Chapter Fourteen
By Sunday afternoon, Jessie was anxious to make some more progress with the Kilcannon family. They were all so busy, constantly on the go or with the dogs or meeting with trainers, that she hadn’t really spent as much time as she wanted to with the family.
With Garrett?
Well, sometimes it felt like no amount of time was enough. They’d fallen into a lovely routine over the past few days. She’d go to Waterford Farm in the morning to play and work with Lola. She’d slipped into one of the group training classes, just as a way to socialize Lola, but the dog was so smart and willing to learn, she’d picked up all kinds of commands.
On a lunch break, she and Garrett would go into town on errands or sit at the picnic table and watch training. A few times, they’d gone back down to the creek, and Lola would sleep in the sun, while Jessie and Garrett talked and talked. And kissed and kissed.
By mutual agreement, it was “safe” time, with no interview questions, but as the man’s character took shape, so did her profile piece.
Except, it was missing something, and that had been bothering her for a few days. Spark. Depth. Color. Something wasn’t on the pages of notes she’d typed and typed. Even though every afternoon she’d visit his office and they’d have a more “official” talk, which was short and far less satisfying than the time they had at the creek.
They’d gone out to dinner on Friday with Shane, which was incredibly fun, but there was much more laughter than questions answered. On Saturday, Garrett had to pick up a dog with Liam, so she’d stayed at the B&B all day working on the story and crashed early, frustrated that she still didn’t feel that she’d captured the essence of the man.
Were her feelings for him getting in the way? Because they were deepening daily, and saying goodbye at night had been inching close to impossible.
How would it be saying goodbye when this was over, she wondered as she pulled into the wide drive at Waterford.
Looking at the house and hills, she already knew that it would suck.
But she’d done it once, so she’d do it again.
Today, though, would be Sunday-afternoon perfect. Nothing was as much fun as the Kilcannon Sunday dinner, which was served in the late afternoon and, even back in the old days, was always cooked by Dr. K.
Jessie was already humming with happiness at being here, and at seeing Garrett again, since the last time was at her door on Friday night, and those kisses were hot, heavy, and hard to stop.
But she had to finish the story first. Something deep inside her set that rule, and she couldn’t break it. And he hadn’t pushed to spend the night…yet.
As Jessie walked down the large driveway of Waterford Farm, she turned at the sound of another car, spying Molly at the wheel of a little blue hybrid with a girl in the passenger seat next to her.
“This must be Pru,” she called, walking to the car as Molly turned off the engine.
Molly popped out at the same time as a slight, dark-haired child with huge golden-green eyes that stared at Jessie.
“This is my pride and joy and occasional headache, Prudence Anne Kilcannon. Pru, meet your aunt Jessie, my BFF from the time we were your age until she flew the coop at sixteen.”
“Hi, Pru.” Jessie reached to give her a hug, taking a minute to drink in the child who had Kilcannon stamped on every feature of her face. Annie’s eyes, Molly’s face, and a self-assurance in her stature that all of Daniel Kilcannon’s offspring had.
“Should I call her Aunt? It’s not actually accurate.”
“Term of endearment,” Molly said, looking skyward. “Pru likes things just so,” she warned Jessie. “And has no qualms about letting you know.”
Pru gave a grin, showing a mouthful of metal and a twinkle that matched the one in her mama’s eye. “I’m a perfectionist,” she corrected. “And my mother is a…not-perfectionist.”
“I am perfect when I have to be,” Molly retorted. “Like when performing emergency surgery on a Saint Bernard, like I did this morning. Thank God it’s Sunday and never too early for whiskey in an Irish household.”
“Just one, you’re driving,” Pru said quickly, getting yet another eye roll from Molly.
“Tell you what, pumpkin. If I get schnockered, Aunt Jessie can drive us both home, and we’ll get my car in the morning.”
“How will I get to school tomorrow?”
“It’s not my carpool day.”
“But what if Mrs. Freeman sleeps in like she did last week?”
“Then it’s her fault for not having a human alarm clock like I do.” She grinned at Jessie. “Welcome to life with Molly and Pru. The Odd Couple reigns again.”
Jessie laughed in spite of herself, a funny twitch in her gut that took her by surprise. A twitch of…envy? Why on earth would she feel that? The last thing she wanted in the world was a twelve-year-old, no matter how responsible she was.
No, it was their banter. Their connection. Their…Mom and Stephanie-ness.
“So what grade are you in?” she asked Pru.
“Seventh grade,” she said. “Home to the world’s most terrifying, perplexing, and smelliest beast, Puberty Boy.”
Jessie snorted a laugh. “So true.”
“I guess living with four brothers made me immune to them,” Molly said. “But the stories Pru tells me would curl your hair.”
“Oh, I remember seventh-grade boys,” Jessie assured her. “And I don’t envy you. The good news is they get better.”
“When?” Molly asked. “At fifty?”
“Mom’s a manhater,” Pru informed her. “How about you?”
At that moment, the front door of the house opened and Garrett stood in the doorway, too far away to hear them, but not too far that she couldn’t appreciate the sight of him from here. She took a double take, not meaning to, but unable to stop at the sight of his bare chest and jeans.
“I don’t hate them at all.”
“Not that one, anyway,” Molly added in a stage whisper.
“Put a shirt on, Uncle Garrett!” Pru yelled. “There are innocent females out here.”
“Why is he half undressed?” Jessie asked. Other than to make a woman’s mouth water.
“Because he can be,” Molly said. “And he conveniently forgot the time and, lo and behold, Jessie is coming up the driveway when he happens to open the door.”
Jessie shot her a look. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s attached at the hip to him.”
“You are?” Pru almost tripped.
“Not literally,” Jessie fired back with a glare at Molly.
“Then you can be my aunt. Eventually.”
“Calm down, child,” Jessie instructed. “Is she always like this, Molls?”
“Oh, she’s just getting started.” Molly laughed. “And, fair warning, she and Gramma Finnie are bookends of trouble. The oldest and youngest Kilcannons are never dull, and whatever is said will end up on the Internet. Hashtag nothing is private anymore.”
Garrett opened the door wider to let them in, and Lola came bounding out to greet Jessie.
“I was going out to the Jeep,” he said.
“And dressed so nice,” Molly teased.
“I showered here after we did some work with Colonel Mustard but left a clean shirt in the back.” Water dripped from the ends of his long hair, trickling streams down broad, muscular shoulders. Still petting Lola, Jessie did her best not to stare.
But her best wasn’t good enough.
“Hey, I have news,” he said softly to Jessie, putting a cool hand on her arm. “Come and talk to me for a second.”
She caught the silent look that passed between Molly and Pru. “Meet us in there, Aunt Jessie!” Pru called, rushing off with Molly and bursting into a noisy giggle.
“What kind of news?” Jessie asked, turning to walk with him as Lola circled her and got closer.
“We’ve finally had a response from someone in Rhode Island.”
“Really?” In the days since Garrett had reached out to his network, there’d been nothing but silence about Lola.
“A vet in Providence said one of his patients is a collie-Aussie shepherd mix that went missing about a month ago. He tried calling the owner to ask about Lola, but now the woman isn’t returning his calls. Oh, and a shelter in Newport said someone had come in with posters looking for a missing dog that might have been her, but they sent a picture and it doesn’t match. Close, but not Lola. But I talked to that vet myself, and it sure sounded like she could be the same dog.”
She pressed her hands to her chest as if to contain the hope that someone who loved Lola would get her back. “That would be great.”
He opened the Jeep and sat in the front to reach for a shirt, and Lola jumped in, smiling and ready for a ride.
He nuzzled her a bit, then looked up at Jessie, letting Lola down. “I missed you yesterday,” he whispered. “How goes it?”
She lifted a shoulder, knowing he hated the subject of her profile and especially hated when she said she hadn’t dug enough. But she hadn’t dug enough.
“Don’t tell me you have more questions.”
And they all centered around his time in Seattle, a window of the few months when he was negotiating and selling his company, a window he’d kept firmly shut and locked. She didn’t even want to hint at it now, though.
“I need more color commentary from your family,” she said instead. “So I’m looking forward to today.”
“Kilcannon dinner is a safe zone.”
“For you, not them.”
Still holding a folded T-shirt, he gave a sly smile, sliding his hand up to palm her neck and send a million chills down her spine. “What are you doing after dinner?” he asked, his voice husky, his intent clear.
“I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”
He leaned in and kissed her. “A rousing game of…” And again, letting their tongues tangle and pulling her all the way into his bare chest, which was warm and strong and perfect. “Say it with me now…”
“Manhunt.” She laughed the word into the kiss.
“I’ll see you in the kennels.”
But she had three days left to file some kind of story for ITAL. “Garrett, the clock, as your grandmother would say, is a-tickin’.”
“You’re not going to work tonight. Play with me.”
She moaned, “Yes,” into one more kiss, letting her fingers splay over his bare chest for the sheer pleasure of it.
“Hashtag shirtless.”
Speaking of Gramma Finnie.
They separated at the sound of her voice, turning to see the woman coming up the driveway with a phone camera aimed at them.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Garrett teased.
Gramma held out her arms to Jessie. “I’m not as big and bad as my grandson, but give me a hug.”
Jessie did, falling right into the little old lady’s arms and spell.
“Sorry I broke up your game of tonsil hockey,” Finnie whispered in Jessie’s ear.
Jessie bit back a snort. “It’s fine.”
“Pru teaches me all the latest sayings.”
She couldn’t bear to tell her “tonsil hockey” was anything but one of the latest sayings.
Garrett shook his head and got between the two women, draping an arm over each. “Take it inside, ladies.”
“Hashtag killjoy,” Gramma Finnie muttered.
* * *
To no one’s surprise, Jessie fit right back in at the Kilcannon Sunday dinner. Maybe the players around the table had changed in the years that had passed since the last time she sat at this table—Mom was gone, Liam was home, Aidan was overseas, Pru was new, and everyone else was seventeen years older—but the vibe was the same. Dinners at home were lively, loud, opinionated and, since Dad cooked one of the four versions of meat and potatoes he’d mastered, pretty darn delicious.
After Garrett’s father prayed, there was never a quiet moment with at least three conversations going at once. Shane and Liam were arguing over a problem they had with two dogs in training, while Dad and Molly were deep in a discussion about the surgery she’d done that morning.
Pru and Gramma were pretending to talk, but under the table, Pru had her phone—forbidden by Dad—and was showing something to her ever-curious grandmother.
The most well-trained of the bunch were the dogs—Rusty, Kookie, Lola, and a new Westie named Snowball, who’d come to Waterford as a foster and attached herself to Gramma. They were lined up in the living room, facing the festivities, sleeping except for the occasional opening of one eye when there was a burst of laughter, but all trained too well to come to the table.
Molly, Jessie, and Garrett were together at one end, with an empty plate where Darcy—currently MIA—was supposed to be.
“Where is she?” Garrett asked in a whisper, getting a quiet don’t ask look from Molly, who was closest to the youngest, and wildest, Kilcannon.
Jessie looked from one to the other. “I haven’t seen Darcy much since I’ve been here,” she said. “She groomed Lola with me once, but that’s it.”
“She’s always out,” Garrett said, a little irritated with his baby sister’s tumbleweed ways. “She’s gone as much as she’s home.”
“She’s thirty, single, and having a fun life,” Molly shot back. “She might live in this house, but her life is out there.”
“Out where?” Garrett said. “I never know where she is.”
“I know where she is,” Gramma Finnie cut in, obviously paying attention to more than her own conversation with Pru. “She’s at Colleen’s house tonight. Ella came home.”
Instantly, all the chatter stopped as every person at the table turned and stared at Gramma Finnie.
Dad broke the shocked silence. “Darcy told me Ella might be back.”
“Not for long,” Molly said.
“She is back,” Gramma said with a slight edge in her ever-present brogue. “And we’ll pray to all the saints that she stays for now.”
Garrett caught Jessie’s confused look and leaned across the table. “Ella’s our cousin. My aunt Colleen’s youngest. Do you remember the Mahoney family?”
“Of course,” she said. “Braden was in our grade, right, Molly?”
“Yep. And there’s Declan and Connor, the oldest two.”
“Fine young men,” Gramma proclaimed.
“And then there’s Ella,” Garrett added.
“Who was close to Darcy when they were little,” Jessie recalled. “They were always having sleepovers when Molly and I were.”
“Those lassies are two peas in a pod,” Gramma Finnie added. “I’m hopin’ Darcy can keep Ella’s feet on the ground now, but you know what they say.”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell us,” Shane joked.
“You’ve got to do your own growin’ no matter how tall your father is.”
“I like that, Gram,” Pru said, elbowing her great-grandmother and lifting her phone from its hiding place. “Tweet that. It’ll get plenty of likes and retweets.”
“But what does it mean?” Jessie asked.
“It means what it says.” Gramma picked up her glass of Irish whiskey and lifted it. “And it means that all of you need to give some space to young Ella, and Darcy, too.”
At the head of the table, Dad glared at his only grandchild, who was madly thumbing her phone, barely hiding it anymore. “I hope that’s not a phone at the dinner table, young lady.”
She shoved it under the table as fast as she could, earning a scowl from her grandfather, but he quickly turned to Jessie, a silent reminder that they had a guest. “So tell us what you think about the changes in Bitter Bark since you were last here, Jessie.”
“It’s so different,” she replied. “That whole area around Bushrod Square is adorable.”
“You’re technically supposed to call it Bitter Bark Square now,” Dad said. “Every single shop around the square is supposed to have Bitter Bark in the name, or some such thing.”
“It’s actually not a bitter bark tree,” Pru said. “Did you know that? We learned in social studies that ol’ Thad Bushrod had it wrong and it’s a hickory tree but there already was a Hickory, North Carolina.”
“Well, it’s a bitter bark tree to me,” Gramma said. “If that thing weren’t there, who knows where Seamus and I would have ended up?” She turned to Jessie. “Have you ever heard the story of how our dog Corky howled when we arrived, in his very own version of a bitter bark?”
“Uh, actually, yes, I have.”
Garrett bit his lip, and Molly looked down at her plate. Liam shifted, and Shane tried to cough.
“We’ve all heard it, Gramma.” Only Pru had the nerve to speak the truth.
His grandmother lifted her whiskey again. “But I like to tell it. And if the lot of you don’t stop laughing, I’ll tell it again. The one you not-so-secretly call the long version.”
Only a few of them stifled moans.
“I’d love to hear it again,” Jessie said. “If I can use it in the story I’m writing.”
“Later, lass, when these grandchildren of mine aren’t around to roll their eyes.”
“We’re not rolling our eyes, Gramma,” Molly assured her.
“Speaking of Bitter Bark,” Gramma said, shifting her attention to Dad. “How is that Tourism Advisory Committee you’re on?”
“Dull as dirt,” he said. “Have to sit around and listen to bad ideas.” He took a sip of his drink, then frowned at Liam. “The architect is smart, though. Andi Rivers. Remember her, Liam?”
Liam didn’t even look up from his plate. “Sure do.”
“Someone with a lick of sense has to be on that committee,” Gramma said. “Otherwise, that stick in the mud Easterbrook will run this town the way he wants, and if he has his way, we’ll all be his customers.”
Jessie frowned. “Easterbrook, like, the funeral home? They still own it?”
“And they will until the good Lord returns,” Gramma said.
“So, what is the committee doing, exactly?” Jessie asked. “Will there be more gentrification and building?”
“Blanche Wilkins has a niece who lives in Miami who might help us. She’s supposed to be a tourism consultant, whatever that is.”
“Sounds expensive,” Gramma said.
“I don’t know what it will cost, but they’re trying to convince her to come up here this summer after her next consulting job ends and have her give us a ‘big idea.’” Dad grinned at the table. “Anyone here have any I could take into the meetings?”
“Don’t say a word,” Liam warned his siblings, adding a look. “One good idea, and he’ll put you on the committee in his place.”
Dad leaned toward his eldest. “As a matter of fact, I think you’d be excellent on that committee, Liam.”
“I think I’d suck,” he replied in his usual few words. “Get Garrett.”
“I’m already making a personal sacrifice on behalf of Waterford Farm,” Garrett said quickly.
Jessie looked up, and instantly, he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.
“Whoa, Jessie got burned,” Shane teased.
“I don’t mean it’s a sacrifice to be with you,” Garrett added quickly.
Gramma cleared her throat. “Sure didn’t look like anyone was sacrificing anything but fresh air when you two were lip-locked out there.”
A slow flush crawled up Jessie’s cheeks.
“Welcome to the Kilcannon dinner table,” Molly said with a playful grin. “Where even Gramma can shoot darts.”
“That means we love you, dear,” Gramma assured her.
Jessie looked at the older woman with the strangest expression, something like awe and joy, but also a little fear. “I know,” she said softly. “I remember.”
“And I, for one, would like more information about this so-called sacrifice Garrett is making,” Gramma said. “Do I understand correctly that if you write a good story, you might also be on television?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jessie replied. “On the show called ITAL On Air.”
Garrett’s stomach dropped at the thought of how popular that show was.
“Will we all be on TV?” Pru asked.
“Some of you, yes.”
“Even Gramma?”
Jessie smiled and nodded. “I think she’d be amazing.”
“And you can put the blog URL on the screen?” Pru asked.
“What are you, her assistant?” Garrett asked.
“Actually, my title is director of publicity for grammafinnie.com.” Pru said, unfazed.
That got a good laugh and made Dad slap the table with two hands, the unofficial ending of dinner. “On that note, Jessie, why don’t we have that conversation in my office now?”
“I’d love to.” She put her napkin down and pushed her chair back, but Garrett was up in an instant to pull it out for her. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him.
“I’ll wait for you,” he said softly, watching her as she and Dad headed back to the library.
It was only then that he realized every person at the table was staring at him, each with a different version of teasing, mockery, interest, humor, and, in Shane’s case, a little bit of a warning.
“What?” he asked, looking from one to the other when Dad and Jessie left.
“I think this is a wonderful turn of events,” Gramma said.
“No events have turned,” he said.
“Well, I think it’s about time someone at this table settled down and got married,” Gramma said.
Molly choked softly. Liam looked skyward. And Shane’s hazel gaze shifted down to his plate. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking: Garrett had already been married. And look how well that went.