Chas chuckled, then bit her lip to try to remain serious. She reminded herself that the conversation was no cause for humor.
“What’s funny?” he demanded.
“I’m hoping you meant psychic, as opposed to psychotic. Because if you really think I might be psychotic, then . . . we’ve got a problem. I mean . . . I’m not psychic or psychotic, but in the context of our relationship, I really don’t want you to think I’m psychotic.”
He chuckled too. “Not only are you like a psychic shrink, you have a way of . . . making things funny when they aren’t but they should be, and just . . . putting everything into perspective. How do you do it?”
“I’m just being the same person I’ve always been, Jackson Tobias Leeds. You’re just the only person who’s come along that doesn’t fall into the usual two categories of people in my life.”
“And what are those?”
“The people who have known me so long that they already know what I’m like, and the people who come and stay here who don’t share enough conversation to notice that I might be a little weird.”
“In a good way.”
“But not psychic, or psychotic.”
“No, neither. Just a little weird . . . in a good way.”
“So . . . maybe we should stop trying to analyze it and just appreciate having a friend . . . for a few days at least.”
“A few days? Didn’t I warn you that I would be staying longer than a few days?”
“You asked about a weekly rate.”
“I think it’s going to take longer than a week to be ready to go back to what I left behind.”
Chas smiled. “As long as you pay your bill and mind your manners, you can stay as long as you like.”
“Fair enough.”
“And look at it this way. I’m a good person to talk to because I don’t know you and I don’t know any of the people you know. Once you’ve had your time away, you can go back to your life, and all of your secrets will be safe with me.”
“Sounds reasonable,” he said, but it didn’t feel reasonable.
Neither of them moved or spoke, even though it seemed the conversation was over. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t just want to be her friend. He wanted to say that he felt more intrigued with her than he’d felt with any woman in more than twenty years. But he’d already babbled more about himself to her since he’d arrived here than he had confided to people he’d worked with for years. He decided to simply take her sound advice and stop trying to analyze the reasons for this bond they had developed so quickly, and just enjoy having a friend. He only wished that he knew how to get out of the room graciously, or to find an excuse to be in the same room with her.
For the second time that morning, he was saved by the bell—literally. “What is that?” he asked when he heard a tinkling sound.
“It’s Granny,” she said and turned to leave. Now what was he supposed to do? Go up to the Dombey room and read the stupid books he’d brought with him? She disappeared into the hall, then popped her head back around the corner. “You want to meet her?” she asked, and he wondered if she was psychic.
“Sure, why not?” he said, trying not to sound as enthused as he felt. When he’d first arrived, the idea of putting up with an eccentric old lady had made him want to steer clear. But now that he’d gotten to know Chas, he figured her grandmother could be very entertaining, especially to a man so lost and bored.
Jackson followed Chas down the hall just a short way and through an open doorway into a room decorated as beautifully as the rest of the house, but it looked more cluttered and lived in. The bed was not made, as if it had only recently been used, but the old woman was sitting in a comfy-looking recliner with a little table next to her. The table had everything she could possibly need within reach. Water, telephone, coffee cup, two remotes, ChapStick, hand cream, and salt and pepper shakers. It was evident to Jackson that Granny obviously spent most of her time in this room; that she rarely left it, if ever. She took her meals here as well. Sometimes his habit of paying attention to details was just annoying. But that habit allowed him to take notice of the careful attention that Chas paid her grandmother, tucking a lap quilt around her, and asking her quietly what she needed. And the tiny, elderly woman’s eyes lit up at the appearance of her granddaughter. What they shared could make him envious. He usually avoided thinking of the fact that he had absolutely no tender relationship in his life, no family connection whatsoever.
Jackson hovered discreetly in the doorway while the two women shared some quiet conversation that he couldn’t hear. Chas went into a bathroom that was private to the room and came back with a pill, which her grandmother took with water. Chas then looked up at Jackson while she said, “I brought someone to meet you, Granny. This is our only guest at the moment.” Granny looked eagerly toward him, and Chas added, “Meet Jackson Leeds. Jackson, my grandmother. She’ll insist on your calling her Granny, so don’t try calling her anything else.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Jackson said, stepping forward to take the old woman’s hand. Chas saw something different in this man as he warmly greeted Granny—a genuine smile. Even when she’d heard him chuckle, he hadn’t really smiled. Yet he was so genuinely warm with her grandmother. Granny loved to meet the guests, but most went in and out quickly and had no interest in visiting with an old woman. Jackson, however, was not just being polite; he seemed sincerely pleased to meet her even before he said, “It is such a pleasure, ma’am.”
“Oh, you are a nice young man,” she said, patting his hand. “Are you the one who almost got lost in the blizzard?”
“That’s me,” he declared proudly. “Thankfully your granddaughter is a pretty good navigator, and she takes very good care of her guests.”
“That’s what she tells me, but it’s nice to hear it from somebody else.” This comment came with a wink toward Chas. She winked back, then saw Jackson slip his hand out of Granny’s, but only long enough to slide a chair closer, which he sat on, then took her hand again. Granny was clearly pleased. “Tell me about yourself, young man.” Granny leaned forward a little to focus on him more closely. “Tell me everything. You look like the type who could be the hero in a good book.”
“Granny!” Chas scolded. Then to Jackson, “She spends way too much time reading novels.”
Jackson just chuckled. “I’m no hero, ma’am, I can assure you. I’m just an ordinary guy with a pretty pathetic life. I’m probably more boring than Chas.”
“That’s not possible,” Granny said, and Jackson couldn’t tell whether or not she was kidding. Apparently she was a lot like him. “Chas tells me you’re in the FBI. I’ve never met a real FBI agent before, but I’ve watched every episode of Without a Trace.”
“At least twice,” Chas said, sitting across the room.
Jackson chuckled. “I don’t think my job is nearly as exciting as what you see on TV.”
“But it is a dangerous job,” Granny told him as if she was more aware of that fact than he was.
“That’s what I told him,” Chas said.
While Jackson was trying to think of a way to take the emphasis off of his dangerous job, Granny patted his hand and said with genuine concern, “When you go back to work, you need to take good care of yourself, young man. We don’t want anything bad happening to you.”
“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” he said. Chas noted his repeated use of the word ma’am, as if he were speaking to a superior female officer. For a man with his background, it surely showed a great deal of respect.
Jackson glanced around the room, then back at Granny, saying, “You grew up in this house, I hear. Your grandparents built it. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Granny said, and Jackson spent nearly an hour hearing stories from this woman who had seen a lot of life. She’d lived through the Depression, two world wars, and the introduction of space travel, computers, and nuclear weapons. She was sharp and bright, and Jackson liked her. He wondered what it might have been
like to grow up with a grandmother, or rather, a decent and likable grandmother. At the very least, he was enjoying his conversation with this one.
Chas felt thoroughly entertained by watching Granny tell Jackson stories she’d heard a hundred times. It was more Jackson’s reaction and responses that intrigued her. He was definitely a unique individual. She heard Polly come in and excused herself to go to the office and greet her. Granny was clearly in good hands.
“Hey,” Polly said as they exchanged the usual quick hug. The secretary-slash-office manager-slash-assistant was slightly plump, shorter than average, and had a head full of thick, red curls cut short. She looked like Little Orphan Annie and had the energy of a pinball machine.
“You shoveled the walks and drive?” Polly asked. “I know the snow guy hasn’t been here yet because he’s still at the bank. But I thought I wasn’t even going to be able to park my car or get in the door.”
“One of our guests did it, actually,” Chas said, and Polly made an astonished noise while she hung up her coat, then threw her purse into a desk drawer. “Our only guest at the moment.”
“Is this the weekly-rate guy who called last week?”
“That’s him. He barely made it in through the storm, but he’s proven to be fairly tolerable company.”
“Company?” Polly asked, at the same time looking over papers on the desk. She was the best multitasker that Chas knew.
“Yeah.” Chas chuckled.
“So, having him here for a week won’t be too annoying?”
“No, I don’t think so. He’s entertaining Granny now.”
Polly looked up. “Wow! And he shovels walks, too. Is he cute?”
“Cute? Not really the type anyone would call cute. He’s at least a decade older than I am, and not my type. So don’t go there.” Polly was incessantly trying to line her up with any unattached male she could think of. It had become a regular joke between them.
“Sweetie, you don’t have a type. A woman who hasn’t gone on a date in twelve years does not have a type.”
“I have too gone a date; several, in fact.”
“Yeah, okay. Several first dates.”
“Why should I waste more time than that on a loser? Maybe I don’t know what my type is, but I know what my type is not.”
They went over some business, and Jen, one of the maids, came in while they were talking. They all chatted casually for a few minutes before Jen took the usual printed list of rooms that had been used Saturday night and needed cleaning. Jen glanced at it and said, “So, there’s a stay-over in the Dombey?”
“Yes, he’ll probably be here all week. He’s talking to Granny right now, so do his room first.”
“He’s talking to Granny?” Jen asked, astonished.
“Yeah, and he shoveled the walks,” Polly added.
“Wow!” Jen said the same way Polly had said it. “Is he cute?”
“Oh, get to work,” Chas said with a laugh.
A few minutes later Michelle, the other maid, came in to say hi before she went upstairs to help Jen get the rooms in order.
“I think I’d better go rescue Mr. Leeds,” Chas said and left Polly to her work. But when she left the room, she found Polly following her. “What?”
“I want to meet him.”
“Okay,” Chas drawled skeptically, and together they entered Granny’s room just in time to hear Jackson and Granny laughing loudly.
“Everything okay in here?” Chas asked, and they both turned toward her.
“We’re doing dandy,” Granny said.
“Okay, but don’t monopolize Jackson too long, or he’ll never come back.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Jackson said to Chas. “I can defend myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” Chas said, then Polly cleared her throat to remind Chas that she was there. “Oh, this is Polly.” Not wanting Polly’s presence to look conspicuous, Chas added, “Polly handles the business, so if there’s anything you need and I’m not around, she can help you.”
Jackson stood up and held out a hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Polly,” he said.
“And you,” she replied. Then to Chas, “I’ll just . . . get back to work now.” Jackson sat down again and turned his attention back to Granny. Polly whispered in Chas’s ear, “Not your type?” Chas shot her an astonished glare, and Polly added, “Sweetie, if Martin had lived to be that age,” she nodded toward Jackson, “he would be exactly that type.”
Polly left the room, and Chas could only stand there and look at Jackson Leeds in the context of Polly’s statement. Was it true? The idea didn’t instigate any thoughts of attraction or romance. But it did spur a sudden ache for Martin that created a physical pain in the center of her chest. She wanted him to be here, sitting in that chair, laughing with her grandmother. The fact that he wasn’t made her angry, and she had to leave the room, wiping a few stray tears as she went to make certain the kitchen was in order. Why, after all these years, did she still have to miss him so deeply?
CHAPTER 4
When Jackson could tell that Granny was getting sleepy, he asked her if she needed anything, and she assured him she was fine. She apologized for her sleepiness, and he assured her that it was not a problem; she’d earned the right to rest, and he promised to come back and talk to her later. He went up to his room and found the bed made and fresh towels in the bathroom. He wondered if Chas had done it, then remembered that she’d mentioned maids coming in to clean the rooms. He tried to read but felt restless. He heard noise outside and looked out the window to see an ATV with a snow blade clearing the little parking lot. The snow guy had finally arrived.
A while later, Jackson was glad to feel hungry because it gave him an excuse to go downstairs. He thought of trying to go somewhere to get something to eat, thinking it might be good to expand his horizons here in this town a little. But his car was covered with snow—along with the rest of the town—and he felt content to remain in the safety and coziness of the Dickensian Inn. He’d managed to get the rest of his luggage out of the car and up to his room, but that was all the ambition he’d been able to muster in that regard.
Recalling what Chas had said about sandwiches and snacks for guests, he went down and found them. He sat in the dining room to eat a sandwich while he looked at yesterday’s copy of USA Today. He wondered where Chas was and what she was doing, and he reminded himself that he hadn’t even known her for twenty-four hours. Perhaps that was why he almost felt frightened when she found him there, and his heart quickened to see her come in the room.
“We should call it USA Yesterday,” she said, motioning toward the paper. “We’re always a little behind in getting them delivered.”
“Old news is better anyway,” he said. “In a house like this, you wouldn’t want to be too up with the times.”
“True,” she said with a chuckle and went into the kitchen where he could hear her working. He glanced at his watch and realized it was later in the day than he’d realized. She was probably fixing supper. He felt a little giddy to recall that he’d arranged to eat supper here, but he wondered if that meant being able to eat across the table from the innkeeper.
Suddenly too distracted to read, he put the paper back where he’d found it and went into the kitchen. Chas glanced up in surprise when he entered. “Is it okay if I come in here?” he asked.
“Of course, but . . . it lacks the ambience of the rest of the house. This room was designed for practicality.”
He looked around and saw signs of Victorian architecture and coziness. “Still, it has ambience,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Chas stopped working and looked at him squarely. “You’re a guest here, remember? A paying guest. And my services don’t come cheap.”
“Very reasonable I’d say for such a nice place—and great service.”
“You’re still paying,” she said, “so stop asking if you can help.”
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn
’t leave.
“Are you really that bored?” she asked and continued with her work, dipping pieces of chicken in something before she put them into a sizzling pan.
“Yes.”
“You’re used to being pretty busy.”
“Too busy to think.”
“So having time to think is the problem?” she asked.
Recalling all he’d confessed to her earlier, he had no trouble saying, “That is exactly the problem.”
“Well, maybe it would be good for you to think. That is part of the point of this leave you’re on, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I can respect that,” she said. “I know there was something I was going to tell you, but now I can’t remember, and . . . oh, now I remember.” She stopped working and held up her hands that were covered with whatever was on the chicken. “Since your check-in wasn’t typical, I forgot to tell you that there’s Internet in the parlor you’re free to use, and the inn is open for tours between one and three in the afternoons, except for the rooms that are being used. You’re welcome to look around, but I’d keep your door locked—especially between one and three. Although, it’s past that now and there are no other guests here tonight. We have a couple coming in tomorrow, and they will be here for three days, and three more rooms are reserved for the weekend.”
“Okay,” he said.
“So, if you’re bored, maybe you should look around. Supper will be ready at six.”
“Do you eat with your grandmother?”
“Not usually. She likes to eat in front of the TV, and my eating schedule doesn’t normally coincide with when she gets hungry. I tend to eat in snatches while I’m doing other things.”
Jackson felt like a teenager asking a girl on a date when he said, “Does your eating schedule make it possible for you to eat with me?”
“Sure, why not?” she said, coating chicken again. Obviously his company didn’t have the value for her that hers had for him. But as long as he didn’t have to eat alone, he could live with that.
The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel Page 5
