by Jen Peters
“No, Mom, remember? Don’t try, just do.”
Her mother nodded and hugged her. Now all Ree needed to do was take the same advice. She needed to be professional and do a great job for the inn while she was there, regardless of her mixed feelings about Mr. Mitchell Blake.
Chapter 15
Mitch made another trip to McCormick’s Creek, both to check in with Ree at the inn and to browse the town and let his ideas percolate. “That’s good news about the wedding. We need to make sure everything is as polished as can be,” Mitch said, leaning over Ree’s notes. The scent in her hair made him catch his breath. He held himself still, not letting himself lean in or even breath a little deeper.
“Mrs. Markov did say dinner and dancing. I’ll look into a portable dance floor on Monday. Dinner seating on something similar?” Ree asked. She seemed stiff and a little stand-offish, not at all the smiling ball of energy he’d gotten to know.
Before he could answer her, his phone chimed—the ringtone for his grandfather’s aide. He turned away as he reached into his pocket for it. “Yes, Marcus.”
“You should come, sir.” Marcus’ voice was subdued. “He’s had another stroke.”
“On my way." Mitch pressed End Call and slipped the phone back in his pocket without thinking about it.
“Problems?” Ree asked.
She seemed far away and echo-y. Actually, the whole room was a bit off. He couldn’t seem to think straight, but didn’t know why. Surely at his grandfather’s age, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“I have to go,” he finally said. “My grandfather is ill.”
He left Ree behind without a glance and slid behind the wheel of his Porsche, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Focus, Mitch, focus. He had been blindsided in depositions a time or two and managed to refocus and turn the situation around. Surely he could concentrate now, enough to drive, anyway.
He gripped the leather of the steering wheel and pulled out smoothly, trying to put his grandfather out of his mind and focus solely on controlling the powerful car.
In the penthouse two hours later, as soon as he saw Marcus outside his grandfather’s room, he knew. He had expected he might not be able to understand Granddad’s speech or perhaps one side would be paralyzed. But the stroke must have been massive.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Marcus said, standing to one side of the door. Mitch braced himself against the doorway, then went in to say goodbye to the only parent he’d ever really had.
Later, he sat in the library with a cup of Irish whiskey while the funeral home people took care of his grandfather. The jade chess set sat on a table in front of him, the queen missing. When they played after Granddad had become bedridden, they used the marble set from France. But this was the one he had learned on. Granddad had told him the rules, said they weren’t difficult to learn but were hard to master. That if he could learn to think ahead enough to win their matches, he’d be well on his way to becoming an excellent attorney.
“You taught me well, Granddad,” he murmured. “I’ll miss you.”
He pulled the green queen from his pocket, rolling her cool smoothness between his fingers. He traced the vein of white running through her cloak. “Be willing to use your big guns,” Granddad had said, “but always remember the purpose is to protect the king. Know what your goal is, know what you have to do to get it, and know what your opponent is planning at all times."
That advice had served him well in Mergers and Acquisitions, but what about now? He had to know his goal to be able to plan his moves, and all he knew is that he was tired of being the bad guy. Tired of leaving destruction in his wake. He thought of his grandfather’s mansion, how it had come to life again, how Cat and Justin, and now Harriet and Ree had built it up into something good, something worthwhile. Every time they went past it, they could smile inside. While every time he passed a corporation he had helped to raid, he felt sick.
He wished he could still talk it over with his grandfather, work through his options with the old man. For all his facility with language, Mitch hadn’t been able to find enough of the right words to describe how he truly felt when he brought it up the first time. He still couldn’t, except for comparing it to the mansion. And it wasn’t like he could keep restoring old family properties.
Granddad had said there would be a place for him outside of Mergers & Acquisitions, a place where he could turn his talents in a different direction. But what? And with the way McCormick’s Creek was pulling at him, did he even want to stay in the law firm without his grandfather? Even retired, the old man had been the heart of the organization.
Restless, he stood and browsed the shelves, remembering when Granddad introduced him to the richness of leather-bound books. He inhaled deeply, his mind flitting back to the first time he’d beaten Granddad at chess and won the queen. And when the old man had made him negotiate for his allowance to be raised or his curfew extended. Everything during his youth had trained him to be an adversarial attorney, but what was he supposed to do now?
By late afternoon, his grandfather’s estate attorney had arrived. The wizened little man was almost as old as Granddad.
“Hi, Mr. Turner,” Mitch said. “I thought you retired years ago.”
“I did,” he said with a wry smile. “Just stayed on for my one special client." He pulled a folder from his briefcase. “This is just an informal look for you, of course. We’ll need to gather everyone next week for the official reading.”
Mitch nodded. He knew what it would say anyway. A few bequests here and there, an additional chunk of money to the McCormick Foundation, and the rest to him. Which would put him in the managing partner’s seat for the entire firm. Not really what he wanted, either.
Mr. Turner talked for twenty minutes summarizing the details. Mitch thanked him, but Mr. Turner didn’t rise.
“There’s one more thing,” the elderly lawyer said, “the real reason I needed to come today." He drew an envelope from his briefcase and extended it to Mitch. “Your grandfather wrote this for you two days ago.”
Mitch raised one eyebrow. He took the envelope, saw his grandfather’s shaky handwriting on it.
Mr. Turner stood. “Read it when you’re ready—it doesn’t affect the will—but he wanted you to have it as soon as possible." And with that, he left Mitch staring warily at the envelope in his hand.
Mitch turned the envelope over a few times. There was no writing on it, no clue as to what was inside. He stared at the library shelves, out the window, then back to the envelope. He finally opened it and drew out two sheets of paper covered in his grandfather’s handwriting.
My dear boy,
You were always brilliant, driven to succeed from the time you were young. You’ve been an asset to the firm in M & A because of that. But even before we talked earlier this week, I could tell you were unhappy.
It has been especially apparent in the last two or three months, since you’ve been back and forth to my old hometown. I’ve seen you being more dissatisfied with your work in the firm. I’ve also seen you arriving back more relaxed and happy after a weekend there.
I sense that I won’t be on this earth much longer, and yet seeing you settled is important to me. If we can’t talk more in person, I will carry on my half of the conversation this way.
We spoke of several positions in the firm which might fit your needs better than M & A, and through which you can still make a great contribution. Robert could use your talents to negotiate divorce settlements. Or perhaps helping set up new corporations is more in line with your thinking now than takeovers.
I hate to see you waste your great intellect, though. After some thought, my choice for you would be in malpractice where you could stretch yourself and your abilities helping the injured to get just compensation.
However, the company is vast, and there will be a place here for you, whether in malpractice or elsewhere. If you choose carefully and well, you’ll find your fulfillment. With luck, I’ll also get to see
you do it. If not, know that I am proud of you and the man you have become.
Mitch refolded the letter and tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket. He found himself at the window, his eyes blurring. How well his grandfather knew him. And how much he regretted not discussing the matter far earlier. He just hadn’t known what he wanted, or even how to say that he didn’t know. It wasn’t until this last week that he could pinpoint a few of his desires.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He really didn’t have time to think about it now. There were many, many people to contact and a funeral to plan. He’d give his grandfather the send off he so richly deserved, but Granddad was right about the effect of McCormick’s Creek on him. He had a feeling he’d be back in the town sooner than he had expected.
Chapter 16
“Mom? Mom!" Ree burst through the greenhouse doors early Monday afternoon.
“Back here,” came her mother’s voice.
Of course she was back there. Where else would she be while the store was going crazy? “Why aren’t you answering your phone? We’ve had customers in and out for the last hour and a half and I needed you!”
But her mother didn’t answer. She just perched on a stool and kept stroking the leaves of a Stargazer lily.
Ree stormed forward. “You can’t leave the whole shop to me. Doing all the arrangements is one thing, handling the front is something else.”
Mom looked up, her eyes bleak. Ree stopped. “What’s wrong, Mom? What happened?”
Her mother looked away and went back to stroking the leaves. Finally she spoke. “I saw the doctor this morning. She doesn’t like the lack of movement and flexibility. She wants me to wear a brace to stretch my hand out, besides upping my physical therapy.”
Ree frowned. “A brace? How long? That’s not what she was saying last time."
Mom gave a wan smile. “I think she was just trying to keep my spirits up earlier. She knows the problems it causes, not being able to use my hands. Not being able to work.”
Ree pulled another stool over and sank down. “But it has to get better. If it doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off. She leaned her forehead to meet her mother’s and reached for her un-braced hand. “We’ll figure it out, I know we will. Remember, ‘we’re strong and we’ll find a way through.’”
But would they? She was sorry for Mom, she really was. But if she couldn’t take back the shop, would she expect Ree to stay and do it? This was only supposed to be for a couple months.
Her mother straightened up. Her voice was forcibly cheery when she spoke. “So what’s happening with the inn?”
Ree sighed. “Weird. I mean, the business side is going okay—we have more ads coming up, Robin is getting us on Trip Advisor and a number of other places, and Mrs. Markov is coming this afternoon to check it out for her daughter’s wedding. But I haven’t heard from Mitchell Blake all weekend, which is strange for him.”
“Do you care?”
“I should be pleased he’s letting me handle the inn on my own,” she said sourly. “But just thinking about it makes me angry. Part of me doesn’t trust him. And yet…”
“And yet you’ve still got some romantic feelings for him?”
“I don’t want to. But I’ve tried all week, and I can’t seem to turn off the feelings I have.” Despite her mental efforts, the memories kept coming back, flooding her with warm feelings and a longing to see him again.
Mom nodded and was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her words were firm. “Ralph Biali, the lawyer who took your father to the cleaners, was a conniving piece of scum. Some internet research would have raised flags, at least shown us who we were dealing with, but there were also signs that we should have seen. He dismissed our concerns too easily, and I got an unsettling vibe anytime we had dealings with him.”
“So?”
“So Mr. Blake doesn’t come across that way at all. Maybe he’s a better actor, but I don’t think so. His eyes are honest and there’s a generosity about him, a sense of caring, that I never felt with either the scummy Biali or his assistant.”
Ree was quiet. She picked at a hangnail as her heart lifted in hope. “So you think that he might not be a bad guy, despite what he does every day?”
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe just that there’s more to him than his job description.”
Was there any way under heaven that could be true? It would take a miracle, and she wasn’t sure she believed in miracles. And if not, she needed to keep her guard up.
Ree let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it. It’s not like I can find another hotel right away." She looked out over the greenhouse. “And you do your PT and everything the doctor says. But you can’t hide away in here. I can’t do everything at the shop and my job at the inn, too.”
Mom looked at her watch. “Speaking of the inn, what time does your wedding lady come?”
“Not until three, but I want to head over and make sure everything is perfect. So are you able to man the shop now?”
* * *
Ree cast her critical eye over the furnishings while she waited to greet Emily Markov. The wicker furniture was set just so on the porch, the rocking chairs were swaying in the breeze at the other end, and the inside was set as beautifully as it could be with some of the pieces still to come.
A sleek, white Mercedes pulled up, and an elegant blonde in cream-colored slacks stepped out.
Ree wished for Mitch’s reassuring presence, then reminded herself that she didn’t need him. She was just as good as Mrs. Markov, just as smooth, even if her own hair could never be made into a satiny french twist. She had training and skills and ideas, and she knew the mansion inside and out, whether Mitch was there or not. She stepped down the stairs and stretched out her hand. “Mrs. Markov? I’m Ree Swanson, manager of the McCormick Inn. I’m happy to have you here.”
Mrs. Markov shook her hand firmly and looked around, her penetrating glance seeming to take in every detail. “It’s lovely,” she said. “I understand it was half a ruin just a few months ago.”
Ree nodded. “Cosmetic details mostly—the structure was sound. And of course, we’ve renovated inside to create a delightful Bed and Breakfast. But you’re here about a wedding—your daughter, I think you said?"
Mrs. Markov glanced at her. “It’s not as hasty as it sounds. We had reserved The Gables, but you might have heard that there was a fire last week. It will be unusable for a number of months.”
Ree hadn’t known—another drawback of being isolated in a tiny town. On the other hand, it was her own fault if she didn’t tune in to the news, whether online or on TV. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like to have to find a new venue on such short notice.”
Mrs. Markov grimaced. “There are a dozen girls now having beach weddings next month, but Stacia wasn’t interested. I’d heard that you were opening soon.”
“Not until the 24th, actually, but let me show you the grounds and the mansion, and then we can sit down with the details.” Although if her own wedding location had been cancelled, Ree would have headed to the beach without a second thought.
They walked around the side where the weeds and old garden had been cleaned up, replaced with rose bushes and new shrubs. The forsythia wouldn’t bloom until next spring and the burning bushes wouldn’t have their brilliant color until probably October, but the rest looked nice anyway. There was a seating area and a garden swing. “This area might work for some of the after-wedding mingling, and you might like some pictures here afterwards.”
Mrs. Markov took it all in but didn’t say anything.
And then they came to the backyard. An expanse of sod showed the stripes of its newness, but there was a large enough area for a wedding gathering. A maple tree shaded an area where a wedding arch could go and the backdrop of pine trees and firs would also be beautiful.
Newly planted roses were beginning to bloom and would be in full flower until fall. Purple clematis inched its way up the fence that hid the storage shed.
“The la
ndscaping isn’t as full and rich as it will be next year,” Ree said, “but the florist in town can provide pots of anything you like, which will fill it out. If your daughter wants a wedding arch—”
“Arbor,” Mrs. Markov interrupted.
Ree didn’t hesitate. “Arbor, thank you. If she wants an arbor, it could go under the maple or off to the side with just the evergreens as a backdrop. Or they could stand on the porch, with the wedding guests facing this direction.”
Mrs. Markov stood first one way and then the other, scrutinizing everything she saw. Finally she said, “Down by the trees—we’ll decide exactly where later. That will let you set up the tables on the porch.”
Ree made a note on her tablet. “Would you like to see the interior now?”
Mrs. Markov followed her back to the porch where Ree held the door open for her. But the elegant woman didn’t seem impressed by the curving staircase or the chandelier or anything at all. She just looked, inspecting everything, then nodded and went to the next room where she repeated the process.
“May I see the guest rooms, please?” she finally said.
Ree led her upstairs where she gave the cozy rooms the same treatment. “We’re still awaiting a few pieces.”
Mrs. Markov nodded. “Do you have a bridal suite?"
Ree pursed her lips. “Not as such, but we have one special room that would work." She was surprised that the couple wouldn’t be heading for an exotic honeymoon location, but led the way down the hall, through the right hand jog, and opened the last door. Inside was a young lady’s dream room: a four poster bed with sheer hangings, a loveseat and extra wingback chair, a delicate writing desk, and a spacious bathroom with a clawfoot tub.
“Is this in your brochure?” Mrs. Markov asked.
“Not yet. The furniture just arrived last week, and there are still a few items needed to finish the other rooms. The photographer is coming on Friday.”
