He hurried toward his mother’s bedroom, his legs covering the length of the hallway in record time.
His mother was in bed, Melina perched beside her. His sister looked at him with a stricken expression.
His heart dropped to his stomach and he vaulted to his mother’s side.
“What is it?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“She can’t get out of bed,” Melina told him.
Jarrett glanced at his mother. She was pale, her mouth drawn tight, her eyes closed. She looked as though she’d aged ten years in a single week.
“Did you call the doctor? An ambulance?” His voice rose an octave as he fished his phone out of his pocket.
Melina shook her head. “She doesn’t want me to.”
“I don’t care what she wants,” Jarrett barked. He swiped at his screen. “She needs help, dammit.”
“No.” A single word response. A weak voice. Gentle but firm.
Jarrett’s gaze dropped to his mother. Her eyes were open now. Narrowed. Glaring at him.
“I do not need a doctor,” she rasped.
He stared at her. “You’re sick. You need help.”
“They can’t help me,” she said weakly. “It’s just a flare-up. I’ll be fine.”
“A flare-up?” He shook his head in disgust. “Can you even get out of bed? Move at all?”
“No,” his mother retorted in a surprisingly firm voice.
“And there’s our answer,” Jarrett said as he swiped his phone screen back open.
She reached out a hand and it landed on Jarrett’s forearm. She squeezed, and he winced at how little strength she was able to put into it.
“Jarrett Lee Pryor, you put that phone down right now,” she commanded.
He glanced at his sister, who raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow in response. If he wasn’t so worried, he might have actually laughed. Melina was the one who, over the years, had gotten chewed out by their parents. Never Jarrett. And here he was, being reprimanded by an ailing woman stuck in bed.
He swallowed. Not just some ailing woman.
His mother.
She cleared her throat, which turned into a cough.
He looked at her in alarm. Dammit, she didn’t sound good. She didn’t look good. Hell, she wasn’t good; anyone could see that. So why didn’t she want him to call for help?
“Twenty minutes,” she murmured. “Give me twenty minutes. I’ll be fine.”
The two siblings exchanged looks. Melina shrugged, and Jarrett rolled his eyes. Of course she wouldn’t offer any suggestions; she’d always left that up to her older brother. He could never understand how she could be a social worker, where her job was literally to help and assist people, and yet she basically became immobilized when it came to her own parents.
He felt a pang of guilt. He knew why she acted the way she did. Because the pain hit too close to home.
He quickly assessed his mother’s condition. She looked terrible, but she didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing. He touched her forehead with his palm. She wasn’t feverish and she wasn’t cool to the touch, either.
He sighed. “Fine. Twenty minutes. I’m starting the timer now. And if you’re not feeling better by then, I’m calling.”
His mother glared at him again but finally acquiesced with a small nod.
And so they waited.
Barbara Pryor was right.
Within twenty minutes, the episode had mostly passed. She was able to get out of bed—with some effort, Jarrett noted grudgingly, still pissed that she hadn’t let him call for help—and Melina had fixed her a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast.
Despite being mid-afternoon, it was the first thing his mother had eaten all day.
And it turned out to be the only thing.
Jarrett stayed with her the rest of the day, and although she eventually moved to the living room and was able to drink more tea and some lemonade later, she’d insisted she wasn’t hungry.
Jarrett wasn’t about to shove food down her throat—although the thought did occur to him—so he just kept her hydrated and kept her company, until she’d finally returned to bed a little after nine o’clock. Melina had texted a couple of times to check in on her, and Jarrett knew she’d felt bad about having to leave. Something had come up with work—she hadn’t gone into details—and she’d had no choice but to go.
He’d gone home and his thoughts had remained solidly locked on his mother’s condition…and how helpless it made him feel.
It was like reliving what he’d gone through with his father.
Except no one could tell him why his mother was sick…or how to make her better.
“You’re a million miles away.”
Jarrett blinked, and suddenly he was back in the car, Jessica beside him, cruising toward Duluth on a brilliantly sunny summer’s day. He surveyed his surroundings, both impressed and horrified that they were now on the interstate. He’d clearly been driving on autopilot.
And he’d spent the better part of an hour ignoring his passenger.
He turned to Jess. “Sorry,” he said with a rueful smile. There was no use denying what she’d said. He really had been miles away.
“No need to apologize,” she told him. He didn’t know if she could sense that he’d been thinking about something he didn’t want to talk about or if she was ready to shift gears, because she settled into her seat, her body half-turned toward him, and said, “So, what’s our plan today with Donovan Smith?”
It was a great question, and one he hadn’t been able to give a ton of thought to. But he knew what instinct told him to do.
“I think we start with saying hi.” He grinned at her confused expression.
“And beyond that?”
“You know, just be friendly, chat golf, and then bring up our mutual acquaintance.” He felt the frown form on his face as he thought of Katie. “Ask some questions and see what we can get.”
She nodded. “And what if we don’t get anything?”
“Oh, we’ll get something,” Jarrett said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, because we don’t have much of anything right now,” he pointed out. “So if we go chat with him for a bit, we’re bound to end up with something, however small it might be.”
They were in Duluth an hour later, cresting the mountain that then dropped them into the city. He was always surprised when he came up on it. It wasn’t a mountain by Colorado standards, of course, but it was a mountain. In Minnesota.
They’d passed the two Cloquet exits moments earlier, and Jarrett watched the wistful expression that crossed Jessica’s face. It was obvious that her hometown held a special place in her heart.
But they both forgot about that as they descended into Duluth. The lift bridge and the sparkling blue water of Lake Superior came into view, and Jess sucked in a breath.
“This view will never get old,” she murmured, her nose practically pressed to the glass as she stared out the window.
It was a pretty spectacular view, Jarrett had to admit. The lake was so large, it looked like an ocean, and with the downtown area on the west side of the freeway and the lake on the east, it was almost like looking at two towns: one a business epicenter and one more of a resort, with shops and restaurants and hotels lining Lake Street and Canal Park.
Summertime was always busy in Duluth, and a weekend day only amplified that. As they drove past the exit for the tourist attractions down by the water, he couldn’t help but notice the crush of cars on the cramped streets and the sidewalks crowded with people. The lift bridge was going up, a massive bulk carrier approaching the canal from the lake, and he could tell that traffic down in Canal Park would be snarled for a while. He was glad he wasn’t stuck in it.
They drove up the interstate until it ended, past the exit for the university, where the road turned into a divided highway, and then diving off on the scenic route that would ultimately lead them to the golf course.
That was it, he reminded himself. The only reason she was there. And yes, they got along and enjoyed each other’s company, and there had been some heated, charged moments between them, but that didn’t mean squat.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, mostly to the beat of the music coming from the radio but also to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t be tempted otherwise.
Within minutes, they were at the entrance to Split Rock Country Club, a gem of a golf club sitting on the rocky cliffs overlooking the lake. The parking lot was full—mostly with expensive European cars, Jarrett noticed—but they managed to find a spot toward the back of the lot. Jess pulled down the visor in front of her and checked herself over in the mirror before stepping out of the car.
She straightened the dress she was wearing. “You’re sure this is okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” he told her.
She smiled, and he noted with satisfaction that her cheeks once again turned a subtle shade of pink.
Together they strolled toward the clubhouse, a stately brick building with arched windows and wooden Gothic-style doors. The tournament had already started, with golf carts puttering across the greens and players out on the fairway.
The clubhouse doors led immediately into a large and airy sitting room, with sweeping views of the lake glistening behind it. To the left was the pro shop, where players would check in, and to the right was the clubhouse’s restaurant and bar.
Jessica glanced around nervously. “So what do we do now?” she half-whispered.
He reached for her elbow and guided her to the clubhouse’s dining room, where a hostess was ready to greet them. “We wait,” he told her as they approached the hostess stand.
“Welcome to Split Rock Country Club.” The woman behind the stand looked like she was still in college, her face youthful, her smile bright. “Are you here to play in the event today?”
“No,” Jarrett said smoothly. “We were actually hoping to grab a bite to eat. I’m interested in securing a membership at a club in the area and thought it would be a good idea to visit a few, sort of get the lay of the land, so to speak.”
The blonde woman immediately perked up. “Of course,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Dennis Quinn is our membership director, and I’m sure he’d be happy to—”
Jarrett cut her off. “I appreciate that, but right now, we’d just like to eat and relax a little. It’s been a bit of a long drive for us. Right, dear?”
Jessica looked startled at the endearment, but she forced a smile and nodded.
“Perhaps I could get his card, though, and make arrangements to come back for a tour at another time?”
The blonde nodded. “Absolutely, sir.” She grabbed two menus. “I can show you to a table.”
She led them to a two-top table right next to the windows, and Jarrett pulled Jess’s chair out for her. Her face registered surprise but she recovered quickly, giving him a smile before sitting down.
She leaned across the table as soon as the hostess left. “I feel way out of my league here,” she said. “Everything is so—” She looked around. “—fancy.”
Jarrett’s eyes swept the room. Jess was right; it was fancy. Polished wood tables, plush dining seats, cloth napkins exquisitely folded, accordion-style. The bar was gleaming mahogany, with rows of what he knew were the finest liquors lining the shelves behind it. The walls, covered in burgundy wallpaper, were adorned with stunning paintings of Lake Superior and the natural wonders the area boasted: waterfalls, the view from Palisade Head, the historical Split Rock Lighthouse, which was what the country club had named itself after.
He smirked. There was no way in hell he could afford a membership there.
But the hostess wouldn’t know that.
And he’d make sure Dennis Quinn wouldn’t know that, either, if the membership director made the decision to stop by their table.
Jess opened her menu and her eyes widened as she scanned the menu. “Everything is so expensive!”
But Jarrett was prepared for this. “Don’t worry about it.” She swallowed, and he added, “Lunch is on me.”
She started to protest but he was quick to tell her, “I can expense it. Don’t worry.” He actually had very little confidence that Terry would let him expense out an overpriced lunch at an elite country club, but he didn’t want her to worry about it.
They ordered their food, a Rueben sandwich for him and a Cobb salad for Jess. The waitress brought them an appetizer on the house, and Jarrett was sure Dennis Quinn had his fingerprints all over that move…and that he would be visiting their table before their lunch was over, regardless of what Jarrett had told the hostess.
Sure enough, a dark-haired man dressed in a sports coat and tie stopped by their table just after their food had been delivered.
“I trust you enjoyed your appetizer,” the man said.
Jarrett saw the nametag pinned to his coat. “Yes, thank you. Not necessary, but we appreciated the gesture. The shrimp was delicious.”
Dennis offered a pleasant smile. “We pride ourselves on offering one of the finest dining experiences here on the North Shore.” He nodded at Jess before turning his attention back to Jarrett. “I understand you’re interested in perhaps joining a club?”
Jarrett nodded. “Not any time soon, however. We’re in the very beginning stages of this.”
“I understand.” Dennis smiled again. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you the opportunity to play a few holes today. We have a charity tournament going on, and I’m afraid it’s just not possible. However, I could slot you in for a tee time during the week and give you a full tour of the facilities.”
“Ah, yes, the charity tournament,” Jarrett said. If Dennis Quinn was willing to talk, he was more than happy to be pleasant and ask questions. “I believe a gentleman I know is playing in it.”
“Oh?”
“Donovan Smith.”
Dennis practically beamed. “You’re friends with Mr. Smith? Excellent.”
Jarrett could almost see the dollar signs Dennis was imagining. Because if he assumed Jarrett and Donovan ran in the same circles, he probably thought Jarrett was loaded.
Which was just fine with Jarrett.
“Haven’t seen him in quite a while,” Jarrett said to Dennis. “Wouldn’t it be a hoot if our paths crossed here of all places?”
Dennis checked his watch, a silver piece that looked like an original Rolex, or at least a very good knockoff. “You just may be in luck,” he said. “They should be finishing up the ninth hole in a matter of minutes. I imagine Mr. Smith will pop in for a drink or a quick bite to eat.” He motioned to a long table filled with canapés and appetizers. “Perhaps you can say hello to him then.”
Jarrett felt a surge of satisfaction. “Perhaps,” he murmured.
Damn straight he was going to talk to Donovan Smith.
Dennis wished them a good afternoon, but not before leaving behind his business card and a thick folder filled with information about the club.
“This is good, right?” Jessica said as soon as he was gone. “If he comes in at the half, we can talk to him then.”
He chuckled at her choice of words. The half. It wasn’t a football game.
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” he said.
A commotion outside the window caught his attention, and he watched with growing anticipation as a horde of golf carts swarmed outside the restaurant.
Jess set her napkin on the table. She’d left her salad m
ostly untouched.
Jarrett watched as the French doors leading out to the course opened and players began streaming in.
He spotted Donovan Smith right away. Dressed in pressed khakis and a pristine navy blue polo, his silver hair perfectly coiffed, he was the picture of wealth and privilege. He was walking with another man, shorter in stature but near his age, and they were chatting amiably as they headed toward the buffet table.
Jarrett pushed his chair back and stood up.
“What are you doing?” Jess asked.
He gave a slight nod in the direction of the table. “Going to go have a word with you-know-who.”
She immediately stood up. “I’m coming, too.”
Jarrett’s stride was both casual and purposeful as he approached the man they’d traveled for nearly three hours to come and talk to. He had absolutely no idea how the conversation was going to go, or if they would manage to have one at all. The break on the ninth hole was usually a short one, just an opportunity for people to grab a quick bite to eat or drink, or visit the restroom. He knew their window of opportunity was limited.
Donovan Smith noticed Jess right away. Jarrett watched with increasing irritation as the older man’s eyes raked over her with obvious interest. To her credit, she didn’t flinch or have any other reaction other than to give him a somewhat forced smile.
“Donovan Smith,” Jarrett said, plastering a friendly smile on his face.
The man turned his attention to him.
Jarrett stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Jarrett Pryor. A fine day you have for this event.”
Donovan glanced out the panoramic window. “Indeed. The North Shore is beautiful this time of year.” His brow furrowed. “Have we met before?”
“Bill Lewis,” Jarrett said, banking on the idea that the name alone would be enough to establish a connection.
It worked.
“Ah, Bill. He’s a good man.” Donovan Smith smiled and nodded. His eyes swept over Jessica again. “And who is your lovely friend?”
“This is Jessica,” Jarrett said.
Dire Straits_Aspen Falls Novel Page 13
