by Emily March
She lifted her finger to the windowpane and drew a heart in the dust. “I miss you, Robert. I’ve missed you for so long. I’ve loved you for so long. I will always love you.”
But now, finally, it was time to move on. To move forward. “I can do this. I will do this. I know it’s what you would want me to do.”
Caroline turned away from the window and headed downstairs, to go to lunch, to buy a building, to begin building.
Toward the next chapter.
* * *
In his Airstream trailer parked beside the bucolic waterfall, the local representative of the Enchanted Canyon Family Land Trust stared at the single lonely can and sighed. Jackson needed to go into town if he wanted something more than beans for lunch today.
Definitely needed to make a grocery store run. He was also out of paper towels and milk. Could use some eggs and avocados. Probably should run by the lumberyard, too, and pick up another box of screws before he tackled the next item on his to-do list, the shelving project in the pantry at the house.
Plus, he hadn’t left the canyon in almost two weeks. He’d always had a tendency to hermit away, but over the past year, he’d gone pro about it.
Not that he didn’t speak to people almost every day. One of the first big jobs he’d tackled after setting up shop here was getting the technology issues solved. They now had Internet and cell service in the majority of the canyon, so Jackson spent most mornings in the office they’d outfitted in the saloon, much of that time making phone calls. He directed the work crews that arrived each weekday. Most afternoons, he touched base with Boone about the progress they’d made in their efforts to give the canyon property a new life.
The brothel was well on its way to becoming an inn. The saloon would reopen as a bar and restaurant. The place had the makings of a nice Hill Country destination resort.
But the heart of Jackson’s idea—the dream, the thing that got his strings vibrating—was the plan to reopen the dance hall. The Last Chance Hall.
He couldn’t think of a more appropriate project for him at this point in his life. It was coming along on schedule and just a shade over budget. He was determined to get the numbers down, however, in order to keep Boone off his ass, so he’d decided to tackle more of the finish work himself. The innkeepers his cousin had hired were due to arrive early next week, and they’d scheduled a houseful of guests for a test run the first weekend in June. He thought they’d be ready. It helped that he liked holing up by himself so much because he got a lot done.
Except for songwriting. That pretty much remained a dry hole, and after this much time had passed, he wondered if his creative muse would ever put in another appearance. Not that he hadn’t tried to write. He had written a bunch of crap since moving to Texas. The only piece worth keeping was that unfinished song that Caroline Carruthers had inspired.
Caroline. Word around the Redemption water cooler was that the lady might be moving to town. Jackson’s heart had gone thud-a-thump at that bit of news. He had this crazy hope that she might feed his muse.
A knock sounded on his trailer door. He opened it to discover his plumber wearing a frown. Uh-oh.
“Got a few minutes, boss? We’ve run into a problem.”
“I don’t want to hear that, Willie,” Jackson said as he reached for his ball cap and his keys.
Thoughts of Caroline fled as the setting of toilets and tubs demanded his attention. It was only when he walked into the Bluebonnet Café—three cheers for Fried Chicken Tuesday—looking for lunch that he thought of Mrs. Carruthers again.
Because there she was, live and in person and sitting in a booth with Sam Willis, being served a slice of lemon meringue pie.
Guess the gossip had been right.
Jackson had arrived in the middle of the lunch rush. He studied Caroline as he stood in a line of folks waiting to be seated. While they’d exchanged a couple of cards during the past year, this was the first time he’d seen her. She’d cut her hair, the style now short and sassy. She’d lost weight, too, but that wasn’t a surprise considering what she’d gone through.
In the fall, a thank-you card addressed to him in care of his cousin had arrived at Boone’s law office. She’d written a nice note, thanking him for the kindness he’d shown her when her husband had suffered his heart attack, and informing him that the man had passed in his sleep in early summer. Jackson had sent a sympathy card to the return address listed on her note. If he’d googled Robert Carruthers’ obituary the next time he had decent Wi-Fi, well … that was normal curiosity. Impressive man, her late husband. Long list of accomplishments.
“Just one, Jackson?” the hostess asked, interrupting him. “Or are you joining someone today?”
“I’m single.”
“Too bad I’m not, handsome,” the middle-aged woman fired back, giving him a wink. “Ten-minute wait for a table or you can take any open seat at the counter.”
“Counter’s fine.” He headed for the U-shaped counter that spanned the width of the restaurant, a path that took him past Caroline and Sam’s booth. When he stopped, she looked up. When she recognized him, her polite smile warmed. “Jackson. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Caroline.”
“You two know each other?” Sam asked, extending his arm toward Jackson for a handshake.
Jackson and Caroline both nodded. He said, “We met last spring when my cousins and I made our first trip to the canyon. So, rumor has it that you might be moving to town. Any truth to it?”
She smiled. “I just bought a building on Main Street. We’re here celebrating with pie.”
“Fabulous pie.” Sam gave his fork an enthusiastic lick. “I couldn’t talk her into the fried chicken. She ordered salad.”
Jackson scowled and teased, “On Fried Chicken Tuesday? Aw, Ms. Caroline, you’re going to have to work a little harder to fit in around here.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Congratulations on your purchase.” Jackson tried to recall which Main Street properties were for sale. “Which building are we talking about?”
“The Sinclair,” Sam said.
Jackson’s brow wrinkled. He couldn’t place it.
“It’s between the bank and the quilt shop. It used to be a general store. The downstairs space suits her just fine, but the upstairs needs a little work. It was converted to a living space some time ago.” Sam glanced at Caroline. “Remind me to e-mail you that list of contractors before we leave.”
Jackson held up a hand. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Hold on just one minute there. You’re not thinking to give her the secret list, are you?”
“Of course I am.” Sam’s eyes twinkled as he scooted over to make room in the booth. “Take a load off, McBride. Sit down and join us.”
“Thank you. I think I’d better.” Jackson gave the agent a mock glare. “We need to discuss the list.”
“The secret list?” Caroline repeated, glancing from one man to the other.
“Well, apparently not as secret as I was led to believe. Seriously, Sam. You’re just giving it to her? I had to win it in a poker game!”
“She’s a lot prettier than you, McBride.” Sam smiled fondly at Caroline. “You’ll want to schedule your contractors ASAP, honey. Good ones are worth their weight in gold. Always been scarce around here. You especially want to get your name on the plumber’s list. Perhaps tomorrow he—”
“Keep your hands off my plumber,” Jackson interrupted. “My electrician, I’m happy to share. You can have my framers, I’m done with them. But if you try to get near my plumber before he has all my toilets set, there will be war.”
Caroline grinned at Sam. “I think he means it.”
“It hasn’t been smooth sailing out at the Last Chance when it comes to plumbing, I’ll admit.”
“And that is the understatement of the year,” Jackson said.
Her eyes alight with mirth, Caroline said, “I promise to be respectful of your plumbing needs, Mr. McBride.”
&nb
sp; “Thank you. That’s a relief.” He tipped an imaginary hat then waved at the waitress. “I’ll have the special and sweet tea, please, Janice.”
His order placed, he asked, “So what are your plans for the Sinclair Building?”
She lit up. “I’m going to open an independent bookstore.”
“Are you now,” he observed. “Bookish, are you? Tell me about it.”
She did just that, explaining about her Children’s section and the Texas-focused section and the coffee shop. Jackson’s questions encouraged her to supply details, and the conversation remained on the topic when Jackson’s lunch was served and Sam finished his pie and said he needed to go. “Don’t you rush on my account, Caroline. You still have more than half of your pie left and besides, if we both leave, Jackson here is gonna get in trouble for taking up a whole booth by himself during the lunch rush.”
After Sam’s departure, Caroline offered Jackson a sheepish smile. “I got carried away. I’m sorry. Enough about me. Tell me about your plans. Maisy tells me you and your cousins are opening a B and B?”
“Yep. Kinda hard for me to believe because I’m definitely not the B and B type. Not that I’ll have much to do with the running of the inn. Boone is in charge of putting management in place for the house and the restaurant. The Last Chance Hall is my baby.”
“That is a catchy name, Mr. McBride.”
“I know. I considered changing it and using First Chance or Chances because that’s really the vision, but Last Chance sticks in your memory better. I intend for the venue to be a place that showcases new artists and offers current artists somewhere to try out new stuff. I’m also planning to do some educational events—workshops and retreats—that sort of thing. Enchanted Canyon is an inspiring place for creatives. The place has a good vibe.”
“I can see how that would be true. So, a restaurant and an inn and a music venue. What are you doing with Ruin?”
“Nothing right now beyond shoring up the stuff that’s about to fall down. It’s definitely a stage-two project and frankly, we are still debating how to best utilize the resource.” He ate a forkful of mashed potatoes and added, “If you have any ideas, I’d be grateful to hear them. Based on your plans for your bookstore, you have good instincts.”
“Thank you. I hope so. I’ll think about Ruin some and let you know.” Caroline scooped up the last bite of pie and savored it. “This pie is sinfully delicious.”
“The Bluebonnet does make a mean pie. You should’ve seen this place at Thanksgiving. Line to pick up orders stretched to the end of the block.”
The happiness in her eyes dimmed. “I ran away from home for the holidays this year.”
Jackson wanted to kick himself. Way to go, numbnuts. He hesitated, considered, and then faced the elephant. “I’m so sorry about your husband. I’m sure the first holidays without him were hard.”
She gave a weak smile. “They were. Thank you. And thank you for the card you sent. That was very nice of you.”
Jackson was fumbling to find the right response when he heard someone call his name. He turned toward the sound like a lifeline and waved him over saying, “Uh-oh. Remember your promise, Mrs. Carruthers.”
“My promise?”
The man wearing jeans and a Roto-Rooter ball cap stopped beside the booth. Jackson said, “Hey, Willie. You guys done already?”
“Naw. Taking lunch and decided to come back into town. It is Fried Chicken Tuesday, after all.” He offered a friendly smile toward Caroline. “‘Afternoon, ma’am.”
Jackson gave an exaggerated sigh. “Willie Brunson, meet Caroline Carruthers. Caroline is a newcomer to Redemption.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
Caroline’s gaze shifted from Willie’s cap, to Jackson, then back to Willie again. She offered her hand along with a brilliant smile. “I’m so very happy to meet you too, sir. What a happy coincidence. I was planning to call you this afternoon. You are a plumber, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. At your service.”
“Not so fast, Willie,” Jackson growled in warning. “I’ve got four words to say to you before this goes any further. My tubs. My toilets.”
Caroline’s soft giggle sounded sweet as a love song. Happy to have banished the shadows from her eyes, Jackson signaled the waitress and ordered apple pie for dessert.
* * *
Caroline spent the next few weeks settling into Redemption. She made a couple of trips back to Austin, one to close on the house and another to attend a twenty-fifth anniversary party for friends of hers and Robert’s. Not unexpectedly, she’d run into Elizabeth there and unfortunately, those winds blew as chilly as ever.
In their shared grief during the days and weeks immediately following Robert’s death, their relationship had thawed. They’d leaned upon each other and supported each other. Caroline had hoped that the change would last, but it hadn’t survived Caroline’s decision to travel for the holidays rather than keep to the traditions she’d participated in with Robert.
When at the anniversary party she’d shared her news about the move to Redemption, the breeze had taken a distinctly arctic turn. “Oh well,” she told herself as she drove back to Redemption after the party. “Air-conditioning feels good this time of the year in the Hill Country.”
And the tears she blinked away were caused by dust, too.
Move on. Move forward. It’s the next chapter.
Caroline moved a desk and a file cabinet into her building and set up a makeshift office. Determined to set boundaries and have balance in this this new life of hers, she kept business hours from ten to five each workday. In the evenings, she worked on her social life by attending meetings and accepting dinner invitations. She joined a softball league and played Bunco with Maisy and her friends. The only thing she begged off from was dates. Three men asked her out. She explained to each that she wasn’t ready yet to move forward in that particular aspect of life.
So exactly how she came to be dressing for a dinner date with Jackson McBride during her second month in town, she didn’t quite know.
* * *
“It’s not a date,” Jackson told Boone as he pulled a T-shirt out of a laundry basket and sniffed the armpit. Clean. Good.
“Dinner. You’re driving. Sure sounds like a date to me.”
“Well, it’s not. She told Maisy Baldwin that she’s not dating yet. Neither am I, for that matter. She didn’t get to see Ruin that day she visited the canyon, so I’m going to give her the nickel tour. We both were tied up until late afternoon, and offering dinner seemed polite. And grilling and eating outdoors isn’t dinner like a dinner date. In fact, it’s a business dinner. I’m hoping she’ll offer to write a travel article about us. I’m going to write the steaks off as a business expense.”
“Steaks, huh? What wine are you serving?”
Jackson winced and wished he’d kept his big mouth shut about this evening’s meeting with Caroline Carruthers. He wouldn’t hear the last of this from Boone for months.
“What wine?”
Jackson sighed. “Stags’ Leap.”
On the other end of the line, Boone chortled. “Date. Definitely a date. That’s a date wine.”
“It’s a nice Napa Cabernet. One I happen to like very much and is worthy of the steaks. Man, wait until you see this meat market I found. I’m telling you, it’s the next best thing to Callahan Ranch beef that I’ve found.”
“You’re trying to change the subject, cuz.”
“Damn right. I’m running short on time.” He put the phone on Speaker then tossed it onto his bed. “Do you want to hear about the innkeeper or not?”
“I do.”
Jackson debating just where to begin as he stepped into a pair of jeans. “Well, I’ll start with the bottom line. I know Celeste Blessing. Angelica is not Celeste.”
“That’s not a surprise. Nobody is gonna be as good as Celeste. But Celeste trained her. Celeste thinks she’ll do a fine job.” After a moment’s pause, Boone added, “Eventually
.”
“And there you have it.” Boone buttoned his pants and reached for the T-shirt. “I’m a little worried. How long is Celeste scheduled to be here?”
“She said she’d give us until the Fourth of July. At this point, Angel’s Rest pretty much runs itself, so she doesn’t need to be here. But the Fourth is a big deal in Eternity Springs. She wants to be home for it.”
“So she’ll get us through our soft opening. That’s a relief.”
“What’s the problem with Angelica?”
Jackson considered. “I don’t know. It’s hard to put your finger on. You know how Celeste is like the awesome grandmother? She does the whole-milk-and-cookies-warm-from-the-oven thing? She wears an apron, but she’s still cool? She’s everybody’s favorite?”
“Whole or skim?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Jackson rolled his eyes as he pulled on the shirt and continued. “Well, Angelica is the polar opposite of apron grandma. She dresses like a cross between a gypsy and an aging hippie. And she acts like … well … I don’t know if she’s Lucy from I Love Lucy or that grumpy cartoon old lady—the smart-ass one—”
“Maxine?”
“Yeah. That’s her name.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Though I can tell she’s trying to suppress her inner Maxine, it does escape.”
“Have you discussed your concerns with her?”
“In a general way. She hasn’t actually done anything yet. I just don’t know that she has the temperament to be an innkeeper. I mean, I offer the tiniest bit of criticism and she tells me to lighten up, buttercup. Boone, did you know that she’s recently done time in prison?”