Down by the River

by Lin Stepp

  As she’d spent time with the girls, gotten to know them—and Samantha Butler, married to Jack’s cousin Roger—she’d learned many good things about Jack. But she had heard a few snippets around the Townsend area, too, that let her know Jack was a man to be careful with, as well. He did have a reputation as a ladies’ man.

  “Jack can’t help it that he’s so charming,” Samantha told her one day. “Roger told me ever since they were kids, Jack has attracted too much attention from women.” She laughed then. “Roger always calls it unfair how nature gave Jack this irresistible combination of chemicals that draws women to him like bees to honey.”

  Grace wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose some men possess a sort of sexual charisma—even men who are not always handsome in a traditional sense.”

  “Yes, and Jack has the charisma plus the looks. God help him. Sometimes I think it’s more a curse than a blessing.” Samantha stopped to pick a stitch out of the hem she was mending on one of Daisy’s skirts. “You know, Althea said Jack’s father, Verlin, had the same charisma with women. And like Jack, he was a fine-looking man. Bebe—that’s my husband Roger’s mother and Verlin’s sister—said Verlin was a lot like Jack when he was younger. But after he fell in love with Althea, Bebe said Verlin Teague never looked at another woman. He was a reformed rake from then on.”

  Grace thought back on that conversation as she fixed coffee for Jack in the kitchen. When she returned to the porch, the dogs slipped out with her. Grace noticed they didn’t bark at Jack. A point in his favor. They were usually very protective of her with strangers.

  When Jack and Grace settled down to drink their coffee, Jack began to flirt with her. What else could you call it? He noticed her jewelry, her dimples, and asked about her perfume. It wasn’t the normal sort of conversation to share with a man you hardly knew. Vincent Westbrooke came by every morning for coffee, and he’d never asked what kind of perfume she wore.

  Grace couldn’t help thinking of Charlie as she told Jack the name of her perfume. It was Charles who’d picked the fragrance, Pleasures, for her many years ago, saying it perfectly suited her. He’d also kissed her behind the ear and whispered to her that she would always be his greatest pleasure. Grace sighed. There were still unexpected moments like this, when memories of Charlie washed over her and made her sad.

  When Jack asked her about him, Grace answered candidly, admitting she often thought of Charlie at odd moments. She assumed he might think of the girls’ mother fondly, too. She was wrong. His bitter words echoed in her mind: I have no wistful moments about the girls’ mother, Miz Conley. She walked out on me when the girls were infants. Left me a Dear John note to find in the morning. She discovered the reality of motherhood and being a wife unappealing

  His voice took on a different tone as he bit out the words, and Grace saw pain etched across his face when he paused and looked out toward the yard.

  She hadn’t known until that moment that his wife had left him. From what the girls said, she’d assumed their mother had died. Perhaps he’d told them that. She needed to ask Samantha later.

  Moved by Jack’s obvious hurt, Grace reached out instinctively to wrap a hand over his where it literally clenched the arm of his chair. She realized then she might have gained an understanding as to why Jack seemed to hold so little regard for women.

  A memory played back in her mind of how indifferent Jack had seemed to Ashleigh’s attentions. She traced a finger idly over Jack’s hand as she considered it. Being hurt made some men angry at women, distorted their trust toward them. When she probed the idea, Jack pulled back, letting Grace know she might have hit a nerve.

  He artfully changed the subject then, dismissing the idea of any personal problems by reminding her, with a roguish grin, that he was actually quite fond of women, as she should know from experience.

  The little devil, she thought—even as she felt a heated flush run up her neck. She had wondered how long it would be before he made mention of their first meeting.

  However, despite Jack’s denial, Grace still wondered if an anger toward women didn’t simmer deep inside Jack due to the way Jack’s wife had left him. Charlie had known a man like that once. Grace remembered him; he used women indiscriminately in revenge for being hurt.

  They sat silently for a few minutes. Grace could smell the scent of flowers on the air mixed with the good aroma of their coffee and muffins. Despite their past, she felt a few moments of odd contentment sitting here with Jack Teague on her front porch.

  Lost in reverie, she almost missed his next comments about the girls and some local Peeping Tom who watched people and left messages and warnings about. A prickle of unease touched her as he described the warnings, and Grace took Jack into the house to show him the card message she’d received, watched the concern on his face.

  Jack Teague wasn’t, perhaps, as much a bad boy through and through as she had originally thought. Grace had always been insightful about people. Charles had often said so. He’d frequently asked for her take on people.

  Jack was fussing now about her need to call the sheriff, hardly the behavior of a totally selfish and self-absorbed man. He checked his watch, too, worrying that he couldn’t stay until the sheriff arrived.

  A small memory surfaced, and without thinking she said, “It’s good to be on time for your appointments, Jack Teague.” Grace sent him a small smile. “All sorts of trouble can happen when you’re not.”

  She’d surprised him by teasing him. She could tell by his expression. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done that. He turned to study her thoughtfully, and his assessing look began to make Grace uncomfortable. What was he thinking, she wondered?

  Jack leaned an arm casually against the wall and reached into the candy dish on the entry table to take out a butterscotch candy. He took his time unwrapping it and slowly put it in his mouth, watching Grace closely the whole time. Studying Grace’s mouth, with a touch of a smile, as he savored the candy.

  Wretched man. He was reminding her of that day when she’d been eating a butterscotch candy before he kissed her. She licked her lips nervously in remembrance, and his dark eyes caught and held hers. Grace felt a sensuous shiver slide up her spine.

  “Some things are worth the trouble, Grace Conley,” he said in a slow voice.

  Mercy, she should have resisted the temptation to tease Jack Teague. It was like playing with fire trying to go up against him in the area of flirtation. Whatever had she been thinking? And she a widow, a mother, and—hopefully—a respectable innkeeper.

  He turned to leave then, knowing full well he had the upper hand and that he’d flustered and embarrassed her. And then he was gone. Grace could hear him whistling as he walked down the sidewalk. She felt like throwing something after him. He’d certainly had the last word today.

  She turned back into the house with a sigh. Well, maybe she wouldn’t see much more of Jack after this. He’d avoided her for weeks before coming to have his little talk with her about the girls. Perhaps he’d find himself another young girl to chase now. From what she’d heard, Jack preferred younger women to women nearer his own age as Grace was.

  Grace started down the hallway and then stopped at the long mirror on the wall to look at her flushed face. “If you’re not careful, Grace Conley, you’ll make an old fool of yourself over that playboy. Just because he gives you a zing doesn’t mean you have to lose your good sense.”

  She studied her figure appraisingly in the glass. “You look pretty good for forty-nine, Grace. But you are forty-nine. You remember that. Jack Teague is used to having those sweet young things to kiss and hold. A young, tight body like that is long in the past for you. So I wouldn’t get any foolish ideas and start acting like a silly widow who doesn’t know her limitations.”

  Grace had been a beauty in her youth, sought after in her own time, much like Jack still was. But it was different for women. With time they just became women-of-a-certain-age, even if still attractive. Grace had come to terms with that man
y years ago—but suddenly she wished foolishly that Jack could have seen her when she was eighteen or twenty. When she could have met his handsome looks with some of her own.

  She wandered into her bedroom and saw Charles’s picture on her dresser and felt even worse. Charles had always thought that she was beautiful. And he had always been proud of her—and of any of her small accomplishments.

  “I miss you, Charlie.” She went over to put a hand on his picture. “Obviously, I could use your stable good sense right now, too. I’m doing fine with the inn. I’m really proud of all I’ve been able to accomplish, of how easily I seem to fit into this work role. It’s perfect for me. And I’ve found I’m really happy again. I haven’t been happy for a long time, Charlie, and the change feels good.”

  The bedroom furniture in the master bedroom was the set she and Charles had shared in the Nashville house in Belle Meade. Grace had bought a new sky-blue bedspread to coordinate with the color scheme here, had reupholstered two side chairs, and had changed small things—but the furniture was the same. She thought wistfully of Charles as she sat down on the bed.

  “This is the first man who’s made me experience any strong emotions since you passed away, Charlie. I feel silly having these emotions at my age. And I feel guilty toward your memory when I do, too. It doesn’t seem right.”

  She kicked off her sandals and lay back on the bed. “I know we always said that, if anything happened to one of us, we’d want the other to move on. To love again, if possible. To continue to have joy.”

  Grace picked up a cushion on the bed to hug it against her. “I just wish my body and heart had more sense than to wake up emotionally to a man like Jack Teague.”

  She reached over to put a hand on her Bible on the bedside table and offered up a small prayer. “Lord, you know I’ve always tried to be a good and righteous woman. You really need to help me here when I’m being tempted by someone like Jack. He may be single, a father, and a respected man in his profession. But he has a dangerous reputation. I don’t want to lose what I’ve been building here by being foolish. So I ask You to help me. Give me a strong dose of wisdom, good sense, and prudence in being around Jack. I admit I am attracted to him. But I know it’s not a wise attraction.”

  Grace found her thoughts moving oddly to her mother then. And to her sister Myra. Wishing she had one of them to talk to. She’d gone over to see the family when she got back. Shared her decision to buy the bed-and-breakfast. Told them she hoped to see them all more now. But there had been a bit of reserve.

  I’ve been gone a long time, Grace realized. And they have all been here together, moving on and growing closer through the years. I’m the only one who left. And, admittedly, I haven’t come back as often as I should have.

  Her parents still lived in the same Cape Cod, stone house in rural South Knoxville. Grace felt a rush of sweet childhood memories every time she visited there. Her father and mother, Mel and Dottie Richey, still worked every day in their business, Richey’s Formal Wear, out on Chapman Highway. Grace had grown up in and out of the shop. She, her older sister Myra, and her younger brother Leonard, had played hide-and-seek in and out of and underneath the wedding gowns, bridesmaids’ dresses, and tuxedos in the shop. Grace had learned to sew there with Mrs. Petree, who did all the alterations. Grace supposed she’d developed her love of fashion in the store.

  But she’d gone away to college in Nashville at Vanderbilt on scholarship, while Myra had stayed home to commute to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville and marry her high school sweetheart, Philip Kline. Actually, Myra had married Philip before Grace even left home, being four years older than Grace. And Leonard had just turned twelve when Grace went away to college. Now, Leonard was married, too, and he and Myra both worked in the business. Only Grace had left.

  “I want to get close to my family again, Lord. Over the years, Charles and I were so busy with our own lives in Nashville. I know I didn’t get home often enough. And Charles’s mother Jane never had any real use for my family. That made it hard whenever they came to Nashville to visit. She always came over and acted rude to them.”

  Grace paused and sighed. “Plus there was so much difference in the way we lived.” Grace had married into a wealthy, prominent Nashville family. Her own family, although wonderful, good people, lived more simply, and they all worked hard. After Grace had married, she’d stopped working and stayed home, and that had made her even more different from her mother and Myra. She knew they hadn’t always respected her lifestyle and how she lived. It rankled sometimes.

  Grace had friends in Nashville who were close to their sisters, and she had always envied that, wishing she and Myra were closer. However, Grace had known, even by late middle school, that Myra didn’t like her much. She’d never understood why. She thought that would change when they became adults, when the age difference between them wasn’t so significant. But it had never happened.

  She looked over toward Charlie’s picture again. “There’s still that reserve between Myra and me, Charlie. When I was over at the house with everyone, I still sensed it. You always said I was discerning, but I’ve never been able to discern why Myra doesn’t like me. I’d like to figure that out.”

  Grace sat up with resolve then and tossed the pillow back onto the bed. “Enough negative thinking and moodiness. I have a wonderful new business, new friends, and new interests. And I am going to find a way to form a bond with my family again. I also am going to get sensible about Jack Teague and stop acting like a teenager over him every time he comes around. And I am going to breach this big rift with my own children in Nashville about this move I’ve made, in due time. Show them that I’m successful and happy and that I did the right thing.”

  With that, Grace set off to the kitchen to start planning dinner. She had guests coming in tonight. And she had work to do.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jack made sure that word got around Townsend that he’d been by to see Grace Conley. He started walking back and forth to work again many days, purposely walking across the swinging bridge and cutting across the backyard of the Mimosa Inn. Taking the well-worn path that led through Grace’s property to Creekside Lane. He went back to church on Sunday and sat with his girls and his mother in their regular pew. As Roger had suggested, it was important to put to rest any negative rumors that he had personal problems he couldn’t resolve with the widow Conley.

  However, the fact that Jack thought about Grace Conley more than he should was his own business. And his own dilemma to wrestle with. Grace had turned out to be a bigger problem than Jack had expected. She stayed on his mind and in his thoughts. He watched for sights of her walking out in the yard of the Mimosa or down along the River Road. She took long walks most every day. Jack had started noticing things like that, fought himself not to go and walk along with her. She took strolls down the River Road, took the loop trail over the two swinging bridges that spanned the Little River, and ambled across the highway and up to Tiger Drive to get library books and to attend the Townsend book group that met there. She biked, too. Often with his girls—down the River Road or out to the highway to get ice cream. He was envious when his girls talked about it. Jack liked to hear their impressions of Grace, but he often thought too much about their stories later on.

  “Guess what we’re doing today?” Morgan told him at the breakfast table one morning.

  “What?” Jack smiled at her while he salted his eggs.

  “Ms. Grace is taking us into town to get Scout uniforms. We ordered them, and they’ve come in at J.C. Penney’s.” She poured a glass of orange juice from a pitcher on the table. “Aunt Bebe said it was all right for us to go with Ms. Grace today, but that we needed to ask you for some money. We’re getting our Scout books, too.”

  Bebe, or Beatrice Butler—Jack’s aunt and Roger’s mother—came into the room carrying a plate of hot pancakes then. “Grace Conley offered to take the girls with her when she went into town today. I thought it would be all right.”
r />   Jack nodded.

  Meredith smiled at Jack. “We’re going to have our very first Junior Scout meeting next week, Daddy, and we’re going to start working on our first badges soon.”

  Morgan forked two hot pancakes onto her plate. “Ms. Grace says we all have to do our bridging activities first. That’s how you move from Brownies to Scouts. Then we’ll have an official ceremony and be real Scouts and everything.”

  “That sounds good.” Jack helped himself to several pancakes and slathered them with syrup. “Did Ms. Grace tell you how much money you’ll need?”

  Aunt Bebe answered that. “I have the order information and the total. We ordered everything a week or so ago from a catalog Grace had. It isn’t much, Jack. The girls are going to wear their own white shirts and khaki shorts—or slacks when it’s cooler—with their Girl Scout vests. And the badge and Scout books were very inexpensive.”

  Jack nodded, working on his breakfast while it was still hot. It was a pleasure to enjoy Bebe’s cooking in the mornings. During the school year, Jack fixed breakfast for himself and the girls and then dropped them off at the nearby elementary school on his way to the realty office. After school they rode the bus to stay at Aunt Bebe’s house until he could pick them up. But in the summers when school was out, Bebe came over early in the morning to stay with the girls most days. Other days Jack dropped them at her house.

  “Great breakfast, Aunt Bebe,” Jack said. He truly meant it. “It reminds me of the big breakfasts you used to fix for Roger and me when we were kids out of school for our summer vacations.”

  Bebe grinned. “Those were good days. You two boys sure could eat.”

  The girls chattered on to Bebe, talking about the Scout troop and the things they already were planning to do. Jack tuned out, thinking back to his own younger years.

  When he was five, Bebe had come back home to Townsend—widowed by a war tragedy. She’d moved back into the old Teague farmhouse with Jack’s grandfather, Duncan Teague. Bebe’s older brother, Verlin, had been married and working with his father in the family realty business by then. Grandfather Duncan was a recent widower, and he had been glad to have his girl come back home to cook and clean house for him. Plus he loved her four-year-old boy Roger, just as Duncan was crazy about Jack.