Nashville Nights

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “No. No,” Jackson said. “I can’t hand this big old bulky box off to a pretty lady. Just show me where to put it.”

  “Back here in my workroom, then.” Noel parted the curtain behind the counter. “Put it on the table, please.”

  Emory inspected a display of quilting paraphernalia. Fancy rulers of all kinds, pins and needles in every size, different kinds of scissors—plus lots of stuff Emory had never seen before. Did you really need all this stuff to quilt?

  “I used to sleep under that very quilt when I was young,” Jackson said as he emerged from the back room.

  “Really?” Noel raised her eyebrows. “That goes to show that a well-made quilt will give service for years in addition to being beautiful. But as time goes on, you really want to be careful of the delicate fabric.”

  “I wouldn’t sleep under it now. My aunt put all the old quilts in cases so people can just look at them. I suppose it gets to that point, but it is kind of sad that they’re not being used as they were meant to.”

  Noel nodded enthusiastically. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Jackson moved toward the door. “I sure do appreciate you coming out to the house to teach those classes and know those ladies will, too. If there’s anything we can do to make it easier on you, just let Emory know.”

  Emory’d had enough of this. She turned to Noel. “Jackson loves to sleep under a quilt. He was just telling me how he wished he had one.”

  Noel smiled. “Really? I have a few in stock, and I do custom work.”

  “Custom would be what he wants for sure,” Emory said. “If fact, he would like one with guitars. You could do that, couldn’t you, Noel? And not just generic guitars. Jackson collects guitars and he’d want likenesses of those.”

  Noel turned to Jackson. “I could. I’ve never done anything quite like that but that’s the work I love best. Making the same old Dresden plate or log cabin would be kind of like if you had to sing the same songs over and over without ever adding anything new.”

  Jackson looked at Emory and back again at Noel.

  “Tell her, Jackson,” Emory said. “Weren’t you just saying you’d like a quilt with guitars?”

  He laughed and turned his cap in his hand. “I did say something like that.”

  “I’d need to see the guitars and do some sketches. Do you think you’d want embroidery or appliqué? I can do either. It might even be interesting to do a mixture.” Noel turned away and picked up a sketchpad and pencil.

  Jackson met Emory’s eyes and mouthed what she was pretty sure was a threat to her life.

  “What, Jackson? I didn’t hear you. And, Noel? Money is no object. Jackson wants—”

  And then the shop door opened.

  It was him!

  All the air went out of the room, her lungs, her world. How could it be? He was supposed to be in New York! But it was. Dark hair, same build, same height. And he had a woman with him! Had he hurt her, too? Would he? She needed to warn the woman but she needed to run, too.

  What to do? What to do? She closed her eyes and gripped the counter. She wouldn’t be able to hang on long. Her hands were wet and her legs were rubber. Soon, she would fall down, down, down. She’d be on the floor, like before.

  Run. She had to run. Or not run but walk. If she walked people wouldn’t know. She would just open her eyes and tell Noel that since she had customers they’d be on their way and—Noel. She couldn’t leave him here with Noel. She blindly felt around on the counter until she found a pair of scissors.

  When she opened her eyes, Jackson was at her side staring intently.

  “Jack Beauford?” a male voice said and he moved closer to them. She couldn’t look but she began to shake. He’d recognized Jackson and pretty soon he would recognize her, too. Then he’d know where she was.

  “Emory?” Jackson said under his breath. Then he put an arm around her and pulled her into his side.

  And she let him.

  He was holding a hand out toward Jackson. “Nickolai Glazov. We met when you came to a Sound game with Gabe last year.”

  Nickolai Glazov? And he spoke with an accent—Russian, if she wasn’t mistaken. She forced herself to look.

  Not him. Not him at all. This time, it was relief that weakened her. If Jackson hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen.

  Now, Jackson and this Nickolai were carrying on and reminiscing. Nickolai played hockey for the Nashville Sound and was friends with Gabe. Jackson had gone with Gabe to a game and the three of them had gone out after. What was Nickolai doing in Beauford? Well, Tewanda here had wanted to come and look at the crafts. Tewanda gushed over Jackson. At some point Jackson introduced them to Noel and Emory.

  Emory thought she said something acceptable but mostly she was just glad to breathe.

  It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it seemed like hours before Jackson said, “We’d better get going. Noel, we’ll be in touch.”

  Jackson didn’t let go of Emory until they were on the street. Then he put his hands on her shoulders.

  “What happened to you in there?” he asked softly.

  “What do you mean?” She pulled away from him and started walking toward the truck. She had to get home—back to Beauford Bend where it was safe. Nickolai Glazov might not be a threat to her but he had reminded her that there was a threat around every corner.

  “What do I mean?” He appeared in front of her. “You practically fainted in there.”

  “I did not. I’ve never fainted in my life. I just got hot.”

  “That was it, huh? Except it wasn’t hot in there.”

  She needed to get him off this subject. “No? Maybe it was all that hot air you were blowing when you were rhapsodizing about quilts. I’m surprised you didn’t buy a bunch of supplies so you can make your own.”

  “I was just trying to be nice. You’re the one who started this quilt business.”

  She stepped around him and made it a step closer to the truck. “I have stuff to do. Let’s go.”

  His eyes stole down the street and settled on Java Heaven. “Let’s get coffee.”

  “No. I told you I was hot.”

  “Then iced coffee. Don’t tell me you don’t want some kind of marshmallow caramel butterscotch concoction.” He gave her a challenging look. “It won’t take long.”

  Damn it all to hell, how did he know that she never came to town without going to Java Heaven, that she loved to try something new every time, the sweeter and more complicated the better?

  But not today.

  “I just want to go home!” She hadn’t meant for her voice to come out so desperate.

  A soft, knowing look crept into his eyes. He didn’t say anything but he ushered her to the truck and unlocked the door. She pulled out her phone and started to surf the web, though all she was looking for was an excuse not to have to talk.

  “I need to go to the bank.” He pulled into Beauford Savings and Loan.

  “You can drive through. There’s a teller and an ATM.”

  “No. I have to go in.” He pulled into a parking place. “I don’t have a debit card or a checkbook.”

  “Then how are you going to get money?”

  He laughed a little and looked at her through his eyelashes. “Really?”

  Good point. She shrugged and went back to her phone.

  “Come with me.” There was a challenge in his tone. She felt the panic burst forth from her face like a stripper jumping out of a cake.

  “No. I’ll wait here.” She didn’t look at him but she felt his gaze on her.

  After what must have been a full minute, he opened his door. “I thought not.”

  When he was gone, her hands began to shake. Now she had an additional fear—keeping her secret. Now that Amelia was gone, no one knew what had happened—and even Amelia hadn’t known the real story, the true story. But Jackson Beauford was way too perceptive. Calm down! He can’t make you tell him. There is nothing to be afraid of. He can guess and spec
ulate from now until Christmas, but if you refuse to talk, he won’t know.

  All too soon, he returned.

  She glanced at him. “Get your money?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you cause a riot?”

  “Hardly. There were a few people glad to see me, but they were glad to see me before I ever set foot on a stage.”

  She nodded. “That’s good.” Surely he would start for home soon. If she could just get there, get to her house, she could lie down for a half hour. Then she’d be as good as new and ready to get to work.

  But he just placed his hands on the steering wheel and looked at his lap. “Emory. Emory.” He was quiet for a few seconds, long enough for the sick feeling in her stomach to begin to rumble and rage. “Maybe it’s because I was in a bank but I started adding two and two and coming up with four.”

  “Congratulations. That’s the correct answer.”

  “Yeah.” He turned and met her eyes. “What happened? You were terrified back there at the quilt store.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Nickolai Glazov did something to you and I want to know what it was.”

  What? “No . . . I—uh. No.” She had not seen that coming.

  “You’re lying. The minute he walked in you became terrified. Did you, maybe, date him, and things went wrong? Though that doesn’t make sense. That’s no reason for him to pretend he didn’t know you. Did he hurt you physically in some way? Because if he did—”

  “No! He didn’t know me. And I’ve never seen him before. You’re wrong.”

  “No? Well, I don’t know him either. And he and Gabe are only friendly acquaintances. I think they played in some celebrity golf tournament together one time. So if you’re thinking you can’t tell me because we’re friends with him—”

  “No.” She struggled to capture her composure. “I can’t tell you because nothing happened. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.”

  He shook his head. “You’re lying. You’re in my employ. You live on my property. It’s my responsibility to protect you. So if you won’t tell me, I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office and have Brad arrest him.”

  Ha! She had him now. How stupid did he think she was? “The sheriff is not going to arrest someone who hasn’t done anything just because you ask him to.”

  Jackson nodded. “Yeah. He will. Bradley Stanton sat beside me in kindergarten. His mother was a health nut and he never had anything in his lunch except cashew butter sandwiches, raw vegetables, and fruit. I gave him half my cookies every day. He’ll arrest him. And he’ll hold him until I get out of the son of a bitch what he did to you. Even if that wasn’t true, Dirk would kidnap him and torture him until he talked. Don’t tell me you don’t believe that.”

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny it.

  “Anyway,” Jackson forged on. “Either way, Glazov will pay, so you can tell me or he can.”

  Panic flew over her. This could not happen.

  “So. I guess since Mason Patrick killed himself and you can’t make him pay for killing your friends, you’ve got to make somebody pay for something even if you have to invent it.”

  His eyes darkened the barest bit for the barest second but then he looked even more resolved.

  “That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about what happened to you. Because if Glazov just dated you and then kicked you to the curb, I need to know it. I can’t see how that would scare you, but I don’t understand women in general or you in particular.”

  “No! That’s not what happened!” The panic escalated and the volume of her voice told that story.

  “Then what did?” Jackson demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Take me home!”

  “No. You’re going tell me in the next two seconds or I’m calling Brad. I’ve got his number.” He held up his phone.

  This was a nightmare! There was no doubt that Jackson was telling the truth. He had the power and—apparently—the ruthless resolve to ruin someone. An innocent man’s career and reputation would be in shambles if she didn’t do something—and fast.

  He began to scroll through the contacts on his phone.

  “Wait!” She put a shaking hand on his to still it. “I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve got my attention.” He put his phone down and studied her intently.

  “I don’t know that hockey player. I’ve never seen him before.” She had to think fast. “But for a second I thought he was someone else.”

  Jackson nodded. “Who?”

  That, she would never tell. He had told her that if she went to the police, if she told anyone, he’d come back and do what he’d done to her before over and over, that she’d never be safe. She believed him, and she feared that more than dying.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know who. It was a while back.”

  “When you were in New York?”

  “Yes. I went to a birthday party for a guy I worked with.” That much was true. What next? She struggled to remember the details of what she’d told Amelia two years ago when she’d shown up with a battered face and two sprained wrists. “When I got ready to leave the party, I couldn’t get a cab, so I decided to walk. It was only a few blocks. I wouldn’t have thought a thing of it if it had been daytime. But it was late. And I made a bad decision.”

  “You made a bad decision?” He looked puzzled.

  “I did.” Again, the truth. Just not what he thought.

  “And this guy—he hurt you?”

  She nodded. “He dragged me into an alley.” The terror and pain in her voice was real, even if the alley wasn’t. “And that’s where it happened. He—hurt me.”

  Jackson was silent for a time. Maybe this was enough. Maybe there would be no more questions.

  “Emory.” His voice had the same quality it always held when he sang a love song. He barely touched the top of her hand with his fingertips, fingertips that were calloused from wringing ten lifetimes of emotion from a guitar. “Did he rape you?”

  “He beat me. I thought my jaw was broken but it wasn’t.” True.

  “Did he rape you?”

  “He pulled my hair. I had a bald spot the size of a half dollar.” Also true.

  “Did he rape you?”

  “Both of my eyes were black. He pinned my wrists for a long time. When I came to Amelia, she let me stay hidden until my face was normal again.” Also true.

  “Did he rape you?”

  She closed her mouth. Such a bad word and not one she understood anymore. There was a time when she thought she knew what it meant, but that was back in the stupid days.

  “I . . . ” she began. “I walked home. And I had on a short skirt.” And she had let him walk her home. She had teased and flirted, and let him kiss her.

  “My God!” Jackson hit the steering wheel with his fist. “You think because you walked home and wore a short skirt, that it was okay for a pervert to beat and rape you!”

  She swallowed. “Not okay. But if I had—”

  “If you had nothing. This was not your fault. And I won’t have you thinking that.”

  “Okay.” She laughed a broken little laugh. “That’s what Amelia said, too.” But they didn’t know the truth. True, she had never meant to have sex with him but she’d parted her lips when he kissed her and hadn’t pulled away when his hard penis brushed her thigh.

  Jackson let his fingers drift across her hand until she felt the whole warmth of his palm. He shook his head. “Look, Emory, I’m sorry it happened to you. And it had nothing to with Glazov?”

  “No! I swear, he just had the same look, and it caught me off guard.”

  “What was done?”

  What was done? Hadn’t she told enough? “I told you what happened.”

  “Is he in jail?”

  “No. I told you. I don’t know who it was.” Truth was over.

  “What did the police say?”

  Well, Jackson, the police didn’t say anything because I d
idn’t tell them.

  “They tried but they never found him,” Emory said.

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes were still directed at her but he was somewhere else—planning, plotting, persecuting.

  “There wasn’t enough to go on.”

  “What about the DNA?”

  There wasn’t any because I didn’t go to the hospital. Oh, and he wore a condom—another reason it was my fault. I should have been able get away while he put it on, even if he was holding my wrists together over my head, even if he had me pinned to the floor with his leg. I could have fought harder.

  “They didn’t turn anything up.” She looked at her hands.

  “Did they run a countrywide search? New York gets lots of tourists.”

  He wasn’t a tourist! He was my colleague’s brother! He worked at Bank of America! He had a Porsche and a sailboat! And I liked him! I even thought I might like to go on that boat and ride in that car!

  “I don’t know, Jackson. I just needed to be done.”

  “What did Amelia say about all this? Did she not try to—” His voice hung in the air.

  “Try to what? Go to New York and track him down? Jackson, there was no one to track down.”

  He closed his eyes, sighed, and ran his hand over his face. “I guess.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “So this is the reason you left your job without notice? Why you left Wall Street to help my aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is why you didn’t follow my instructions, isn’t it? You’re afraid to leave.” Evidence of an epiphany washed over his face.

  She nodded. Might as well tell the truth about something.

  “But you don’t need to be afraid. You don’t need to hide. I’ll show you. We’re going to get some lunch before we go home.”

  “No, Jackson! I have to go home now.”

  “You surely don’t think I’d let anyone hurt you.”

  “No, not if you could help it. But I have to go home. Now.” At this moment, she felt like she had when she’d first come here two years ago, when leaving the grounds of Beauford Bend had been unthinkable. When she had finally starting going to town, it was always with Amelia, Gwen, or Sammy. But gradually, as she’d met the people and learned the town, she’d been able to expand her safe place to Beauford and go out alone—probably because there were so many places she could run to for help.