Well, I’m in the right place, at least. Holy Moses, Jack had been busy. Luxurious, bright green grass stretched like a carpet from a row of tidy boxwoods which lined the buildings to the sidewalk that spilled out onto the parking lot. A matching pair of two-story brick buildings sat at the end of the sidewalk, each trimmed with columns of crisp, white blocks on each corner and white windows bordered with black shutters in between. A balcony ran along the second story of each building, and tendrils of ivy climbed the walls and twisted around black metal banisters.
Jack had come a long way from the young man who spent his weekends staining cabinets for his dad. She opened her door and stepped out, again second guessing her decision to show up unannounced. Her denim shorts, plain yellow blouse and flip flops didn’t fit the building in front of her. Her brain sent her an image of Jack standing in her living room in a crisp, white shirt and dark slacks. She had imagined the tie, but from the looks of his office, there had almost certainly been one.
She shoved aside an urge to go home and change. Considering the bomb she had dropped into the morning newspaper, he wouldn’t even notice how she was dressed. Besides, if she left, she didn’t know if she could bring herself to come back.
She followed the sidewalk to the front entrance and stepped inside. Polished marble and glass greeted her in the entryway, and a woman sat at a mahogany reception desk against the far wall.
Oh, no. What do I tell her? If she knew where Jack’s office was located, she could breeze past like she had a clue. Instead, she had to ask for directions. And that meant this woman would either turn her away or warn Jack she was here, which would amount to the same thing.
Maren smiled at the woman’s greeting. “Laura May Caldwell from the Marquette County clerk’s office sent me with some information for Jack Mason. Where is his office?”
She cringed, then forced her face to relax. Where had that come from? She’d promised Laura May she would keep her name out of this, but the lie had escaped before she had a chance to think about it.
“Of course. Second floor, to the right of the elevator.”
“Thanks.”
She hurried for the elevator, then ducked inside and tapped the button for the second floor. What would she say when she saw him? I never meant for this to happen? I didn’t say any of that stuff? Everything she thought of sounded lame and completely inadequate.
Just apologize. She stepped out on the second floor, turned to her right and stopped in her tracks, all thoughts of her apology now gone. The perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed woman seated in the alcove in front of Maren glanced up at her with a polite expression that might have looked more at home on a prison warden. The plaque on her desk identified her as Vera, and Vera surveyed Maren from head to toe as though the other woman had spotted a trustee ready to make a break for it.
She flashed Maren a perfunctory smile. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Jack.” Maren ignored an urge to use Laura May’s name again.
Vera’s smile deepened, and she tried on a look that resembled regret but didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sorry, but he’s not available. You’ll have to make an appointment.” She turned to her computer and clicked on the mouse. “I’m afraid he doesn’t have any openings until—”
Maren squared her shoulders. She had not come all this way to be put off by a pit bull with a good manicure. She plastered on her most brilliant smile. “No, I won’t need an appointment. I’ll only take a couple of minutes of his time.” She moved toward the large set of double doors on the opposite side of the reception area.
Vera stood and edged in her direction. “Mr. Mason is a very busy man. He doesn’t accept walk-ins.”
“I understand.” Maren laid her hand on the door knob. Am I really going to do this? “I’ll only be a second.”
“No, you—”
Maren turned the knob, and a matching knot twisted in her gut. Yes. Apparently, I am.
“I’m calling security,” Vera warned.
She wouldn’t be able to change the other woman’s mind, which didn’t leave her with a choice. Maren ignored her and plunged inside before she could lose her nerve.
Her eyes swept Jack’s office. Muted lights spilled down over a small refreshment bar against the wall to her left, reflecting rainbow sparks from glittering crystal glasses on the shelves above. Across from her, a wall-to-wall window opened out onto a view of Franklin Hill’s sparse skyline.
Jack’s empty desk, a beautiful antique wooden piece, sat directly in front of the window. A black leather blotter lay on its surface, empty except for the copy of the Register spread out on top.
Her blood turned to ice.
She looked past the leather chairs that sat opposite the desk and the expensive Oriental rug underneath to a sitting area on the right. Tall leather wingback chairs and a matching overstuffed sofa ringed a short wooden table on the far side of the room. Beyond the sitting area stood yet another set of double doors.
No Jack. She sank into one of the leather chairs, rubbed her chin, and tried to think. What now? She couldn’t let him think she had done this to him. She wanted to keep her farm, but not like this. Not—
The door against the far wall opened, and Maren nearly jumped out of her skin. Jeez, his people work fast. She relaxed when her gaze fell not on a burly guy in a dark sport coat but, instead, a petite woman who looked to be in her seventies.
Maren frowned. She knew that face. “Rose?”
Rose’s brows dropped. “Maren? Could that be you?”
Maren beamed back at her. “Could be.”
“Well, thank goodness,” Rose replied. “Now we can get this paper business straightened out.”
Wow. Rose Bentley. The old woman had worked for Jack’s grandfather since John Mason was a teenager. By the time Jack was in high school, he had come to think of Rose as a gruff but loving aunt. Now, she moved slower than she used to, and almost every trace of the dark grey in her hair had turned to pure, stark white. Still, she was as smart as ever in blue polyester slacks and a navy and white satin top, and she carried a notepad in her wrinkled hands.
“Rose, you should have retired years ago. Don’t tell me Jack talked you into working for him.”
“He didn’t have to try too hard.” She perched on the edge of the sofa opposite Maren. “Somebody has to keep that boy from thinking too much of himself.” Rose’s face pulled into an indignant scowl. “Nobody here has the backbone to stand up to him. Jack would have a head the size of Texas if he didn’t have me.”
Maren laughed. “You’re probably right.”
“Now. I—”
A loud knock sounded from the other side of the room, followed by a rattling doorknob and a short, balding man in a dark blazer. Maren frowned. Not quite bouncer material. She had expected someone with a few more muscles and mirrored sunglasses. She suppressed a giggle.
The man’s eyes connected with Rose’s, and he straightened noticeably. “Ma’am,” he said to Rose. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Vera said you needed security?”
“Vera was mistaken.” Rose arched a haughty eyebrow. “Does this young lady look like a threat to you?”
Color flooded the man’s cheeks, and he stepped backwards. “No, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.”
Maren clamped down on a smile. Rose’s sharp tongue made her the perfect choice to look after generations of Masons, and she didn’t seem to have lost one bit of the steel she’d had in her spine since long before Maren had met her. Sure, she had a good heart. It was just buried beneath a very thick skin.
Rose folded her hands in her lap. “Jack was not happy when he left here this morning. You want to tell me about it?”
Not really.
“We’re fighting over my farm.”
Rose folded her arms over her chest. “You were already fighting over the farm. If that’s all there is to it, why are you here?”
Maren’s shoulders slumped. “The paper.”
“I see.” Rose’s eyes ske
wered her, and Maren fought to sit still. Rose nodded her head towards Jack’s desk. “How much of that are you responsible for?”
“I gave him an interview, but I mostly talked about my grandparents. I never said anything about Jack.” Maren forced herself to meet the other woman’s weathered grey eyes. “I swear.”
“Mostly?”
“Yeah.” Maren’s shoulders sagged. “Ron had some theories of his own, but that was all him.”
Rose studied her for a long moment, and this time, Maren did shift in her seat. The old woman had a way of making Maren feel like an unruly schoolgirl. Of course, she made everyone feel that way.
Rose raised shrewd white eyebrows. “I’d say you’ve created a mess.”
Maren shook her head. “I didn’t start Ron on a smear campaign against Jack. I didn’t.”
“Judging by the way he left here this morning, I don’t think Jack believes that.” Rose’s eyes softened. “Now, what do you plan to do about it?”
“How can I convince him it wasn’t me? I don’t know how.” She didn’t know anything about him anymore. She had no idea where he lived, or what he did with his spare time, or who his friends were. He didn’t know those things about her, either. He didn’t feel like a stranger, but he was. And she didn’t know how to get to him.
“You know,” Rose interrupted her thoughts, “that boy was devastated when you left him behind. He never would have admitted it, but it was just as plain as day.”
“I didn’t leave him behind,” Maren insisted. “He left me. For Brenda Mayfield.”
Rose shook her head impatiently. “He’s just like his granddaddy. Too much pride. If he left you, it was only because he wanted to get away before you could leave him. So what I want to know is if you plan to leave him again after this is all over.”
Maren scowled back at her. What’s that supposed to mean? “Leave him? We haven’t been together in ten years.”
“No, but of all the women he’s been with over the last decade, none of them ever got under his skin like you have.”
Maren shook her head. “That doesn’t mean anything. Nobody else ever launched a newspaper campaign against him, did they?”
“No.” Rose laughed, then her smile disappeared. “But every one of them eventually lost him to this company. You’re the only one that’s still stuck in his head.”
Maren shook her head. “No. He’s wants my farm. That’s all there is to it.”
Rose gave her head a decisive shake. “When you left, he put his soul into building this.” She lifted a wrinkled hand and twirled it around her. “It was his therapy. And this place is all that has mattered to him for ten years. Until you came back.”
She frowned. Therapy? “Rose, I know he’s mad about the paper, but don’t read too much into it.”
“You know, until you came along, we all thought he was going to take over the furniture shop,” Rose continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “But as soon as you left, he quit working for his father and started taking on construction jobs while he studied for his business degree.”
“I’m not surprised,” Maren said. “He always seemed a sensitive about working for his father. I never understood why.”
“Jack wanted more.” Rose’s gaze bore into Maren’s. “I always thought that was because of you. Didn’t you leave because you wanted more?”
Well. Yeah. She’d wanted to be self-sufficient. Independent. Something more than a small-town waitress who struggled to make ends meet like her mom. Jack had never had to worry about that, though. “Yes, but that was different.”
“Was it? If what he could offer wasn’t enough for you, does it surprise you that he’d want to do better?”
“You mean…he thought he wasn’t good enough for me.” Guilt bit hard into her stomach. He’d been everything she ever wanted. She had loved Jack and his father, and she’d envied a relationship with a parent where they could work together—build a legacy together. But because she wanted security for herself, he’d decided he was the problem.
Oh, Jack.
“I don’t know if he was trying to prove something to you or himself, but my Lord, he was determined. He graduated, rented an office, and bid on his first job. He finished it months ahead of schedule. After that, he was like a junkie. He wanted bigger and better. The work took over his life until it was all he cared about.” She stared at Maren hard. “Except for you. I think he did all of this for you. So don’t tell me there’s nothing here to leave.”
Maren’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. He’d built all of this out of some need to prove himself worthy?
No. Of course not. She and Jack had split up because she wanted to go, and he wanted to stay. She had asked him, begged him, to go with her, and he’d refused. That should have demonstrated how much she loved him. He hadn’t been suffering feelings of inadequacy. He’d simply been angry that she wouldn’t give in and let him have his way.
“There isn’t,” Maren said after a moment. “Whatever we had was over a long time ago. Now, Jack wants his development. That’s all there is to it.” Well, that and a couple of kisses that still kept her up at night. She pushed that thought from her mind.
“Hmm. You still haven’t answered my question,” Rose reminded her. “Are you going back?”
She opened her mouth, then stopped. She’d avoided that question since she came back, mainly because she didn’t want to think about walking back into the mess she’d left behind in Seattle. But I know what I have to do. She nodded and tried again. “Yes. I have to go back. I can’t stay here forever.”
“Then why do you care how Jack feels about that article? What he thinks won’t matter when you get back home.”
Maren scowled. “Of course I care what he thinks. I can’t make that kind of mess for him and not clean it up. He doesn’t deserve that.”
Rose nodded with approval and stood, grimacing at the pull of muscles in her back. “Good. He flew out to a meeting a couple of hours ago, but he’ll be back tomorrow. You come back and make this right.”
“I’ll try.” Maren clutched her purse and rose from the chair. “But the only reason I didn’t get tossed out of here today is because you were here.”
“I’ll take care of Vera. Jack’ll have to throw you out himself if he wants you gone. And he’ll want to, but he’s got better manners than that.” Rose’s brows furrowed into a belligerent scowl. “At least he better.”
Maren blew out an unsteady breath. “That’s encouraging.”
“Making amends isn’t supposed to be easy.”
“I guess not.” Maren turned towards the door, then stopped. “I will fix this, Rose. I promise. I’ll explain everything, then I’ll find a way to undo the damage to his reputation.”
Rose smiled back at her. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Jack’s had bad press before. He can handle it.”
“I thought you said he was angry.”
“Oh, very,” Rose said. “But only because you did it.”
Right. How old is she? Rose had either become senile or overly sentimental. And no one had ever accused Rose Bentley of being sentimental. Maren didn’t doubt Jack was angry. But that article would’ve set him off no matter who was behind it.
“I’ll fix it,” she repeated, then smiled and turned away.
Rose stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Jack is a good man. Always has been. Like his grandfather.”
He raised Jack to be a fine man. Hank and Alva had defended Jack. So had Lynn. Despite everything that had happened between her and Jack, Maren had to admit they were all right. “I know.”
“Then don’t you run out on him again. You hear?”
Chapter Nine
Jack flipped on the lights and slammed the door behind him. He had always liked being in his office late at night. Without the incessant ring of the telephones and the constant stream of people demanding his attention, he could hear himself think.
He threw his jacket onto one of the leather chairs facing h
is desk and rolled up his sleeves. Tonight, he didn’t want to hear what his thoughts had to say. He wanted to bury himself in work until that nagging regret in the back of his mind shut up and left him alone.
Instead, he strode over to the mini bar and poured a shot of bourbon. A day of solid work had done little to drown the bitterness that had risen in his throat at the sight of the morning paper. The silence of his empty office would be even worse. He downed the bourbon in a single gulp.
It didn’t help.
He slapped the glass onto the countertop, doused the ice with another splash of bourbon, and walked over to the window, opening the blinds to look out at the night skyline.
She didn’t say a word. She’d sat next to him at Mel’s last night. She’d talked about her problems with nail guns and Sam, and she’d pretended the bomb she’d planted in the morning paper didn’t exist.
In all fairness, we did argue over Sam. He grimaced. He shouldn’t have reacted to that. Sam had asked her to stay. So what? If she would stay for Sam when she wouldn’t stay for Jack, what did it matter after all these years?
He tossed back a second gulp and let the burn calm him. It had mattered, though. And he’d argued with her. If he hadn’t, would she have warned him about the paper?
No. She wouldn’t have. The Times would have been printed and mailed yesterday, which meant she’d given the interview days ago. Last night hadn’t been her only chance.
And as for the article itself….
Jack clenched his fist and loosened it again. After all the trouble she’d had in Seattle, she hadn’t even batted an eye before accusing him of being a criminal. She’d been investigated by the feds and expected him to believe in her innocence, but she could spread a news story claiming that he was corrupt? The girl he’d known ten years ago could never have smiled to his face, knowing all the while that she was getting ready to stab him in the back. Publicly.
The girl he had known would have looked him in the eye and told him where to go.
He tossed back the rest of his drink. Maren had changed since she left Shepherdsville, and not in a good way. He couldn’t let his guard down again.
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