Down by the River (4 page)

Jack began to realize he probably wouldn't gain a sale for the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast from Grace Conley. She'd been what he and Roger called a “kept woman” most of her life—a beautiful woman a man of prestige and power married as a statement of who he was. Seldom did those men want the little woman to work outside the home.

“What did you do before you married?” he asked casually.

“I worked in retail for several years and as a model while in college.” She smiled as she mentioned the latter, and Jack liked the way an authentic smile lit her face. “But I married young, before I finished school. Later, around raising the children, I went back and finished my degree.”

Jack's suspicions gained full confirmation now. He was dealing with a woman looking at a pretty property on a whim. She knew as little about running a bed-and-breakfast—or any other kind of business—as he did about walking down a modeling runway.

He smiled at her. No use in being rude. He'd waltz around in her pretty company for a while today, and tomorrow she'd head back to her fine big house in Nashville.

“Would you like to go outside and look around a little since you already had an opportunity to see the interior of the house? I could tell you about a few features of the property and the history of the place before I need to leave for my next appointment.”

Frankly, Jack loved the Oakley place and always enjoyed showing it. The inn had a proud history and stood out as a truly unique house in the community. Jack figured Grace would enjoy seeing the old, hexagonal gazebo on the side yard, and he led her in that direction.

They walked under oaks, maples, and a multitude of mimosas not yet in summer bloom as they made their way around the house. The gazebo sat beside the badminton court to the left of the bed-and-breakfast, situated in the middle of a neatly manicured flower garden.

“I thought this old gazebo might appeal to you.” Jack gestured toward it. “The original owners built it in the early 1900s. It fell into disrepair, but Carl Oakley restored it back to its original state while he lived here. Carl could fix anything, and Mavis had all the domestic arts in spades. Both of them loved people, and they enjoyed opening up their home and entertaining guests. We miss them around here.”

Grace looked at the gazebo in pleasure. “I didn't notice this when I walked around the house before.”

“Well, it's set back a little toward the side of the property. It's easy to miss. The Oakley sits on a large acreage, and land here on the river goes high now. But the right owner will come along in time. All of us hope to see the old place brimming with life again soon.”

Jack watched Grace walk up into the gazebo—enjoyed looking at her long legs flirting beneath her skirt again. She was tall and still shapely for a woman with grown children. Jack didn't mind the fuller hips and rounded abdomen revealed under her clothes, and he liked her small but rounded bust more than the pendulous breasts so many older women had. He regarded her with interest, appreciating what he saw. He thought too many young girls today looked as thin as pencils, with too little softness to them. Jack liked his women with a little curve and cushion. Grace said she'd modeled in her younger years, and she still possessed the walk and stance of a model.

Continuing to watch her, Jack decided “Grace” seemed a good name for her, too. She moved with grace. And she was obviously a graceful lady.

As she started down the steps of the gazebo, she glanced up and caught his candid gaze on her. Their eyes locked, and a surge of feeling passed between them before she could shut it down. Rattled, she dropped her eyes, stepped down too rapidly from the gazebo, and then tripped. Jack tried to catch her in his arms to keep her from falling flat on her face, but her weight proved too much for him. They both went tumbling down onto the grass, Grace sprawling on top of Jack, her breath almost knocked out of her.

Arms still around her, Jack blew out a breath and looked up at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, still startled and trying to catch her breath.

Enjoying the feel of her warm body pressed into his, Jack wondered then if she'd orchestrated this situation. She might have. Women did stuff like this all the time around him.

Jack lifted Grace's chin with one hand and looked into her eyes. Her pupils dilated, and her breath escalated as he did. Sweet, he thought. And he kissed her.

She tasted delightful, like butterscotch candy. He only had a moment to savor her and to drop his hands to cup those full hips of hers, before she began sputtering and jerking herself away from him. She rolled herself to a sitting position on top of him as she did, which only aroused Jack more. He tried to pull her back down on him once again, but she scrambled her way off him and into the grass beside them, her skirt yanked up and her pretty thighs showing.

“How dare you!” he heard her say now.

Jack sat up beside her, only to feel her slap his face. Jack winced and put a hand to his chin. Then he got up and pulled Grace to her feet.

“You let me go!” she fumed, jerking her hand away from his. “How dare you attack me like that?!”

Her eyes flashed fury, while she brushed off her dress with frantic strokes. She was really upset.

Jack frowned. “Listen, it was you who tripped and fell on me, Mrs. Grace Conley. After that I thought you gave me signals you wanted me to pursue the moment.”

“Well, you were wrong!” She gave him an enraged look. “And how dare you suggest I encouraged you.”

Jack rubbed his chin again. “A lot of women trip to get a little attention from a man. How could I know that wasn't what happened with you?”

She marched over to the gazebo and pointed down at the step. “See that nail? That's what I tripped over, that big nail sticking up. It made the step loose and wobbly. I lost my balance.”

Jack went over to look at it. “Well, I can see the problem.” He looked at her and grinned. “Honest mistake.”

“I doubt that.” Grace's eyes snapped as she glared at him. “I can easily imagine you take advantage of women with little provocation all the time from what I saw earlier today.”

Jack laughed and shook his head. “Grace Conley, if you knew me better, you'd know I've never needed to take advantage of a woman in my entire life.”

“Very cute. You're telling me women simply throw themselves at you all the time, is that it?” She put her hands on her hips as she spoke.

Jack stopped to consider her comment, scratching his chin. “Yeah. I guess that's about it. Women have always liked me.”

She shook a finger at him like she might at a naughty child. “Well, let this day be an exception for you, Mr. Teague. I can tell you of a certainty that I do
not
like you at all right now. And I think I've had just about enough of you for one day, too.”

She turned and started toward the driveway in a huff.

Jack grinned at her back. “Have a good trip home to Nashville, Grace Conley. It was sure nice meeting you.”

She strutted off around the corner without looking back. Jack laughed and then started toward the house to lock up, whistling as he walked along. It had been a long time since a woman slapped him. All in all—a rather exciting day.

G
race stormed out of the backyard of the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast and down the River Road to her hotel. Fortunately, she could find her way to her room, situated on the side of the motel, without going through the lobby. She hated to think anyone would see her like this—a run in her hose, her dress grass-stained, and her hair falling down out of its bun. Good grief!

Shutting the door to her room at last, Grace leaned against the door to catch her breath and burst into tears. How dare that man treat her like some sort of trollop and kiss her out in the open yard! Anyone could have been watching. It was humiliating.

Grace dropped onto the side of the bed, trying to settle her emotions. She poured herself a glass of water and then moved to sit at the mirrored dresser to fix her hair. One look at her face started her crying all over again. Her lips looked like those of a woman thoroughly kissed, her face still flushed.

Gracious! What sort of man was Jack Teague to flirt with that young girl like she saw him do and then make a pass at her not thirty minutes later! The nerve of him. Grace sighed and shook her head at herself. Even more despicable was that she'd responded to him. She hated to admit it, but it was true. When she fell and got caught off guard, and when he looked at her with those deep brown eyes, she'd felt a quickening deep within and a rush of desire she hadn't experienced since young college days.

Grace got up to pace around the room and weep some more, trying to analyze her feelings and reactions. “Oh, Grace, how foolish can you be. Jack Teague is obviously an aging playboy. Didn't you see that from the first with that young girl crawling all over him? And him enjoying it, too.”

She heaved a sigh. Mr. Jack Teague was not the type of man she should admire or be attracted to. Where was her good sense? She'd purposely stayed clear of the Jack Teague types all her life. And for good reason. They were nothing but trouble. What was she thinking—responding to a man like that? How could she even find him attractive?

Grace shook her head, beginning to calm down a little. Lord, the two years she'd been widowed must really be getting to her.

Grace's eyes moved to the list of questions she'd meant to ask about the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast still lying on the side of the dresser. She'd hardly get the answers to those questions now. And she certainly would
not
call Jack Teague to ask them. She sighed. No, the best thing was to get this whole thing off her mind. She'd acted impulsively to even go see that place, and now look at the trouble her impulse had caused.

Pulling her practical self to the forefront, Grace stripped off her blue dress, her hose, and her shoes, and got into the shower. The hot water felt like a balm to her frayed nerves. After getting out, redoing her hair and makeup, and dressing in a casual Capri set, Grace felt more like herself again. Squaring her shoulders, she took off for the afternoon in Gatlinburg she'd promised herself. Besides, Margaret would ask her about her day later on, and she wanted to be able to give her a cheerful and honest account. She certainly had
not
told Margaret she planned to look at the bed-and-breakfast down by the river this morning. Nor did she intend to.

She squared her shoulders before picking up her purse to head to the door. “Furthermore, I'll be switched-and-twitted before I allow some impulsive man to spoil my whole day,” she said, starting for the car.

Grace soon drove through Townsend and into the beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains, heading for Gatlinburg on the Little River Road. The scenic two-lane highway wound in and out along mountain streams and over a high ridgeline to finally descend softly into the backside of Gatlinburg. It was a beautiful May day, and Grace rolled down the window of the town car so she could feel the clean mountain air on her face and hear the stream cascading merrily over the rocks as it rushed along its way.

She parked near the Laurel Mountain Village Mall at the west end of Gatlinburg, lunched at the Garden Café restaurant behind the mall, and then proceeded to explore the colorful mall shops. Grace bought mountain taffy and jars of candy sticks for her children and grandchildren at the Smokyland candy store. At the Book Nook, she found a new mystery for Thea Greene, the high-school girl who house-sat and cared for Grace's dogs in Nashville when Grace went away.

Grace's mood improved as the day progressed, and she felt more like herself by the time she started to explore a cute shop in the mall called Nature's Corner. She even indulged herself with a beautiful floral paperweight she found on sale.

The store's owner, who introduced herself as Zola Devon, smiled when Grace brought her treasure up to the counter. “I like that one especially,” Zola said, reaching out to take the item from Grace's hands to wrap it up. “I ordered several boxes of those floral paperweights from abroad, each with different flowers in them. They've sold really well in the shop. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Glancing up, Grace found the dark-haired girl staring at her with an odd expression. “Is something wrong?” Grace asked.

The girl studied her with a furrow in her brow. “I'm not sure. You bought a paperweight with a rose in the center, but I suddenly see you surrounded by mimosas. Pink mimosas. At your inn.” She smiled. “Oh. Now I see it. You own a bed-and-breakfast called the Mimosa Inn, don't you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Grace stepped back, feeling disquieted by Zola's remarks.

Zola shook her head, looking puzzled at Grace's response. “Don't you own a bed-and-breakfast? Sometimes I see things about people.” A frown wrinkled her brow. “Usually they're right.”

“Well, actually, I looked at a bed-and-breakfast this morning with a Realtor,” Grace admitted, not sure how far to continue with this strange conversation. “And I did see mimosa trees in the yard—lots of them, if I recall correctly. Although none of them were in bloom yet. Maybe that's what you picked up on.”

“That's it!” Zola snapped her fingers in the air and then stopped to look thoughtful once more, as though listening to a voice only she could hear.

She leaned across the counter to look at Grace earnestly. “You're supposed to buy that Mimosa Inn. You've experienced doubts about whether you should or not, but I believe I received this little message to help you know of a certainty you should buy it.”

Grace took a step back, studying the girl's gypsy looks. “Are you a fortune-teller or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Zola looked deeply shocked. “I'm only a simple Christian woman who sometimes hears a little word from God for people. Like a Biblical seer.”

Grace raised an eyebrow.

“You aren't a believer?” Zola asked, surprised. “I usually don't get things except for believers. Usually God is very careful about that.”

“Of course, I'm a believer,” Grace said, purposely not adding any more. She certainly didn't meet shop owners like Zola Devon every day and wasn't quite sure how much personal information about herself she wanted to reveal. However, the girl did know about the inn she had looked at earlier and about the mimosa trees in the yard.

Grace thought over the girl's words. “The bed-and-breakfast I looked at was called the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast after the former owners, and not the Mimosa Inn,” she said at last.

The girl smiled brilliantly at her. “But you'll change the name, of course.”

Grace stood there somewhat speechless for a moment.

Meanwhile, Zola wrapped the paperweight and packed it into a neat white box before looking up at Grace again. “You see, the Lord knew you were struggling, trying to make a hard decision about a change in your life. He used me to help you know what to do. God's good like that. After all, you have been praying about making a change in your life, haven't you? And wondering what you should do?”

Grace nodded, hesitant to say more.

“Well, you see? This is your little nudge to help you decide.” She looked at Grace with a sweet expression. “However, you still need to know in your own heart this is right for you, of course. You mustn't make a big life decision based only on a word from another believer.”

Not concerned that Grace offered no ready response, Zola smiled at her kindly and reached over to pat her arm. “You know, I think that deep down inside, you knew as soon as you saw that bed-and-breakfast, it was for you. Didn't you? You just worry there will be resistance of some kind if you buy the inn. But the Father says for you to take courage. He will help you.”

Grace felt goose bumps on her arms then. She certainly wasn't used to encounters like this, but admitted it uncanny this stranger knew so much about the inn and about her.

Zola rang up the sale and packed Grace's box into a green Nature's Corner bag, passing it across to Grace. “You come back to see me often since you'll soon be living in the area. And when you move into the inn and throw an open house, perhaps you'll invite me to come see it.”

Grace walked out of the store, feeling shaken but determined to do a little more shopping and not think about Zola Devon's words to her. However, she found that resolution easier to say than do. How could that girl know what Grace had done this morning? And how could she know Grace had prayed for over a year for direction about what kind of changes to make in her life?

Driving back to Townsend later, Grace couldn't help but think what an odd day this had been for her. First, she had set an appointment to see the Oakley, which—admittedly—had called to her from the moment she saw it like no place before. Then she'd met those little twins, who had reached out to her with such sweet friendship and warmth, really touching her heart and wanting her to make the old house happy again.

Grace smiled, remembering the girls. And now, she'd received this odd prophetic word from a shop owner in Gatlinburg she had never met or seen before today. She didn't even think that sort of thing still happened like in the Bible stories. It was so peculiar—all of it.

A cloud passed over Grace's thoughts, making her sigh. The only real negative of the day was that embarrassing episode with Jack Teague.

She thought back on the encounter with a calmer perspective now. In all honesty, perhaps even that unpleasant episode held a touch of revelation in its own way. Grace paused, hating to admit her next thought, even to herself. Truthfully, she hadn't felt physically stirred as a woman in a long time—it was definitely a new experience—even if a man like Jack Teague had brought it on.

She smiled. It was nice, in a silly way, to discover all her juices still alive and well in that area and to realize they hadn't died with Charles. Grace had often wondered if she'd ever feel attraction for a man again with Charles gone. So, perhaps even a little good had come from meeting the irritating Mr. Teague.

After parking her car at the motel, Grace found herself walking back to the Oakley again. With all that had happened, she wanted to see the place once more. To think about it prayerfully. She felt drawn to the house; she admitted. She had even told Charles once if she could live another life, she'd like to run a bed-and-breakfast. He had told her she'd be marvelous at it. But then he'd leaned over to kiss her, telling her he needed her to run his own home. Had told her how efficiently she ran their household, how creatively she handled everything. Always sweet like that.

Not seeing a car at the Oakley, Grace walked around the house at leisure, looking at the old inn, enchanted once more with every aspect of it. She peeked through the dusty windows of the garage and peered into Carl Oakley's little shop, then explored the patio down by the river and walked out on the swinging bridge to look at the view up the mountain stream. Leaving the bridge, she walked through the grounds from front to back and noticed, more than at the other times here, how many mimosa trees were planted on the property. They would create a show of fuchsia pink when summer came.

Finally, Grace walked down the quiet little street that stretched east behind the Oakley, the road the girls had started down earlier heading to the Butlers'. The sign read Creekside Lane, and Grace noticed the inn's mailbox situated on that side road. The building closest to the Oakley, a picturesque, white country church with a high bell tower, sat on a large corner property between Creekside Lane and the River Road. It was a pretty church, larger than it appeared at first glance, with several attached wings. Beside it stood a white gabled house in the same style, probably the church manse, set back from the street behind a neat row of green hedges. Several other homes lay along the narrow lane, their shady yards and back porches looking out on the Little River, their front lawns facing the broader River Road. Grace could hear the sound of the mountain stream as she walked along—rushing along in small rapids and quiet swells behind the unpaved road.

It was a peaceful place, and Grace soon settled down on a stone bench by the river to rest and watch the water flow by. She'd sat there for only a short time when a golden retriever bounded up beside her, nudging his nose against her leg and wagging his tail in a sociable way. As she reached out to pet him, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Joel's a friendly guy. So don't worry,” a man's voice said.

“I won't.” Still petting the dog, Grace turned to see a tall young man walking across the street toward her. He held a leash draped over his arm.

“We just started out the back door to take our walk, and I guess Joel felt it his duty to come say hello first.”

“It's okay.” Grace stroked the retriever's head with pleasure. “I'm fond of dogs. I own two myself.”

As the young man drew closer, Grace could see he was striking in appearance, tall and well built with almost white-blond hair above a tanned, square face. A dimple flashed in his lower chin, but his eyes showed a maturity and intensity beyond his obviously young years. He was dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a striped golf shirt and wore no socks with his worn dock shoes.