Reforming Gabe

by Alicia Hunter Pace

“A chatelaine is something women wore attached to the waist with little useful items hanging from it. See? This one is a Victorian sewing chatelaine. It has scissors, a needle case, pin cushion, and tape measure.”

  It was nice to see her excited, but this was a bad idea. Even he knew that.

  “Sometimes the lady of the house had a chatelaine with keys. It was a status symbol as well as practical.”

  Okay, that made a little more sense, though it was hard to imagine women wearing their car keys hanging off their belts. He nodded.

  “Viking and ancient Roman women also had a version of the chatelaine, though it hung from a brooch worn at the shoulder. They would have things like knives, combs, and ear scoops.”

  “Ear scoops?” That sounded down right alarming.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “For cleaning wax out of the ear.”

  That was not a path he could not let her go down. If she thought she was going to supply modern women with what amounted to a silver Q-tip, he would have to stop her. There were some things that should not be talked about, and ear cleaning was one of them.

  She was scrolling down the page on the computer. “See? There were other kinds of chatelaines, too. This one has a fan, a calling card case, and a pen. And look at this sweet little postage stamp case.”

  “That’s sweet all right.” But pointless. Nobody was going to go around with stamps hanging off of them.

  “The possibilities are endless.” She was scrolling and talking fast. “Mirrors, thimbles, change purses, perfume vials, pill boxes. And look. This Civil War era one has a magnifying glass and a little container for smelling salts!”

  Because every woman had to have her smelling salts with her.

  “Gabe, you were brilliant to think of this!” She threw her arms around him.

  And his stomach bottomed out. She smelled like shampoo, chocolate, and sex. He hugged her back and rubbed his cheek against her silky thick hair. He wanted to stay like this with her forever.

  But he couldn’t; he had to tell her. He took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her back until their eyes met.

  “Neyland, honey. I appreciate the compliment about my superior intelligence, and I can’t deny it. It’s nice seeing you so excited. But I don’t know that many women are going to want to pin some big brooch to their pants and go around with car keys, ear scoops, and the like hanging off them—no matter how useful those things might be.”

  She looked stunned for a second and then began to laugh.

  “Is that what you thought? Of course not.”

  That was a relief. Then what?

  “What I would make would be only for ornamentation, in the form of a necklace—sort of like the one Nickolai commissioned for Noel, only a step further. See?” She pulled away from him, riffled through the papers, and showed him some drawings. “You’d buy the chain and elements separately. There could be dozens of attachments—reproductions of some of the historic pieces plus modern things like initials, sorority letters, team mascots, and symbols for hobbies. It would be like a charm bracelet, but the charms would be bigger and you could change them up. Oh!” She turned the paper over and started sketching a Christmas tree. “There could be holiday symbols, too. And I’ll think of other things.”

  His heart lifted. So she had not gone off into outer space after all.

  “You are the brilliant one,” he said.

  She looked up, her eyes bright with life and possibility. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

  “I think it’s a great idea. I think somebody will jump at the chance to buy your design.”

  “Maybe.” She reached for the laptop and opened a document. “I’ve found a few places to submit to. For the prototype, I would make the chain and maybe five charms—a mixture of historic and modern. Then I’d draw the designs for others.”

  “So you’ll start right away?” With any luck she could have some real money soon.

  Her face fell. “Not that soon. I can work on the design, sure. Do more research on the companies, but the actual prototype will have to wait a bit.”

  “And why is that?” But he knew.

  “I have enough silver to make tourist merchandise to last a month. The season is picking up, so that ought to give me enough to live on, buy more silver for the next batch, and save a little for the prototype. If I’m careful, I can do this by the end of the summer.”

  Her excitement was completely gone, and he hated himself for bringing her back to reality.

  “Neyland, let me—”

  “No.” He voice was firm. “I lie in your bed for my own pleasure and for nothing in return. You are not giving me money for silver.”

  He was not going to address the sex-for-money issue. They both knew better, and she was trying to distract him.

  “Then let me lend it to you. With interest if you must.”

  “No.”

  “Then let me invest. That’s just good business. I front the money and get a percentage.”

  “That’s not good business for you. You don’t need money.”

  “Making money has nothing to do with needing money. Everybody wants to make money. I don’t need to go on TV and swear by Hot Time Barbecue Sauce, but I do it because it’s easy money. Plus, I like Hot Time. I believe in this project. And in you.”

  “Believe in me for free. No money is going to pass between us. Face it now, Gabe, or face it later. That’s how it is.”

  He wanted so much to tell her what a talented artisan she was, but one with zero business sense, and how that had to change.

  “Okay. All right. I surrender.” He pulled her into his arms.

  But there was one thing for sure. Now that he’d seen the joy she felt about her work, he wasn’t going to let her lose her dream. He’d have to think of another way to help her—one she wouldn’t know about.

  “Thank you,” she said against his shoulder. “I’ll make it on my own.”

  “Sure you will.” He might have felt some remorse at the lie if she hadn’t rolled him to his back and run her tongue from hipbone to hipbone above the waistband of his shorts.

  He groaned. “We don’t have any more chocolate.”

  “We don’t need it. I like the taste of you better without it.”

  And he couldn’t think anymore.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Someone almost bought Daisy.” Neyland, Noel, Christian, and Abby were having lunch at Miss Laura’s Tearoom and Gossip Parlor. “But then she said she needed to think about it. An hour later, I saw her leaving the Spectrum Factory with Heath trotting behind her carrying a crate. So I guess she decided to spend her money on a piece of stained glass instead of my pendant.” Except for Noel, her friends didn’t know how much she needed to make a sale.

  Abby laughed. “Heath doesn’t trot. He ambles or strides.”

  “Maybe.” Neyland took another finger sandwich from the tiered server of food they were sharing. “But he stole my sale, so it feels good to say he trotted.”

  “Maybe she wanted more per pound for her dollar,” Christian said. “Noel, that last scone is yours, but I want it. Can I have it? You can have my lemon tart.”

  “Of course.” Noel smiled. “I’m full. Someone else have the tart.”

  Neyland was full, too. But if no one ate the tart, she’d take it to Gabe. He loved to eat more than anyone she’d ever known. Or maybe she wouldn’t. She didn’t like how often he leapt to her mind.

  “Did you tell Abby and Christian your news, Neyland?” Noel asked.

  For an instant, Neyland thought Noel was talking about all the incredible sex she’d been having. But then she remembered; Noel didn’t know.

  “Neyland has the most brilliant idea for a design!” Noel plowed on excitedly before Neyland could recover and answer. “She’s going to submit it to Razzle Dazzle. They’re a big manufacturer. I’m so proud of her.”

  Noel had offered to lend her the money for the silver, too. It wasn’t pride that made her refuse Noel; it was fe
ar that she wouldn’t sell the design and couldn’t pay Noel back.

  “Razzle Dazzle!” Christian said. “I love their stuff.”

  “That wonderful, Neyland,” Abby said. “Tell us all about it.”

  “No, no.” Neyland waved it off. “I’ll tell you about it some time when I have my sketches. I want to know what’s going on with everyone else. We’ve hardly talked since the wedding.” Because all I do is have sex with Gabe or think about when I’m going to have sex with Gabe next.

  “We need to come over soon to see your new house,” Christian said.

  You mean the place where I haven’t spent a single night? Where I sneak to mornings to shower and dress? Now, she was only sneaking past the guards; it would be harder when Gwen, Dirk, and Sammy got back. But wait. When they came in the front door, Gabe would go out the back. She knew that. So why did the thought hit her like a falling brick wall?

  “We have to do that,” Abby said. “You can tell us about your big project then and show us the pictures. What night is good for everybody?”

  What? No! She only had eleven nights left with Gabe. She couldn’t waste one.

  “Maybe next week?” Neyland said vaguely. “Or the next. But really, there’s nothing to see. The carriage house looks pretty much the same as it did when Emory lived there.”

  Eleven nights. She’d miss him, sure. He was amusing. But it wasn’t like it would have any real bearing on her life. She absolutely was not taking him that tart.

  “Maybe we could get together at Neyland’s when Gwen and Emory get back,” Noel said.

  “Perfect!” Neyland said. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Gabe would be long gone. By then, she wouldn’t be thinking about him anymore.

  “Of course, then we’ll have to work around Noel’s schedule,” Christian said, “because Nickolai will be back on the ice, I have a feeling the Sound is going all the way.”

  Noel laughed. “Don’t let Nickolai hear you say that. He’s so superstitious.”

  “I understand,” Christian said. “I played basketball in the same socks for four years. By the time I graduated from UT they were in shreds.”

  “Do you really think they helped you win?” Abby asked.

  “Something did,” Christian said.

  Did Gabe have any superstitions?

  Stop it!

  Neyland’s head throbbed as the lunch continued. Abby’s parents and in-laws were still begging her to move back to Boston. They’d even offered to go in together to buy her a house near them.

  Business was slow at Christian’s B&B since there weren’t any events going on at Around the Bend right now. She was glad because it was giving her a chance to get a deep clean done. And, yes, she had talked to Beau Beauford briefly. She had emailed him pictures from the wedding, and he’d called to thank her.

  Noel was excited to be going on the Stanley Cup playoff circuit, but worried, too. She wasn’t convinced Nickolai was strong enough to play.

  Finally, it was time to go.

  “Time to go back to work.” Abby rose.

  “Yes. Ora’s all alone at the shop,” Noel said.

  Neyland looked at the leftover food. No. She absolutely was not.

  “My window washers are coming in a half hour,” Christian said.

  Neyland pushed her chair in, picked up her bag, and almost walked away.

  But at the last minute she said, “Does anyone mind if I take that tart? And the smoked salmon sandwich?”

  • • •

  Gabe slipped into the one of the deep leather chairs at a corner table of the Nashville Hermitage Hotel Oak Bar. With its wood paneled walls, plush carpet, and rich colors, Gabe imagined the Oak Bar looked like one of those fancy London clubs where men went to drink brandy, play cards, and say tallyho. They probably committed a multitude of sins, too—which was another reason why the Oak Bar had been a good choice for this meeting. But that wasn’t why he’d picked it. While not empty by any means, the Oak Bar—unlike the places on Music Row—wasn’t an anthill of tourists hoping for a glance at a famous face.

  “What can I get for you?” The waiter was a good-looking kid. He probably had a cheap guitar and a half-written song. Didn’t they all?

  “Let me see.” Gabe perused the menu. It was almost lunchtime and he hadn’t had time for breakfast. As soon as Neyland had left this morning, he’d gotten things moving by making calls he probably ought not to have made. “Let me get the hunter’s platter and a plate of those deviled eggs.” He laughed a little when he saw another entry. “Better bring me some of that Mississippi sin dip, too.” Appropriate.

  “To drink?”

  “Something on tap. Dark. I’ll let you pick. I don’t know what the lady will want.”

  The boy nodded. “I’ll check back when she comes in.” He hesitated before speaking again. “Aren’t you Gabe Beauford?”

  “I wish,” Gabe said. “All that money. A different woman every time he turns around. TV commercials. But, no. I’m more low-key than my twin.” He extended his hand. “Rafe Beauford. Glad to meet you.”

  Prior to that dropped ball, Gabe had been happy to meet his public. Not so much anymore.

  Just then, Aubrey Jamison entered the bar and searched the room with her eyes. He stood and waved. Her face was getting famous enough in the country music scene that it might have attracted some attention even here, but she’d intentionally gone for a subdued look—long, strawberry blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, light makeup, and black pants with a white sweater. The small diamond earrings twinkling on her earlobes were her only jewelry.

  Still, she looked good. They had dated a few times, but it had never come to anything. She wasn’t interested in sex that wasn’t attached to a real relationship, and given their careers and the distance between Nashville and San Antonio, that wasn’t happening. But they had remained friendly.

  She had a smile for him, and he had a kiss for her cheek.

  He settled her in her seat. “What can I get you to drink? Chardonnay, if I remember right.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re remembering right for later in the day. Iced tea, please.”

  “Here comes the food and my beer. I ordered enough for you, but if you want something else, feel free.”

  “I think this will suffice. Did you think I was bringing my band, too?”

  “Never let it be said that I let a woman go hungry. Or thirsty.” He turned to the waiter. “The lady would like an iced tea, half sweet, half unsweet, two slices of lemon.”

  After the waiter had gone, Aubrey laughed. “You have a good memory.”

  “Maybe you’re just memorable.” He raised his glass.

  “No doubt.” She helped herself to a deviled egg and a slice of smoked meat. “Good choice. I’m eating low carb until after the ACM awards.”

  Gabe dove into the dip. “I read you’re nominated for New Artist. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “When are you leaving for Vegas?”

  “Friday. First thing in the morning. The awards are Sunday night.”

  “Are you excited?”

  She grinned. “Nervous. I don’t suppose, after all this time, Jackson gives it a second thought, even though he’s nominated for everything.”

  “Not everything,” Gabe said. “Not New Artist.”

  “And that’s good for me.” The waiter appeared with her tea, and she took a sip. “Perfect,” she said to him. “Thank you.”

  Aunt Amelia had taught them to judge a person’s character by how they treated those waiting them. Aunt Amelia would have approved of Aubrey.

  But she would have approved of Neyland more. He’d gone looking for her yesterday at lunchtime and found her in the alley behind Piece by Piece sharing a sandwich with Jimpson. He’d backed away before they’d seen him.

  “So when is Jackson arriving in Vegas?”

  Gabe scoffed. “He’s not. He’s always said if you’re lucky enough to be honored with a nomination, you should damn well sho
w up. But he’s on his honeymoon. He’s not studying awards.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be shipping out a big crate to him the next morning.”

  “Probably so.” And well deserved. Jackson hadn’t dropped the ball. Or Camille.

  “You know, being invited to perform at your sister’s memorial concert last summer was a big shot in the arm for my career. If you had anything to do with it, I thank you.”

  Gabe shook his head. “Regretfully, no. And I don’t think Jackson did either, though he would have had to approve it. Your appearance was all Ginger’s doing. And she wouldn’t have asked you if your career needed much of a boost.” That was true. Jackson’s manager got up in the morning to protect Jackson, his image, his career, and—probably—his socks.

  “Well thank you anyway. And, Gabe, you made a beautiful speech that night. I couldn’t stop crying. It’s a good thing I’d already performed.”

  Beautiful speech. Yeah. Everyone said that. He didn’t remember what he’d said. Pretty words were the least he could do for Camille—the only thing, really. And there would never be enough.

  “I need a favor,” Gabe said, changing the subject.

  “I’m well aware of that.” Aubrey picked up another egg. “You cannot possibly grasp the height of curiosity I feel over what I might possibly be able to do for you.”

  “This isn’t about me. There’s an artisan in Beauford—a jewelry maker—who just needs a break. You won’t find anyone more talented, who works harder. But that little boost hasn’t come. If something doesn’t happen soon, I’m afraid there’s going to be a dream abandoned that ought not be. But people like to eat and the rent has to be paid.”

  “Now I’m thoroughly confused.”

  “The jewelry is expensive. But if she could get a little income rolling in, it would buy her some time.”

  “Her?” Aubrey grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not like that.” Though what it was like, he didn’t know. “She’s my high school coach’s daughter. But even that doesn’t matter. She loves her work. She’s good at it. I don’t want her to fail.”

  “Then why don’t you buy some of her jewelry?”

  “That’s the thing. I tried. She won’t sell it to me. Something about this damned website.”