The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel (8 page)

Chas swallowed and came clean. “All right, I am. Is that criminal?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, don’t be such a ninny. I think the two of you are a lot alike. I think you could enjoy each other’s company. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is if I don’t agree.” He took another step toward her and put his face close to hers.

Hoping to divert her embarrassment over being figured out, she said, “I take it you’re accustomed to intimidating people.”

“It’s my job. That’s how I do what I need to do.”

“Well, you’re not on duty here, so stop it. Your intimidation doesn’t impress me, and it certainly won’t work on me. Just chill out or get out.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“I have the right to refuse service to any customer that I consider to be a harassment to me or my guests.”

“Oh, now I’m harassing you?”

“No, just annoying me. I can tell the police whatever I want.”

“But you wouldn’t because you don’t lie. Besides,” he smirked, allowing humor to calm him, “FBI outranks local police.”

“So, we’re back to intimidation.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone is guilty of harassment, it’s you. You’re making a fool of yourself in there.”

Again she attempted to steer him away from her own guilt. “Are you saying you don’t like Charlotte? That you—”

“Charlotte is a wonderful person. I
do
like her. I like her the same way I like the guy who sells me coffee every morning, or the neighbor’s dog that always runs to lick my hands when I get home from work.”

“Are you comparing Charlotte to a dog?”

“I like Charlotte, but I don’t think you want your friend to be lured into some meaningless relationship with a guy like me.
You
like Charlotte more than that.”

Chas looked down and sighed. “I thought she might . . . inspire you.”

“To what? Stop drinking so much? To open my heart and spill my burdens so that I can be a happier man and go on my way? Is that it?”

She lifted her eyes to look at him, feeling more than a bit sheepish. “How is it that you can see through me so easily, when I’ve never considered myself easy to read?”

“It’s my job to see through people, Chas. I know in my gut when I’m being manipulated or used or lied to, with a one-percent failure rate. But since you seem to have trouble reading
me,
let me make something perfectly clear. Charlotte does
not
inspire me. And when I find a woman who means more to me than a good drink, I’ll send out a memo or something.”

“Okay,” she said, “I apologize. I was wrong.”

Jackson only saw one way to respond when it was evident she meant it. “Apology accepted.” He sighed. “I know you meant well, and it’s nice to know somebody cares. Let’s just . . . drop it right here and go enjoy the rest of the holiday, shall we?”

Chas nodded, glad for the opportunity for a graceful escape. She went inside and waited for him to follow before she closed the door. “For the record,” she said, “I may have misread that you might be interested in Charlotte, but that doesn’t mean I can’t read you . . . some of the time, at least.”

“How’s that?” he asked in a voice of challenge.

“How did you know that I know you have a drinking problem?”

Jackson regretted his challenge when he felt so caught off guard. “How
did
you know?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “But I do now.”

She started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. Again he put his face close to hers, and she was ready to accuse him again of using intimidation when he said softly, “Read me now, Detective. This is me; that’s all there is. I’ve told you practically all there is to know about me. You know more about me than some of the people I’ve worked with for years. Look into my eyes. Study my countenance. Assess my body language. Put together dozens of pieces of evidence that you’ve accumulated since I arrived Sunday evening. And tell me what inspires me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, dropping her eyes.

“Look at me,” he insisted, and she did, amazed at how his intimidation tactics worked.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” she said.

“I know. You’re afraid of how you feel, because to feel anything at all would force you to feel the reality that you’re almost as alone as I am.”

Jackson saw the flicker of shock in her eyes, quickly covered by a strong will to remain firm and in control. He was expecting her to throw something back at him, but all she said was, “I thought I was supposed to read
you.”

He wondered if that was an admission that he was right. Either way, he smiled as he said, “So, read me. Look for the truth, Detective. Don’t look for what
I
want you to see, or what
you
want to see. Find the truth.”

Chas pondered his words while she kept her eyes connected to his. She thought of how he lived his work, how he thought and talked like the man she had come to know him to be. She thought of his comment about her being afraid to feel, and being alone, and she felt more angry—or unnerved—with a moment to think about it. Then she heard herself gasp before she consciously realized that it had worked, just as he’d described it. She
could
see the truth. She not only saw it, but she knew it. Her heart began to pound, her stomach flipped over, and her palms went sweaty. She wondered how she could have missed it, then realized he’d already answered that question.
She’d been afraid to feel.
Was she feeling now? If so, it was much more complicated than fear. In an instant everything changed, and she felt like such a fool. She gasped again and stepped back, recalling that he still had hold of her arm. She glanced to where his hand was, and he let go.

“We should get back in there,” she said. “It’s um . . . your turn, and . . . they’ll be wondering where we are.” She couldn’t look at him. “Again, I’m sorry . . . for making assumptions, and . . . creating an awkward situation.” She hurried back to the dining room before the
present
situation became any more awkward.

Jackson stood in the hall for a minute before he followed Chas to join the group. He wondered if what had just been exchanged between them was good or not. He felt relatively certain that she
had
seen the truth in his eyes. He’d made no effort to hide it, but he had no idea how she might have perceived it, or what she might do with it. He felt vulnerable and exposed, and he hated it. His wifeless, childless life combined with the Marine Corps and tracking hardened criminals were all entirely contrary to being exposed and vulnerable. He reminded himself that being here was not his job; this was life. And maybe it was time he started actually
having
a life. He felt a little hesitant to be in the same room with Chas, not knowing what she was feeling or thinking. But he’d never find out if he avoided her. Considering how strong his feelings for her had become in so few days, he far preferred the idea of having the issue out in the open—especially if it would avoid having her line him up with her friends. As he went back to the dining room, he tried not to think about what Charlotte might think of the situation. As he’d told Chas, he liked Charlotte, but he really didn’t care what she thought about anything.

Everyone appeared completely relaxed when he returned, as if they’d just assumed he’d taken a bathroom break, or something, and Chas’s reason for leaving the room right after he’d left had been equally practical. He sensed no awkwardness between him and Chas, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with him, which made it difficult—if not impossible—to read her.

When the game was finished, they all went to the kitchen to make turkey sandwiches and eat more pie, then Chas said it was time to help Granny get ready for bed. She’d had a long day. Granny hugged each of the children, as well as Charlotte and Polly, telling each of them how much she appreciated all they did for her and Chas, and for being as good as family. Then she turned to Jackson and held out her hand. “Come here, young man,” she said, and he slipped his hand into hers. He squatted down beside her so they could talk face-to-face. He was relieved when the others became distracted elsewhere and weren’t paying attention to the conversation. “I’m so glad that you could join us today.”

“It was a privilege I will never forget,” he said.

She patted his hand while she continued to hold it. “I want you to stay as long as you need to, young man. If you can’t afford it, we’ll work something out. I don’t want you going back to that job until you’re really ready. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Granny. Thank you. I assure you that I can afford it, but your offer means a lot to me, nevertheless. Maybe you should consult with Chas on such things, however.”

“I already have. Besides, I’m still her Granny. For all her sass, she’ll still do what I tell her. After all, it’s still my house as long as I’m alive.”

“Don’t let her forget that,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

“Oh, I won’t,” she said and laughed as well. “Now give me a hug, young man, before I fall asleep talking to you.”

Jackson put an arm around her and was surprised at the strength he felt in the embrace she returned. How could he have grown to care for this old woman so thoroughly in so few days? Chas offered to wheel Granny to her room. They exchanged a brief smile, and he knew the answer to his question. The two women were so much alike, and he was growing to love them both.
Love?
Had he actually acknowledged the word? Even in silence it felt so unlike him, so vulnerable and frightening. But he couldn’t help it. Of course, loving an old woman who had become a grandmotherly figure to him wasn’t so scary, but to acknowledge such feelings for Chas frightened him more than having to draw his weapon to forcefully enter a home when a search warrant had been issued. There was a similar kind of adrenaline, and a sense of imminent danger, as if he were treading into unknown territory with no idea what might happen or who might get hurt.

Jackson said goodnight to Polly and Charlotte and the children before he went up to his room to have a drink. He waited until he knew the guests had left, then he went downstairs, still carrying his drink, and found Chas sitting by the fire in the family dining room. He felt that sense of danger again, even if he only feared having his heart wounded.

“Granny sleeping?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said and looked up. “I was just thinking how quiet everything is now. Most of the time I like the quiet; sometimes it’s hard.”

“I understand that feeling,” he said, then motioned to the other chair. “Mind if I join you, or did you prefer being alone at the moment?”

“Have a seat. I get way too much alone time. Company is nice.”

“Yes, it is.” Jackson took a tiny sip of his drink, which was the way he could habitually make one last for an hour or so. He wondered what she was thinking, or if anything might be said about their exchange earlier. Neither of them were the kind of people to avoid an issue just because it was awkward. But he didn’t know what to say to bring it up without sounding like a fool. He
felt
like a fool. Choosing a different—and obvious—topic, he said, “I want to thank you for a lovely day. It’s the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “It really was nice to have you here. You helped balance the group out a little. There’s not nearly enough male influence around here.”

“There’s Logan,” he said and took another sip. They both chuckled, then an awkward silence settled around them.

Chas was wondering how she should react to what had happened earlier, and how she felt about it. How could she respond at all when she hardly knew what to think? She felt afraid to even look at him, but then her fear of spending a sleepless night wondering if she’d read him correctly overrode her fear of facing him. She found him looking at her and didn’t turn away as she’d been doing since their encounter in the hallway. In her mind she could hear herself saying,
So you’re attracted to me? What do you expect me to do about it?
But the words wouldn’t come to her lips. Instead she asked, “So, what are you drinking?”

“Are you asking out of curiosity, or because you want some?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how she’d respond.

“You know very well I don’t drink,” she said. “You’re just testing me.”

He shook his head. “You can see right through me . . . sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” she said, looking away.

“Why
don’t you drink?” he asked. “Forgive me, but . . . it just seems strange for an adult to not at least have some wine with dinner or—”

“It’s not good for you. I don’t believe in it; not even a little.”

“But you were raised by a woman who has brandy every night.”

“And now we respectfully honor each other’s wishes in that regard. I have my reasons for not drinking, but the biggest is that I just don’t think it’s good for you. It’s the same reason I don’t drink coffee.”

“But you don’t mind if the people around you do? You don’t mind being the odd man out, so to speak?”

“I don’t mind at all. Granny’s lifetime habits are her decision, not mine. The same with my friends. It’s not my place to judge or criticize others for having different views.”

“Even though you believe it’s not good for you.”

“Well,” she chuckled, “I just can’t seem to convince them of the error of their ways. But I love them anyway.”

Jackson smirked and couldn’t resist the opportunity to crack open a door that had been opened earlier and then slammed shut. “Are you including me in that statement?” She looked confused. “You love me, too?”

Chas felt unnerved by the question and knew that he sensed it. But she kept her voice and expression steady as she gave a reasonable answer. “I think you’re a fine man, Mr. Leeds, and—”

“Oh, so now it’s Mr. Leeds.”

“I think you’re a fine man—Jackson Tobias Leeds—but I don’t know you well enough to love you, except of course in the general sense of the way that God loves all His children, and He tells us we should have love for all men—and women, of course. But beyond that . . . . well, I like you—Jackson. I like you enough to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner.” She considered for a moment whether to add a clarification to the end of that statement, and decided she might not get a better chance to say what needed to be said. “But don’t go getting all mushy on me. I don’t intend to be one of your meaningless relationships.”