The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel (5 page)

“Okay, but don’t monopolize Jackson too long, or he’ll never come back.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Jackson said to Chas. “I can defend myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Chas said, then Polly cleared her throat to remind Chas that she was there. “Oh, this is Polly.” Not wanting Polly’s presence to look conspicuous, Chas added, “Polly handles the business, so if there’s anything you need and I’m not around, she can help you.”

Jackson stood up and held out a hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Polly,” he said.

“And you,” she replied. Then to Chas, “I’ll just . . . get back to work now.” Jackson sat down again and turned his attention back to Granny. Polly whispered in Chas’s ear, “Not your type?” Chas shot her an astonished glare, and Polly added, “Sweetie, if Martin had lived to be
that
age,” she nodded toward Jackson, “he would be
exactly
that type.”

Polly left the room, and Chas could only stand there and look at Jackson Leeds in the context of Polly’s statement. Was it true? The idea didn’t instigate any thoughts of attraction or romance. But it
did
spur a sudden ache for Martin that created a physical pain in the center of her chest. She wanted him to be here, sitting in that chair, laughing with her grandmother. The fact that he wasn’t made her angry, and she had to leave the room, wiping a few stray tears as she went to make certain the kitchen was in order. Why, after all these years, did she still have to miss him so deeply?

CHAPTER 4

When Jackson could tell that Granny was getting sleepy, he asked her if she needed anything, and she assured him she was fine. She apologized for her sleepiness, and he assured her that it was not a problem; she’d earned the right to rest, and he promised to come back and talk to her later. He went up to his room and found the bed made and fresh towels in the bathroom. He wondered if Chas had done it, then remembered that she’d mentioned maids coming in to clean the rooms. He tried to read but felt restless. He heard noise outside and looked out the window to see an ATV with a snow blade clearing the little parking lot. The snow guy had finally arrived.

A while later, Jackson was glad to feel hungry because it gave him an excuse to go downstairs. He thought of trying to go somewhere to get something to eat, thinking it might be good to expand his horizons here in this town a little. But his car was covered with snow—along with the rest of the town—and he felt content to remain in the safety and coziness of the Dickensian Inn. He’d managed to get the rest of his luggage out of the car and up to his room, but that was all the ambition he’d been able to muster in that regard.

Recalling what Chas had said about sandwiches and snacks for guests, he went down and found them. He sat in the dining room to eat a sandwich while he looked at yesterday’s copy of
USA Today
. He wondered where Chas was and what she was doing, and he reminded himself that he hadn’t even known her for twenty-four hours. Perhaps that was why he almost felt frightened when she found him there, and his heart quickened to see her come in the room.

“We should call it
USA Yesterday,”
she said, motioning toward the paper. “We’re always a little behind in getting them delivered.”

“Old news is better anyway,” he said. “In a house like this, you wouldn’t want to be too up with the times.”

“True,” she said with a chuckle and went into the kitchen where he could hear her working. He glanced at his watch and realized it was later in the day than he’d realized. She was probably fixing supper. He felt a little giddy to recall that he’d arranged to eat supper here, but he wondered if that meant being able to eat across the table from the innkeeper.

Suddenly too distracted to read, he put the paper back where he’d found it and went into the kitchen. Chas glanced up in surprise when he entered. “Is it okay if I come in here?” he asked.

“Of course, but . . . it lacks the ambience of the rest of the house. This room was designed for practicality.”

He looked around and saw signs of Victorian architecture and coziness. “Still, it has ambience,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Chas stopped working and looked at him squarely. “You’re a guest here, remember? A
paying
guest. And my services don’t come cheap.”

“Very reasonable I’d say for such a nice place—and great service.”

“You’re still paying,” she said, “so stop asking if you can help.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t leave.

“Are you really that bored?” she asked and continued with her work, dipping pieces of chicken in something before she put them into a sizzling pan.

“Yes.”

“You’re used to being pretty busy.”

“Too busy to think.”

“So having time to think is the problem?” she asked.

Recalling all he’d confessed to her earlier, he had no trouble saying, “That is
exactly
the problem.”

“Well, maybe it would be good for you to think. That is part of the point of this leave you’re on, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I can respect that,” she said. “I know there was something I was going to tell you, but now I can’t remember, and . . . oh, now I remember.” She stopped working and held up her hands that were covered with whatever was on the chicken. “Since your check-in wasn’t typical, I forgot to tell you that there’s Internet in the parlor you’re free to use, and the inn is open for tours between one and three in the afternoons, except for the rooms that are being used. You’re welcome to look around, but I’d keep your door locked—especially between one and three. Although, it’s past that now and there are no other guests here tonight. We have a couple coming in tomorrow, and they will be here for three days, and three more rooms are reserved for the weekend.”

“Okay,” he said.

“So, if you’re bored, maybe you should look around. Supper will be ready at six.”

“Do you eat with your grandmother?”

“Not usually. She likes to eat in front of the TV, and my eating schedule doesn’t normally coincide with when she gets hungry. I tend to eat in snatches while I’m doing other things.”

Jackson felt like a teenager asking a girl on a date when he said, “Does your eating schedule make it possible for you to eat with me?”

“Sure, why not?” she said, coating chicken again. Obviously his company didn’t have the value for her that hers had for him. But as long as he didn’t have to eat alone, he could live with that.

The sound of a door opening startled him, and he turned to realize that an outside entrance led directly into the kitchen.

“Sorry I’m late,” a blonde woman said as she entered holding a large tray covered with a white towel. When Jackson saw how she was trying to hold the door open with her foot while a young boy came in beside her, he hurried to take the tray, noting her surprised expression.

“Thank you,” she said, and their eyes connected for a moment. She was somewhere between his age and Chas’s, he guessed. Very pretty, he couldn’t help noticing. “Who are you?” she asked, closing the door.

“Oh, this is Jackson Leeds,” Chas answered for him while she washed the goo off her hands. “Jackson, this is Charlotte.”

“Hello,” they both said at the same time while he felt her appraising him. He couldn’t deny appraising her too, but likely not for the same reasons.

Chas explained, “Jackson’s a guest who likes to hang around the kitchen because he’s bored out of his mind.”

“Well, he makes a nice addition,” Charlotte said in a voice that was a little too coy, which immediately rubbed Jackson the wrong way. While he’d prefer for Chas to flirt with him a little more, the fact that this woman was flirting with him at all was annoying.

Chas discreetly observed the exchange between Jackson and Charlotte and felt a little mischievous, wondering if she could manage to line them up. Charlotte could be great at easing a man’s boredom, and she wasn’t interested in any long-term relationships, which made his temporary presence something that would appeal to her. Chas and Charlotte were as good of friends as it was possible to be without sharing any of the same values. Charlotte had integrity; she was charitable, trustworthy, and kind. But she lived a worldly life according to Chas’s standards. They accepted and respected each other, and had found a comfortable place somewhere between their lifestyles where they could be friends. And Chas would bet money that Jackson Leeds’s standards were likely a lot more in the category of Charlotte’s standards, as opposed to her own. The way they were looking at each other now made her smile.

Jackson turned his attention to the little boy shedding his winter clothing near the door. Wanting escape from a moment that had become far too awkward, he asked, “What’s your name, big guy?”

“Clark Kent,” the boy said, and Jackson chuckled.

Charlotte explained, “He’s having a Superman fixation. Humor him.” She whispered too loudly for the boy not to hear, “His name is actually Logan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kent,” Jackson said as the boy’s coat came off to reveal a little red cape underneath that was obviously homemade and well worn.

“Jackson is with the FBI,” Chas announced, and Jackson gave her a little glare that only made her chuckle.

“Ooh,” Charlotte said.

Superman asked, “What’s FBI stand for?”

“Funny Big Idiots,” Jackson said with a straight face. The women both chuckled. Superman obviously believed him. “How old are you, Clark?” Jackson asked.

“Four. I go to preschool on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“That’s great.”

“But today is Monday so I helped Mom bake.”

“Speaking of which,” Charlotte said, turning her attention to the tray she’d brought in and removing the towel, “here’s the quiche for tomorrow’s breakfast.” She put a dish in the fridge. “And I’ve brought the usual. I’ll put it away, and then I’ve got to scoot. Karlee will be done at dance lessons in ten minutes.”

“Okay, thank you,” Chas said.

“Put your coat back on, buddy,” Charlotte said to her son.

“Mom,” he groaned.

“I told you we couldn’t stay today. Put it back on.”

Charlotte took a plate of cookies out of the room, and Chas noticed Jackson squatting down to help Logan put on his coat, saying softly, “If you put this on, people won’t know who you really are while you’re out fighting crime.”

Chas smiled to see the boy eagerly put his coat on. “One crime fighter to another,” she said, but Jackson kept his focus on the boy. She wondered then if he had children somewhere. For that matter, she wondered if he had a wife, or at least a significant other back home. She felt stupid for not having thought of it. Just because he didn’t wear a ring didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t attached. She’d do well to get more information before she started lining him up with her friends. His interaction with Logan seemed so natural and patient that she felt sure he’d had experience.

Charlotte came back into the room and put some baked goods out on the counter, then she hugged Chas, and offered Jackson a coy farewell with an added, “Hope to see you again before you leave.”

“I’ll be here a while,” was all he said.

“Bye,” Logan said to him. Jackson waved and was once again alone with Chas.

“Charlotte does all the baking for the inn,” Chas said. “She’s amazing! I’m not bad with using the top of a stove, but most things that have to be done in an oven don’t cooperate with me. For Charlotte it’s the other way around, so we make a great team.”

“You’re friends?” he asked.

“Yes, actually. I mean . . . practically speaking, we don’t have a lot in common, but we do stuff together. We watch out for each other. She’s a single mom and a good woman.”

“That’s good, then,” Jackson said, implying that it was good Chas had a friend.

Chas smiled to herself, certain that Charlotte and Jackson might enjoy each other’s company if she could just manage to do a little discreet finagling.

“Well, if you can’t find any work for me to do, I guess I’ll go entertain Granny.”

“She’ll love it,” Chas said, and Jackson went to Granny’s room, where he found her sleeping in the chair with the TV on. He decided to just sit down and wait for her to wake up, and he quickly realized that she’d been watching a DVD. It was an old version of the Dickens classic,
Great Expectations
. Jackson knew the basic premise of the story from having read it decades ago, and he quickly became intrigued enough with the film to lose track of the time. When Granny woke up she was delighted to find him there. Their visit centered around stories of her life, which he found much more satisfying than talking about his own. Chas checked in on them a couple of times, then she brought Granny her dinner and insisted that Jackson come to the dining room to eat his.

“Jackson might be back to see you tomorrow if you haven’t talked his ears completely off,” Chas said to Granny.

“Oh, I’ll be back,” Jackson said and squeezed the old woman’s hand. “You take care now.”

“You do the same, young man,” Granny said.

Jackson went to the dining room to find one of the several little tables set for two. There was water in the goblets, rolls and butter on little plates, and salads. “Have a seat,” Chas called from the kitchen. “I’ll be right there. And don’t ask if you can help.”

“Fine,” he called back. A minute later she appeared with two dinner plates, which she set on the table before sitting across from him. The chicken, rice, and vegetables in front of him looked more appetizing than any dinner he’d had in months.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’ll be on your bill.”

“Thank you for not making me eat alone.”

“No problem. That works both ways. I could take my food into Granny’s room, and I do sometimes. But a lot of what she watches on TV makes me crazy.”

“Great Expectations?”

“Dickens I can handle, but she’s not
entirely
obsessed with Dickens.”

He picked up his fork, and she said, “We need to bless it. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said. He’d certainly eaten in homes where prayers were said prior to meals, but it hadn’t happened very often. He set down his fork and listened while she said a brief but sincere prayer. He added his amen, and they began to eat. “It’s wonderful,” he said.

“Thank you. And thank you for shoveling snow. You come in handy, Agent Leeds.”

“No problem,” he said, imitating the way she’d said it a minute ago. “This really is good. I live on a lot of fast food, and it gets really old. Your cooking is a great bonus.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said and found the perfect opportunity to ask, “So, you live alone back in . . . where was it you come from?”

“Norfolk. You should have known that from the background check.”

“I knew it; I just forgot. You live alone in Norfolk?”

“I do. And the answer to your next question is that I’ve never been married, and I have no children.”

“Why not?” she asked as if she were asking why he hadn’t become a doctor.

“I’ve only loved one woman, but she didn’t love me enough to commit to a military lifestyle. I asked her to marry me and she told me no.”

“When was that?”

“We were high-school sweethearts. We’d known each other all our lives. I joined the Marines at eighteen.” Chas set down her fork and became suddenly solemn. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

She sighed loudly but wouldn’t look at him. “I told you earlier about me and Martin, that we grew up together. It just . . . sounds so much the same.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I thought the same thing earlier. It’s too bad someone like me couldn’t have been killed in a training exercise, and someone like Martin couldn’t have come home to his wife.”