After checking in the kitchen to find Derek coloring at the table, Greg returned to the parlor to find the society group members in a heated debate over when it was acceptable to use modern techniques and fixtures over restored ones. He’d fought many a historic preservation board over some common-sense adjustments necessary if a family was going to live comfortably in their historic home.
“Isn’t the ultimate goal to make these homes habitable again, bringing life back inside their walls?” Greg asked. Discussion stopped, and everyone faced him as he resumed his seat in one of the wing chairs. “As an example, I doubt any of us would want to return to the days of chamber pots—at least not if we have to clean them out ourselves.”
Several of the women tittered, and Vera grinned in his direction. “Excellent point, Mr. Buchanan.”
“It’s Greg. And thank you. There are plenty of ways of preserving the original without sacrificing comfort.”
Discussion into wall treatments ensued, and he told them about an antebellum L-shaped house in Wisconsin he’d worked on in which contractors stripped away layer after layer of wallpaper to the original and had been lucky enough to find a manufacturer in France still producing that pattern.
“Can you imagine?” Vera said. “A hundred and fifty years later. We really have no concept here in the States of what constitutes old. That was merely a blip in the life of that company, I’m sure.”
“Indeed,” he said.
“If you can fit it in while you’re here, Greg,” an elderly gentleman began—Mr. Spencer, if he remembered correctly, “we would love for you to see the property we acquired at a courthouse auction. It’s going to be a challenge to save, but has been standing since the early 1800s.”
While not his period of expertise, the chance to have a look at the place intrigued him. “I’d love to, but am not sure it will be possible. Tillie needs me right now.”
“Yes, of course,” Peterson chimed in. “I’ll be sure to check in on her when you’re gone.”
Greg had taken an instant dislike to the man from the moment he’d tried to make more out of those couple of dates than existed given Tillie’s recollection of them. But the thought of him hanging around Tillie while Greg was back in Minneapolis didn’t sit well with him, either.
“I’m having such a delightful time here, I’m thinking about extending my visit—after returning home to drop off my son with his mother.” The words were out before he realized he’d even been considering doing that. He knew Tillie had a strong community behind her, but when it came down to it the other night, she hadn’t wanted to call anyone. Stubborn and independent, she’d probably not ask for the assistance she needed. Besides, he owed her for abandoning her yesterday. He also wanted to get to know her better. He could probably have Beckie stay with Tillie overnight to allow him to take Derek home, gather up enough work to keep him busy and delegate more to his team, and fly back down here.
“Oh, Greg,” Vera said, clasping her hands together with glee. “That would be wonderful! We’d love to have your expertise for some of the projects we have going on while you’re here.”
“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to. Of course, I’ll have my own projects to do as well. But in my line of work, I don’t have to stay put at the office in Minneapolis.”
Peterson said goodnight and excused himself. Greg hoped he wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time with the man. He gave off a negative vibe.
“Perhaps we could hire you as a consultant on the courthouse square project, once you see it,” Mr. Spencer suggested.
Already he was finding work to do while down here.
He couldn’t wait to tell Tillie about his decision.
And find out how she’d receive the news.
Chapter Eighteen
“You plan to what?” Tillie set down her fork at breakfast the next morning, unable to eat another bite of the leftovers he’d served from last night’s supper. Apparently, Greg’s cooking super power was microwaving. But she’d found the pigs in blankets and au gratin potatoes a delicious breakfast and enjoyed being waited on. Until Greg announced he was coming straight back the day after he went home.
“The society hired me to consult with them on a new project, so it gives me a great excuse to be here where I can keep an eye on you and get some work done as well.”
“I’m sure they could work with you long distance, and I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good, because I didn’t intend to babysit.”
She didn’t care if he went on the defensive. “I’ve got Beckie to help with the inn and plan to hire a couple other people to help out. Stop feeling obligated to take care of me. The fall had nothing to do with you.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen if I’d returned when you needed me, as promised.”
Tillie wanted to scream and did. Infuriating man!
“I wanna stay, too, Daddy.”
She’d forgotten all about the boy in her frustration with his father.
“No, son. This could take a couple of weeks—maybe even a couple of months—”
Months!?!?
“—and your mommy won’t want you gone that long.”
Derek poked out his lower lip and hung his head. “I’m mad at you, Daddy. You’re mean.”
The boy’s sulking transferred some of the tension away from Tillie. He behaved the way she would if she didn’t have to be an adult.
Perhaps taking another tack would work. “Look, Greg, I appreciate your offer to help, but I have a houseful of guests arriving next weekend. I don’t even have a place for you to sleep.”
“Not a problem. I can put up a cot in the birthing room.”
“Absolutely out of the question. I can’t give the appearance that I overbooked.”
“You’ve slept there before yourself, you said, when the house is packed. If it’s good enough for you, I’m sure I can manage.” Apparently, he couldn’t resist proverbially tweaking her nose a bit. “I could even put it in your bedroom, if you think you might need me during the night. Just for the weekend nights when you’re booked solid.”
Was he serious? Didn’t he realize how it would look to her guests with him sleeping in her room? Tillie’s regulars were older and more conservative. They knew she wasn’t married or even in a committed relationship with him or anyone else, because they were always trying to suggest men who would make the perfect husband—usually their sons or grandsons.
No way could she explain going off to her bedroom with him in tow each evening, even if he was sleeping in the attic above her. Of course, they’d understand him carrying her up there, but what if he never came downstairs that night?
Lordy, Lordy, she was going to be out of her element for a long while—and her budget wouldn’t allow her to pay additional staff indefinitely. Probably not more than a couple of weeks.
“I hate being helpless or having to depend on others to take care of me.” She sounded whiny and grudging, but didn’t care.
Greg leaned forward, resting his forearm on the edge of the table. “Tillie, you’ve been taking care of everyone else for a very long time. Let someone return the favor every now and then.”
His gaze penetrated her armor. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to regroup. Unable to afford to cancel guest reservations because she’d already done so much expensive preparation for the holiday crowds, perhaps she could let him sleep in the birthing room. He’d be downstairs if she needed him. And Beckie sounded as though she could help out with almost everything, including preparing the suppers for any guests wanting them. At peak times, she’d probably have to join him there, too.
Tillie opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on his. “I’m not relinquishing control of everything to you, Beckie, or anyone else. Only the aspects that involve me being on my feet.”
The twinkle in his eye told her he knew she would relent on other points. “You can appoint me sous chef to Beckie’s chef.”
She glanced down at the left
overs from last night. “Can you cook?”
“Passably, but I take instruction well.” He grinned. “Anything that requires you being on your feet, you’ll delegate to Beckie or me.”
She had no choice, and it still made her blood boil to be told how to run her inn. “Okay.” Still, the word nearly stuck in her throat. “But what about Thanksgiving weekend? Won’t you want to be with Derek?”
Her words doused the light in his eyes. “His mom is taking him to the north woods to meet her new in-laws that weekend.”
“I wanna be here with you, Daddy.”
“Derek, you’re going to love going up there. Think of the woods and the adventures you’ll have there.”
“Will I see animals?”
“Oh sure. Lots of deer. Maybe even a moose.”
“Really? I never saw a moose before.”
“Neither have I,” Tillie said. “You won’t want to miss that chance, would you?”
Derek seemed to think about it a moment then smiled. “Okay. I’ll go with Mommy.”
Tillie’s heart ached for him having to choose which parent to be with, but at least he had two who loved him enough to want him to be with them.
She turned her attention to his father once more. “Sounds like you’d be alone for Thanksgiving.” The thought bothered her. No one should spend that day alone.
He shrugged. “I’ll have plenty of work to keep me busy.”
For the first time since he’d proposed his ridiculous idea of coming back here to take care of her, she smiled. She might regret this, but knew Mrs. Foster would want her to offer hospitality to her grandson. “I accept your offer to help.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Get caught up on your architectural work beforehand, because come Thanksgiving, I intend to keep you busy helping me fix dinner. You’re in for a new tradition—a thoroughly southern Thanksgiving the way your grandmother always made.”
“I’d love to help in any way I can. How many guests do you expect that day?”
She did a mental tally. “Only one couple the day of, but they have relatives in the area and will be dining with them. But I’m at full capacity—six people that Friday and Saturday night. Come to think of it, we may need two cots in the birthing room.”
“I don’t want you sleeping on a cot.”
“I’ve done it before on many occasions. I’m a big girl. I won’t fall out.”
Apparently, he didn’t realize yet that he’d be having Thanksgiving dinner alone with her. The thought that she, too, would have been alone occurred to her. She’d spent any number of holidays that way since Mrs. Foster’s passing.
Excitement filled her as she thought about sharing the day with Greg. They’d have to cook for the weekend guests who would expect at least one turkey leftover meal. But they’d also be able to enjoy turkey and all of the fixings—just the two of them.
“When do you fly into Louisville?”
“Thursday morning.”
“Perfect. I could use some help getting to my doctor’s appointment Thursday afternoon. And that gives us time to do some things I promised to do with Derek before he leaves.”
* * *
Greg wasn’t sure how he got roped into this on Tuesday afternoon, but Tillie had promised to make sugar cookies with Derek before they returned to Minnesota, and with her sprained ankle, the only chance it could happen was if he did it. When he’d said he was passable in the kitchen, he’d meant he could operate the microwave with expert skill. Being dressed in an apron with powdered sugar coating his hands as he rolled out cookie dough was more advanced than he’d anticipated.
He’d followed the recipe and her verbal instructions to the letter while she sat at the table again with her leg propped on a chair. Derek was perched on a bar stool as he slowly got the hang of it all.
Well, maybe not.
“Look at my dinosaur, Miss Tillie!” Greg smiled at Derek’s joy over the five cookie cutters the boy had picked out at the hardware store—an airplane, train, unicorn, rocking horse, and the dinosaur he was so excited about at the moment. His enthusiasm reminded Greg why he was doing this. He’d have to suck up his misgivings and at least try. When else would he have a proficient instructor guiding him every step of the way? Never.
“That’s it, Greg. Any flatter and we’d have pie dough. But that’s the perfect thickness for cookies.” To Derek, she said, “Are you ready to start cutting them out?”
She taught them to make every bit of dough count as they wedged the cutters into every available space, and they spent the afternoon repeating the process until all of the dough was cut and baked.
When they iced and decorated them, Tillie was able to participate. Hers were much more professional looking than either of the males’, although Derek ate most of his as quickly as the icing hardened. Greg would box some of the remaining cookies for Derek to give Nancy and Stephan to enjoy. He pushed thoughts of returning to Minneapolis away, not wanting to ruin the moment worrying about Tillie, but he’d be back before she knew it.
Greg excused himself to do his online check-ins. He’d leave the Rover at the Louisville airport in overnight parking and should be back in Samuels in time for a quick lunch and to take her to the orthopedic’s office.
He walked into the kitchen and saw the two of them working hard on the cookies.
“Try this, Derek.” She showed him how to use the icing as boundaries and to fill each part with a different type of sprinkle. It worked best on the snowmen.
“That’s cool! Look, Daddy!”
He entered the room and joined them. “Great job, Derek. Why don’t we save that one for Mommy?”
“She’s going to love it!” he said.
Greg realized how much he was going to miss being with his son. They’d had such a great visit here with Tillie in the home that had once belonged to Derek’s great-grandmother.
While he hadn’t talked with Tillie yet, he knew that would come as soon as they were alone. But it was important to him suddenly that Derek know the importance of their being here.
“Son, there’s something I didn’t tell you about why we came here.”
“What, Daddy?”
He continued to ice cookies, which was fine with Greg, but Tillie’s hand movements had stopped. “This house is special to our family history.”
“Why?”
“Because it once belonged to my grandmother.”
Derek stopped and set the cookie on his plate filled with splashes of every color icing and sprinkles. “Who’s your gramma?”
“Amelia Montgomery Foster. I spent five summers here and then came back again the November after my twelfth birthday, but Miss Tillie knew her really well in the years after that. Gram, my grandmother, wanted her to continue living here.”
“What was she like?”
“A lot of fun. She was great with kids. We built forts, went on lots of adventures, and had a lot of good times. She was also a great cook, like Miss Tillie. In fact, Tillie knew her a lot better than I did.”
Tillie’s eyes lit up, and she smiled. “Mrs. Foster taught me most of what I use in cooking for my guests, even though I did go to college to learn some fancier techniques. She was the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Adventurous. Courageous. And she loved Christmas almost as much as I do. You know, most of the ornaments on the tree in the parlor belonged to her. If you’d like to take any favorite ones home for your tree, you may.”
His eyes opened wide. “Can I have the one with the soldier on the rocking horse?”
“Absolutely! I know how much you love playing with the soldiers on the chess set.”
“And it reminds me of the lady who rocks in my room upstairs and at my house.”
“The lady?”
“Yeah. She comes in my room at home, too.”
Greg leaned toward her and whispered. “He’s described her to me. I’m convinced he’s talking about G
ram.”
The smile left Tillie’s face as she asked Derek, “You mean you’ve seen her?”
He nodded. “A bunch of times.”
Tillie smiled up at Greg, blinking away tears. Her chin shook with emotion. “Please be sure and pack it before you go. I want him to have it. It was the first one he put on the tree.”
“I remember it well, but are you sure?”
“Mrs. Foster would want him to have it. I’m certain of it.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “That means a lot to me, too.” Greg appreciated her willingness to share something of Gram’s with Derek.
But his mind once again became preoccupied with the upcoming confrontation over why he’d lied about what had really brought him here. How did he intend to explain it without looking like a total jerk? Or a nut job?
Chapter Nineteen
After a whirlwind of activity on his overnight return to Minneapolis, Greg was back in Louisville picking up his SUV at the airport Thursday morning and heading south on the freeway. A sense of excitement he hadn’t experienced in ages made it difficult for him to keep the speedometer under eighty miles per hour.
He placed a call to Tillie before taking the Clermont exit.
“Hello.” Her voice sounded a little breathless. Was she overdoing it?
“Hey, I wanted to let you know I should be at your place by eleven. Save the hard work for when I arrive. And eat a light lunch. We’re going out tonight.”
“Already bossing me around?”
“You need someone to keep an eye on you right now. I’ll let myself in.” He’d kept the key, with her permission, knowing answering doors wouldn’t be something she’d be up to doing for a while, and he didn’t want to add to Beckie’s burden, either.
“See you in twenty minutes, Greg.” The wariness left her voice when she added, “Hope the traffic isn’t too bad.”
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