Suddenly Last Summer

by Sarah Morgan

  He should have told them straight-out, he thought, not tried to protect them. If he’d done that maybe they wouldn’t be fighting him now.

  Jackson looked at his grandfather. “I came home to run the business.”

  “No one asked you to.”

  Elizabeth O’Neil straightened her shoulders. “I asked him to.”

  “We don’t need him here.” Walter thumped his fist on the table. “He should have stayed where he was, running his fancy company and playing the big boss. I could have run this place.”

  “You’re eighty years old, Walter. You should be slowing down, not taking on more. For once, swallow your pride and take the help that’s offered.” Elizabeth scooped up china fragments. “You should be grateful Jackson came home.”

  “I’m not grateful! A business is supposed to make money. All he does is spend it.”

  Jackson sat still, holding back the anger that simmered. “It’s called investment.”

  “It’s called wasting money.”

  “It’s my damn money.”

  “No swearing in my kitchen, Jackson O’Neil.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Tyler was as restless as a caged beast. Jackson knew his brother hated being trapped indoors only marginally less than he hated authority. All he’d ever wanted to do was ski as fast as was humanly possible, and since the injury that had curtailed his racing career, his mood had been volatile.

  “Don’t wind your grandfather up, Tyler.” His mother tipped broken china into a bag. “I’ll make tea.”

  About to point out that what they needed wasn’t tea but teamwork, Jackson remembered his mother always made tea and baked when she was stressed. And she’d been stressed for the past eighteen months. “Tea would be great, Mom.”

  “If you expect me to sit here I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than tea.” Tyler helped himself to another beer from the fridge and tossed one to his brother.

  Jackson caught it one-handed. He knew that for all his outward impression of indifference, Tyler hated this situation as much as he did. Hated the fact they might lose this place. Hated the way his grandfather refused to let go of things.

  He wondered if he’d been wrong to come home.

  And then he saw his grandmother’s lined, anxious face and his mother focusing extra hard on icing gingerbread Santas and knew there was no way he could have stayed away.

  His grandfather might not want him here, but there was no doubt he was needed.

  He watched as his mother bustled around taking comfort in the ritual of caring for people. She placed a plate of freshly baked cinnamon stars in the center of the scrubbed pine table and checked the bread she had baking in the oven.

  The smell evoked memories of childhood. The large friendly kitchen had been part of his life forever. Now it was the closest he had to a boardroom and his infuriating, exasperating, interfering, lovable family were his management team. Two octogenarians, a grieving widow, his daredevil brother and an overexcited puppy with training issues.

  Beam me up.

  His mother placed a steaming mug of tea next to his beer and he felt a twinge of guilt for wishing he were back in his old office with his experienced team around him and only work to take up his attention. That time seemed so long ago. His life had changed. Right now, he wasn’t sure it was for the better.

  “The changes we’ve made will make a difference, but we need to tell people about those changes. I’m employing a public relations firm and I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.” Given the state of the Snow Crystal finances, he didn’t have much choice about that. “If I’m wasting money then it will be my money.”

  His grandfather gave a snort of disapproval. “If you’re willing to throw away your own money you’re even more foolish than I thought.”

  “I’m employing an expert.”

  “You mean an outsider.” Walter sniffed. “And maybe you should be talking to your other brother before you make decisions about the family business.”

  “Sean isn’t here.”

  “Because he has the good sense to leave the running of it to others. I’m just saying he should know what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “He’ll be home for Christmas. I’ll talk to him then.” Jackson leaned forward. “I need someone who can get Snow Crystal the attention it deserves. We need to increase occupancy. We need heads on beds.”

  “Is it about proving yourself? Because you’ve already done that with your big-shot ways, your fancy company and your fancy cars.”

  Change, Jackson thought. They hated change.

  All his grandfather understood was blunt, so he gave him blunt.

  “If we leave things the way they are, we’ll lose the business.”

  His grandmother spilled a puddle of icing on the table, his mother turned a shade paler and his grandfather’s eyes burned a fierce blue in his tanned, craggy face.

  “This place has been in our family for four generations.”

  “And I’m trying to keep it in the family for the next four.”

  “By spending a fortune on a fancy New York company that can’t even find Vermont on a map? What do they know about our business?”

  “Plenty. They have a division that specializes in Travel and Hospitality, and the woman heading it up knows what she’s doing. Have you heard of Adventure Travel?” Jackson leaned forward in his chair. “They were going under until Kayla Green took on the account. She had their business mentioned in every key media target.”

  “Jargon,” Walter muttered. “So what is she? A magician?”

  “She is a PR specialist. Right at the top of her game. She has media contacts that the rest of us can only dream about.”

  “She’s not the only one with media contacts.” Walter O’Neil sniffed to show exactly what he thought of Kayla Green’s abilities. “I’ve been bowling with Max Rogers, editor of the Snow Crystal Post, for the past twenty years. If I want a piece in the paper, I ask.”

  The Snow Crystal Post.

  Jackson didn’t know whether to laugh or punch a hole through the table.

  Wrenching the running of Snow Crystal away from his grandfather was like trying to pull fresh meat from the jaws of a starving lion.

  “Local press is great, but what we really need is attention from the national media and international media—” He opened his mouth to add social media but decided not to get started on that one. “PR is more than talking to the press and we need to think bigger than the Snow Crystal Post.”

  “Bigger isn’t always better.”

  “No, but small can mean bust. We need to expand.”

  “You make us sound like a factory!”

  “Not a factory, a business. A business, Gramps.” Jackson rubbed his fingers over his forehead to ease the throb of his tension headache. He was used to walking in and getting the job done. Not anymore. Not with his own family because there were feelings to consider.

  He decided that the only thing they’d respond to was hard facts. “It’s important you know how things stand at the moment—”

  His mother pushed a plate toward him. “Have a gingerbread Santa.”

  On the verge of revealing just how black the future looked, Jackson found himself staring at a plate of smiling Santas. They wouldn’t look so damned cheerful if they knew how precarious their future was.

  “Mom—”

  “You’ll sort it out, Jackson. You’ll do what’s right. By the way, Walter—” her tone was casual “—did you see the doctor about that pain in your chest? Because I can run you over there today.”

  Walter scowled. “I pulled a muscle chopping logs. It was nothing.”

  “He won’t listen.” Alice stuck a knife into the bowl of icing. “I keep telling him we should slow down during sex, but he ignores me.”

  “Christ, Grams!” Tyler shifted uncomfortably, and his grandmother looked up from the Santa she was holding, some of the old spark flaring in her eyes.

  “Mind your language. And what’s w
rong with you? You think sex is just for the young? You have sex, Tyler O’Neil. Plenty of it if the rumors are to be believed.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t talk about it with my grandmother—” Tyler levered himself to his feet. “I’m out of here. There’s only so much family togetherness I can stand in one day. I’m going to tear up the slopes and chase women.”

  Knowing Tyler wasn’t his problem, Jackson let him go without argument.

  He met his mother’s gaze and read the message there.

  She was warning him to ease up on his grandfather.

  The door slammed behind Tyler, and his grandmother flinched. “He was wild as a boy and he’s wild as a man.”

  “He’s not wild.” Elizabeth poured milk into a pretty spotted jug. “He just hasn’t found his place in the world since his injury. He’ll adjust, especially now that he has Jess home.”

  It occurred to Jackson that his mother could have been talking about herself. She hadn’t found her place in the world since losing his father. That wound was as raw as ever and she was stumbling around like a bird with a broken wing.

  Smelling food, the puppy emerged from under the table. She looked up at Jackson hopefully, her entire body wagging along with her tail.

  “Maple, sweetheart.” Elizabeth scooped her up. “She hates all this shouting.”

  Walter grunted. “Give her something to eat. I like to see her eat. She was skin and bones when she arrived here.”

  Jackson closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was still in the kitchen. Still in the middle of this “meeting” where half the occupants of the room were made of gingerbread or had four legs.

  “Mom—”

  “When you get a minute could you bring down the boxes of decorations for the tree? Alice and I need to sort through them.”

  Jackson refrained from pointing out he hadn’t had a minute since he’d arrived back at Snow Crystal. He’d been buried neck-deep in loans, business plans, staff who didn’t do their jobs and finances that didn’t add up. There were days when he ate standing up and nights when he lay on top of the bed, too tired to undress.

  “We’re off the subject. You need to learn to keep a meeting on track, Jackson.” His grandfather reached for a biscuit. “So what does this woman from New York know about our business? I’ll bet she’s never even seen a sugar maple tree, let alone a whole damn forest of them.”

  “I’m not inviting her here to tap the trees, Gramps.”

  His grandfather gave a grunt. “She’s probably never tasted good quality maple syrup. That’s how I met your grandmother. She came to buy a bottle of our syrup.” He snapped the head off a gingerbread Santa and winked at Alice. “She thought I was so sweet, she never left.”

  Watching his grandparents exchange loving glances, Jackson decided that not having tasted maple syrup was going to be the least of Kayla Green’s problems. “If it will make you feel better I’ll give her a bottle, but that’s not our main business. It’s a hobby.”

  “Hobby? The O’Neils are famous around here for the quality of our maple syrup—it’s something we’ve been doing in this family for over a hundred years. Tourists come to see what we do here and you call it a hobby?”

  “How many tourists?” Jackson ignored the food in front of him. “How many tourists do you think came last year? Because I can tell you it’s not enough to keep this place going.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much developing those fancy cabins and refurbishing the lodge. Did we need a spa? Did we need a pool? Did you need to employ an expensive French chef in the restaurant? Extravagance, all of it.” His grandfather was red in the face and Jackson rose to his feet, worry gnawing at his insides. He knew how much they were hurting. He also knew if they didn’t face up to what was happening soon, Snow Crystal Resort would be going under.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  “I’m going to do what needs to be done. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “So now you’re an autocrat.” But his grandfather’s voice shook a little, and Jackson saw something in the old man’s eyes that nailed his feet to the floor.

  This was the man who had taught him to whittle an arrow from a stick, to dam a stream and catch a fish with his bare hands. This man had picked him out of deep snow when he’d wiped out on his skis and taught him how to check the thickness of the ice on the pond so he didn’t fall through.

  And this was the man who had lost his son.

  Jackson sat back down in the chair. “I’m not an autocrat but I have to make changes. We’re operating in a stagnant economy. We have to stand out from the crowd. We have to offer something special.”

  “Snow Crystal Resort is special.”

  “It’s Snow Crystal Resort and Spa now, and for once we agree on something. It’s special.”

  His grandfather’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “So why change things?”

  “Because people don’t know about it, Gramps. But they’re going to.” The puppy nuzzled his ankle, and Jackson leaned down and stroked the dog’s soft, springy fur. “I’m flying to New York tomorrow to meet with Kayla Green.”

  “I still don’t get what a girl from Manhattan is going to know about running a resort like ours.”

  “She’s not from Manhattan. She’s British.”

  His mother brightened. “She’ll fall in love with the place. I did. From Old England to New England.”

  Walter frowned. “You’ve lived here so long I don’t think of you as British. Hell, I bet this Kayla woman has never even seen a moose!”

  “Does she need to see a moose to get the job done?” But an idea was forming in his head. Not a compromise exactly, but a solution that might work. “If I can persuade Kayla Green to come and experience firsthand exactly what we offer here at Snow Crystal, will you listen to her?”

  “That depends. She’s not going to see much in a couple of hours, is she?”

  Jackson stood up. “She can stay for a week. God knows, we’ve got enough empty cabins.”

  “No way is Miss New York or Miss London or wherever the hell she’s from, going to want to stay in the wilds with us for a week in the middle of a Vermont winter.”

  Deep down, Jackson agreed with him but he wasn’t about to admit defeat.

  “I’ll get her here and you’ll listen.”

  “I’ll listen if she says something worth listening to.”

  “Deal.” He shrugged on his jacket while his mother looked on anxiously.

  “Stay and eat. You’ve been working so hard I’ll bet you haven’t gone near the shops.”

  “He shouldn’t have moved out.” His grandfather clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the puppy. “He shouldn’t have spent all that money converting that crumbling old barn into a fancy place of his own when we have all these empty rooms.”

  “I’ve trebled the value of that crumbling old barn.” And saved his sanity. Jackson slipped his tablet computer into his bag and thought it might as well have been made of gingerbread for all the use it had been to him. “No food, thanks. I need to put together some figures for the people at Innovation. I’ll do my own thing tonight.”

  “You always do,” his grandfather muttered, and Jackson shook his head in exasperation and walked out of the warm, cozy kitchen into the freezing winter air.

  His boots crunched through the thick snow and he stopped, breathing in the peace and quiet along with the smell of wood smoke.

  Home.

  Sometimes suffocating, sometimes comforting. He’d avoided it, he realized. Stayed away longer than he should because at times there had been more suffocation than comfort.

  He’d left the place behind at eighteen, fueled by a determination to prove himself. Why stay trapped in Snow Crystal when the whole world was out there beckoning him toward possibilities and opportunities? He’d been caught up in the excitement, the thrill of making something new, something that was his. He’d been riding the wave until that phone call. It had come in th
e night, like all the worst phone calls and had changed his life forever.

  Where would he be now if his father hadn’t died? Expanding his business in Europe? On a hot date with a woman?

  Raising hell like his brother?

  There was a whimper and he looked down to see the puppy by his ankles, snow clinging to her fur and mischief in her eyes.

  “You’re not supposed to be out here.” Jackson stooped and lifted her, feeling the tremble of her body through her springy fur. She was small and delicate, a miniature toy poodle with the heart of a lion. He remembered the day he and Tyler had found her abandoned and half-dead in the forest, a scrap of fur, barely alive. They’d brought her home and coaxed her back to life. “I bet there are days when you wish you hadn’t joined our family.”

  His mother appeared in the doorway, relief on her face as she saw the puppy. “She followed you.” She took the puppy from him and gathered her close, stroking and kissing, pouring all her love onto the delighted puppy while Jackson watched, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.

  “Mom—”

  “He needs you, Jackson. Sooner or later he’ll realize that. Your father made mistakes, but your grandfather can’t cope with thinking about that right now. He doesn’t need Michael’s memory tarnished.”

  And neither did she. The shadows in her eyes told him that.

  Knowing how much she’d loved his father, Jackson felt the tension increase across his shoulders. “I’m trying to get the job done without hurting him.”

  She hesitated. “You’re probably wondering why you came back.”

  “I’m not wondering that.”

  Somehow, he had to find a way of making something that was his out of something that was theirs and making his grandfather feel as if the whole thing was his idea.

  He had to save what they’d built.

  Kayla Green might have worked with some of the toughest and most successful companies in her career, but nothing, nothing, was going to come close to the challenge of dealing with the O’Neil family.

  He hoped she liked gingerbread Santas.

  Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Morgan