Forgiving Jackson (6 page)

See, Jackson? They lied about me. I did not tell Sammy to let them in here. Dirk knows it.

Dirk smiled at the trespassers as they moved toward the door. “In the unlikely event that one of you has another cell phone or a camera on you, if you take another picture, I will break your legs.”

After the others had left, Sammy paused before Emory. “Emory, I’m sorry. It seemed odd, but they said … ”

She put her hand on his. “I know, Sammy. I know. Next time ask me.” Except there probably wouldn’t be a next time for any of them.

“I should have known you’d never authorize something like that. But I didn’t know they would go wild. I’ll get this mess cleaned up,” Sammy said. “I’ll start with the bedroom.”

“That would be great, Sammy.” When he was almost out the door, she held out her hand. “Sammy? Master key?”

“Uh, yeah.” He put it in her hand and left her alone with Jackson.

She turned. “I need to tell the parents of the bride what happened and coordinate shutting down the event. All the rooms in this wing are kept ready—the family suites and the guest rooms. If I can—”

Jackson waved her off without looking up. “I can find a place to sleep in my own house, Emory.”

“Yes. Of course.” She hesitated. “Jackson, I’m sorry.”

He nodded and turned to look at the Jimi Hendrix guitar. Just when she thought he would never acknowledge her existence again, Jackson spoke. “Emory. I’ll have that key. Leave it on the table.”

Jackson chose Gabe’s suite to squat in because it was the one closest to his and he didn’t have the energy to go any farther. He’d showered and put on a pair of flannel pants and a San Antonio Wranglers t-shirt he found in Gabe’s drawer.

He opened the refrigerator only to find an entire case of some brand of cream stout that Jackson had never heard of—further proof that Gabe would eat or drink anything. The only food was a box of Velveeta, a jar of Thai red chili sauce, and a pack of beef jerky, all of which likely had a shelf life of ten years. Gabe would probably mix all that together and pronounce it a fine meal.

Hoping for the best, Jackson opened one of the cream stouts and took a sip. He did not get the best. How did Gabe drink this stuff? Did he even taste it or did he just empty it down his throat? Jackson poured it down the sink and was about to help himself to Gabe’s soft drink of choice, Dr. Pepper, when there was a knock on the door.

What could she possibly want now? To set up a permanent circus on the property? Why not get a reptile zoo, too? Let a bunch of drunks play keep away with Gabe’s Heisman Trophy? Book the next Summer Olympics at Beauford Bend?

He stepped over and threw open the door—to find Dirk there with a picnic basket in his hand and a six-pack of Sam Adams under his arm.

Jackson let his eyes linger on the basket. “Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood.”

Dirk came in without being invited. “Emory asked Gwen to fix this up for you.” He set the basket on the coffee table. “The beer was my idea.” Dirk sat down on the sofa and reached for one of the Sam Adams.

“And a good one.” Jackson joined him and opened the basket. “Will you open me one of those, too?”

Dirk pulled a bottle opener from his pocket and popped off two tops.

“Always prepared like usual.” Jackson pulled out of a plate of meat, vegetables, and rice. And what was that wrapped in foil? Hot, homemade rolls, and there was a big slab of wedding cake.

“Gwen handed it to me at the last minute.” Dirk held up the bottle opener. “Left to me, I’d be using my teeth.”

“Gwen always has been the best part of you.” Jackson cut into the steak and his stomach rolled in anticipation.

“That she is.” Dirk took a swig of his beer. “So you fired Ginger and what’s left of your band and road crew.” It was a statement.

“
Fire
is such a final word. I gave everybody six months’ pay and told them we’d reevaluate in three months. They need some time off and so do I.”

“
Fire. Time off.
Same difference.”

“You don’t know that. Where did you hear all this, anyway—as if I don’t know.”

“Your bodyguards.
My
staff,” Dirk said. “Men I trained.”
Men you put in the hospital because you beat the hell out of them for keeping you from running into the fire
hung in the air.

Time for a subject change.

“I thought you’d be interrogating the interlopers.”

“Nah. I’m off tonight. I’ve done my job. I scared them and turned them over to my guys.”

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Party’s over. I took a load back over to Firefly Hall, including the interlopers. They were much more sober and pretty contrite.”

“Terrified, more like.” Dirk was menacing, though it wasn’t his shaved head and warrior’s build that made him intimidating. In spite of his dimples and pretty boy mouth, there was something in his eyes that let you know he’d been there and was willing to go back if he had to. Jackson sometimes wondered if, after all Dirk was bound to have seen, he was really satisfied with keeping fans knocked off his fortress. Tonight was probably the most excitement they’d had in years.

“Scared. Contrite. Who cares? I’ll take their phones back to them in the morning but they’ll find empty photo and video folders. Why should my guys waste their time going through every picture one by one, when they could be watching porn?”

“Maybe we should have made Emory do that.”

“Watch porn or wipe the phones?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m hilarious.” A frown appeared between Dirk’s eyes. “Jackson, Emory didn’t tell Sammy to bring those kids up here. And Sammy didn’t mean any harm. He’s just very naive.”

“I got that,” Jackson said. “But that doesn’t negate the sins of Emory Lowell.”

“What sins would that be?” Dirk reached into the basket and found some stuffed mushrooms and little meat pies that Jackson had missed.

Of course. Dirk didn’t know.

Jackson took a deep breath. “First off, after Aunt Amelia’s funeral, I hired her to manage the estate and the business with the stipulation that she was to stop booking events and take steps toward shutting down Around the Bend. Hell, I gave her a big raise. I assumed she was doing as I asked but apparently not. Then, two weeks ago, I told Emory I was coming home and to fire everybody except security and cancel the remaining events. She said she would and then ignored me.”

Dirk looked surprised but nodded. “I see. That would have been right after the fire.”

“More or less. A few days later.”

“I tried to call you fifty times and you never picked up.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to my brothers either.” Though he would have picked up for Beau, wherever the hell he was. His heart started to pound like it did every time he had to wonder if his little brother was still alive.

“Jackson, I’m sorry—”

Jackson held up his hand. “Dirk. No.”

Dirk took a deep breath. “Okay.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It kind of sounds like you’re talking like you’re here to stay—beyond the three months that you think you need.”

Jackson nodded and put a bite of food in his mouth. “Three months for sure. Then we’ll see. I canceled the tour. They threatened to sue me but I paid them off.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. Wish I could help. Wish I’d been there.”

Jackson shrugged and took another swig of beer.

“So Emory ignored you?” Something played with Dirk’s mouth that was too close to amusement to suit Jackson.

“Yes. The only bright spot in that is I didn’t want Gwen fired. I wasn’t thinking. I wouldn’t fire Gwen. If that had happened, I would have rehired her.”

Dirk laughed a little. “Hire her for what? What would she do if there’s no event business?”

“Cook for me. And I might have a party some time.” That was a lie but Dirk didn’t have to know that. “And the twins and Beau might come for Christmas. There’d be that.”

“Listen, Jackson. That’s not what Gwen does. She’s a hell of a chef but she’s also an organizer and manager. She’s never going to be happy scrambling you an egg and roasting your Christmas turkey. But don’t you worry about her. If you want to shut down the business, Gwen can go to work at Beauford Catering or anywhere in Nashville. She gets offers all the time.” Dirk squinted at him and was quiet for a moment. “But you don’t want to shut down Around the Bend.”

There it was. Dirk acting like he knew things he didn’t. “You’re wrong. But what makes you think that?”

“Because if you really wanted that, you would have called me and I would have made sure it happened.”

“Why do you think that? Security is independent from Around the Bend. Emory is the estate and events manager. Everyone here—except you and your guys—answers to her. It was
her
job to shut it down.”

“I’ve never let the absence of authority stop me from enforcing your will.”

“Really? What about the night you drove Beau to the bus station to join the army?”

“Still haven’t forgiven me for that, huh?” Dirk sounded bored. They’d had this conversation a hundred times. Beau had been supposed to leave for college in the fall. The twins hadn’t had as many choices but by the time Beau graduated from high school, Jackson had made enough money that the world was Beau’s for the taking. He was supposed to be using that big brain of his to practice law or buy and sell bonds—something safe and clean. But on graduation night Beau had gone to Dirk and Dirk had helped him run away.

Jackson pushed on. “You should have told me. I could have stopped him. And I haven’t noticed you asking for forgiveness.”

“True,” Dirk said cheerfully. “And as I’ve told you, Beau didn’t come to me that night with a boy’s whim. He came to me as a man with a made up mind. But you’re trying to pick a fight with me because you don’t want to talk about the fire or shutting down Around the Bend. You’re trying to pretend you’re leaving the music business and plan to hole up here like some kind of new-wave Howard Hughes.”

“How do you know I’m pretending?”

Dirk popped a mushroom in his mouth and chased it with beer. “Because, like I said, if you were serious, you would have called me to make sure Emory did what you asked. You’ve always called me to follow up when something was really important to you. But we’ve come full circle here.”

“Why do you think she didn’t do it? She had to know it was going to catch up with her.”

Dirk laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not going down that rabbit hole. I’ve never been good at playing Woman’s Brain in Wonderland. You’re going to have to talk to her about that.” He pointed at the television. “Can’t you find us a movie with some helicopters and a kidnapping?”

Emory poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the round table in her sunny little kitchen. Usually, the room with its painted blue cabinets and happy checked curtains cheered her, but not today. It might be her last day here. Hell, it might be her last day not in jail. She hadn’t broken the law but that wouldn’t stop Jackson Beauford if he decided jail was where he wanted her.

How long before she had to face the music?
Face the music
—ha! More like face the
music man
. Ah, what wouldn’t she do to amuse and distract herself?

Not much.

It was almost eleven o’clock but who knew when he got up. Should she go looking for him? She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t even know where he’d taken up residence and she wasn’t likely to go opening doors hunting him.

She reached for her laptop. Might as well find out what was happening in the world if she was going to have to go back out in it.

As if she could. Beauford Bend, with its high stone walls, state-of-the-art security system, and Dirk and his staff, felt like the safest place on earth. At first, after returning, she wouldn’t leave the grounds. But gradually, the bounds of her sanctuary had crept outward until she could walk down the streets of Beauford or zip over to Firefly Hall to visit Christian without fear. But she had not so much as gone to Nashville for a meal in two years. It was unthinkable.

And speaking of unthinkable, her doorbell rang.

Little doubt who that would be. Gwen and Dirk would have taken their kids to Sunday school by now. Christian would still be dealing with the wedding party from hell. Anyone else would have called first.

She swung the door open and there he stood in running shorts, a tight black t-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses hanging around his neck. He looked good enough to eat—if you liked your dessert with a side of sweat. Clearly, he’d been running.

“There you are. I thought you might be at church repenting for all that lying you did last night.”

She leaned on the doorframe. “Normally, I do go. But I was so sure you’d be there repenting for your high-handedness that I stayed home today.” In truth, she’d been so drained from last night that she couldn’t get up in time.

He walked past her without being invited in, like he owned the place—which, come to think of it, he did.

“Got a towel?”

She retrieved one from the bathroom and tossed it to where he stood in the middle of her small living room. “If you’re going to run, you need to get up earlier when it’s cooler.”

“Yeah.” He dried his face and head. “Long day yesterday. Late night.”

She headed back to the kitchen with him behind her and her good manners made an appearance. “Do you want some water? Or coffee?”

“Both.” He sat down across from where her favorite coffee mug sat—the bright yellow one shaped like a beehive with the smiling bumblebee perched on the handle.

She filled an ugly, mud-brown mug that had been here when she moved in and turned toward the refrigerator. “Cream and sugar?”

“No. I’m a simple man.”

“Sure you are.” She settled the mug and a bottle of water in front of him.

He almost smiled and twisted the cap off his bottle. “My mug is nowhere near as festive as yours.”

“I’d swap with you but I’m not a simple man. My coffee is full of sugar and salted caramel macchiato creamer.”

He drank down half the bottle of water in one gulp. “You don’t seem to be a man at all. But I guess one can never be sure.”