Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1)

by Kallypso Masters

  “No thanks needed. We’re neighbors. That’s what we do for each other.”

  Tillie hadn’t been particularly neighborly up to now, trying to go it alone here. She’d never had friends over while in school and had no close attachments except to people who flitted in and out of her inn. Was that part of the attraction to Greg? He wouldn’t be sticking around either if things didn’t work out for them. Tillie brought her mind back from its wanderings. “I’ve enjoyed having someone to work with in here today, Beckie.”

  “I hear you. Gets kinda lonely doing prep and seeing to every detail without anyone to help.”

  Greg walked into the kitchen. “Finish what you’re working on then it’s off to bed with you,” he announced.

  She held up her hands to ward him off. “I don’t have time to nap!”

  “You’re going to make time. Beckie, you have everything under control here, right?”

  “Sure do!” Beckie laughed and winked at Tillie. “You go on and let this nice man tuck you in, honey.”

  Tillie hadn’t the energy to fight them both probably due to her lack of sleep the last two nights. “Okay, you win. But I’m setting my alarm for three so I can be back in here for the last-minute prep.” They made a pit stop on the way to the bed, so at least her bladder wouldn’t burst.

  Three hours later, she woke from the nap, called Greg on the cell phone, and managed to be in the kitchen when the doorbell rang at four, an hour before she’d expected anyone.

  Greg called out from the dining room, “I’ll get it!”

  Vera was the first through the kitchen door. “How are you doing, you poor thing? Oh my!” She stared at Tillie’s boot. “That must be awfully painful.” The matronly president bent over Tillie to give her a hug.

  “It’s not so bad. I’m sure when the swelling goes down in a few days, I’ll be good as new.”

  “Only if you keep it elevated and put no pressure on it,” Greg cautioned.

  Tillie shot him a scathing look, but Vera must have missed it in her haste to meet Greg. “Mr. Buchanan,” Vera said, shaking his hand, “I can’t tell you how pleased we are that you found our dear Tillie last night. Why, she might have lain on that floor until we arrived, which would have been simply dreadful.”

  Vera’s words reminded Tillie to be grateful to him, even if she didn’t like having him dictate what she would and wouldn’t be doing. Of course, she’d follow doctor’s orders, because she wanted the ankle to heal as quickly as possible, but she didn’t need him reminding her every step of the way.

  When the doorbell rang again, Greg left to provide further host duties while Vera hugged Beckie and thanked her, too. Tillie had never felt like such a fifth wheel. Totally useless.

  “Miss Tillie!” Derek stood in the doorway staring at the two strangers cautiously as if deciding whether he wanted to come into the room.

  “Come over here, Derek!” His face lit up, and he ran to her side, giving her a big hug, which she reciprocated. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been all day?”

  “I sleeped all morning and then played with the toy soldiers. Daddy won’t let me go outside.” His lower lip ventured out in a pout.

  “I’m sorry to be keeping your daddy so busy, but I think I can spare him for the next hour or so if he wants to let you play outside a while.”

  “You heard Tillie, sport.” She found Greg standing in the doorway, having overheard her. “Let’s go outside and play a while.” He was doing a fantastic job of juggling the needs of both his charges. “Then you can eat here in the kitchen with me.”

  “Nonsense,” Vera said. Tillie hadn’t even known the woman had been listening. She came from a big family, though, and could probably participate in three conversations simultaneously. “You’ll both join us for dinner. We promise not to talk too much shop, at least not until after we eat.”

  Tillie enjoyed hearing about their projects and plans, but could see how Derek might be bored by such. “Derek, why don’t you sit by me when we eat?” She’d try to keep him entertained while keeping an ear on the adult conversations.

  Greg smacked his forehead. “The cherry bounce! I nearly forgot!”

  “Let me get them. I know right where she keeps them.” Mark Peterson stood in the doorway. “Hi, Tillie. Sorry to hear about your accident.” He didn’t come over to hug or greet her in any way, thank goodness.

  Greg sized Mark up, gave her a smile as he shook his head, and took Derek by the hand. “Let’s go, son. Twenty minutes, then I need to come inside to help Miss Tillie.”

  True to his word, he was back right on time. “Ready to go in?” Greg towered over her.

  “Almost.” She turned toward the door. “Could you check on Mark? He hasn’t come up from the cellar.”

  “Here I am!” Mark said from the doorway, holding up two dusty quart jars. She thanked him, all but certain he’d been snooping around downstairs. What was everyone’s fascination with her cellar?

  “Thanks. I’ll take those,” Beckie said.

  Tillie loosened the tie on her apron and lifted it over her head before setting it on the table beside her. “Beckie, are you sure I can’t help with anything else?”

  “Nothing at all. Go enjoy your guests. I’ll bring in the dishes as they’re ready. Let me know when everyone’s here, Greg.”

  Tillie held up her arms, and Greg bent to pick her up. She was getting way too used to this. In the dining room, she directed him, “Let me sit at that corner and put Derek next to me. I’ll see that he’s entertained so you can talk with the preservationists.”

  “I’m sitting next to you, so I can make sure you eat everything I put on your plate. You can rest your leg across my lap, if you’d like.”

  His lap? This was going to be the longest supper she’d ever endured.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tillie’s narrowed eyelids and flattened lips didn’t bode well for Greg’s efforts at being her caregiver today. Clearly, the woman didn’t like having to rely on anyone for anything. Tough. He intended to wait on her regardless, and she’d better get used to the idea. Besides, she deserved to be taken care of.

  After settling her into her seat and taking Derek to the bathroom to wash up, he returned to the kitchen to help Beckie carry dishes to the dining room. Tables had been set up in both the dining room and birthing room, but both shared the same buffet on the sideboard.

  He went through the buffet line, filling her plate with a little bit of everything, including both meats and the jalapeno jelly and cream cheese spread he wanted to try with crackers. His stomach growled. He’d skipped breakfast this morning. So had Tillie, he realized too late. He hoped Beckie made sure she ate while they were working in the kitchen earlier. The fries he’d eaten from Derek’s leftover kids’ meal had long since worn off.

  The feast spread out before him was grander than anything he’d enjoyed in a long time.

  “I can’t possibly eat all that!” Tillie complained when he set an overloaded plate in front of her.

  “Nonsense. A chef should always sample a little bit of everything. Now I’ll go fill a much smaller plate for that picky little boy seated next to you.”

  Derek took one peek at the varied dishes on Tillie’s plate and scrambled off his chair. “I’ll show you what I like, Daddy.” Apparently, he didn’t trust his dad and probably wouldn’t eat most of it. But the boy surprised him by trying a few things he hadn’t eaten before.

  On his third trip through the line, Greg filled a plate for himself while chatting about a church preservation project with a woman who said she lived in Bloomfield, wherever that was.

  There must have been half a dozen separate conversations going on at the table once he settled into his seat, but he tuned all of them out and leaned toward Tillie. “I’m going to lift your leg onto my lap now. Are you ready?”

  “There’s no need, really, Greg. It’s only going to be a short while.”

  “Are. You. Ready?” he repeated slowly. This point was non-n
egotiable. “Doctor said to keep it elevated whenever possible to keep the swelling down.” She sighed and nodded. “Good. Now, brace yourself. I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

  When he took hold of her leg, he noticed she was holding her breath. “Take a deep breath for me, and let it out when I say so.” He waited for her to draw a breath and told her to release it as he lifted her leg in one fluid motion and settled the boot on his lap.

  “Thank you. That does feel better. The binding had been feeling a little tight.”

  Pleased with himself, he waited for her to begin eating and then took a few bites of Gram’s jalapeno jelly spread. His mouth soon became flaming hot. “That jelly packs a punch.”

  Tillie laughed. “Mrs. Foster and I loved it.”

  He drank some of the too-sweet iced tea. “Everything’s wonderful.”

  Tillie’s smile faded. “Beckie did most of the cooking.”

  “But they were your recipes, and you did much of the prep, too.”

  “These are all recipes your grandmother communicated to me over the past year.”

  At the moment, he didn’t care how she came into possession of them. Having an opportunity to enjoy them again—or for the first time, in the case of the jalapeno jelly—was all that mattered.

  Drawn into a conversation about preservation of an antebellum home in Bardstown, it was half an hour later before he turned his focus to Tillie once more, only to find her eyes scrunched and half closed with her brows furrowed.

  His watch told him they’d gone past when she was due another pill, unless she’d taken one in the kitchen, which he doubted. Her aversion to painkillers, even non-addicting ones, must stem from what had happened with her mother, but he couldn’t stand seeing her in pain, either.

  “When did you take your last pill?”

  She tried to mask the pain, apparently not realizing anyone else had noticed. “Before I took my nap.”

  Damn. “Where’s the bottle?”

  She seemed to think a moment. “Oh!” Tillie retrieved them from her pocket and extended her hand around the table leg toward him. Whatever she handed him was not simply a pill bottle. He glanced down to find the bottle wrapped in a satiny scrap of peach-colored—panties?

  “Oh, God!” she whispered as she followed the direction of his gaze. Snatching the panties out of his hand, her gaze darted around the table at the other guests, no doubt making sure no one else had noticed. She studiously avoided making eye contact with Greg afterward.

  These definitely were the same ones he’d brought to her this morning. So did that mean she wasn’t wearing any? He fought to stifle a grin, but lost the battle.

  Tillie leaned toward him and hissed, “Not a word, Buchanan. Just give me the blasted pill.”

  * * *

  He knew. The infuriating man knew she was sitting here at this prim and proper supper without underwear. She’d managed to hide the fact she’d gone commando up in the bathroom from him only to hand him the damned undies at the dining-room table. At least none of the others at the table appeared to suspect. In her mortification, her pain was forgotten momentarily, but the diversion didn’t last long enough to provide real relief. Her ankle throbbed. Why had she put the pills in the same pocket as the panties? Or why hadn’t she taken the pill herself at the beginning of the meal and avoided this predicament?

  As people finished their meals, Beckie cleared the dishes, and Tillie made sure everyone in both rooms knew to thank her again for such a wonderful meal and for coming to Tillie’s aid on such short notice. Then she added in a voice only for Beckie, “Would you mind serving the cherry bounce for us in the parlor?”

  Normally, Tillie wouldn’t have joined her guests, but after the panty incident, she could use something stronger than sweet tea.

  Beckie must have already poured the Mason jars into Tillie’s cobalt blue and gold Venetian decanter. The bohemian-looking set didn’t really go with anything in the house, but she’d found it in an antique store and loved the vibrant colors. Sometimes she served herself a glass of sherry or spiced rum in one late at night when her guests had gone to bed.

  Beckie set the decanter on a tray with the stemware and carried it through the dining room and off toward the parlor.

  “Shall we?” Greg asked. “Deep breath.” He lowered her right foot to the floor and stood beside her to lift her into his arms and carry her into the parlor with the other guests following behind them.

  Once everyone had been served, Greg lifted his glass toward Tillie. “To our supreme hostess, who has proven to us all that preserving the old with a flair for the modern provides the best of both worlds.”

  Did he just glance down at the pocket where he now knew her thoroughly modern panties were hidden? To find an excuse for the heat creeping up her neck, she clicked her glass with Derek’s filled with cran-cherry juice before drinking half the contents of hers in one gulp. Greg chuckled. No doubt the rat had already detected her blushing.

  How would she ever live this down? At least Greg would be leaving in two days, and she’d probably never see him again.

  God willing.

  Still, that thought made her a little sad. The conversations in the room filtered in again, and she accepted the praise from others for the cherry bounce but truly only wanted to know what Greg thought and regarded him with raised eyebrows.

  “Excellent. I could become addicted to this elixir.” His lips slightly wet from the drink, she licked her own as she imagined doing the same to his.

  Tillie smiled, inordinately happy he liked it. Mark and Vera joined them.

  “I don’t believe we’ve formally met,” Mark said, extending his hand to Greg. “I’m Mark Peterson, vice president of the preservation society. Tillie and I have known each other for years. Even date occasionally.”

  Why on earth he brought that up as though she still dated him, Tillie didn’t know, but Greg sized him up and smiled back. “Nice to meet you, Peterson.” Greg didn’t get into a pissing match, which she appreciated. The two spoke of one project or another, and she zoned out until Mark brought up Jesse James.

  “My grandfather said Jesse James left his most valuable treasure here in this house.”

  “That so?” Greg asked noncommittally.

  Tillie sighed. That old rumor again. Most of the old-timers around here believed it. She held no faith in legends about treasure or anything Jesse supposedly left behind the various places he lived or hid out.

  Uninterested in the conversation, her eyelids soon drooped again. Full stomach and still being behind on her sleep wasn’t a good combination, but she wasn’t about to leave the party.

  “Brace yourself, dear.”

  Her eyelids flew open as Greg scooped her into his arms. Dear? Then she saw Mark’s face become a mottled red and figured Greg was being territorial. As if. Perhaps he simply didn’t care for Mark and wanted to get a rise out of him.

  “Time for me to take you to bed before you fall over in your chair. Say goodnight to your guests.”

  “No, I’m fine, Greg.” Who was he to treat her like a child? “I’d like to stay for the meeting.”

  “I’ll give you a full report tomorrow at breakfast.” He started toward the door, not waiting for further discussion. She wanted to maintain her independence, but simply had become too tired to fight.

  She turned her head and shouted hastily over his shoulder, “Thank you, everyone, for being here. I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly, but someone thinks I should be in bed.”

  To a chorus of “goodbyes,” “thank yous,” and “he’s right,” Greg carried her out of the room. But instead of going up the stairs, he headed toward the kitchen. Derek followed.

  She appreciated Greg for giving her an opportunity to say goodnight to the woman who had saved this event. “Beckie, everything was wonderful. I can’t thank you enough, and I’ll be in touch tomorrow about my schedule for the next few weeks.”

  “You worry about healing that ankle. Would you like me to come
prepare breakfast for you and the Buchanans in the morning?”

  Before Tillie could answer, Greg said, “I’m going to take care of us tomorrow, Beckie. But thanks.”

  Beckie chuckled. “Sounds good.” And to Tillie, she said, pulling something out of her pocket, “Oh, in case you don’t have it, here’s my card. I wrote my personal number on there, too. Call me whenever you need me, or even if you’d just like somebody to provide some company when things get too quiet ’round here.”

  The two women hugged awkwardly, mainly because of the position of Greg’s arm around Tillie’s back, and he started toward the door.

  “Derek, why don’t you stay here with Miss Beckie? I’m going to take Miss Tillie up to bed. I’ll be right down in a few minutes.”

  The boy scrambled into the seat where Tillie had propped her leg earlier, and Beckie fussed over him, making sure he’d had enough to eat.

  Soon, Tillie was being tucked into her bed—well, technically, it was his—having visited the bathroom already to change into her nightgown. The sheer thing left nothing to the imagination so she kept her robe on as well.

  He tucked the quilt under her chin and bent down as he might with Derek to place a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight, dear.”

  Forehead kisses were special, leaving one feeling safe and protected. Somehow she didn’t think he used those words simply because she slept on a rope bed from which the expression “sleep tight” had originated. Her skin tingled where his lips had touched her. Mark hadn’t been around this time to overhear the endearment, which only confused her more.

  But he didn’t linger, and the effects of a lack of sleep on top of the cherry bounce soon took over again. He flipped off the overhead fixture and closed the door. It was lights out for her, too.

  * * *

  Why the hell had he done that? Greg hadn’t given a thought to kissing her all day, but tucking her in the way he did Derek, instinct seemed to take over.

  Oh right. You knew what you were doing, Buchanan.

  That definitely wasn’t a Derek kiss. The expression on her face told him she was as shocked as he was, but damn, it felt nice. She needed him, too, which left him with a good feeling. Nancy hadn’t needed him in…forever. Not that he’d been there for her when she had. His work had always taken precedence. He’d made some stupid choices that had cost him his marriage.