Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1)

by Kallypso Masters

  “It was a mess heading north yesterday, but I should be okay going in your direction, barring any accidents or construction.”

  Greg disconnected the call using the steering wheel control pad and the stereo resumed the jazz number he’d been humming to before calling Tillie.

  He grinned from ear to ear, excited to see her again, even though it had only been a day since he’d left.

  His spirits soared even higher as he parked at the side of the house. He entered through the front door, calling out to her.

  “In the kitchen!”

  Where else would she be? He found Tillie seated at the table snapping green beans while Beckie washed dishes. “You ladies sure are busy.”

  “Welcome back.” Beckie greeted him with a smile; Tillie focused on the task at hand. “Tillie said you’d be returning, but I didn’t expect you so soon.”

  “I wanted to be here for Tillie’s appointment this afternoon.” Being with her since the night of the accident made him want to stay with her until she was healed. He also wanted to hear straight from the orthopedic’s mouth what restrictions Tillie would have placed on her so he could make sure she followed doctor’s orders.

  Having dispensed with the pleasantries, his full attention returned to Tillie. The top and sides of her hair had been gathered into a gold barrette at the back of her head. Her rosy cheeks glowed from exertion, he supposed. Was she perhaps a little nervous—or upset that he’d returned? Why? All he wanted to do was help.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Fit as a fiddle. Hope the doctor agrees and lets me put more weight on my ankle.”

  Whatever the doctor said, Greg intended to enforce the doctor’s orders. At long last, she turned toward him and grinned. “Welcome back.” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Glad to be here.”

  Two hours later, Greg watched as Tillie left the doctor’s office maneuvering on crutches. He’d like to get her a knee scooter, but it wouldn’t be all that practical at her place because of the stairs and high thresholds between the rooms.

  “Remember, you still aren’t supposed to put weight on the foot, so if you need to move to a different room or position, let me know.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Tillie had argued with the doctor. The doctor won.

  She probably wouldn’t call on Greg frequently, although the learning curve for crutches and the time it took to build up necessary upper-body strength might take longer than the time she’d be hobbling around on crutches. He’d miss carrying her around as often as he had been.

  “It’s best that I learn how to get around on my own. After all, you aren’t going to be with me every minute of the day. You have work to do, too.”

  “True. But I’m flexible in my hours. After we identify when you’ll need me most, I’ll sort out a schedule for the preservationists.”

  Once she had scooted into the front passenger seat, which he’d pushed as far to the rear as possible so she could stretch out her leg, he stowed the crutches behind her. When he turned right instead of left out of the parking lot, she asked why.

  “I made reservations for dinner in Bardstown near the courthouse.”

  “Oh right. Which place?”

  “Old Talbott Tavern.” Always the architect, when he’d read in the binder at Tillie’s that the Tavern boasted rare sections of Flemish bond patterns in the building’s stone—something usually found only in brickwork—he had to see it for himself.

  “Fantastic! That’s one of my very favorite places.” Her mood seemed to be improving already.

  At least he’d scored with her there. This might be a good, neutral place to come clean with her.

  After parking at the side of the building, he helped Tillie out and onto her crutches before escorting her inside the front door of the rustic tavern and inn. The sign outside dated the building to 1779. He checked out the structure as they walked.

  Once seated inside, Tillie launched into her natural bent for sharing local history. He loved her passion for the stories about where she lived. “A fire here in the late 1990s destroyed much of the tavern, so renovations were made that may not be in keeping with the original, but at least they were able to save most of the building.”

  The 18th-century costumed hostess had seated them in a quiet corner near one of the two fireplaces. Greg helped prop Tillie’s foot in the chair beside him and sat down to survey the room. Reminiscent of an old English inn with its stone hearths and dark wooden floors and beams, he admired the attention to detail to preserve that period atmosphere centuries later.

  Without picking up her menu, she continued. “While the fire was contained to the upstairs, the first floor was heavily damaged with smoke and water, including this area. A member of the Beam family—famous for Jim Beam bourbon—was friends with the owner and donated wood from an old building owned by the distillery.” She pointed downward. “So the floors were replaced with these planks, and unsuspecting guests would never guess they’re not original to the place because they’re so authentic.”

  He surveyed the planks. “I’m glad they took the time to rebuild and restore it to its former glory. Impressive workmanship.”

  “Too bad you weren’t around here then. I’m sure you’d have had a lot of fun consulting on a project like this.”

  “You betcha. Special projects like this don’t come around often. While I love renovating and restoring private homes, having your work seen by tens of thousands of people over the years is its own reward.”

  Greg appreciated not having to delve immediately into the conversation about his motives for keeping his identity a secret from Tillie. But the moment was coming when he’d have to discuss it if he wanted there to be anything more between them.

  After ordering drinks, they opened their menus. “What Kentucky delicacy should I try?”

  “The bourbon-walnut encrusted chicken or the pork chop are excellent. And be sure to try a cup of Kentucky Burgoo.”

  He read the descriptions on the menu, including this unusual stew made with a variety of meats including lamb, beef, and chicken. Sounded interesting. “What are you having?”

  “The bourbon BBQ pork, fried pickles, and a cup of burgoo.”

  “Everything sounds good, but I’ll take your advice and go with the chicken—and burgoo. ‘Stranger in a strange land,’ and all.”

  The server took their orders, but Greg asked to hold onto his menu to read a little about the tavern’s history. “There’s a Jesse James room upstairs,” he noted. “Have you ever stayed in it?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I’d seen the room before the fire, but I was too young to appreciate it then. The renovated room wouldn’t be the same, though. It reopened to patrons in Summer 2015. I’ve been too busy to take time out to spend the night there. Maybe someday.”

  “You need to take a night off and just do it.”

  “Trying to tell me what to do again, Greg?” She grinned, but he’d heard an edge to her words.

  “No. Just thought it might be an experience you’d enjoy.”

  “Not to worry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Greg reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Hang in there. It’ll get better in a couple of weeks.”

  She groaned, but gave him another smile, this one lighting up her eyes. “I’ve missed having meals with you, Greg.”

  He’d missed everything about her, even though they’d only been apart about twenty-four hours. All he’d been able to think about on the flight back was confessing, but the fear that she’d send him packing before her ankle had a chance to heal left him wondering how much he should reveal. Regardless, he wouldn’t squander what little time they did have together. He refused to live with regrets later on.

  * * *

  “I missed you.” The words came out before she thought about the implications of how much she was divulging about her feelings. Two more unlikely friends she couldn’t imagine, but she enjoyed being w
ith him. Perhaps this was a little like Mrs. Foster and Joseph Hill. “I’m looking forward to spending the next few weeks with you.”

  He stroked the knuckles of her hand, sending delicious shivers up her arm. “What happens after that?” Greg broached one of the subjects that had kept her mind busy all afternoon.

  Yet she wasn’t prepared to answer him. “After?” Tillie’s throat grew tight, and the word came out like a croak. Oh, how she wished there could be something more between them, but fear of being hurt held her back. What she needed to do was confront him about why he’d hidden his identity from her after they’d clearly started to show interest in one another.

  I hate confronting anyone, much less someone I like!

  Their burgoo was served, providing the breather she needed. Neither began eating right away, though. His unanswered question hung in the air.

  When she didn’t respond, he added, “Surely you’ve felt the attraction, too.”

  She nodded, still unable to speak—or eat. For some reason, she launched into more of the tavern’s history as being a stagecoach stop, avoiding what she needed to address. Yes, she knew exactly why she was dancing around the real issue here. Dodging conflict had seen her through her first thirty-two years of life quite well.

  After continued silence on her part, Greg took a bite of his stew, and she seized the opportunity of his full mouth to tackle the subject.

  “Before we decide on pursuing a relationship, Greg, I think we should discuss why you kept your connection to Mrs. Foster a secret for so long after you came to Samuels.”

  He set down his spoon, not meeting her gaze at first, then pierced her with those intense gray eyes. He drew a deep breath, obviously as pained by the topic as she was. “I’ve been trying to decide how to explain my actions, but nothing sounded logical. True, when I first came down, I had a good reason for keeping my relationship to Gram a secret. I was hell-bent on calling you out as a fraud.” She opened her mouth to speak, and he held up his hand. “Believe me, it didn’t take long for me to realize you truly believed what you were touting as her presence there. I’m convinced that Gram is still active in the house given what Derek says he’s seen.”

  She’d have liked for him to believe her outright, but it was a start. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me later. Truthfully, I discovered your identity within the first few days of your visit—”

  He cocked his head. “What tipped you off?”

  She was embarrassed to admit that to him. “That’s beside the point.” Her heart pounded as she held her ground. Hadn’t she made it clear she still wanted to get to know him better despite the subterfuge? Why wouldn’t he simply come clean?

  He ran his fingers through his hair, and she regretted that she’d distracted him from the meal.

  No! Stop doing that! You deserve an answer!

  “Tillie, there’s no defense for why. I screwed up. Honestly, I didn’t expect to ever have deep feelings for you, never mind to develop them so quickly. I couldn’t find a way to tell you that wouldn’t make me look rather petty. I hope you’ll accept my apology and that we can move on.”

  His explanation was rather anticlimactic. But it is what it is. As long as he wasn’t keeping any other secrets from her… Was he?

  “I’ll accept your apology, as long as there isn’t anything else you’re hiding from me.” He glanced away for only a moment, leaving her to wonder if there might be something more.

  When he met her gaze again, he smiled. “Confession time. I’m a huge Jesse James enthusiast from way back.” Was this supposed to be a revelation to her? “He’s fascinated me since Gram told me stories about him as a kid. So I’ll admit to having a secret wish to learn more about him and his visits to that house.”

  She shook her head and grinned. Why he’d think she’d have a problem with that was beyond her. “Ask me anything you’d like to know. I think I’ve shown you the hatch where he escaped capture. Honestly, I’m not sure what other physical evidence exists.”

  He remained silent a moment before nodding. “Walking the same floors he once did, given that you haven’t replaced the floorboards or even repainted them, has helped satisfy my secret obsession.”

  At least he didn’t bring up the notion of Jesse living beyond his assassination again. In periods of confusion, her mother often claimed to be the granddaughter of Jesse James. Her delusions had caused them both so much grief and remained a hot-button issue for Tillie. She didn’t intend to share that part of her past with Greg. He’d want to have nothing more to do with her.

  Their entrees were served, distracting her a moment, and she tried to remember where they were before her mind had wandered. She didn’t want to think about what would happen after her ankle healed and he went home for good.

  She leaned toward him. “I enjoy being with you, and I’d like to see if anything more can develop between us over the next few weeks.”

  Again, he reached across the table, stroking the back of her hand. “I’d like that, too.”

  A sudden and overwhelming fear weighed heavy on her heart. What if they became involved only to be unable to sustain a relationship because of their differences and the geographical challenge? Did every woman have such insecurities when starting a new relationship, or was she merely a pathetic case? But Mrs. Foster had maintained a long-distance relationship with Joseph Hill. Why couldn’t Tillie reach for a little adventure? She wasn’t getting any younger, and staying holed up in the inn as she tended to do, her chances of meeting anyone were slim and none.

  Be honest with yourself, Tillie.

  Okay, she didn’t care about meeting anyone else. She wanted to get to know this man better. She’d avoided opening up her heart to him far too long.

  “Earlier, you asked what happens after my ankle heals. You have significant obligations back in Minnesota—your son and business, especially—and I’m firmly entrenched at my inn in Kentucky. Would you be happy having a long-distance relationship, if it came to that?”

  “If that’s all we could have, then, yes, I could.” He leaned closer. “But I’m not ready to assume that’s all there can be between us.”

  This didn’t seem real. If she pinched herself, would she wake up in bed with a throbbing ankle and none of this would have happened at all?

  He set his napkin beside his plate. “Let’s get to know each other better over the next few weeks and see how we feel then. Of course, I’ll need to visit Derek at least once, but there’s still plenty of time for us to explore whatever it is we have or want to have before your next guests arrive for Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Tillie licked her lips, realizing too late she’d unintentionally drawn his attention when his gaze zoomed in on them. She didn’t have a clue how to entice a man she was interested in, but apparently, her body had some ideas. Still, what exactly would he be expecting? As much as she found him attractive, casual sex wasn’t happening. A man like Greg must have to fight off women with a stick. Would he be disappointed if she didn’t fall into bed with him?

  Wanting to be sure they were on the same page, she asked, “Explain what you mean by us getting better acquainted?”

  As if he’d read where her mind had gone, he grinned in such a way as to melt her to the core. “Going on dates like this. Nothing involving a lot of walking”—he pointed to her foot—“so meals like this that you don’t have to labor over, short drives to show me more of this state you love, and quiet moments alone when the inn isn’t otherwise occupied.” He became serious again. “I don’t want you worrying about taking care of me. This is your time to be waited on.”

  “But my happiest moments are when I’m serving others. It’s not a bother at all.”

  “Tillie, I want to be more to you than one of your guests.”

  A flutter in her chest almost caused the words to catch in her throat, but she forced them out in a whisper. “You already are.” Oh God! Making herself vulnerable to him like this scared her to death.

  Hi
s smile lit up his eyes and promised something she hadn’t dreamed could become a possibility for her.

  It’s now or never. “I have to prepare for the guests checking in next Friday afternoon, but the rest of the week, you will have my undivided attention.”

  He pointed to her bowl. “You barely touched your burgoo.”

  She pointed to his nearly full bowl as well. But how could she eat when they were making plans that could affect the rest of her life?

  Don’t put the cart before the horse, Tillie.

  Why did Mrs. Foster’s wise words always calm her down? Of course she was jumping ahead of herself. Again. One day at a time.

  * * *

  “What ails that boy?” Amelia couldn’t hide her exasperation as she paced in front of the fireplace near Gregory and Tillie’s table. If Tillie could hear her—and even her own mother at times, although Amelia tried to stay more positive—why couldn’t her grandson? She’d practically been yelling at him ever since he’d spouted that non-answer about his enthusiasm for Jesse James lore. Poppycock! “He told her a half-truth. Why didn’t he tell her the real reason he came to the inn, Jesse?”

  The equally perplexed outlaw shook his head. “Damned if I know. Pardon my language, Miss Amelia. But who wants to lay bets that omission is gonna come back to haunt him?”

  “If I don’t haunt his days and nights first. Tillie deserves total honesty. If he breaks her heart…”

  “Thought you wanted them together no matter what?”

  Harumph! “Not if he intends to break her sweet, vulnerable heart. She already wears it on her sleeve.” Amelia shook her head. “I should never have left her that house. Maybe if she’d ventured out into the world, she’d have weathered a few more bad relationships and be able to hold her own when things came to a head, as they surely will.”

  Amelia couldn’t stand to watch this slow train wreck. If only she could let go of some of the pent-up emotions that kept her stuck in this place just outside the Pearly Gates.

  Jesse wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go up to the mural room. I want to see how bad that fire was and if I can still see those damned birds that kept me up all night more than a century ago.”