One Good Man

by Charlotte Douglas

  With a sigh of relief, she noted Brittany walking toward the car. At the same time, Jeff and his companion stood. Jeff threw an arm around the boy’s broad shoulders and gave him a quick clap on the back, the ubiquitous male equivalent of a same-gender hug. Then the boy set off at a trot toward the barn.

  And Jeff headed straight for Jodie.

  She hadn’t seen or talked with him since his visit to her apartment days ago. Her heart stuttered and her stomach flip-flopped at his approach. But when she observed the scowl darkening the sharp angles of his face, she took a deep breath and grew still. Something was very wrong, and she hadn’t a clue what caused his murderous look.

  From the corner of her eye, Jodie saw Brittany notice Jeff and turn back toward the garden. Either her daughter was granting them privacy or didn’t want to speak to him.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said when he reached the car, but he didn’t look glad. Far from it.

  “I brought Daniel home.”

  He leaned down and folded his powerful forearms on the door frame. A gust of breeze enveloped her in his scent, a male essence triggering memories and responses that made her skin hot.

  “We’ve got a problem.” Jeff’s thundercloud expression deepened, turning his gray eyes almost black.

  “Only one? I thought you had sixteen.” She’d tried for a joke, but he wasn’t smiling.

  “It’s Mrs. Weatherstone,” Jeff said.

  Concern for her old friend overrode her reaction to Jeff’s nearness. “What’s wrong?”

  Jeff grabbed the handle and wrenched open the door. “Let’s walk.”

  Jodie glanced toward the garden, where Brittany was engrossed with Daniel, her blond head and his red one bent over a row of immature corn plants. Jodie slid from the car and fell into step beside Jeff who was stomping down the drive as if headed into battle.

  “What’s the matter with Mrs. Weatherstone?” Jodie asked over the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and hurried to catch up. Icy dread gripped her. Her sweet friend was old and feeble, and Jodie couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.

  Jeff stopped abruptly and glared down at Jodie. With a shudder she noted the intensity of his anger, the lightning spark in his gray eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the hard line of his mouth. He made a formidable adversary, and, as a fighting Marine, must have struck fear in the hearts of the enemy.

  “Has someone hurt her?” Jodie demanded.

  “Someone’s sure as hell trying.” His words came out in a growl. “But he’ll have to deal with me first.”

  If ever a man looked out for blood, Jeff fit the bill. Jodie laid her hand on his arm. “Take a deep breath and tell me about it. You don’t want to endanger Archer Farm by going off half-cocked.”

  “You’re right.” Jeff inhaled deeply, his expanding chest straining the fabric of his T-shirt before he released his breath. He motioned to a log that lined the drive. “Let’s sit.”

  They had rounded a bend in the road, out of sight of the farm and leaving them essentially alone and unobserved. But as long as Jeff remained in his current agitated state, Jodie wasn’t worried about a repeat of their café kiss. Right now she was more concerned for Mrs. Weatherstone.

  “You saw me talking to Jason?” Jeff asked.

  “The kid built like a fire hydrant?”

  Jeff nodded. “He’s been working this week at Mrs. Weatherstone’s, washing windows, cleaning gutters. Seems a New England antiques dealer in town has made several visits to our old friend. Jason’s not an eavesdropper, but standing on a ladder with the windows open, he couldn’t help hearing.”

  “I can understand an antiques dealer being interested in Mrs. Weatherstone.” But Jodie didn’t understand Jeff’s anger. “That three-story house is crammed with valuable pieces.”

  Jeff nodded. “The guy told her that since she didn’t use the second and third floors, she might as well sell off the stuff. Suggested that she donate the money to a good cause.”

  Jodie frowned. “And that’s why you’re angry?”

  Jeff heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Mrs. Weatherstone has the right to do whatever she wishes with her belongings. But she doesn’t deserve to be scammed.”

  “The man’s not an antiques dealer?”

  “He’s some kind of wheeler-dealer, all right, according to Jason.”

  “You must have gained that kid’s trust awfully fast. Isn’t it out of character for him to rat someone out, even a stranger?”

  Jeff almost smiled. “Jason doesn’t trust me. He’s covering his butt, afraid he might be blamed if Mrs. Weatherstone’s ripped off. And I wouldn’t say this to his face, but I also believe he’s grown fond of the old lady. She has that effect on people.”

  “How did Jason know she was being cheated? Most teens aren’t antiques experts.”

  Jeff’s grin widened. “I have to give him credit. Jason used part of his supervised computer time to check out eBay. After looking at comparable items up for sale, he discovered the dealer’s offering Mrs. Weatherstone less than a penny on the dollar.”

  Disgust at the antiques dealer’s tactics consumed her. “Mrs. Weatherstone’s no dummy.”

  Jeff shook his head. “But the man’s playing on her philanthropic nature. Jason said she told the dealer about Archer Farm and how she’d donate the money from the sale of her antiques to us. Considering that she inherited most of those pieces and paid low prices by today’s values for the others decades ago, she probably thinks she’s being well compensated.”

  “And doing a good deed at the same time,” Jodie agreed. “What rock did this guy crawl out from under?”

  “This part of the country is ripe for the pickings,” Jeff said. “Mountain folk are frugal and don’t throw anything away. When I was a kid, Daddy used to run off people all the time who were just driving around, hoping to make a killing off antiques they purchased for a very small fraction of their worth.”

  “Let Brynn handle this,” Jodie suggested. “You’re too angry. You might do something you regret.”

  “The voice of experience?” Jeff’s tone had softened, the anger had left his face, and he reached for her hand. “You’re not sorry about the other night, are you?”

  Jodie stood and avoided his grasp. And his question. “I’ll stop by Mrs. Weatherstone’s on the way home and warn her not to make a sale until she’s had a certified appraisal. Do you want me to contact Brynn?”

  As if to keep from reaching for her again, Jeff shoved his hands in the back pockets of his cargo shorts. “I’ll call her. She’ll want to talk to Jason.”

  Jodie set off at a brisk stride toward her van, and Jeff walked alongside. “Thanks for filling me in.”

  “No problem. How’s the computer program coming?” His tone was casual again.

  “I’m still working out a few bugs.”

  “Let me know if you need help.”

  “Thanks.” If her emotions hadn’t been in such turmoil, she would have laughed at the facade they were projecting, conversing as nonchalantly as if discussing the weather, while the magnetism between them pulled with the strength of the earth holding the moon in its orbit. How could she not love a man who, every time she saw him, gave her more reasons to? His concern for Mrs. Weatherstone was one more example that proved his heart was in the right place, that he was a friend who could be trusted.

  She reached the van, slid onto the driver’s seat and closed the door. Jeff leaned toward her through the open window, and she had to force herself to breathe. How could one man look so gorgeous?

  “We still on for the poker run?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she said, waffling. Unless she could find a way to weasel out. She and Jeff had no future together, so what was the point? He had Archer Farm, and she had Brittany, not exactly a dynamite combination, especially since Jodie was a total novice at love and had no clue how to handle a relationship with such overwhelming complications.

  Brittany had climbed into the passenger
seat then, and Jodie had headed immediately for town and Mrs. Weatherstone’s.

  And she hadn’t spoken with Jeff since.

  “Guess what?” Merrilee was saying.

  “What?” Jodie forced her thoughts back to the present.

  “River Walk’s for sale.”

  “I saw the sign on my way here,” Brynn said.

  “Me, too,” Jodie said.

  The exclusive contemporary “cabin” on the river across the highway from the Stattons was where Senator Mercer and Randy had stayed that fateful summer. The sight of the For Sale sign had reminded Jodie that Brittany had been making more rumblings recently about contacting her paternal grandparents, her daughter’s special method of needling Jodie with her displeasure over her mother’s interest in Jeff.

  “Mark my words,” Brynn said, “some rich Yankee will buy the place.”

  “It will take someone with money,” Merrilee added, and quoted the asking price.

  Brynn whistled at the exorbitant sum.

  “Speaking of Yankees,” Jodie said to Brynn, “what’s happened with the antiques dealer and Mrs. Weatherstone?”

  Brynn took a sip of wine and twirled her glass by the stem. “I found him staying at Tuttle’s Bed and Breakfast. Told him I’d throw his sorry butt in jail if he didn’t stop harassing old ladies. He checked out the next morning. No one’s seen him since.”

  “Good.” Jodie had warned Mrs. Weatherstone, but the old woman was naive and had found it hard to believe her antiques were worth more than the man was offering.

  “How are things with you and Jeff?” Brynn asked, catching Jodie by surprise.

  “Jodie and Jeff?” Merrilee’s eyebrows shot upward and her sky-blue eyes lit with interest. “What’s this? I leave town for a couple weeks and look what happens.”

  “Nothing’s happened,” Jodie grumbled. “Jeff gave me some computer business software, that’s all.”

  “Not the way I hear it.” Brynn considered her with wicked delight.

  “Then you heard wrong,” Jodie insisted.

  Merrilee and Brynn were her best friends, but how could she tell them what her feelings were for Jeff, when Jodie didn’t understand those emotions herself?

  “You mean you’re not riding in the poker run with him?” Brynn asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Jodie said, and meant every word. Jeff just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Ten

  Heavy rains plagued the Upstate for days, but the morning of the poker run dawned clear and delightfully cool for late June. Brittany was waiting tables in the café. Sophie, who’d arrived early to fill Jodie’s spot as hostess for the day, was busy seating customers. Behind the counter Maria was hustling to keep up with the steady influx of breakfast orders.

  Upstairs Jodie, emotions running hot and cold, plaited her hair into a French braid and scowled at herself in the mirror. In spite of her strongest intentions not to ride with Jeff, she was preparing to do exactly that.

  And it was all Brynn’s aunt Marion’s fault.

  Right before closing, a few days ago, Jodie had picked up the phone to call Jeff and cancel, when Marion Sawyer had breezed into the café and plopped onto a stool at the counter. The tall woman with huge bones, big hair, a strong jaw and a heart as large as the rest of her, had ordered coffee and a bowl of blackberry cobbler with ice cream.

  “Need to talk to you, honey bun,” Marion said to Jodie with a wink.

  “Sold River Walk yet?” Jodie hung up before completing her call, filled a coffee mug for the new arrival and folded her arms on the counter, while behind her, Maria heated fresh cobbler in the microwave and scooped ice cream.

  Marion, who worked with her husband Bud in the real estate office three doors west of the café, was dressed to kill in a linen dress the color of ripe watermelon and a matching jacket, a sure sign she’d been showing houses. She shook her head at Jodie’s question. “Need to find just the right buyer.”

  “Someone with a truckload of money?”

  “That plus a flaming desire to get away from it all. Pleasant Valley’s not big on excitement, although, Lord knows we’ve had enough lately.” Marion blew on her coffee and took a sip.

  “What excitement?” Jodie had been so wrapped up in recent worries over the café’s finances, Brittany, who was still on restriction and playing the martyr to the hilt, and Jodie’s unsettling feelings for Jeff, that she hadn’t paid attention to the latest gossip.

  “That poor Davidson boy,” Marion said with a shake of her head that didn’t stir a single lacquered strand in her bouffant hairdo. Her eyes were sorrowful.

  Jodie’s breath caught in her throat. “Something’s happened to Jeff?”

  “Not yet, and not if I have anything to do with it. Thanks, Maria.” Marion dug her spoon into the bowl Jodie’s cook had set before her and shoveled in a mouthful of the rich dessert.

  Jodie puzzled over Marion’s statement and was about to ask for clarification when Marion swallowed and spoke. “You riding with him on the poker run Saturday?”

  “I’m—”

  “Good, because we definitely need him there.”

  Resistance is futile, Jodie thought with a grimace and sighed. She’d watched too many Star Trek reruns. “Why do you need Jeff?”

  “We’re mounting a campaign to counteract the busybodies trying to shut down Archer Farm.”

  Jeff hadn’t mentioned the opposition the last time they’d spoken, and Jodie, not having heard further rumblings in the café, had assumed the brouhaha and accompanying opposition to the project had died down. “I thought the poker run was to raise money for needy kids at Christmas.”

  Marion scooped another spoonful. “Two birds with one stone, honey bun.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Marion leaned toward her with a conspiratorial air. “Well, Agnes Tuttle has had this killer bee in her bonnet ever since Jeff came back to town. She started the petitions against the farm and is heading up the drive to boot him out. Says we don’t need Jeff’s kind here. Considers his boys a threat to her daughter.”

  “Caroline’s thirty-three years old,” Jodie said with a sputter of surprise. “I hardly think she’ll run off with a teenage delinquent.”

  Caroline was a beautiful woman whose mother kept her under her thumb and worked her almost to death, running their bed and breakfast, the only lodgings in town. Jodie recalled that in high school, and later, after Merrilee had moved to New York, Caroline had set her sights on Grant. But with Grant now happily married, Caroline seemed doomed to a life of fetching and carrying for her tyrant of a mother, especially since Mrs. Tuttle kept Caroline too busy to meet new people, except for their guests, who were merely passing through.

  “When we gather at Ridge’s barbecue at the end of the run,” Marion said, “we’ll have our own petitions in favor of Archer Farm for everyone to sign.”

  “Is the Chamber of Commerce supporting Jeff?” Jodie asked. Marion’s husband, Bud, was president of that august group.

  Marion held one hand out palm down and waggled it one way, then the other. “They’re split almost down the middle. Some merchants fear the project will be bad for business. If folks know about it, it might scare them off from making a stop here when they’re headed to and from the mountains. Others, like Bud, insist what Jeff’s doing is good PR, so we can call Pleasant Valley ‘the town with a heart.’”

  Jodie thought of Agnes Tuttle, a mean-spirited, bitter woman, whose veins coursed with vinegar. If that woman had a heart, it was pickled in brine. Some claimed she’d henpecked her poor husband to death decades ago. Although almost universally unpopular, Agnes was likely to draw folks to her side. No one wanted the old battle-ax as an enemy who’d go out of her way to make their lives miserable. Agnes was a formidable opponent, even for a Marine who’d survived combat overseas.

  “We’ve invited everyone who’ll come, not just the riders, to meet at Ridge’s barbecue after the run,” Marion said. “The bigger show of support, th
e better chance of defeating Agnes and her crowd. I’m counting on you to help circulate the petitions.”

  “You’ll have plenty of folks for that. You won’t need me.” Jodie was sure Jeff would still participate in the run without her, especially if she told him about the postrun meeting to sign supportive petitions.

  Marion frowned and fixed Jodie with a probing stare. “I didn’t think you’d object. You hired one of Jeff’s boys, didn’t you?”

  Jodie nodded. “Daniel’s a good worker.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Jodie refilled Marion’s cup and avoided her gaze. Jeff had his farm, and, even if he hadn’t, Brittany had demonstrated clearly that she considered any man in her mother’s life a threat. Jodie was falling in love with Jeff, but felt too vulnerable to follow her heart. She was terrified of making another mistake, of being the wrong woman for Jeff, of alienating Brittany, of screwing up her boring but peaceful life. Jodie didn’t need to be involved in Jeff’s fight. Marion and her friends would prevail over Agnes Tuttle without Jodie’s help.

  And who stood up for you when you needed help? her conscience prodded. Memories flooded Jodie of the people in town who’d reached out to her when she’d been a lonely, pregnant teenager and, later, who’d flocked to her café when she first opened her doors and were good customers to this day. These same good folks were trying to help Jeff keep Archer Farm. How could Jodie not join their fight?

  “I don’t have a problem,” Jodie assured Marion, hoping she wouldn’t regret her words.

  “Then you’re in, honey bun?”

  With a sigh of resignation, Jodie had tossed Marion a weak smile and conceded, hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision. “I’m in.”

  “In over my head and sinking fast,” Jodie admitted to her reflection in her bathroom mirror as she completed braiding her hair. Not that she minded supporting Archer Farm. She just wished she could endorse Jeff’s project in a less intimate fashion than spending the day with her arms wrapped around the man she was trying hard not to love.