High Stick

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  A prickly feeling came over Merry. He got it. And there was hope. “How long do you think they’ll be asking questions?”

  “Long enough for you to get there,” Amy said.

  “On foot? Isn’t it five blocks?”

  Amy was already reaching for her keys. “I’ll drive you.”

  • • •

  Jarrett pulled at his collar. The little surprise aside, the press conference had gone well, but he needed to wrap it up. They had begun to ask questions he didn’t have the answers for.

  “Jarrett! You mentioned emergency aid. What would that entail and how long would the woman be permitted to stay at that phase before moving on to phase three?”

  “I am not expert at anything except maybe knocking a puck around on the ice, but we have the very best professionals formulating those guidelines.”

  He was beginning to sound like someone putting together buzzwords and hoping for the best. He had to go before he messed this up—and it was too important to mess up. When he’d first had the idea, he’d had getting Merry’s attention at the back of his mind, but that had become beside the point.

  “Thank you all for coming today. I appreciate your support for My Body, My Business more than you know.”

  “Jarrett!”

  Oh, damn, someone was probably going to ask for a syllabus of the classes they intended to have for little girls.

  But when he looked up, it wasn’t a reporter. It was Merry—running across the parking lot with her shoes in her hand and her red hair flying.

  He didn’t hesitate. He ran down the steps toward her and she dropped her shoes to hold out her arms to him. And there she was—against him and smelling like lemons.

  “Have you come back to me?” he asked, vaguely aware of the cameras clicking around them.

  “I never left you, not really.”

  He laughed again her cheek. “It sure felt like it. I’ve never been so miserable.”

  “I was miserable, too, for a time. But I wasn’t anymore.”

  He didn’t know if he liked the sound of that. “Are you saying you got over me? I would have never gotten over you.”

  “No. I got over the misery, but not you. I didn’t come back to you because I was miserable. I came back because I love you.”

  That, he did like the sound of. And he kissed her until he forgot everything else in the universe—except for an emerald ring in his sock drawer.

  He felt a hand on his back. “What?” he barked over his shoulder. “Oh, Amy.”

  “I think you two should take this somewhere more private.”

  “Oh. Good idea,” he said.

  “For the record,” Amy said to Merry, “I don’t think you ruined this for him, and I don’t think that picture is all anyone is going to remember.”

  He didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. “We should go, Merry.”

  She put her foot in one of the little silver flats she’d dropped. “I need my other shoe.”

  Jarrett looked around. “There it is.” Her retrieved it and knelt at her feet. “Can I have your foot?”

  “You can have all of me.”

  Epilogue

  Merry sat on a red leather upholstered stool in the bar of The Shooting Star.

  She’d been apprehensive about meeting Jarrett’s family, but it had been like coming home. She had decided to be frank and get the elephant out of the room from the beginning, but when she’d brought up Miss January, they had brushed it aside. It was in the past and as long as Jarrett was happy, so were they. His sister had said, “I’d rather have you buck naked every day of the week than that last one he brought home in a nun’s habit.” That had gotten a laugh and the elephant left the building.

  “Here.” Jarrett set a tall frosty mug on the satiny, scarred bar. “I think I have finally perfected it.”

  “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t use the word perfect or any derivation of it.” She ran her finger though the whipped cream on top of the drink and licked it.

  He sighed. “Right again. But since I’m not perfect, I might slip up sometimes. Try your drink.”

  She put the straw in her mouth and sipped. Since their reconciliation two weeks ago, this was the fourth time he’d tried to make an alcoholic beverage she would like, so she didn’t have much hope. But her taste buds were delighted.

  “This is good!” She took a deeper drink.

  “Do you have to act so surprised? It’s coffee ice cream with Kahlúa, butterscotch schnapps, and just enough rum to give it a little zip.”

  “My boy is a pretty good mixologist, don’t you think, Merry?” Jarrett’s Papa Clint slid onto the stool on Merry’s right.

  “Not just pretty good.” She smiled at Jarrett. “Perfect.”

  Jarrett pointed his finger at her. “No, no, no.” He said it with flashing eyes and a half laugh. “Brandy old-fashioned sweet, Papa?”

  “You’re playing my song.”

  Jarrett’s hands started to fly, pouring a little of this and little of that. After garnishing it with a cherry, he set the glass before his grandfather.

  “The best,” the older man said after taking a sip.

  “Could I have one of those?” Joyce MacPherson entered the bar.

  “Really?” Jarrett asked. “Grandma, you never drink until after we close.”

  “Tonight’s a special night. Anyway, we have an hour before opening.” She looped an arm around Merry’s shoulders. “Are you sure about this, dear?”

  Merry stroked the crown-shaped ring on her left hand. “I’m sure.”

  “Because she is a generous, good girl.” Kimberly MacPherson came to sit on the stool on Merry’s left.

  Jarrett set his grandmother’s drink in front of her. “Drink, Mom?”

  “Maybe a glass of Riesling.”

  “You’re no challenge.” Jarrett poured her wine.

  “I try not to be.”

  “Say, Merry,” Clint said. “Charles Dickens walks into at bar and orders a martini. Do you know what the bartender says to him?”

  “Oh, Papa!” Lea said as she entered the room with Thomas and Patrice. “Not that one again.” Lea and Thomas were wearing chef’s attire.

  “It’s not again if Merry hasn’t heard it. Have you heard it, Merry?”

  “No. Can’t say that I have. What did the bartender say to Charles Dickens when he ordered a martini?”

  “Olive or twist?”

  Merry had just taken a sip of her drink, and she was lucky that she had a napkin handy, or she would have spit coffee ice cream. “That’s so funny!” She wiped away the laughter tears.

  Jarrett picked up her hand and kissed her palm. “I love you. You have no idea.”

  It was a moment that made her catch her breath and count her blessings. There was something about the way he was looking at her.

  “It’s almost time.” Lea picked up Merry’s hand and looked at the ring. “I couldn’t do it. You’re a better woman than I am.”

  The decision to auction the engagement ring Jarrett had given her to benefit My Body, My Business had not been an easy one, but it had been even harder to broach the subject with Jarrett. She’d promised herself that if he showed one single bit of disappointment or reluctance, she would drop it. But he had been touched. “I bought that ring for the person I had invented anyway,” he said. “I’d like to buy a ring for the woman you are.” She’d made him promise to choose something small, something that she wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear in front of her future clients, most of whom would be poor.

  “I love this ring,” Merry said. “It’s beautiful. But aside from its face value, it’s a Neyland MacKenzie Beauford original, and when I think about the good it could do, it’s easy to let it go.”

  When Neyland had learned what Merry had planned, she’d offered to help publicize the online auction that would go live in a few minutes. In addition, Neyland had gotten donations from Jackson—a signed guitar—and Gabe—a signed, game-worn Titans jersey and tickets for
the upcoming season.

  Jarrett set his laptop on the bar. “Ten minutes. Can I get anyone anything?”

  “Me, Uncle Jarrett!”

  “You? Do I know you?” He picked up Patrice, set her on the bar, and handed her a bottle of grenadine. “I’ll pour the ginger ale and you pour in the stuff that makes it pink—but not too much. Yes, that’s right. Perfect.” He looked up and winked at Merry.

  “Can I have two cherries, Uncle Jarrett?”

  “No,” Jarrett said sternly. “I think on special days it’s four.”

  And what Merry already knew came home to her again. He was a good man.

  “It’s time. There it is,” Kimberly said, and they all looked at the computer screen with the picture of the ring.

  “Oh, my,” Lea said.

  Oh, my, indeed. The opening bid was five hundred thousand dollars.

  Jarrett took Merry’s hand. “I am so proud of you.”

  The opening bid was just the start; the bidding continued and climbed steadily. When it reached an even million, Jarrett closed the laptop.

  “Hey!” Lea said.

  “We’ve seen enough,” he said. “We’ll check back after we close tonight.”

  Lea sighed. “We need to get to the kitchen anyway.”

  “I’ll take Patrice to the house,” Jarrett’s grandmother said. “Come on, darling.”

  “I’m going to do a walk-through and make sure everything’s ready,” Clint said.

  When only Jarrett, Merry, and Kimberly remained, Jarrett took Merry’s hand. “I’d feel better if you let me put that ring in the safe until we have it delivered to the winner tomorrow. It just occurred to me that you might actually be in danger walking around with it on your hand.”

  She doubted that, but she loved him for thinking it. “Good idea.” She removed the ring and handed it to him. “After all this, it would awful if I lost it.”

  “You wouldn’t. But I wish I had thought to go ahead and get you another ring.”

  Though she hadn’t expected it, the sight of her naked hand made her a little sad. “It’s fine. I don’t need a ring. I just need you.”

  “I don’t like seeing your finger bare.”

  Kimberly cleared her throat. “I might be able to help you with that.” She removed the simple gold ring with three small diamonds from where it had sat above her wedding band.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” Jarrett said. “You never take that off.”

  “I have a few times. On my wedding day I transferred it to my right hand to make room for the band. And then when I had Lea, and you. That was a good trade. Not so much for the gallbladder surgery.” She made a face. “But I did take it off earlier today when I took it to the jeweler to be cleaned.” She turned to Merry. “Jarrett told me you wanted a modest ring, so I had a thought. Scott gave me this when we were still teenagers. He bussed tables here and taught hockey lessons to kids to buy it. I have always treasured it—but not as much as I treasure how happy you have made my son. My husband would have been very happy—and he would be very happy for this ring to find a new home on your finger. So would I.”

  Merry was stunned. “How can you give it up?”

  Kimberly smiled. “How did you give up that beautiful work of art tonight? For the love of something very important and very wonderful.”

  “Mom, I don’t know what to say.” There was a catch in Jarrett’s voice.

  Kimberly pressed the ring into Jarrett’s hand. “Give this to your bride. It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring if you have something different in mind. It can be a ‘welcome to the family’ ring.”

  “Maybe it can be both,” Merry said. “There’s no other ring I’d rather have.”

  “And there’s no other ring I’d rather give,” Jarrett said. And they all landed in a hug.

  Kimberly was the first to pull away. “Then I’ll leave you two.”

  When they were alone, Jarrett held out the ring. “Really? Because if you want something different . . . ”

  She shook her head. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

  He slipped it on her finger. “Giving you this ring means the world to me.”

  “It’s perfect,” Merry said—because it really was.

  About the Author

  Alicia Hunter Pace is the pseudonym for the writing team, Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones. They are USA Today best-selling authors who live in North Alabama and share a love of old houses, football, and writing stories with a happily ever after.

  Find Alicia Hunter Pace on the web at www.aliciahunterpace.com, on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AliciaHunterPace, or on Twitter @AliciaHPace. Subscribe to their newsletter at http://bit.ly/AHPNews.

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  ISBN 978-1-5072-0587-7 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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