“I wasn’t honest with you.” Greg said the words before she was able to formulate her own. He took another sip, his gaze never leaving hers, and set the mug down again. “In retrospect, the reason’s ridiculous. Let me start in the beginning. While laid up after a cycling accident, I finally began to read Gram’s journals. They’d sat around for more than a decade for whatever reason. With her chronicling every little detail, I don’t understand why she didn’t write about you.”
“Her eyesight was very poor later in life. I don’t even recall seeing her journaling after I moved in.”
“Makes sense. But I digress. In the ’30s, before she met and married my grandfather, she had an obsession with Jesse James.”
“Not surprising, given his connection to her home.”
He shook his head slightly. “Not Jesse James the historic outlaw. I’m saying she spoke about him as though she knew him personally.”
Tillie furrowed her brows as her heart pounded harder. She knew what was coming, but couldn’t get the words out beyond the knot in her throat. “How can that be? He was killed in the 1880s. She wasn’t born until 1911.”
“That expression you’re giving me is part and parcel of why I didn’t tell you this earlier. Because you’d think I’d lost my marbles. Hell, I wanted to impress you and get to know you better.”
Tell him, Tillie.
“Greg, I’ve always loved Jesse James lore myself. I read the claims of the man in Texas saying he’d been the real Jesse James and lived to be more than a century old. But I also saw where his claims had pretty well been debunked.”
“What if someone else who kept a lower profile all those decades was the real Jesse James? What if, as Gram claimed, he was in your house in the 1930s and did leave some valuable treasure behind?” He grinned, sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, I knew this wasn’t going to come out right. But hear me out.”
Hear him out this time, Tillie.
She drew a deep breath, trying not to filter his words through the prism of her childhood as one of the crazy Hamilton women.
Greg continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “Finding out that he survived being murdered by Bob Ford and that my grandmother might have known him—even that a friend of hers had become his nurse at the end of his life—has fascinated me for months.” When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand to stay her words. “Before you shoot me down on this theory again, hear me out.”
“I think I’ve done enough shooting for one day.”
He bent over to kiss her, then both grew serious once more.
In this day and age, someone spouting ridiculous claims wouldn’t be deemed crazy—merely eccentric. Could she let go of a lifetime of shame?
Honestly, the only person’s opinion that mattered to her anymore was Greg’s.
“Gram went on and on about his leaving behind something that would prove once and for all that he didn’t die in 1882.”
Could Mrs. Foster be referring to her grandmother? “What do you think it might be?”
He ran his fingers through his hair, but he smiled, perhaps encouraged that she wasn’t calling him crazy this time. “Not a clue. She mentioned being gifted a Smith and Wesson that had once belonged to him in payment for medical care by my grandfather. But yours was manufactured long after his official death, so there’s no provenance that would tie it to Jesse before or after his assassination.”
“How old would he have been in the 1930s?”
“He was born in 1847, so eighties or nineties. I doubt Jesse continued to rob banks and trains later in life, assuming he didn’t die at the hands of Ford. My guess would be he led an exemplary and solitary life to elude discovery, incarceration, or even being shot for real by someone going after another reward.”
Tillie’s heart pounded as she tried to respond with the words she needed to say, but struggled to get them beyond the knot in her throat.
“Greg, I am so sorry. I didn’t want to hear talk about Jesse James being here long after he was killed because it fed into the crazy tales my mother told me when she was at her most delusional. Everyone in town labeled her and my grandmother insane for believing they descended from Jesse James without being able to prove it. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to distance myself from those claims, so you just opened up old wounds.”
“I’m sorry, Tillie. If I’d known, I’d never have—”
She pressed her hand against his lips. “I want you to know that I don’t care anymore. If you feel compelled to keep searching the house for clues, then do. It won’t change who I am or the person I’ll continue to be.”
“The night you caught me snooping in the basement, I had some time to spare, and”—he held up his hand as if taking an oath—“I swear that I’d already decided that night would be the end of it. Hell, I’d searched everywhere, and as I sit here today, I’m convinced it was all some amusing joke to my grandmother. Clearly, she had a lot of fun with it over the years.”
“You mean that you aren’t curious anymore?”
“Cross my heart.” He reinforced his words by doing so over the center of his chest with his pointer finger.
Maybe she truly could put Jesse James and her mother and grandmother to rest.
Greg’s face sobered as he reached across the table to take her hand. “Tillie, I failed to realize the night you sent me packing. You asked if I’d come back here to search for treasure. Yes, that was one of the reasons.” The old hurt returned, but he held her hand and didn’t let her retreat. “In retrospect, I realized that I misunderstood which time you were referring to. Yes, initially, that’s why I came to Kentucky, but as I replayed that scene over and over in my head in the days that followed, I think you probably were talking about why I returned after taking Derek home. After you injured your ankle.”
How could he interpret her words any other way? Regardless, he had. “So you came back for me, not fame and fortune?”
“Tillie, my search was over. I’d already found the only treasure I wanted in the entire world.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“I found it in a pile of leaves in your front yard. In the kitchen one night wearing the sexiest nightgown I’d ever seen. In bites from a plump, ripe strawberry on the Dinner Train.” He smiled, lifting her left hand to his mouth and gently kissing her ring finger, leaving her misty eyed. “You’re the only treasure I found, Tillie, and the only one I’ll ever want.”
To be called his one and only treasure melted her heart. She wanted so badly to tell him how much he meant to her, but the old fears of being rejected reared their head. Only he hadn’t rejected her, she’d sent him away. This man was worth risking her heart and soul for, even if it meant she’d have to make herself vulnerable to him.
Trust him.
He hadn’t said the words, but she took a leap of faith. “I love you, Greg.” The whispered sentiment spilled out before she could rein it in, followed by more heartfelt expressions of her feelings. “I don’t know when I started loving you—but, like you, a good bet would be the time you caught me when I tumbled into the pile of leaves with you. Or the night you found me baking bread and we shared our first toddy together. And, no, I can’t rule out the train ride when you shared your strawberry with me.”
She smiled, her fingers holding onto his. “It doesn’t matter when love started to grow inside me. All I know is that, when you were gone, a part of me was missing.”
Greg stood, not letting her go, and came around to her side of the booth, prompting her to scoot over to make room. He stared into her eyes and brushed the hair from her forehead and temples. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that. I guess I had my own reasons for holding back. But when I’m with you, it’s as if I’m on the precipice of some grand adventure—and as if I’ve found what’s been missing from my life.” He kissed her with such tenderness the welling tears spilled from her eyes.
When their lips parted, he surprised her again. “Spend Christmas with me back in Minneapol
is.”
While his abrupt invitation caught her off guard, Tillie mulled over the pros and cons. Could she abandon the inn and her guests to travel so far away for a few days of happiness? Could she be that irresponsible? She sighed. “I appreciate the invitation. Really, I do. I’m tempted to drop everything and go home with you, but the week after New Year’s would be so much better.” She all but shut down the inn the first of the year for months, except for Valentine’s weekend.
The light left his eyes, and he released her hand, leaving the cool air to touch her now. “I understand how important your business is. January would be nice, too. I just wanted to give you that special Christmas with snow and all the trimmings nature can offer.”
Oh, she’d love to experience a Christmas like that, especially with Greg.
“Come on, Tillie,” he coaxed. “I’ll even give you that Christmas in Connecticut sleigh ride.”
She punched his arm lightly. “You aren’t playing fair!” Doing so at Christmas would be magical. But hadn’t he said earlier he could arrange for it in January, too? Still, she couldn’t get the image of the horse-drawn sleigh out of her mind. She and Greg cuddled together under a lap robe with her hands warm in her muff. No, now she pictured her hands wrapped in his larger hands, tucked under the blanket, until his hand strayed lower…
She pushed that thought away, but not before her body tingled with awareness.
Was the inn more important than pursuing this relationship? Was she putting her guests—many of whom she barely knew—ahead of someone she might potentially want to spend the rest of her life with?
But not everyone could take their work on the road like he could. This could spell the end for her inn if people complained. What if things didn’t work out with Greg? Well, she’d always landed on her feet, and if she had to start again from scratch, she could do it.
Did she follow her heart or her head?
She knew what Mrs. Foster would want as clearly as if she heard her speaking at this very moment.
Simultaneously, they came up with the same idea, “I could ask Beckie to help fill in.”
“Why don’t you let Beckie fill in as hostess?”
Apparently, the two of them were on the same wavelength as far as finding a solution to this problem.
Greg grinned. “She loves the inn as much as you do—well, almost.” His eyes twinkled again at the prospect of her accepting his invitation. “Do you have any guests staying over the actual Christmas weekend?”
She brought up her calendar in her mind. “Actually, no, but I have some leaving the morning of the twenty-third.”
“If Beckie can run things that one morning, you could still be there to greet them when they check in. We could leave the morning of the twenty-third and be in Minneapolis by early afternoon Christmas Eve. I don’t want you sitting in the car for a straight-through drive so soon after your ankle sprain.”
Always putting her needs first. Everything hinged on Beckie, but it was a possibility.
Embarking on this trip was completely out of character, but oh-so-tempting. She met his gaze. “I never thought I’d admit this to anyone, Greg, but the inn has begun to feel more like a prison to me than the haven it once was, especially when you were gone. I’ve merely gone through the motions of running the place.” Watching him drive away again without her would kill her.
“I’m not asking you to leave for good. We’re talking about a few days tops. Minneapolis will definitely be a change of pace from Samuels and even Bardstown, but the city isn’t so large that it’s lost the unique character in each of its neighborhoods.”
An adventure like this might allow her to spread her wings and stop hiding away from the world—and Greg. Of course, she had no intention of ever leaving her inn for good. However, after last night’s trauma, escaping for a while might give her the perspective and distance she needed to make some decisions about what she wanted out of life when she returned.
“Your grandmother often told me she learned so much in her travels that could be incorporated into her daily life when she came home. Memories of those adventures stayed with her to the very end as she shared some of them with me.”
Tillie wanted to reminisce like that for years to come—not only the places she’d visit but the memories she’d make with this man.
Staying in a single man’s home seemed—well, no worse probably to prying eyes than his staying with her at the inn when no one else was around.
It’s the Twenty-first Century, Tillie. Stop behaving like the lonely spinster you’ve painted yourself to be all these years and embrace the modern single woman you are. She intended to start living in the present instead of the rose-colored past that wasn’t as perfect as she liked to portray it. The world had changed since her mother’s and grandmother’s days.
Thank goodness!
So would they share a bed?
“What are you grinning about?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his own lips.
Heat infused her face. “Oh, nothing.” Last night, Greg showed her he’d put her needs ahead of his own, something she hadn’t experienced with a man before.
It’s now or never, Tillie.
“Okay, okay!” When Greg tilted his head and quirked a brow, she realized she’d spoken aloud to her benefactor, rather than in her head. Tillie grinned, shrugging. “Okay, if Beckie can cover for me on the twenty-third, I’d love to spend Christmas weekend with you.”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’ll be the best Christmas present ever.” He bent to kiss her again briefly. “And if she can’t and we don’t make it to Minneapolis until Christmas Day”—he shrugged—“so be it. We can celebrate Christmas Eve in Illinois or Wisconsin on the way.”
“As long as we’re together, anywhere would be fine with me.”
“Maybe you can stay a little past the weekend. When do your next guests arrive?”
Again, she pored over the calendar in her mind. “The twenty-eighth, and then I’m booked solid through the morning after New Year’s.” One matter needed to be discussed still. “What about Derek?”
“Nancy and I agreed that he’d have his Santa Christmas at her place and I’ll see him that weekend—either the night before or the night of.”
“Oh good. I don’t want to come between you and Derek. I hope I’ll be able to spend time with him, too. I’ve missed him.”
“Do you think he’d forgive me if I had you that close and didn’t let you see each other?”
“Well, we can’t have him disappointed.” Tillie would have been equally sad. That Derek genuinely liked being with her warmed her heart.
Her mind was running a mile a minute, though. All but certain he was the man for her, she wanted to get to know more about Greg. Where better to learn than where he lived?
Their intimate moment ended all too soon when her phone buzzed in her pocket at the same moment the server brought them their food.
She cleared her throat of the emotions threatening to overwhelm her at the decision she’d made. Taking out her phone, she glanced at caller ID. “It’s Beckie. Let me take this. You go ahead and start.”
He shook his head, but indicated for her to answer the phone. “Hi, Beckie. I was going to call you this morning.”
“Tillie, are you all right? The whole county’s buzzing about the shooting.”
Tillie smiled and gave her the rundown on what had happened.
“I’m coming over. I’ll help you clean up the mess and do whatever you need.”
“No need. Greg cleaned it up last night.”
“Greg’s with you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Beckie prayed.
Tillie smiled at him, certain he’d been able to hear Beckie’s strong voice. “Speaking of Greg, I need a huge favor.” She told her friend about Greg’s invitation, and before she could even finish, Beckie asked what she could do to keep things afloat while Tillie was away. They talked dates, and everything would work
out as she and Greg had hoped. With her guests in Beckie’s capable hands, what did she have to lose?
The only thing she was certain of—if she didn’t go, she might not get a second chance. She wouldn’t risk her chance at happiness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Greg reached across the SUV’s front seat to brush the top of her hand with his fingertips, and a tingle shot up her arm. They’d left the inn and her guests in the capable hands of Beckie yesterday morning and were now somewhere in southern Minnesota at noon on Christmas Eve.
The heightened attraction between them still raged inside her even though they hadn’t had sex yet—or perhaps because of that fact. But she appreciated his taking things at a slower pace. Her gut told her she and Greg had something special together, but her fear of having her heart broken if it didn’t work out was a hard thing to shake.
Trust him.
She wanted to, so desperately. The relationship had blossomed since the night of the shooting. She no longer worried that they’d merely been caught up in the emotions of the aftermath. One look or a gesture would pass between them and most of her doubts washed away. For a moment.
They’d enjoyed other intimate moments when they had the house to themselves, which had only been a couple of days. Her poor mistletoe ball was stripped bare of berries, the last one biting the dust this morning as he pulled her into his arms before they loaded up the luggage for the trip. Those long, lingering kisses they’d shared under it had been worth the loss of every single one.
Some days, he’d sense how exhausted she was from trying to prepare for and keep up with her guests and would sit her down in a chair to massage her neck and shoulders. His hands took out the knots but also left her wanting more—perhaps a continuation of what they’d done the night he’d given her an orgasm. True, they had few occasions to be alone, but when they were, she found herself touching him more boldly. A hand on his thigh while curled up together on the sofa in front of the fire, a kiss at the back of his neck as she passed by him while he was catching up on e-mails on his laptop. The more she let down her guard and inhibitions, the closer she came to wanting to take that big step and making love with him. But he’d insisted they take it slowly, which was killing her.
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