The Marriage Rescue

by Shirley Jump

  Reggie shook his head. “Get something for that poor boy over there. He looks as nervous as a cat on a lawn mower.”

  Maybe Grady should have brought tequila instead of wine. Now that he was here, confronted directly with Beth’s father and the reality of the situation, pretending to be her boyfriend, even for a minute, felt wrong. This was a man who clearly loved his daughter. Pulling the wool over his eyes when he was sick as hell left Grady’s gut twisting, no matter how kind the motives behind the deception. “Let me help you,” Grady said to Beth.

  “She’s got it. Leaves you and me time to chat,” Reggie said, waving Beth toward the kitchen before he gestured toward the couch. He waited while Grady took a seat on the worn floral sofa. A solid thirty seconds passed while Reggie sized Grady up, the oxygen tank hissing all the while. “So...how did you meet my daughter?”

  When he and Beth had worked out their “history” they’d decided basing it on some truths would be the easiest and best course. It didn’t make sense to create a huge fictional account if he was only here for one night, one dinner. “I went to Hawkins Prep, too.”

  “You grew up round here?”

  Yes, he had—in a house as cold as an iceberg. “In Raleigh. My brothers and I used to stay at my grandmother’s in Stone Gap from time to time.”

  “And your parents, where are they?”

  As uninvolved in their children’s lives as they could be, last Grady had checked. “They’re both attorneys in Raleigh.”

  “Attorneys.” The look on Reggie’s face told Grady what he thought of that career choice. Grady couldn’t disagree, not when his parents fitted in with most of the stereotypes. His mother was as career driven as her husband. He had been the more exacting and demanding one with every element of his life, including his family. It had served him well as an attorney, but not so much as a father. While they were growing up, Grady and his brothers had often said they felt like they were living with a warden, not a dad.

  When Grady had gone into business for himself—and struggled the first couple years—his father had used that as an opportunity to call him foolish and impractical. Yet another reason Grady rarely spoke to his parents.

  “And you? Do you have a job?” Reggie asked.

  “Uh, yes. Sort of.” A complicated answer to say he’d laid himself off so he wouldn’t drain the company any more. The only one technically employed at Jackson Properties was Dan. Grady didn’t want to tell Beth’s father about the millions he had made—or the millions he had lost. Or the long story behind the planned government facility that had lost funding before the doors ever opened. “I’m self-employed, sir.”

  “Code for unemployed,” Reggie muttered.

  Grady flicked a glance in the direction of the kitchen. Whatever Beth was doing was taking a year and a half. “I, uh, sell corporate real estate in Manhattan.”

  Or used to. Before he made a bad investment that cost him everything. Yeah, probably not what Beth wanted her fake boyfriend to share.

  “You got a college degree?” Reggie asked.

  Grady nodded. “MBA from Northwestern.”

  Reggie let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s impressive. My daughter is smart as hell, and she should have gone to college, but with what happened senior year and—”

  “Dad, no need to retread history.” She handed Grady a glass of wine, then sat on the sofa beside him. Close enough to touch, but still far enough for the gulf of unfamiliarity between them to be palpable. She patted Grady’s knee and flashed him a smile. “Both Grady and I prefer to focus on the present, not the past.”

  What had happened senior year? He searched his memory, but nothing came up. Granted, in senior year he’d been busy with college applications and maintaining his GPA. His world had revolved around a very tiny set of goals and objectives, mainly getting out of the house and away from his suffocating father. He and Beth hadn’t had any classes together that year, though it was a small enough school that he’d still seen her around.

  “What brought you back to Stone Gap?” Reggie asked. “Doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of place a Northwestern grad would choose.”

  Not at all, which was why Grady didn’t live here. Stone Gap was great, as small towns went, but he missed the heartbeat of New York City. Soon, he’d be back there. “I inherited my grandmother’s house,” he said. “In fact, you might have known her. Ida Mae Jackson? She worked at the corner market in downtown Stone Gap for most of her life. It’s where she met my grandfather, and where she retired from, too, about fifteen years ago.”

  “I wasn’t around much in my younger years,” Reggie said. “Can’t say I got to know anyone in this town much more than in passing. This was my wife’s hometown, not mine. I met her when I was on the road, the first year I was fighting. She had such deep roots here, with her parents and grandparents, getting her to move would have been like trying to uproot a sequoia. In fact, I’ve spent more time in this chair in the last two years than I spent in Stone Gap in the last three decades.”

  “My father was a boxing champ and fought all over the world for a good portion of his life,” Beth said. She pointed to the photographs on the wall above Grady’s head.

  Dozens of images of a younger, burlier Reggie in various boxing poses, from the raised fist of a champion to the lightning-quick draw of a southpaw, filled the space. Several pictures of Reggie holding a winner’s belt above his head, a few others of him with famous boxers from years ago—George Foreman, Rocky Marciano, Joe Frazier, and even one with crazy-haired promoter Don King.

  “I’ve heard of you,” Grady said. “You had a hell of a career.”

  “Yeah. Those were the days.” Reggie sighed, then dropped his gaze to his hands, as if he could still see the gloves on his fists, the mat beneath his feet. He shook his head and cleared his throat, wiping away the cobwebs of memories. “Anyway, I retired almost fifteen years ago, after I lost my wife, God rest her soul.”

  Beth’s mother had died? Grady immediately felt bad for not even asking about her mother when she’d brought up her father the other day. Was that what happened in senior year?

  He realized he knew virtually nothing about her life, about her, and for the hundredth time, he questioned the wisdom of what he was doing. He was sitting here beside a woman who was essentially a stranger, trying to fool a sick man. Albeit for a good purpose, because it was clear Reggie loved his daughter and worried about her. Grady’s own father wouldn’t have been half that concerned. Hell, he felt that he had more of a relationship with Beth’s father in ten minutes than he’d had with his own in the past ten years.

  Illness had winnowed Reggie into a shell of the man in the photos. Grady found himself wishing he could do more than just feign love for Beth for a single dinner, if only to give a sick man a bright spot in what seemed to be a pretty gray existence. Because Grady knew what it was like to lose everything, and to have to face the truth of a life that had disappeared in a blink. If he’d been here under different circumstances, he’d want to ask Reggie about winning and losing, and how he got out of bed on the mornings after he lost.

  Beth’s father might be a difficult man to impress, but Grady had to admit he liked him. Reggie Cooper was direct and frank, not at all the kind of guy to dance around a subject. Maybe that was what had made him such a good boxer—he went straight for the punch, with his fists and his words.

  “So what kind of corporate real estate are we talking?” Reggie asked. “You selling diners or department stores?”

  “Well, neither. I specialize in medical and technology properties. Most of the time, I find and renovate facilities for clients who are looking for a home base.”

  “Most of the time?” Reggie’s gaze narrowed. “What do you do the rest of the time?”

  “Dad,” Beth interjected, laying a hand on his arm. “We should probably sit down to dinner.”

  Beth picked
up Monster, putting him into one of those playpen things she had in the grooming salon, and gave him a couple of peanut butter–filled treats that looked like they were going to keep the puppy occupied for a long time. Good.

  But Reggie didn’t listen to his daughter’s request. “So you’re like a manager. Selling the boxer to the promoter, pocketing your cut and never getting in the ring yourself.”

  Did Reggie think there was no risk in Grady’s business? If so, he was wrong. Grady had gotten into the ring every time, taken every chance. And the one time he’d overstepped and forgotten to protect himself, he’d gotten the takedown of his life. He tried not to think about Dan, and how much the other man was depending on him. Trusting Grady to pull off a miracle. “When you get in the ring, sometimes you get knocked out.”

  “Yeah, and sometimes you win it all. If I’d been smarter, I’d have decided to be a manager or promoter, so I could make money off of someone else’s knucklehead.” Reggie tapped his temple. “But I was young and full of piss and vinegar when I started boxing. Which means I thought with my fists instead of my brains.”

  Grady could relate. How many times did he wish he’d listened to the sense of others instead of following his own gut reactions?

  “Hey, guys, I made a roast chicken with potatoes for dinner and now it’s getting cold,” Beth said, getting to her feet. “Do we want to take this inquisition into the dining room?”

  “Sure, sure,” Reggie said. Once again, he waved off his daughter’s attempts to help him out of the chair even as he coughed and wheezed, the struggle obvious in his features. He shuffled out to the dining room and sat at the head of the small table. “Grady, you sit right here, next to me.”

  Grady did as he was told. Beth sat across from him, the two of them flanking Reggie. Her father passed the platter of chicken and potatoes to Grady. The scents of garlic, onion and roasted chicken wafted across the table. Grady’s mouth watered at the sight of the browned hen and cubed red potatoes. He’d eaten in many five-star restaurants, but none of the meals he’d had looked or smelled as good as this one. Maybe it was just the thought of sharing the homey dish with Beth, the fact that she’d made it with him in mind. It almost made him wish, just for an instant, that their facade could be real.

  Whoa. Where had that thought come from? That was a little more of a hearth-and-home road than Grady traveled. And anyway, Beth had probably just been thinking about her father when she made dinner, not him. He didn’t need to get all “relationshipy” over a damned chicken. But as he glanced around the dining room, taking in the photos on the buffet, the china settings in the hutch, the floral tablecloth with embroidered edges, he felt like he was back at his grandmother’s table. The setting warmed him, settled his stress...and gave him pause.

  What was he doing here? Playing house? Or helping a friend? Or serving his own interests?

  The return to the simpler world he’d left behind in Stone Gap was simply...uplifting. A temporary feeling, he was sure, one that would pass in a few days. He’d be itching to get back to the frantic pace of New York before long.

  “Looks delicious, Beth.” After filling his plate, Grady gave the platter to her. He laid his napkin on his lap, picked up his fork and speared a piece of chicken.

  Reggie cleared his throat. “We say grace in this house,” he said.

  Damn. Grady put the fork down. In that moment, he felt like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Beth looked as surprised as Grady. “Dad, we don’t—”

  “Yes, we do.” Reggie nodded in Grady’s direction.

  “Uh, yes, sir. My apologies. It’s been a while since I had a family meal.” And an eon since he’d said grace at the table. Ida Mae had been the only one in the Jackson family to insist on pausing before eating. Grady’s busy, workaholic parents rarely ate dinner with their sons at all, saving family dinners for major holidays. Even then, they were quiet affairs, where the loudest sound was the scrape of a utensil against the china, a socially unacceptable noise that earned a sharp glance.

  “You want to do the honors, Grady?” Reggie asked.

  Grady exchanged a what do I say to that? glance with Beth. She gave a slight shrug and dipped her head, leaving him on his own. Sink or swim.

  There was no way Grady was going to sink, not again, and not at a family dinner with people who weren’t even his family.

  He cleared his throat. Then cleared it again. “Uh, dear God, thank you for this meal and for the people around this table.” He paused. What else was he supposed to say? He tried to think back to his grandmother’s prayers, and hit upon the one she said most often, letting the words babble out of his mouth before he thought them through. “Season our lives with goodness and my words with salt in case I have to eat them later.”

  Beth snickered. Reggie let out a huff. Grady vowed to never, ever, ever participate in impromptu prayer again.

  “Amen,” Grady said, before he added any more of Ida Mae’s pearls of prayer.

  “Well. That was different.” Reggie raised his head and opened his eyes. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended, just...amused. That was good. “It was one my grandmother always said,” Grady said. “She didn’t believe in taking anything too seriously.”

  “And I suspect that kind of thinking got her in trouble sometimes?”

  Grady chuckled. “More than once. But that was part of what I loved about her. My grandmother was...refreshing. Honest yet loving. I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”

  Refreshing. That was the adjective he’d used for Beth a couple days ago. Two women in his life that were a far cry from all others.

  “I didn’t know Ida Mae that well,” Beth said. “I wish I had spent more time with her. She sounds amazing.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew her at all,” Grady said. Ida Mae, he was sure, would have loved Beth. She was the kind of girl a boy brought home to meet his mother, Grandma would have said. That was, if the boy had a mother who cared about the kind of girl he brought home. Grady often wondered why his parents had had children, because they seemed to forget their three boys as soon as they were born.

  Beth nodded. “I met your grandma a few times at the general store. Every time, she was so sweet to me and never forgot what my favorite candy was.”

  “That’s a good thing for a man to remember, too.” Reggie wagged a finger in Grady’s direction before he turned back to his daughter. “I might not have been the best husband in the state of North Carolina, but I always remembered how much your mother loved Almond Joys. If we had a fight, I’d bring home a handful of them. I swear, she liked those better than flowers.”

  A soft, melancholy smile filled Beth’s face. “I remember that. Whenever I went trick-or-treating, I’d be sure to get a few to bring back for her.”

  Father and daughter sat in silence for a minute. “There were some good days, weren’t there, Bethie?”

  “Yes, Dad, there were. Before...” Beth’s voice trailed off. “Well, before.”

  Grady sat in the middle of a private moment between Beth and her father. A thousand unspoken things hung in the air, questions in Grady’s mind that he had no right to ask. What had happened to Beth’s mother? What did Reggie mean by “there were some good days”? Was it connected to whatever had so consumed Beth Cooper’s life that she didn’t have time to date? Surely her father had a visiting nurse or something, right?

  For a few minutes, there was only the sound of eating and the occasional cough from Reggie’s ravaged lungs. Then Reggie said, “Pass those damn-near-amazing rolls, please,” and the tension at the table eased. Grady handed him the basket of warm Parker House rolls, and then slid the butter his way.

  “So, Grady, quick quiz,” Reggie said. “What is my daughter’s favorite candy?”

  “Dad! That’s not fair to ask.”


  “He should know it. He should know everything about you. Any man who dates my daughter better damned well be paying attention to more than her curves.” Reggie gave an emphatic nod. “My own dad used to say that to me when I started dating, and it’s good advice.”

  The older man turned to Grady and stared at him. Grady squirmed in his seat. Beth’s favorite candy? How was he supposed to know that? He wanted to look at her for some kind of hint, but Reggie’s attention was laser focused, and Grady was pretty sure he’d get caught if he tried to cheat. He’d already messed up grace. He had a feeling he better get this right, or he’d be failing some kind of invisible test. Grady scrolled through his high school memories in a rapid microfiche of images.

  “Reese’s peanut butter cups,” he said.

  Beth’s eyes widened. “That’s...that’s right.”

  “Well, good. Glad to see the boy is paying attention. Pass the potatoes, please.” Reggie put out a hand. After he’d refilled his plate, he took a few bites, then turned back to Grady. “It seems to me that you care a great deal about my daughter. When are you planning to make it official?”

  Grady nearly choked on the bite of bread in his mouth. Make it official? He’d signed on to be a boyfriend for a night, not a lifetime. “Uh, I don’t know, sir. Beth and I haven’t really talked about that.”

  Reggie’s face pinched with disapproval, then the wrinkled nose and furrowed brow yielded to worry and something that looked like regret. “I’d like my daughter to be settled with a good man before I’m gone—and not to upset this lovely meal, but we all know that’s not far away. Heart disease is a cruel mistress who wants her due,” Reggie said. “Don’t start smoking, son. Not now, not ever.”

  Grady dropped his gaze to his plate, because all he could see was the flashing ambulance lights and Dan being loaded in on a stretcher. Heart disease was a cruel mistress indeed. Dan’s doctor had given him a prescription for three things: more activity, no smoking and less stress. The longer Grady sat in this town without working capital to get the company running again, the more stress he added to Dan’s life.