Part 7 (2/2)
”What difference does it make?” Jamie's eyes widened with speculation. ”Are you afraid I might have been diddling your latest lady love?” Jamie laughed right in Jim's face. ”h.e.l.l, unless your mistress hangs out at Jazzy's Joint, I didn't screw her last night.”
d.a.m.n fool boy! He didn't know the first thing about keeping a mistress faithful. He thought most women were s.l.u.ts who would spread their legs for any man. Jim knew better. If a man chose wisely and kept the lady content, she didn't go to other men for satisfaction.
”Get your a.s.s upstairs, take a shower and change clothes, then come back downstairs for breakfast with the family,” Jim said. ”You tell your grandmother and Laura that you went into town to see one of your old high school buddies and got caught by the snowstorm. Tell them that you're sorry you worried them, but by the time you realized you couldn't get home, it was too late to call and wake everyone.”
Jamie grinned. ”Yes sir. Whatever you say. And may I compliment you on your ability to weave a convincing tale.”
Jim grunted. With his stupid grin in place, Jamie turned and bounded up the stairs. Before he made it halfway up, he started whistling.
Jim heaved a deep sigh. That good-for-nothing boy was his legacy to the world. A sad and sorry thought. He'd wanted more children, but Reba had been unable to conceive again after Melanie's birth. A cruel trick of fate had taken away the son he'd been so proud of and the daughter he'd loved to distraction. How was it that Jamie was so different from Jim Jr.? Had he inherited some weak genes from his mother? Or had Reba and he simply ruined the boy by overindulging him all his life? But they'd spoiled Jim Jr., hadn't they? Yet he'd been a credit to his family.
Enough of this, Jim told himself. Can't change a d.a.m.n thing. A man makes do with the hand he's dealt. Concentrate on the positive things.
He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot the housekeeper had prepared earlier, before she'd gone back to her quarters to get ready for the day. Mug in hand, he made his way down the hall and into his study. He closed the door securely behind him, crossed the room, and sat down behind his ma.s.sive mahogany desk. After taking several sips of black coffee, he placed it on the leather coaster in front of him and lifted the telephone. He dialed her number and waited.
”h.e.l.lo,” the sultry feminine voice said.
”How'd you make it through last night's storm?” he asked.
”Just fine. But I'd have enjoyed being cooped up here a lot better if you'd been with me.”
”I probably won't be able to make it out there today.”
”I figured you wouldn't.”
”I wish you had come to the party last night,” Jim said. ”You got your invitation, didn't you?”
”I got it. But I didn't think I'd enjoy seeing you with your wife. I'm quite jealous of her, you know.”
A warm feeling came to life in his gut. ”You got everything you need out there to see you through a few days until the roads clear up?”
”I've got everything I need...except you.”
”You've got me. Got me wrapped around your little finger.”
”If only that were true.”
”Be careful, will you? I don't like the idea of you being out there all alone with a killer on the loose.”
”I have the gun you gave me,” she said. ”And I know how to use it.”
”Just be careful. And don't let anyone inside the house you don't know and trust.”
”Come see me just as soon as you can. I miss you.”
Jim's p.e.n.i.s twitched. She had a way of bringing him to life with just the sound of her voice. ”I miss you, too...but I've got to go. I'll call you this evening.”
The dial tone hummed in his ear. He was a d.a.m.n old fool and he knew it. Erin Mercer was twenty-five years his junior, a fine-looking woman, and really didn't need him to support her. He'd met her several years ago when she'd first moved to the area. And he'd known the minute he saw her that he wanted her. She was no wh.o.r.e, so paying her for her services had been out of the question. He'd figured he didn't stand a chance with her. He'd been wrong. She had been the one who'd chased him, lured him into her bed and kept him coming back, begging for more. It couldn't last. His affairs never did. He'd never wanted anything permanent from any of his mistresses. But Erin was different. He was halfway in love with her, and if he was ten years younger, he'd ask Reba for a divorce.
But he was seventy-five. He was able to keep Erin s.e.xually satisfied because he kept a supply of v.i.a.g.r.a on hand. But how many more good years could he possibly have-four or five? He was physically fit for a man his age, but even a healthy, tan, muscular body couldn't stop the ravages of time.
Jim ran his open palms over his face and rubbed his eyes. If only he could be Jamie's age again, he wouldn't waste his life the way his grandson was doing. If he had it to do all over again...what would he do differently?
Everything! Starting with not marrying Reba.
Chapter 7.
Dallas manned the wheel of Genny's Chevy Trailblazer, taking it slow and easy on the freshly cleared road into town. He had deliberately kept quiet, uncertain how to deal with this woman whose beauty attracted him, but whose admission of having visions disturbed him. Knowing he'd gotten all hot and bothered over a woman who was probably the town kook didn't sit well with him. Teri would laugh herself silly if she knew that the stoic Dallas Sloan was tied in knots over somebody like Genny. In the past he'd scoffed at people claiming to possess any type of sixth sense. Sure, there had been a couple of times when he'd come close to believing, when he'd been part of an investigation where a so-called psychic had been brought in and appeared to have helped trap the a.s.sailant. But in each of those cases, he'd been able to figure out a logical reason behind the person's foreknowledge.
”Turn left where the road forks,” Genny said. ”The right turn will take us back up the mountain.”
Grunting, Dallas nodded and kept a lookout for their turn. Within minutes, he saw the divided roadway and carefully veered to the left. Despite having been cleared and sanded, the pavement was still slick in a lot of places, and muddy slush covered the shoulders on each side of the road and filled the numerous potholes.
Up ahead on the left he noticed ma.s.sive wrought-iron gates heralding the entrance to a country estate. Far in the distance, a good half mile, he saw a large mansion with towering white columns spanning the front of the house.
”That's impressive,” Dallas said.
”That's the Upton Farm,” Genny replied. ”The Uptons are one of the wealthiest families in Cherokee County.”
”Old money?” Dallas asked.
”Not too old. Theirs is post-Civil War money.”
”You said they're one of the richest. Anybody richer?”
”The MacKinnons are probably just as wealthy, maybe more so. They made their fortune post-Civil War, too. There's quite a rivalry between the two families. They're divided on just about everything, from politics to religion. The MacKinnons are Democrats and Methodists. The Uptons are Republicans and Congregationalists.”
”Don't tell me-the son of one family fell in love with the daughter of the other family and they had a tragic Romeo and Juliet romance.”
Genny smiled. ”Not exactly. When they were just boys, Big Jim Upton and Farlan MacKinnon, both now in their midseventies, fell in love with a young woman named Melva Mae Nelson, whose family was quite poor and lived up in the mountains.”
”And they've hated each other ever since,” Dallas said. ”So, which man won Miss Melva Mae? Upton or MacKinnon?”
”Neither. Melva Mae married the love of her life, a half-breed Cherokee like herself. Jacob Butler.”
”Jacob...any relation to your cousin Jacob?”
”Jacob was our grandfather.”
”Then Melva Mae was-”
”Our grandmother.”
”The one who was-”
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