Down by the River (5 page)

“What kind of dogs do you have?' he asked, coming closer to Grace now and propping one foot casually on the stone bench beside her.

“Welsh corgis, a brother and sister team. Almost three years old now.”

“Cute dogs, corgis. I read they're intelligent and even-tempered, too.”

“Mine are.” Grace smiled.

“You live around here?”

“No. I live in Nashville. I'm only visiting the area.” Grace held out her hand. “I'm Grace Conley.”

The young man took it. “I should have introduced myself first. I'm Vincent Westbrooke.”

Grace felt the young man's palm grow warm in hers. He placed his other hand over their clasped ones, looking thoughtful. “We were supposed to meet today, Grace Conley. There's a connection between our lives in some way.” He smiled. “Did you feel the heat?”

“Yes,” she answered tentatively, thinking this day was becoming more and more peculiar, like a scene from an
Alice in Wonderland
book.

Vincent dropped Grace's hand then and grinned at her in an easy manner. “I always get heat like that when I meet someone I'm meant to experience a connection with. It helps me a lot in the ministry.”

Grace looked up in surprise. “You're a minister?”

He smiled and gestured to the church behind them. “The minister of Creekside Independent Presbyterian Church. I guess I look more official when I clean up and wear a suit.”

“It's only that you're rather young.”

“Twenty-five.” He grinned. “Graduated Warren Wilson College at twenty-one and Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary at twenty-three. Then spent two years back at Montreat, North Carolina, as a conference director in the Young Adult Ministry Program before I came here. This is my first church.”

“I see. And is it going well?”

“Very well. I grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina at Montreat, so it seems like coming home to work in a mountain community like this. And the people welcomed me with love and warmth.”

“You live in the manse house?”

“I do. Nice perk. Mostly furnished, too. Good for a bachelor like me.”

Grace looked down at her hand again. “What you said about your hands, Vincent. What did you mean by that?”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure at this point what it means in relationship to you. I guess the Lord will show me in time. Are you planning on moving here?”

Grace found herself telling him about looking at the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast, about her attraction to it, about meeting the girls, and about getting the odd word from Zola.

“Ahhh. Zola Devon.”

“You know her?”

“Once you live around here for a while you start to hear tales about Zola.”

“Do you think she really does hear from God?”

“I guess my question back is to ask why we experience so much trouble as Christians believing someone
could
hear from God in ways that help others. Most of my congregation would get real steamed and mad if someone questioned any of the Biblical accounts that speak of the miraculous. But when the gifts of God are manifested right here in our midst, rather than in a book, we get more squirrelly about the idea. Funny, huh?”

Grace laughed. “Yes. I suppose so.”

“Yet, despite our doubts and feelings, the Bible tells us God doesn't change—that He's the same yesterday, today, and forevermore. It shouldn't surprise us so much when He works in our midst and uses people as He wills.”

“No. I guess not. So what do you suppose the warmth of your hand means about me, Vincent?”

He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps I'm your third confirmation. In seminary, one of my professors said when God gives you a message through another, He often confirms it three times to give it validity. You said some little girls touched your heart earlier and told you they thought you should buy the Oakley. Next, you said Zola saw you owning the Oakley. And, third, I got the witness we're meant to have a lasting connection. The Oakley is next door to my church. Perhaps I'm your third confirmation.”

“Maybe.” Grace glanced back toward the old inn longingly.

“Why are you so hesitant when you obviously love the place, Grace? And when you've prayed for direction about the next step in your life?”

“Well, I have a rather strong-willed family in Nashville, and I think they entertain other plans for me.”

“Are their plans ones that you want, Grace?”

“No. They're not. That's the problem. But my family means well.”

Vincent smiled and clipped the leash on Joel. “Then you'll need to trust God to help you with it all, Grace Conley. And He will.”

“I hope so.” She looked thoughtfully out over the river, sparkling brightly in the sun. “Because I think I know what I want to do now.”

“Perhaps I'll see you later?”

“I think so,” Grace replied, giving him a smile.

Vincent glanced back as he and Joel started up Creekside Lane. “I'll be praying for you, Grace Conley.”

“I appreciate that,” she answered. “I will certainly need it.”

J
ack Teague looked at his watch as he pulled into the parking lot of Teague Realty. Already two o'clock. Unbelievable. Saturday was often a busy day with realty showings, and today had proved no exception. As summer neared, people always began to buzz around the summer cabins and homes for sale near the Smoky Mountains. Most all day today and yesterday, Jack had showed mountain properties.

His family's business, Teague Realty, was located in a renovated house right on Highway 321. It had a nice ambience, painted dark gray, trimmed in white, and set back on a green lawn with dogwoods and shade trees framing the structure. Ivy climbed an old rock chimney on the front of the building, and Jack often held client meetings and closings on the large screened porch that spread to the right of the house. Over the front door, a dark blue awning added a distinctive touch, and Jack walked under that now, with a jaunty step, before pushing open the front door.

He grinned to see his mother back again at the entry desk. Jack had missed getting by the office yesterday to even check in with her.

“Hey, Ma. Good to see you back.” Jack breezed by his mother to walk down the hall and drop a pile of papers in his office. Then he brought the bag of sandwiches he'd picked up back into the front office.

He buzzed his mother on the cheek as he passed by. “Had any lunch yet? I picked up some sandwiches and pie at the Lemon Tree on my way in.”

“No. It's been too busy,” his mother said. “I grabbed a piece of fruit, but I've been too swamped with work here to get back to the kitchen to fix more.”

Jack grinned and passed a sandwich over to his mother as he sat down in the chair across from her desk. “Well, then, it's your lucky day. Here's one of Myrtle Kirkpatrick's famous, homemade ham-salad sandwiches. Complete with dill pickle, chips, fresh lemonade, and Myrtle's meringue-topped lemon pie—the special of the day.”

His mother laughed and began to gratefully dig in to her lunch. They fell quiet for a few minutes while they ate.

Jack watched his mother with pleasure when she wasn't looking. Althea Teague was an energetic, friendly, capable woman, and Jack had always admired her as a businesswoman, as well as loving her as a mother. Tall and attractive, with a short crop of snow-white hair now, she still exhibited the same big, warm smile he remembered from childhood. Jack glanced over at the photograph of his father, Verlin Teague, sitting on her desk. He'd been a tall, handsome man in his day, too, and Jack knew his own good looks came from the two of them. Jack still missed his father, even after six years.

Althea caught his glance. “Your father loved Myrtle's lemon pie just like you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Jack looked away, not wanting to stay on this subject. “How did the doctor's visit go on Thursday?”

“Fine.” She waved off any discussion on that topic, returning their conversation to business as she began to eat her pie. “How many sales did you write this morning?”

“One this morning and two yesterday.” He flashed her a smile and leaned back in his chair to finish off his lemonade. “I'm a happy man.”

“Hmmmph.” Althea took a bite of pie and then looked at Jack with a frown. “I'm glad to hear that, but you almost lost us another important sale on Thursday. Fortunately, I salvaged it yesterday afternoon and wrote out the contract. Your client insisted I get the commission and not you.”

Jack gave his mother a questioning look. “What are you talking about, Ma?”

“I salvaged the Oakley sale, Son, no thanks to you.”

Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise then. “The widow bought the house?”

Althea shook her head. “Yes, surprisingly she did. Although you'd think after what she witnessed with that little trollop Ashleigh Anne Layton that she wouldn't have wanted to do business with us, even if we were the only realty company in America.”

Jack dropped his eyes. “Did she tell you about that?”

“No, I heard Ashleigh Anne bragging about it to one of her friends on the telephone when I let myself in the office late Thursday. I do admit I stood out of sight and eavesdropped on her conversation. It sounded quite graphic, Jack.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Ashleigh probably exaggerated things, Ma.”

Althea leveled a steely look at him. “I doubt that, Jack. What I'm angry about is that you brought that girl in here to temp again after I distinctly told you not to. And that you acted as base as you did in plain view on the Oakley's front porch, right next door to our church, with a potential client standing right inside the doorway. Honestly, Jack.”

“I didn't know the client was still in the house, Ma.” He felt his irritation rise. “I saw no car out front, and Ashleigh insinuated the woman had already left. As for the rest, well, you know how Ashleigh is.”

“All too well. But I'd like to think I raised you with better sense. You're fifty years old, Jack, and that girl isn't even twenty-one yet.”

He shrugged. “I've always thought age somewhat relative. . . .”

Althea interrupted. “I'm not interested in a debate here, Jack. What you did was wrong, ethically and professionally. Ethically, because your actions were trashy, and professionally because you were working and on the payroll. And so was Miss Layton.”

Jack rubbed a hand across his neck. “Ashleigh can drive any man a little crazy, Ma. You don't know how she can be. She doesn't give a man much chance to think logically.”

“So, you're telling me it was perfectly normal that you acted at the complete mercy of your testosterone levels in broad daylight, on the job, and with one of our temporary employees?”

Jack got up restlessly to toss his sandwich papers in the trash. “You're making too much out of this, Ma.”

“I don't think so, Jack. And to be quite frank, I think there might be even more to this story.”

Jack colored and snapped back defensively. “What did Mrs. Conley tell you?”

“Nothing, Jack.” His mother watched him steadily. “But it seems clear to me from what Grace Conley
didn't
say that you acted rudely toward her and offended her in some way. Perhaps she might have spoken more candidly with me if she hadn't realized I was your mother. I have to admit that was a strike against me at first.”

“Yeah, well, things didn't start out well with her on Thursday. I ran late for the appointment, and then the Ashleigh thing happened. I tried to work past it, but Mrs. Conley got pretty prickly.”

“I can hardly blame her.” His mother pulled out a check and passed it over to Jack. “Here's her deposit check and a down payment she insisted on giving me that is larger than what I quoted to her.”

Jack looked at the check. “Whew!”

“We just might have lost this sale, Jack. Grace Conley told me she'd decided looking at the bed-and-breakfast was a mistake on Thursday after meeting with you, but that several other factors occurred causing her to change her mind.”

“Did she say what they were?”

“No, she was quite discreet.” Althea tossed her lunch bag into the bin beside her desk and leaned back to relax. “But I can tell you this. I personally found Grace Conley absolutely charming. I think she is going to be a natural to run the Oakley. She's obviously well educated and is a real lady. She told me quite a bit about her background and experiences, and I found myself very impressed.”

“Did she tell you she's never worked?” Jack sneered. “Plus, she's hardly a young woman anymore, Ma.”

“Be careful, Jack. I'm much older than Mrs. Conley, and I don't think I experience any problems functioning in the daily work world. Do you? Nor do I think you should discredit the experiences and responsibilities Mrs. Conley carried raising four children successfully and supporting her husband in a large family business concern.”

Jack popped his knuckles restlessly. “She's been a pretty, showpiece “kept woman” all her life, Ma. You know the type. I hate to think of her moving over here and falling flat on her face. She's never run any type of business before.”

Althea lifted her brows. “You know, I think Grace Conley may surprise you, Jack. I sensed a mix of competence, graciousness, and determination in her that I liked very much.”

“Well, I hope you're right.” Jack paced over to the side table by the door to flip through the pile of mail there.

Althea caught his glance when he turned back around and smiled at him like the cat that swallowed the canary. “I told Mrs. Conley if she ever wanted to do a little temp work, that we sometimes needed extra help here at the office. I also mentioned that good help was hard to find. She seemed to find that amusing.”

“I'll bet she did,” Jack grumbled, grabbing up his mail and heading back to his office.

Jack found himself in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Who would have thought that Conley widow would really buy the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast? Plus, Jack hated it that his mother had learned about that little incident with Ashleigh Anne.

Feeling restless, Jack drove out to the Shady Grove later in the afternoon. He rarely drank, but today seemed like a good day to down a beer and talk to some of the locals down at the Grove. As he headed toward the front door of the little bar and grill, he heard Ashleigh Anne's shrill laugh ring out. Obviously, she was working the bar this afternoon and tonight. Jack paused, shook his head, and then turned around to walk back to his vehicle.

“No way, Jose. The last thing I need is another encounter with that little skirt today.” Jack kicked at a clump of gravel by his sporty, red Jeep Commander and decided to head for home.

On the way to his house, Jack stopped at the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast to tack a “Sold” banner over the Teague Realty sign by the highway. Naturally, Jack felt glad the house had sold. Mavis Oakley was a good woman, and he'd be pleased to call her and tell her the place had finally turned over. She'd be happy to learn the new owner expected to keep running the place as a bed-and-breakfast. Mavis and Carl had put a lot of work and years into the old inn and had hoped someone would continue the business.

Jack drove down the long driveway and parked close to the old inn. While here, he'd make sure everything was okay and then secure the locks. He didn't want any more problems this near a closing.

After checking the house, Jack walked around to the gazebo, bringing a hammer and a couple of nails from the back of his Jeep. He planned to fix that loose step once and for all.

He searched for the offending nail. “Well, here's that loose nail you pointed out to me so clearly, Mrs. Grace Conley.” Jack hammered the nail down with a vengeance and then added several more nails to secure the step firmly to the foundation underneath.

He sat down on the mended step then, remembering his little episode with Grace a few days ago. Admittedly, he'd experienced trouble ever since getting that woman off his mind. Because of that, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of her living here full time, too near his home across the river and too near his office only a block or two away. He usually walked through the Oakley's yard every day going and coming home when he didn't drive. The swinging bridge offered a good shortcut to the path that wound up the hill to his house above the river.

Jack scowled. “Maybe I can just avoid her when she moves in here.” That seemed like a good plan. He knew Grace was the hearth-and-home type of woman he tried consciously to avoid anyway whenever possible. He'd been married once, and that was quite enough for him. Thank you very much. He never wanted to go there again.

Jack's eyes shifted over to the grassy spot where he and Grace Conley had tumbled when she fell. Noticing something glittering there, he reached down and picked up a butterscotch candy wrapped in a shiny gold wrapper.

Remembering the taste of butterscotch on Grace's lips, Jack groaned. “Oh, yeah, Grace Conley. I'm going to avoid you for quite a while until that taste leaves my memory for good.”

Jack walked back around to his Jeep, opened the door—and then saw a playing card lying on the driver's seat. “What's this?”

He picked up the card curiously. A queen of diamonds with the words “Be Careful” scrawled across the front in black letters. Jack knew that card had definitely not been there when he'd parked his Jeep earlier.

He blew out a breath.

“Well, I see Crazy Man's out and about tonight,” Jack said out loud with annoyance. Cautious now, he reached under the seat to get a tire iron and walked the property around the house once more, but found no sign of the man.

Jack shook his head. They'd had episodes with this man around the area for over a year now. He left notes and warnings. Sometimes he spied on people and stalked them. And he seemed to know, all too well, people's business that shouldn't be his business. People had sighted the man once or twice at a far distance, draped in an oversized coat with a hat pulled down over his face. But no one felt absolutely positive this was the man they sought at all, because he always disappeared so quickly.

Pulling out his cell phone, Jack made a call to Townsend's sheriff, Swofford Walker. “Hey, Swofford; it's Jack Teague here. I just got one of Crazy Man's nutty messages on my front seat when I came back to get in my Jeep.”

“See any sign of the man, Jack?”

“No. And I looked around.”

“I wish you'd called me first before you checked. We still don't know if the man might be dangerous if someone gets too close.” Jack could almost picture Swofford's full face knotting in irritation.

“Yeah, I should have done that. Sorry.”

“So, where are you?”

“I'm over at the Oakley Bed-and-Breakfast. I was putting up a “Sold” sign before I went home.”

“Can you stay there for fifteen or twenty minutes until I can get there, Jack?”