Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1)

by Kallypso Masters

  She pointed to the storage bins nearest the door. “Those four should do it—and now the fun begins. We’ll see how far we can get before I stop to make supper. I can finish up tonight and tomorrow.”

  He’d never spent more than three hours setting up a tree and decorating it. Of course, he hadn’t before attempted one of this size.

  Downstairs in the parlor after each of them had carried two bins down in two trips, they set Derek up playing with the chess set that now sat on the opposite wall in the room. Meanwhile, they worked on adding what must be thousands of lights to the tree. His first instructions were to check each strand of lights to be sure they were fully functional. She’d stored each string in its own plastic grocery bag, so he at least didn’t have to worry about untangling the wires.

  After most of them had been deemed to be in working order, he handed each string to her and went on to test the next one.

  “I appreciate your help. We’ll get through this part much faster than I would on my own.”

  “I’m enjoying this, truth be told.” And he meant it, too. After checking the last string, he joined her and watched as she laboriously wrapped the strands of lights around the greenery from the insides to the tips of each branch. “I didn’t know there was such an art to putting lights on a tree.”

  Tillie shrugged unapologetically. “Well, I may be a little obsessed, but Mrs. Foster taught me to wrap the wires around each branch and then tuck the bulbs among the needles so only the lights are visible. It takes me hours to get them right, but the effect is stunning. They’ll appear to twinkle as you walk by without me actually using twinkle lights.”

  “I can’t wait to see.” He remembered decorating a tree that seemed as tall to him as this one was to Derek. His grandmother, her gnarled fingers doing such intricate work with so much love, had worked on it for days. He hadn’t thought about that in forever.

  Lowering his voice so as not to attract his son’s attention, he said, “Derek is going to love it—especially because you aren’t using all clear lights. He insisted that his mom use multicolored lights last year on their tree with a rainbow star on top he picked out himself.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Foster would have nothing to do with one-color lights on her parlor tree. She wanted an explosion of color. Said it reminded her of the ones from her childhood. I guess she had it tough growing up, until she married Dr. Foster and moved in here at least, but she learned to love Christmas from her own mother and passed on many of those traditions. I think that’s why I love this one so much. It may not be aesthetically beautiful to those who prefer a tree done in one or two colors, but these lights combined with the unique and sentimental ornaments bring back such fond memories for me, too. Most of the ornaments were hers, although I’ve added one each year from a local shop or museum gift store. Now old and new intermingle on the tree’s boughs, as in life.”

  Not unlike Tillie herself—old-fashioned in some ways, modern in others.

  He handed her the next bundle of lights after connecting them to the previous cord. Already, the lower half of the tree was vibrant with light. He’d have thought it had plenty already, but judging by the stack of lights she had yet to add, they had a long way to go.

  “You really put a lot of thought into Christmas, too.”

  Her eyes brightened. “I’d do so even if I had no one to share it with. The season makes me happy for the most part, especially when I have guests at the inn.”

  Did she suffer bouts of loneliness, or did her guests provide her with what she needed? For him, Christmas tended to be a lonely, depressing time, especially these last two years after Nancy and Derek moved out.

  He tried to keep busy at the office, but closed it for ten days during the holidays to allow his employees, many of whom weren’t originally from Minneapolis, a chance to be with their families. As recently as last year, despite the divorce, Greg had been invited to spend Christmas Eve at Nancy’s and to return in the morning to watch Derek open his gifts. Greg hadn’t bothered putting up a tree either year. Nancy had always handled that, so Santa left Derek’s presents there.

  Would Nancy still invite him to Christmas dinner? Stephan, her new husband, probably would prefer to start family traditions of his own. What ticked him off, though, was the thought of Derek seeing Stephan as a replacement father. The boy already spent much more time with his stepfather than he did with Greg.

  “Why so glum?” Tillie asked. “If you’d rather play with Derek, it’s not a problem. I’ve got this.”

  “Sorry. It’s not that. Just thinking about what Christmas might be like this year. My ex recently remarried.” Why had he shared that with her? He wasn’t seeking sympathy.

  “Oh, I can imagine how that might be awkward for you all this year.”

  Maybe someone so steeped in the holiday season could give him some advice. “How can I make memories for Derek as special and enduring as yours are with Mrs. Foster?”

  “Perhaps there are some traditions in the Buchanan family you could pass on to him.” Tillie’s hand reached for another bundle of lights, their fingertips brushing and setting off a spark of electricity. Her eyes widened. She must have felt it, too.

  “My past Christmases weren’t ones steeped in tradition,” he began. “My parents weren’t much on celebrating.” Not with him, anyway. They had closer relationships with their clients. “But I want to step up to the plate for Derek. Create some lasting memories.” Ones that wouldn’t leave the boy longing for something he’d never had when he reached thirty-six years old.

  “Well, the best thing to do is find out what Derek wants. It might not be all that elaborate or difficult. Have you asked him?”

  “No, but that sounds like a good idea. I will. Thanks.” Was it too late for Greg to bond with his son in a way that would make a difference in both their lives? He hoped not.

  One thing was certain. At least for tonight, he and Derek would have a chance to get into the spirit of Christmas together and make some memories while decorating Tillie’s tree filled with many of Derek’s great-grandmother’s decorations, although he couldn’t reveal that to his son yet.

  Should he end this ruse and tell Tillie who he was and why he’d come here? The better he came to know her, the more pleased he was that she’d inherited this house. If left to Mother, Gram had known it would have been sold immediately to some stranger who never would have preserved it or Gram’s memory as lovingly as Tillie had. And for all she knew, Greg had abandoned her, too. The only one she could count on to keep the house from ruin was Tillie.

  “Derek, come and watch this.” He lifted the boy into his arms and together they watched Tillie’s long, slim fingers wrap and tuck each tiny bulb. The sight mesmerized Derek as much as it had Greg for the past hour. Seeing she was running out of bulbs on this string, he set him down. “Son, let’s get more strands for Tillie.” They picked up one of the many bundles strewn about the floor near the storage bin that he had tested earlier and carried them back to Tillie.

  Now was as a good opportunity to start the conversation. “What’s your favorite thing to do at Christmas, Derek?” she asked.

  “Open presents.”

  She laughed. “Of course. How about before Christmas morning?”

  “Eat cookies.”

  “Oh, the cut-out ones with icing and sprinkles?” Greg could have sworn her voice sparkled, as did the lights in the tree.

  “Uh-huh. I like the frosting more than the sprinkles.”

  Tillie gasped. “What? Why, I can’t imagine one without the other.”

  Derek became serious as he looked up at Tillie. “Well, I promise I’ll try sprinkles this year. Maybe I’ll like them now.”

  Greg smiled, seeing how his son had been equally charmed by the woman.

  Greg hadn’t been a part of the cookie-baking and wasn’t aware of that. Usually, he was either coming from or going to the office. Given his ineptitude in the kitchen, he doubted he’d be able to pull off that tradition on his own.
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  “Perhaps we can make a batch before you leave,” Tillie suggested, coming to his rescue. “You can help me get in the groove for when I’ll be baking them for parties next month.” Once again, Tillie to the rescue.

  “Do you have a dinosaur cookie cutter?”

  Tillie pursed her lips and raised her eyes. “Hmm. I’m not sure that I do, but the hardware store in town has a fabulous collection, so I’ll make sure I pick up one before we bake.”

  Greg asked him, “Actually, Derek, would you like to go pick out some special cookie cutters and make cookies with Tillie?”

  “And your daddy,” Tillie added. He hoped she was aware of how useless he could be in the kitchen. He’d let her take the lead in making them.

  “Yeah! I want dinosaurs and a doggie and a train…” As Derek rattled off any number of shapes he wanted, Greg hoped the hardware store was as stocked as Tillie indicated.

  Greg suggested, “Since you’re five, why don’t you pick your five favorite shapes and we’ll add a new one every year?” If the hardware store didn’t have them, they’d find them somewhere else.

  “Awesome! Thanks, Daddy!”

  Caught up in the spirit, Greg asked, “What are some other things you like to do at Christmas?”

  “Well, bemember last year, Daddy, when you took me back to Mommy’s one night and we saw lots of lights on the houses?”

  Derek still wasn’t able to pronounce the word “remember,” but Greg tried not to get hung up on it as he scanned his memory for the scene Derek described. He came up blank. Not that he’d admit it. “Which were your favorites?”

  “The swirling star ones. That was cool. And bemember when we saw the Grinch stealing those lights? I think he already took most of the lights on that street. It was really dark. And bemember that green house? That’s where the Grinch lives. We don’t want to go there.”

  Tillie interjected, “But it’s okay to visit after Christmas because the Grinch’s heart grew big by then.”

  Derek considered that a moment. “Maybe. But I don’t wanna go by myself.” The boy turned to Greg. “Can we do it this year, Daddy? Can we? Maybe we can catch the Grinch this time before he takes them all.”

  How had he missed that last year? Had he been preoccupied while Derek had told him about all these things he’d seen during that drive home? Greg smiled. Tillie was right. He didn’t need to overthink this. Focus on finding the things Derek liked doing.

  “You betcha, sport.” But he wanted a couple of surprises for Derek, too. Greg made a mental note to at least pick up a laser-light projector for the front of his house. Maybe he could find a Grinch figure, too.

  “And can we get a Santa and sleigh and Rudolph for your yard?” How had the boy known what he’d been thinking? Greg added those to his list.

  His neighborhood association might have some rules against such displays, but even if he had to remove them when Derek wasn’t there or set them up in the backyard, he’d suffer the fines.

  “I don’t see why not. And we can put lights on the front of the house. We should have snow on the ground by then.”

  “Don’t you have it all winter long?” Tillie asked.

  “There’s about a seventy-five percent chance, but we had a brown Christmas a couple years ago. Now, in the northern part of the state, it’s all but a certainty they’ll have snow.”

  “Must be wonderful to be so sure of having a White Christmas. Here, more often than not, it’s a brown one. Sometimes it’s so warm that the grass is still green. And when we do get snow, there are so many accidents that it spoils families being able to get together. So most of us hope it will remain clear without snow or rain.”

  Greg connected the new string of lights and handed her the bundle as she finished the last one. While no static electricity struck them, he did feel sparks between them as their fingers touched repeatedly.

  “Miss Tillie, can you come see us this Christmas? You’re fun!”

  Derek’s enthusiastic invitation had the two adults staring at one another with a mixture of indulgence and fluster. Tillie’s cheeks grew red when she met his gaze, leaving Greg puzzled. Would she want to leave her perfect Christmas here and venture to the frozen north? Would she be interested in seeing his city when clearly she was a country girl at heart?

  Whatever prompted Derek to ask, now that the invitation was out there, Greg wanted her to say yes in the worst way.

  “I’ll second the invitation.”

  She opened her mouth to answer before pressing her lips together and staring down at her hands. “I really couldn’t impose.”

  “Come on. It would be no imposition. I can imagine how busy you must be at Christmas, but if you came to Minneapolis, you’d experience an old-fashioned winter holiday like none other. One of my staffers has a farm with horse-drawn sleighs, cows, and sheep. I’m sure she could extend the season a bit into January after your busy period is over, if you wouldn’t mind a late Christmas.”

  Her eyes lit up, even though he wasn’t convinced he’d won her over yet. If she did agree to visit, it would be an important step in case he wanted to pursue a relationship with her beyond this stay.

  “Well, I can’t make any promises.” Greg waited for her to reject the idea while his son stared at her almost as expectantly as he was himself. “But I’ll think about it. I do have that hand muff and furred cape I wear for Christmas caroling and the lighting up of Bardstown.”

  Greg pictured her, snow falling in fluffy flakes and landing on her eyelashes and cheeks as she sang like an angel. “Sounds quaint.”

  Fire spit from her eyes. “It is, and we love it.” Her defensive tone told him she’d taken his words as a slur on the event. Not the way he’d intended at all.

  “Quaint is a good thing, even to a city boy.” Now she has me calling myself a boy.

  “Sorry. Anyway, they let me sing with them even though I have a tin ear.”

  “I heard you singing while you were baking fruitcake and found your voice charming.”

  “You’re too kind.” Her blush charmed him even more. With a will of its own, his hand reached up to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. Greg wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by the intimate gesture.

  “I’m hungry,” Derek announced. And the moment passed much too quickly.

  Tillie squinted down at the familiar watch pinned to her shirt. The antique watch with its metallic ribbon and filigreed gold face had once belonged to Gram.

  “Um, oh dear. I’m s-sorry.”

  When Greg met her gaze, he realized she must think she’d been staring at her breasts. Her blush was a pretty shade of pink.

  “I got so wrapped up in what we were, um, doing that I forgot the time.” She laid the bundle of untucked lights on a tree branch and symbolically dusted off her hands. “I’ll call you for supper in about thirty minutes, but if you’d like an appetizer, I have one I can serve beforehand.”

  “What’s a appy…appyteaser?”

  Both adults laughed, the tension fully dissipating from a few moments ago. Greg did the honors. “It’s something you eat at the start of the meal. Kind of like when we order wings before pizza. The wings are the appyteaser.”

  “I like wings!”

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have wings, although I was planning on pizza tonight. How about some homemade breadsticks?”

  “I like the crust best!” Derek announced as he walked over to take her hand.

  “Any kind of bread is your favorite,” Greg pointed out.

  Derek ignored his father’s comment and asked Tillie, “Can I help?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Greg watched the two of them head toward the hallway before he stared again at the tree. Working on it without her expert supervision wouldn’t be wise.

  “Hey, wait for me!” He followed them into the kitchen, fighting the urge to draw her aside and insist that she take their invitation seriously.

  Please say yes, Tillie. You’ll make our Christma
s complete.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tillie’s heart nearly burst with excitement all through supper. The conversation was friendly and focused mostly on Christmas—no adversarial comments from Greg. If only they could engage in pleasant moments like this more often.

  Stop wishing for the impossible, Matilda.

  Tillie sighed. After clearing and stacking the dishes, she couldn’t wait to continue trimming the tree.

  “Before I can finish with the lights, I’m going to need the ladder to work on the higher branches.”

  “Lead the way,” Greg said. “Derek, wait for us in the parlor.”

  Greg followed her toward the cellar door under the foyer stairs, her rear end tingling where she imagined his gaze boring into her backside.

  As if a man like Gregory Buchanan would have any interest in my backside.

  Maybe not, but his seeming fascination with her hair had led to him tucking a stray tendril behind her ear, which had let loose a flock of butterflies in her stomach. And there had been those many touches in the attic and parlor that set off sparks—okay, most of them literally from static—but there had been other moments when the air sizzled between the two of them, too.

  Perhaps he no longer saw her as the innkeeper out to exploit his grandmother, although she wished he’d open up to her about who he was. Seeing the color drain from his face when he saw the photograph by her bedside had left her wanting to wrap her arms around him and ease some of the pain he must feel over her loss.

  Did he resent the fact Mrs. Foster left the house to her and not his family? Tillie had nothing to do with that decision, but had been incredibly honored to be entrusted with the place and the responsibilities that entailed.

  On the bright side, if she hadn’t been here running this inn, she’d never have met Greg and Derek. Perhaps fate had stepped in to give her a glimpse at what might be possible if only she’d allow someone into her heart…her life.

  At the doorway to the cellar stairs, he insisted on preceding her. Clearly not focused on my butt. When he reached the floor, he peered around the middle room. Uncertain which way to go, she supposed. When she joined him, she pointed to the laundry area in a nook behind the stairs. “It’s in there.”