McCormick's Creek Sweet Romance

by Jen Peters

  Finally, Ree’s mother closed the shop and left her to finish and clean up. They’d make several trips to the funeral parlor in the morning. But with only two more arrangements to do, and with her mother gone, Ree couldn’t keep her mind focused.

  Mitch would be down again on Saturday, and she hadn’t seen him since he had dropped his bombshell. If only…

  But she knew her reaction was real—Mitch was bad news. And if he was bad news, more time wouldn’t fix that, no way, no how.

  She pulled roses and lilies from the cooler. If she never saw another lily in her life, it would be too soon. That’s what everyone ordered, but it was so predictable.

  Just as predictable as a scuzzy lawyer out to steal other people’s businesses. It really didn’t matter how perfect the job at the inn was, she didn’t want to work for a guy like that. People didn’t change, no matter how much you wanted them too.

  And yet…

  She knew she was a bit naive. Her dates had always been easy-going, at least until Luc. And look what had happened there. She had pinned all her hopes on him, and he’d tromped on them like a piece of litter under his feet. Not noticing, not caring.

  But Mitch cared. That much was true, not just her wishful thinking. She wondered how a man could care about one person and not care about others.

  Her thoughts swirled and stewed as she finished the roses and lilies and started on the last order. The confusion wasn’t sorting itself into anything she could understand. And it wasn’t going to.

  She needed a different job. The inn was never meant to be permanent anyway, and she needed to get out of McCormick’s Creek. She needed options.

  But there were none, and wouldn’t be any for weeks.

  Finally, Ree inserted the last piece of greenery in the last bouquet, a lovely thing with glads and carnations and edelweiss, plus a few other tidbits. And not a single lily! She turned the bouquet for a last check, set it in the cooler with the rest, and heaved a sigh of relief. Her cramped hands trembled as she washed them and bandaged the small pokes and prods in her fingers. She wiped the workroom counters and swept the floor, then picked up a super-sized Diet Coke on the way home.

  The house was quiet, so Ree headed for the greenhouse. Her mother was undoubtedly there, partly because it had been neglected for two days and partly to soothe her soul.

  Ree stood inside the door watching her mother. The air was humid and earthy, rich with the loamy smell of Mom’s specialty potting mix. She kept the doors open at either end and the windows cracked, or it would get too warm in the summer sunshine.

  Ree set aside the emotion and uncertainty of the last day. She needed to make Mom understand that as much as she loved her, she couldn’t stay in McCormick’s Creek, especially now. She was twenty six years old and should be out on her own, not hanging around helping Mom and dealing with feelings for a man she couldn’t like.

  Mom’s hand would heal. It had to. If it didn’t, Ree didn’t know what she would do. The shop couldn’t afford to hire someone else, but Mom couldn’t expect her to stay here. Could she?

  If it did heal and her mother made a full recovery…sometimes Ree wondered if she would look for some other reason to keep her around.

  Mom finally straightened, put whatever tools she’d been using to the side, and dusted her hands on her apron.

  “Mom?” Ree said gently, not wanting to startle her. She got wrapped in her own world when she was working out here.

  “Ree!” Her head whipped around, and Ree could see the smile on her face, the same one that had lifted her spirits her whole life.

  “Working on the batwings?” It was a dumb question, as redundant as you could get, but Ree wasn’t ready to start the serious stuff yet.

  Mom nodded. “Repotted four of them to go out front. The next one is set to bloom soon.”

  “Mom! You were using a knife or trowel to loosen the roots, weren’t you?”

  “And what if I was?”

  Ree crossed her arms. “You know darn well what the doctor said. Every time you use hand tools, you’re delaying healing and building more scar tissue.”

  Her mother shrugged. “So it takes a few days longer.”

  Pressure pounded in Ree’s head. “Not good enough, Mom. It’s not healing like it should anyway. What are you going to do if the doctor keeps you restricted for several more months?”

  “Keep going like we are, I suppose.”

  “We can’t!” Ree shouted. “I can’t keep doing two jobs! And I can’t stay here anyway!" She whirled and took off for the house.

  She was still slamming pots around, looking for something to cook for dinner, when her mother came in.

  “Ree,” Mom said softly, taking a frying pan from her. “Ree, what’s happened?" She put a hand on Ree’s shoulder.

  Ree suddenly felt like she was eleven again, filled with anger and hurt and confusion. She looked at her mother, then stepped into her embrace and melted into sobs. She was far too old for it, but she couldn’t stop. It took long minutes before she could speak coherently. “I can’t stay here, and I can’t keep working at the inn.”

  “The inn? What happened at the inn?”

  Ree blew her nose. “The inn is fine. Fantastic, even. It’s Mitchell Blake.”

  Her mother huffed, going into Protective Mom mode. “What did he do to you?”

  Ree waved her down. “He didn’t do anything. He just…Mom, he’s the same type of slime-ball lawyer that took Dad’s business away. And I liked him!”

  Mom frowned and pulled her over to the couch. “He didn’t seem that way to me. Where did you hear it?”

  “From his own mouth!” Ree pulled her knees up and hugged them. “He said he’s in Mergers and Acquisitions, and when I asked what that was, he said he helps big companies buy little ones—”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.”

  “Oh no? He said he writes loopholes in the contracts so if their lawyers don’t notice, his clients can go in and basically steal it. And he said he’s really good at it!”

  Her mother was quiet, looking off into space. Then she shook her head. “I can see why you don’t want to work with a man like that."

  They sat for a moment, leaning close. Ree soaked up the comfort of her mother’s strokes through her hair. “Sometimes we have to do hard things,” Mom finally said.

  Ree sniffed. “I know this isn’t anything like what you went through—”

  “It doesn’t matter what I went through,” her mother interrupted. “What matters is that this is hard for you. But you’re strong, and you’ll find a way through it.”

  “I know. Right now I just need to do my job and forget anything else. After all, he’s just another guy, right?”

  “Right,” Mom grinned. “Like Chris Hemsworth is just another guy.”

  Their giggles turned into full-blown laughter, and Ree felt an anvil of tension drop from her. Just because her mother was old didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a hot guy.

  Then she sat up. “But Mom, you have to realize that I can’t stay and help run the shop forever. The doctor already said your hand isn’t doing as well as she’d like—you need to keep to the restrictions exactly!”

  Her mother looked down sheepishly. “I know. I’ll try.”

  “No, Mom, remember? Don’t try, just do.”

  Her mother nodded and hugged her. Now all Ree needed to do was take the same advice. She needed to be professional and do a great job for the inn while she was there, regardless of her mixed feelings about Mr. Mitchell Blake.

  Chapter 15

  Mitch made another trip to McCormick’s Creek, both to check in with Ree at the inn and to browse the town and let his ideas percolate. “That’s good news about the wedding. We need to make sure everything is as polished as can be,” Mitch said, leaning over Ree’s notes. The scent in her hair made him catch his breath. He held himself still, not letting himself lean in or even breath a little deeper.

  “Mrs. Markov did say dinner a
nd dancing. I’ll look into a portable dance floor on Monday. Dinner seating on something similar?” Ree asked. She seemed stiff and a little stand-offish, not at all the smiling ball of energy he’d gotten to know.

  Before he could answer her, his phone chimed—the ringtone for his grandfather’s aide. He turned away as he reached into his pocket for it. “Yes, Marcus.”

  “You should come, sir.” Marcus’ voice was subdued. “He’s had another stroke.”

  “On my way." Mitch pressed End Call and slipped the phone back in his pocket without thinking about it.

  “Problems?” Ree asked.

  She seemed far away and echo-y. Actually, the whole room was a bit off. He couldn’t seem to think straight, but didn’t know why. Surely at his grandfather’s age, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.

  “I have to go,” he finally said. “My grandfather is ill.”

  He left Ree behind without a glance and slid behind the wheel of his Porsche, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Focus, Mitch, focus. He had been blindsided in depositions a time or two and managed to refocus and turn the situation around. Surely he could concentrate now, enough to drive, anyway.

  He gripped the leather of the steering wheel and pulled out smoothly, trying to put his grandfather out of his mind and focus solely on controlling the powerful car.

  In the penthouse two hours later, as soon as he saw Marcus outside his grandfather’s room, he knew. He had expected he might not be able to understand Granddad’s speech or perhaps one side would be paralyzed. But the stroke must have been massive.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Marcus said, standing to one side of the door. Mitch braced himself against the doorway, then went in to say goodbye to the only parent he’d ever really had.

  Later, he sat in the library with a cup of Irish whiskey while the funeral home people took care of his grandfather. The jade chess set sat on a table in front of him, the queen missing. When they played after Granddad had become bedridden, they used the marble set from France. But this was the one he had learned on. Granddad had told him the rules, said they weren’t difficult to learn but were hard to master. That if he could learn to think ahead enough to win their matches, he’d be well on his way to becoming an excellent attorney.

  “You taught me well, Granddad,” he murmured. “I’ll miss you.”

  He pulled the green queen from his pocket, rolling her cool smoothness between his fingers. He traced the vein of white running through her cloak. “Be willing to use your big guns,” Granddad had said, “but always remember the purpose is to protect the king. Know what your goal is, know what you have to do to get it, and know what your opponent is planning at all times."

  That advice had served him well in Mergers and Acquisitions, but what about now? He had to know his goal to be able to plan his moves, and all he knew is that he was tired of being the bad guy. Tired of leaving destruction in his wake. He thought of his grandfather’s mansion, how it had come to life again, how Cat and Justin, and now Harriet and Ree had built it up into something good, something worthwhile. Every time they went past it, they could smile inside. While every time he passed a corporation he had helped to raid, he felt sick.

  He wished he could still talk it over with his grandfather, work through his options with the old man. For all his facility with language, Mitch hadn’t been able to find enough of the right words to describe how he truly felt when he brought it up the first time. He still couldn’t, except for comparing it to the mansion. And it wasn’t like he could keep restoring old family properties.

  Granddad had said there would be a place for him outside of Mergers & Acquisitions, a place where he could turn his talents in a different direction. But what? And with the way McCormick’s Creek was pulling at him, did he even want to stay in the law firm without his grandfather? Even retired, the old man had been the heart of the organization.

  Restless, he stood and browsed the shelves, remembering when Granddad introduced him to the richness of leather-bound books. He inhaled deeply, his mind flitting back to the first time he’d beaten Granddad at chess and won the queen. And when the old man had made him negotiate for his allowance to be raised or his curfew extended. Everything during his youth had trained him to be an adversarial attorney, but what was he supposed to do now?

  By late afternoon, his grandfather’s estate attorney had arrived. The wizened little man was almost as old as Granddad.

  “Hi, Mr. Turner,” Mitch said. “I thought you retired years ago.”

  “I did,” he said with a wry smile. “Just stayed on for my one special client." He pulled a folder from his briefcase. “This is just an informal look for you, of course. We’ll need to gather everyone next week for the official reading.”

  Mitch nodded. He knew what it would say anyway. A few bequests here and there, an additional chunk of money to the McCormick Foundation, and the rest to him. Which would put him in the managing partner’s seat for the entire firm. Not really what he wanted, either.

  Mr. Turner talked for twenty minutes summarizing the details. Mitch thanked him, but Mr. Turner didn’t rise.

  “There’s one more thing,” the elderly lawyer said, “the real reason I needed to come today." He drew an envelope from his briefcase and extended it to Mitch. “Your grandfather wrote this for you two days ago.”

  Mitch raised one eyebrow. He took the envelope, saw his grandfather’s shaky handwriting on it.

  Mr. Turner stood. “Read it when you’re ready—it doesn’t affect the will—but he wanted you to have it as soon as possible." And with that, he left Mitch staring warily at the envelope in his hand.

  Mitch turned the envelope over a few times. There was no writing on it, no clue as to what was inside. He stared at the library shelves, out the window, then back to the envelope. He finally opened it and drew out two sheets of paper covered in his grandfather’s handwriting.

  My dear boy,

  You were always brilliant, driven to succeed from the time you were young. You’ve been an asset to the firm in M & A because of that. But even before we talked earlier this week, I could tell you were unhappy.

  It has been especially apparent in the last two or three months, since you’ve been back and forth to my old hometown. I’ve seen you being more dissatisfied with your work in the firm. I’ve also seen you arriving back more relaxed and happy after a weekend there.

  I sense that I won’t be on this earth much longer, and yet seeing you settled is important to me. If we can’t talk more in person, I will carry on my half of the conversation this way.

  We spoke of several positions in the firm which might fit your needs better than M & A, and through which you can still make a great contribution. Robert could use your talents to negotiate divorce settlements. Or perhaps helping set up new corporations is more in line with your thinking now than takeovers.

  I hate to see you waste your great intellect, though. After some thought, my choice for you would be in malpractice where you could stretch yourself and your abilities helping the injured to get just compensation.

  However, the company is vast, and there will be a place here for you, whether in malpractice or elsewhere. If you choose carefully and well, you’ll find your fulfillment. With luck, I’ll also get to see you do it. If not, know that I am proud of you and the man you have become.

  Mitch refolded the letter and tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket. He found himself at the window, his eyes blurring. How well his grandfather knew him. And how much he regretted not discussing the matter far earlier. He just hadn’t known what he wanted, or even how to say that he didn’t know. It wasn’t until this last week that he could pinpoint a few of his desires.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He really didn’t have time to think about it now. There were many, many people to contact and a funeral to plan. He’d give his grandfather the send off he so richly deserved, but Granddad was right about the effect of McCormick’s Creek on him. He had a feeling he’d be back in th
e town sooner than he had expected.

  Chapter 16

  “Mom? Mom!" Ree burst through the greenhouse doors early Monday afternoon.

  “Back here,” came her mother’s voice.

  Of course she was back there. Where else would she be while the store was going crazy? “Why aren’t you answering your phone? We’ve had customers in and out for the last hour and a half and I needed you!”

  But her mother didn’t answer. She just perched on a stool and kept stroking the leaves of a Stargazer lily.

  Ree stormed forward. “You can’t leave the whole shop to me. Doing all the arrangements is one thing, handling the front is something else.”

  Mom looked up, her eyes bleak. Ree stopped. “What’s wrong, Mom? What happened?”

  Her mother looked away and went back to stroking the leaves. Finally she spoke. “I saw the doctor this morning. She doesn’t like the lack of movement and flexibility. She wants me to wear a brace to stretch my hand out, besides upping my physical therapy.”

  Ree frowned. “A brace? How long? That’s not what she was saying last time."

  Mom gave a wan smile. “I think she was just trying to keep my spirits up earlier. She knows the problems it causes, not being able to use my hands. Not being able to work.”

  Ree pulled another stool over and sank down. “But it has to get better. If it doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off. She leaned her forehead to meet her mother’s and reached for her un-braced hand. “We’ll figure it out, I know we will. Remember, ‘we’re strong and we’ll find a way through.’”

  But would they? She was sorry for Mom, she really was. But if she couldn’t take back the shop, would she expect Ree to stay and do it? This was only supposed to be for a couple months.