Mayor of Macon's Point - By Inglath Cooper Page 0,10
softened, though, by the warm welcome there. The sight of her deluged him with reminders of a childhood in which she had played a more-than-significant part. For as long as he could remember, she had lived in a house his father had built for her at one end of the farm. She’d been hired as a housekeeper to help out Jack’s mother, but Jack had always thought of her as family.
“I saw lights coming up the driveway and figured I better see who it was. Thought you could slip in without seeing old Essie, huh?” she asked, the hurt behind the question barely concealed.
He pulled her against his chest again and rubbed her slightly humped back with the palm of his hand. “Of course I was coming to see you, Es.”
“I’d say it’s about time,” she said, pulling away to squint up at him. She stepped farther back and took a longer look. “I remember your father at thirty-three. You look just like him. Handsome as the day is long. I just wish you two had mended your fences.”
He held up a hand. “Essie, don’t, okay?”
“I expected to see you here for the funeral, son,” she said, her words colored with equal doses of admonishment and disappointment. “I know you never got to know her, but she was your stepmother. She was sick for a good while.”
“I didn’t know. But I’m sorry about it, Essie. I was out of the country when it happened. I didn’t receive word until the day after the funeral. Besides, I wouldn’t have belonged there, anyway.”
She gave him a look of disagreement, then pressed her lips together as if deciding this wasn’t the time to argue. She reached for the cover draped across the closest chair and yanked it off, sending up a puff of dust. “Give me a couple hours, and I’ll have this place looking livable,” she said, tugging at the sheet on the couch. “If you’d have let me know you were coming, I’d already have it done.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m only staying a couple nights, Es. That’s all.”
Essie didn’t say anything for several moments, the sheet in her hands slumping to the floor. “You’re really going through with it, then? Selling the factory?”
“It’s for the best.”
“For who?” she asked quietly. “Surely not this town.”
“Essie—”
She raised a hand and cut him off. “I know you think you have your reasons, Jack. And at the time, I had a hard time understanding why your father did what he did. But sometimes, you’ve got to step a little closer for the picture to come into focus.”
“Dad left the business to Daphne when he died. I think that made his feelings pretty clear. If he had wanted me to have it, he would have left it to me. Anyway, I didn’t come back to rehash the past,” he said, the words coming out harsher than he’d intended. Meeting the older woman’s sorrowful gaze, he immediately regretted his abruptness.
“Then why did you come back? You could have sold off this place and that business without ever setting foot in this house.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered, his tone softening, honest in this, at least. He’d never been able to lie to Essie. Even at eight when he’d raided the kitchen cookie jar before dinner and had the worst stomachache of his life, he’d owned up.
“Could I ask one thing of you, then, son? Don’t leave again until you can answer that question for me.”
CHAPTER THREE
AT THE OTHER END of the country, J. D. McCabe had spent the better part of the day stewing. Stretched out now on a lounge chair by the swimming pool in his backyard, he muttered a few angry words at the fairer gender’s inability to see reason.
What in the world had happened to the moldable woman he’d married? There had been a time when he could snap his fingers and she’d practically run to meet his every need.
She was still mad at him for running off with Cassie, that much he knew. But for crying out loud, two divorced adults ought to be able to work things out in a dignified manner. He wanted to see his son, and she was bending over backward to make sure that didn’t happen. He was no dummy. Women had an unbelievable need for revenge when they considered themselves mistreated, and Annie had decided to use their son as her weapon of choice.
Why couldn’t she just get over it?
He flipped