by Amy Vastine
Jenny set the rolls on the table, then got a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured a healthy glassful. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody. How long has this been going on and why the big secret?”
Emma Boyle emptied the bottle into another glass. “Remember the cow?”
“Oh.” Jenny took a long swallow, then another one. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Not this time. Set the table, Jen-Jen.”
Jenny set two places. She was lighting the candles—always candles at Emma’s house—when Nana’s words sank in. “This time?”
“Yes. Grandpa and I had only been married seven and a half months when your father was born. He figured it out when he was a freshman in high school. He—”
“Let me guess. He had a cow.”
“Oh, good heavens, probably twins.”
“To get back to my original line of questioning, who are you eloping with?”
Emma released her hair—light brown with pale pink highlights this month—from a plastic clip, then put it back up again. “You never asked me that.”
Jenny counted to ten. The dozen six-through-nine-year-olds in her special education class were far easier to deal with than one recalcitrant grandmother. “I’m asking you now.”
“His name is Travis McNeil. He’s retired.”
“From what?”
“From any number of things. Not from dancing, though. The man needs to open a ballroom. Don’t you think that would be a nice addition to town?”
Jenny thought Crockett, Indiana, probably needed a doctor—or even a gas station—more than it did a ballroom, but she didn’t bother saying so. “How old is he?”
“Seventy-five. We met when the Rusty Buckets took that bus trip to the casino. Our slot machines were right beside each other. When I lost my money I might have said a few cuss words and he was impressed. He handed me a twenty that I turned into sixty-seven dollars and forty cents.” Emma beamed.
Jenny remembered that the Rusty Buckets was the over-fifty group from Crockett Community Church. They often had meals and took short road trips together. But gambling?
“Where does he live?”
“Crawfordsville.”
The small college town was only about twenty minutes away. It wouldn’t be that hard to check on a Travis McNeil if she had more time, but the word “elopement” made Jenny think that wasn’t the case. “So, when are you eloping and what do you want me to do?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” Emma brought the small platter of Jenny’s favorite pork chops to the table and set it down between the mashed potatoes and buttered corn that were Jenny’s other favorites. “Tomorrow.”
Jenny spilled her wine, creating a new pink stain on top of the one where her student Charlotte Minton had thrown up on her earlier in the day. “Tomorrow,” she repeated. “Today is Monday. I have school tomorrow.”
“I know, dear, but then you’ll be off until next Monday. We’ll have the ceremony on Wednesday evening—just a small, intimate thing. We’ll ask your parents to have dinner with us at the park on Thursday—your mother will be so relieved not to have to cook that dreadful stuffing your father insists on.”
“I still don’t know why you want me there.” Not that Jenny minded the idea of going to Turkey Run—she loved the park—but going there Thanksgiving weekend with the sure knowledge that her father was going to spend the whole time in a huge, noisy pout didn’t sound appealing. Once he found out she was an accomplice in his mother’s nefarious plan, it would be even worse. “I wanted to go to the beach.”
Wanting to hadn’t meant she was going to, although she always kept a bag packed in case a long weekend and a reasonable plane ticket became available at the same time.
“Oh.” Emma looked away for a moment, and Jenny noticed how her profile had softened. When had that happened? It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d left Jenny’s graduation from Indiana State, driven to the airport and dived out of a plane.
The man whose parachute Jenny shared on the tandem had made her heart thump as much as the jump had. “Open your eyes, pretty girl. I’ll keep you safe,” he’d said close to her ear. She’d never seen him again, nor was she sure she’d recognize him if she did, but she’d had several nice, hazy dreams about him.
Her father had come unglued, but it had been the best day. And it had been eight years ago in May. No wonder Nana’s features were softening. Her own probably were, too.
“Well, you must go, then, and have a good time. Maybe you’ll meet a nice young man.” Emma’s voice didn’t waver, though she didn’t meet Jenny’s eyes, either. Her disappointment was almost palpable.
“Did I ever thank you, Nana?” Jenny asked, her voice soft.
“For what? I’m sure you did. Your mother taught you perfect manners.”
“For making me not afraid to do things like jump out of airplanes or teach special education or sit in restaurants by myself and be completely comfortable.”
Color washed Emma’s cheeks, making her appear younger. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“You know, I don’t have to go to the beach at all. What part do you want me to play in your elopement? I can probably pick out ‘The Wedding March’ on a piano if there’s one handy and no one can hear very well.”
Emma smiled at her, a hopeful sparkle brightening the blue of her eyes. “I’d like you to be my maid of honor. I already have our dresses picked out.”
Oh, yes, now it was certain—her father would definitely have a cow.
* * *
“Turkey Run? Why Turkey Run?” Zeke hadn’t been to the state park in years, though he used to like it. But it didn’t have anything he couldn’t find bigger in Chicago.
“Just for a change. I thought it would be fun to bike the bridges from Terre Haute to the park. Remember doing that when you were in college?”
“Yeah.” He’d loved the twenty-seven-mile trek over covered bridges that ended at Turkey Run. It had been a good break from classes and working. “But, Pap, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. I thought maybe you and Seth could come up and we could drive over to Green Bay to watch the Bears. I’ve got tickets.” Though one of the guys at the firehouse wanted those tickets. Bad. Selling them wouldn’t be a problem.
Zeke and his brother had gone to live with his grandparents after the accident that had claimed their parents’ lives. They’d never had traditional Thanksgivings. His grandmother’s cooking had ranged from marginal to downright awful, so they’d always eaten out. After her death five years ago, they’d still eaten out, but they’d started going to football games, too.
“I know, son, and that would be nice, but I don’t want to be in the car that long and I don’t want to fight holiday traffic. You’re young enough for it, but I’m not. Besides, Seth is in Europe for work, remember?”
He’d forgotten. “You could fly up. I’ll spring for the ticket.” But Zeke knew the argument was already lost. Travis McNeil never asked his grandsons for much of anything and the truth was they owed him everything. Obviously, Seth couldn’t make it, which meant Zeke had to. “Never mind. It’s fine. What’s the plan?”
“Well.” Travis was hesitant, which was unusual. “If you could meet us at the park Tuesday, that would be great. We could get some riding in. Maybe some more on Wednesday before the ceremony. Then dinner on Thursday. They do a good spread there in the lodge.”
“Okay. I can do that. I’m off all week, which means I’m working Christmas week. Just come to the inn?”
“Yeah, right. The earlier, the better.”
Zeke nodded, though no one could see him. “See you then.” He started to hang up, but stopped his thumb in time. “Hey, Pap?”
“Yeah?”
“What ceremony?”
CHAPTER TWO
The weather was uncommonly beautiful for late November in Indiana. Breezy but still warm. Not raining. Jenny hoped that was a harbinger of things to come for her grandmother. Although she wasn’t sure.
About either the weather or Emma’s new love.
She’d googled Travis McNeil the night before and found several mentions, though no pictures that had been taken after 1970 or so—she wasn’t even certain the citations she found were for the same man her grandmother was all gaga over. The one Jenny found had written academic papers, owned a factory, acted in a couple of movies and written a few more and played bass guitar. If he had a personal life, Google wasn’t discussing it with anyone and neither was Facebook.
Her grandmother’s car was nowhere in evidence when Jenny parked at the Turkey Run Inn. Which made sense—Emma had probably come with Travis. Were they sharing a room? What would Jenny’s father say if they were? She grinned at the prospect. Not that she wanted Emma to be on the receiving end of his wrath, but then again, if there was anyone Lucas Boyle was scared of, it was his mother.
Jenny got out of her car and went to get her suitcase and her laptop from the trunk. School might be out for Thanksgiving, but there were work-related tasks she needed to get done. She hoped her students all had a nice holiday, although she knew some of them wouldn’t. Charlotte, for one, was a backpack kid. She took food home on Fridays to eat over the weekend, but all bets were off on holiday breaks—the backpack didn’t contain enough items to ensure that many days without hunger.
“Rooster in a rowboat!”
The sound of one of her grandmother’s favorite oaths uttered in a voice that was absolutely and wonderfully male got Jenny’s immediate attention. She turned around slowly, coming to a stop when her gaze met the dark eyes of a man standing two cars down.
Whose looks matched his voice. Be still my old maid heart. Not that she ever used the term “old maid”—she wasn’t even thirty. Quite. But, to quote the high school intern who helped in her classroom twice a week, this guy was hot. No, he was smokin’.
He stood behind a vintage red Mustang with a bicycle rack on its bumper. His hands were on his hips and his spectacular face looked as though a thundercloud had descended on it.
Jenny approached him. “Is there something I can help you with?” Once a teacher, always a teacher. And single was single. She didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t a state she wanted to dedicate her life to, either. If the opportunity to meet someone both gorgeous and single—he must be single, right? Driving that car with only one bicycle on its back—who was she to turn away? Plus he swore like Nana—what could be better?
“Not unless you know how to break into a car. How do you drive eighteen years without locking your keys in the car and then do it on a holiday weekend when you’re two hundred miles from home?”
“It can be done.” She knew that, because she’d done it. More than once. Her mother and grandmother both kept spare keys to her car for that very reason. No one ever mentioned it to her father.
“I’d call a locksmith, but my phone’s in there, too.” He gestured toward the Mustang’s interior.
Jenny scrounged in her purse. “You can use mine.”
“Thanks.” He took the phone and swiped the screen, presumably searching online for a local locksmith. “I appreciate this. I’m not always such a klutz.” He smiled at her, a look that was both familiar and engaging.
Way familiar. Way engaging. The thermometer in her car had assured Jenny it was fifty-one degrees Fahrenheit, but she felt a little warm. Actually a lot warm, perspire-y even. She waved a hand, as much for the air flow as to say the loan of her phone was nothing at all. “Oh, I am. Think nothing of it.”
A moment later, he held the phone away to look at its screen, a scowl replacing his easy smile. “No service? Isn’t this the twenty-first century?”
Jenny looked around at the hills and trees that surrounded the picturesque lodge and its parking lot. “Not necessarily in state parks.”
“Well, I’ll call from inside, I guess. Presumably they have land lines.” He handed her back the phone. “Can I help you carry anything in?”
“Sure. Thanks.” She popped her trunk and lifted out her laptop, then looked at her suitcase in dismay. “Cheesy Pete.” It wasn’t one of her grandmother’s inventive curses, but it served the purpose.
He came to stand beside her, looking at the contents of her trunk. The trash bag of recycling. The plastic tote of holiday supplies for her classroom. The reel of plastic tubing. Velcro. She could feel the heat of him all along her left side and they weren’t even touching. She waved her hand again.
“This it?” He reached for her turquoise bag on wheels, setting it on the ground and telescoping its handle.
“That’s it. Or it would be if I were headed for the beach. I seem to have grabbed the wrong suitcase. The bag with the dress for my grandmother’s wedding is evidently at home on the floor of my closet.”
The smile left his face again. And his eyes. “Your grandmother?”
“Yes.” Jenny grimaced. “I may be the only maid of honor in history in a bright green bikini and flip-flops.” She closed the trunk with a slam.
“There’s probably one of those wedding stores close by where you can find an outfit.” He sounded uninterested, and she gave a mental shrug. So much for gaining the attention of the smokin’ hot guy.
She kept her voice bright. “Didn’t I mention that I’m a schoolteacher? I don’t frequent bridal shops for my wardrobe.” Not without skipping a few months’ worth of manicures and coffee-shop coffee first. Unless they were consignment shops, which is where Nana had gotten the silky confection Jenny had left at home in her closet. Maybe there would be time in the morning to go home and get it.
“Jen-Jen! You made it!” Emma’s voice caroled across the parking lot. “I’m so glad you’re here. We have so much to do.”
And maybe there wouldn’t be time.
Her grandmother, looking striking in a lime green sweatshirt and matching biking shorts—biking shorts? Really?—hugged her. “I want you to meet Travis. Sweetheart, this is my baby girl.”
Nana’s intended was a much older version of the man holding Jenny’s suitcase. His hair was snowy white as opposed to being the color of dark chocolate, but his eyes were the same arresting charcoal gray, his smile just as captivating. The tiny sapphire in his left ear matched the one in his younger doppelganger’s. He wore riding shorts and a sweatshirt, too, but they were athletic gray. He looked great in them.
“Er.” Oh, articulate there, Boyle. She extended her hand. “How do you do.” And what are your intentions toward Nana? She’s not rich, you know, even though her house and car and even the condo in Florida are probably paid for.
“I do fine, thank you very much.” He took the hand she proffered and held it for a second after shaking it, giving it a squeeze. “I’m happy to know Emma’s pride and joy. I see you’ve met Zeke?”
“Zeke?” And the eloquence just grows and grows.
“My grandson, the one looking like he’s about to have either a tantrum or an asthma attack. I thought that had cleared up for you, son.”
“Pap—” A note of warning threaded through Zeke’s voice, then he seemed to reconsider. The stop-’em-in-their-tracks smile reappeared on his face and he extended his hand to Nan. “You must be Emma. I’m glad to meet you.”
“Well, let’s go inside. Maybe have an early dinner and make some plans,” Travis urged.
“Actually, Pap, do you still have my spare keys at your house?” Zeke scratched the back of his head.
“Sure. You know where they are.”
“Then if you don’t mind me using your car, I need to go get them. I seem to have locked mine inside the car.”
“And I need to drive back up to Crockett, too, Nana.” Jenny spoke up before Emma could start herding everyone where she wanted them to go. “All I have with me is my beach suitcase.”
“And rubber tubing,” Zeke inserted. “You have that. And Velcro.”
“I teach special ed.” She tilted her nose in response to the derision she heard in his voice. “Those are necessities.”
“Well, then, why don’t you drive Zeke
up to Crawfordsville to get his keys?” Emma was going to herd them anyway—that was just the way she was. “That way, Travis and I will have his car to run the errands we need to. And maybe go parking. No time like the present to chase our lost youth.”
“Absolutely.” Travis pulled her into his side and nuzzled her ear.
Parking? Nuzzling? Youth? Was this really happening?”Oh, well,” Jenny mumbled. If her students had used that tone, she would have told them to speak plainly. “Of course. All right with you?” She raised an eyebrow at Zeke.
“Sure. I’ll get you some gas.” He reached for the back pocket of his shorts. “When we get back, that is. My wallet seems to be locked in the car, too. The combination still the same to get in the house, Pap?”
“Yes. You kids drive safely and be careful. Your room keys will be at the desk when you get back.” Travis waved them off, Emma smiled brightly, and the older couple sauntered arm in arm toward the front doors of the inn.
Zeke bumped his head getting into Jenny’s compact car, and his legs didn’t fit that well once he was inside.
“Sorry.” Although she wasn’t. Even taking into account the gorgeousness of his eyes, hair and smile, there was something about Zeke McNeil that set her teeth on edge.
“Not a problem. The Mustang isn’t exactly the last word in comfort.”
She pulled onto the two-lane road that led out of the park.
“So,” said Zeke. “Two questions. Why do you really carry Velcro and rubber tubing in your trunk and what does your grandmother really want with Pap?”
* * *
In truth, he might have worded that question a little better. He wished Seth were here. He’d gotten all the diplomatic genes in the family—they came in handy for an international corporate attorney. Zeke also wished this wasn’t all going on. In a different time and place, he’d be interested in getting to know Jenny Boyle better.
She was pretty, for one thing, with green eyes and a lush mouth in…he didn’t know, maybe a heart-shaped face. Her chin was pointy but cute, and she had nice skin and little ears. She was small all over, in fact. And quick. Her hair was dark brown and shiny with some red streaks shot through it looking like flame on silk. Even more than the beauty, there was a sweetness to her he’d have bet his next days off was genuine. There was familiarity, too, though he couldn’t figure out why.