. It had floral notes mixed with a rich, earthy base. He knew a lot of women’s scents as soon as he came near them, but not this one.

  “Have you had a chance to see the house?” he asked, making an effort to be professional now. “It’s a beautiful property.”

  She offered a feigned smile. “Yes, it is a beautiful place, and I already looked through all the rooms. It’s charming.”

  Jack felt a prickle of annoyance. Did she think his little encounter with Ashleigh a big deal? Surely she knew the kind of girl Ashleigh was and how men acted around girls like that.

  “Did Ashleigh Anne read you the specs about the house?”

  She nodded as she walked down the last of the stairs to the entry to join him.

  “So, what can I tell you about the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast?” he queried.

  Surprisingly, she asked him several intelligent questions about the profit base of the inn and about how many clients the Oakleys usually hosted each year. Jack needed to study the specs and the paperwork, retrieved from Ashleigh, to give her the answers she wanted.

  Jack propped a foot on the stairs. “I doubt Mavis would have sold the place if Carl hadn’t died. They did pretty well here. Carl was retired military when they bought the inn. The couple had a nice nest egg, and they didn’t need a big profit base to get by.”

  Provoked a little at Grace Conley’s continuing cool appraisal, Jack said, “You know, this is a rather expensive property, Mrs. Conley. I’m not sure if you are aware of that. If I recall from my mother’s conversation with you, you still own a home in Nashvill
e, and your family lives there. This is a business property, not a little vacation house, and Townsend, Tennessee, is a long way from the big city of Nashville.”

  Grace sent him a steely look and asked him the sales price.

  Jack gave it to her.

  She shrugged, casually adjusting one of her earrings. “I could easily afford that amount if I wanted to buy the place, Mr. Teague. Does that fact make you feel better about giving me a few minutes of your time?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

  Refusing to let her bait him, Jack offered her yet another smile. “It’s always a pleasure to give time to a beautiful woman.”

  Jack saw that little flush rise up her neck again, even though she frowned at his comment. She wasn’t immune to him—he could sense that—and a tantalizing little swirl of emotions played between them as well. More than Jack was used to feeling and whispering of more than simply lust. He knew the difference. Grace Conley was an intriguing woman with a lot of layers. It would be fun to peel some of them back if she’d quit being so prickly.

  “What caused you to be interested in the Oakley?” he asked, moving back to a more professional approach.

  “I saw it when out walking yesterday. My husband and I always enjoyed bed-and-breakfasts, and I was curious about this one.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows then. Only there out of curiosity like he’d thought?

  Seeming to read his mind, she lifted her chin. “I’ve been widowed for almost three years. It seemed like a good time to explore some new options. The house I own in Nashville is too large for me now, and I want something to do with my time.”

  He let his eyes drift over her again. “Have you ever run a bed-and-breakfast before?”

  She shook her head, and something about her expression alerted him to words she didn’t say.

  “Have you ever worked at all, Grace Conley?” A faint smile played on his lips.

  She gave him an annoyed glance. “I worked before I married, Mr. Teague. Then my time grew to be largely consumed with raising four children, helping with aspects of my husband’s business, and working in charities and civic groups. Charles and I were very active in the Nashville community, important roles given his position.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows again. “What did Charles do?”

  “The Conley family owns several fine carpet stores in the Nashville area, Mr. Teague. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

  He shook his head. “We deal with manufacturers nearer to home or drive to Dalton, Georgia, for our carpet, Mrs. Conley. I don’t get to Nashville much.”

  Jack began to realize he probably wouldn’t gain a sale for the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast from Grace Conley. She’d been what he and Roger called a “kept woman” most of her life—a beautiful woman a man of prestige and power married as a statement of who he was. Seldom did those men want the little woman to work outside the home.

  “What did you do before you married?” he asked casually.

  “I worked in retail for several years and as a model while in college.” She smiled as she mentioned the latter, and Jack liked the way an authentic smile lit her face. “But I married young, before I finished school. Later, around raising the children, I went back and finished my degree.”

  Jack’s suspicions gained full confirmation now. He was dealing with a woman looking at a pretty property on a whim. She knew as little about running a bed-and-breakfast—or any other kind of business—as he did about walking down a modeling runway.

  He smiled at her. No use in being rude. He’d waltz around in her pretty company for a while today, and tomorrow she’d head back to her fine big house in Nashville.

  “Would you like to go outside and look around a little since you already had an opportunity to see the interior of the house? I could tell you about a few features of the property and the history of the place before I need to leave for my next appointment.”

  Frankly, Jack loved the Oakley place and always enjoyed showing it. The inn had a proud history and stood out as a truly unique house in the community. Jack figured Grace would enjoy seeing the old, hexagonal gazebo on the side yard, and he led her in that direction.

  They walked under oaks, maples, and a multitude of mimosas not yet in summer bloom as they made their way around the house. The gazebo sat beside the badminton court to the left of the bed-and-breakfast, situated in the middle of a neatly manicured flower garden.

  “I thought this old gazebo might appeal to you.” Jack gestured toward it. “The original owners built it in the early 1900s. It fell into disrepair, but Carl Oakley restored it back to its original state while he lived here. Carl could fix anything, and Mavis had all the domestic arts in spades. Both of them loved people, and they enjoyed opening up their home and entertaining guests. We miss them around here.”

  Grace looked at the gazebo in pleasure. “I didn’t notice this when I walked around the house before.”

  “Well, it’s set back a little toward the side of the property. It’s easy to miss. The Oakley sits on a large acreage, and land here on the river goes high now. But the right owner will come along in time. All of us hope to see the old place brimming with life again soon.”

  Jack watched Grace walk up into the gazebo—enjoyed looking at her long legs flirting beneath her skirt again. She was tall and still shapely for a woman with grown children. Jack didn’t mind the fuller hips and rounded abdomen revealed under her clothes, and he liked her small but rounded bust more than the pendulous breasts so many older women had. He regarded her with interest, appreciating what he saw. He thought too many young girls today looked as thin as pencils, with too little softness to them. Jack liked his women with a little curve and cushion. Grace said she’d modeled in her younger years, and she still possessed the walk and stance of a model.

  Continuing to watch her, Jack decided “Grace” seemed a good name for her, too. She moved with grace. And she was obviously a graceful lady.

  As she started down the steps of the gazebo, she glanced up and caught his candid gaze on her. Their eyes locked, and a surge of feeling passed between them before she could shut it down. Rattled, she dropped her eyes, stepped down too rapidly from the gazebo, and then tripped. Jack tried to catch her in his arms to keep her from falling flat on her face, but her weight proved too much for him. They both went tumbling down onto the grass, Grace sprawling on top of Jack, her breath almost knocked out of her.

  Arms still around her, Jack blew out a breath and looked up at her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, still startled and trying to catch her breath.

  Enjoying the feel of her warm body pressed into his, Jack wondered then if she’d orchestrated this situation. She might have. Women did stuff like this all the time around him.

  Jack lifted Grace’s chin with one hand and looked into her eyes. Her pupils dilated, and her breath escalated as he did. Sweet, he thought. And he kissed her.

  She tasted delightful, like butterscotch candy. He only had a moment to savor her and to drop his hands to cup those full hips of hers, before she began sputtering and jerking herself away from him. She rolled herself to a sitting position on top of him as she did, which only aroused Jack more. He tried to pull her back down on him once again, but she scrambled her way off him and into the grass beside them, her skirt yanked up and her pretty thighs showing.

  “How dare you!” he heard her say now.

  Jack sat up beside her, only to feel her slap his face. Jack winced and put a hand to his chin. Then he got up and pulled Grace to her feet.

  “You let me go!” she fumed, jerking her hand away from his. “How dare you attack me like that?!”

  Her eyes flashed fury, while she brushed off her dress with frantic strokes. She was really upset.

  Jack frowned. “Listen, it was you who tripped and fell on me, Mrs. Grace Conley. After that I thought you gave me signals you wanted me to pursue the moment.”

  “Well, you were wrong!” She gave him an enraged look. “And how dare you suggest I
encouraged you.”

  Jack rubbed his chin again. “A lot of women trip to get a little attention from a man. How could I know that wasn’t what happened with you?”

  She marched over to the gazebo and pointed down at the step. “See that nail? That’s what I tripped over, that big nail sticking up. It made the step loose and wobbly. I lost my balance.”

  Jack went over to look at it. “Well, I can see the problem.” He looked at her and grinned. “Honest mistake.”

  “I doubt that.” Grace’s eyes snapped as she glared at him. “I can easily imagine you take advantage of women with little provocation all the time from what I saw earlier today.”

  Jack laughed and shook his head. “Grace Conley, if you knew me better, you’d know I’ve never needed to take advantage of a woman in my entire life.”

  “Very cute. You’re telling me women simply throw themselves at you all the time, is that it?” She put her hands on her hips as she spoke.

  Jack stopped to consider her comment, scratching his chin. “Yeah. I guess that’s about it. Women have always liked me.”

  She shook a finger at him like she might at a naughty child. “Well, let this day be an exception for you, Mr. Teague. I can tell you of a certainty that I do not like you at all right now. And I think I’ve had just about enough of you for one day, too.”

  She turned and started toward the driveway in a huff.

  Jack grinned at her back. “Have a good trip home to Nashville, Grace Conley. It was sure nice meeting you.”

  She strutted off around the corner without looking back. Jack laughed and then started toward the house to lock up, whistling as he walked along. It had been a long time since a woman slapped him. All in all—a rather exciting day.

  CHAPTER 3

  Grace stormed out of the backyard of the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast and down the River Road to her hotel. Fortunately, she could find her way to her room, situated on the side of the motel, without going through the lobby. She hated to think anyone would see her like this—a run in her hose, her dress grass-stained, and her hair falling down out of its bun. Good grief!