Breaking the Chain

  167

  1

  "How's this?” Jack asked as he struggled to balance his weight on the rickety ladder. "You need to make up your mind quick; I don't think this ladder will hold my weight much longer."

  Mary surveyed the swinging sign. "Move it down just a little."

  "You gotta be joking. A minute ago, you wanted it raised. Now you want it down? Make up your mind woman; we've got a lot to do and a short time to do it in. Hanging a sign shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. You pick a height, measure the links to make it go there, and hang the blasted thing.”

  Her short laugh echoed in the stillness of the warm July afternoon. "Sorry, I just want everything to be perfect."

  He was silent for a moment. "All right. I'll move it one more time, but that's it."

  "Thanks. Just lower the chain in your left hand about a quarter of an inch and that should do it."

  Without warning, the ladder teetered back and forth. Before Jack could stabilize his position, a loud crack filled the air; the wooden rungs beneath his feet splintered, then broke away.

  "Shhhhhhiiiiiiiittttttttt..."

  Mary watched in horror as he stayed suspended at eye-level for an agonizing second, then plummeted to the ground.

  "Oh my God," she cried. "Are you okay?"

  Jack glared at her for several moments. "Does it look like I'm okay?”

  She swallowed her laughter and extended a hand. "Sorry, couldn’t help it." Another giggle escaped as Jack scrambled to his feet.

  Steel gray eyes narrowed.

  Mary reached out to sweep an errant lock of brown hair out of his eyes and patted the side of Jack’s face. "Come on, Jack. If it had been me, you know you would've laughed. Besides, if you’d been hurt, I wouldn’t have laughed."

  "I wouldn't have laughed."

  She held up her hands and struggled to keep her voice devoid of humor. "Right. It’s not funny; I was wrong to laugh. I apologize."

  Jack’s response was cut off when the forgotten sign plummeted to the ground, narrowly missing his head.

  Unable to help herself, Mary burst out laughing. Slowly edging toward the door, she didn't dare look at Jack. He was mad enough already. Anything she could say would probably make matters worse.

  "I think you better go inside, Mary," he warned. "Now."

  Nodding, she pursed her lips, not trusting herself to speak. She was still chuckling when she reached the kitchen. Poor Jack—today just wasn't his day.

  The icy blast of cold air that greeted her as she opened the freezer felt wonderful to her heat-parched skin. She stood in front of the open compartment for a moment reveling in the cool breeze, then filled two glasses with ice and swung the door shut.

  Thank goodness the work crew would be out tomorrow to finish installing the new central air conditioning unit. The heat both inside and outside the house had been almost unbearable, thanks to a broken air conditioning unit, high temperatures, and even higher humidity readings.

  She grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator and headed for the verandah. Jack stood on one of the dining room chairs, his back to her. The wooden sign dangled ominously overhead as he looped the chain onto a hook mounted in a beam above his head.

  When he finished, she held the out the cold drink. "Peace offering?"

  A glimmer of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I guess it was pretty funny."

  Remembering his awkward sprawl, her lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I just couldn't help it. You should've seen the look on your face. It was priceless."

  "Forget about it. I have." He draped one arm around her shoulders and planted a light kiss atop her gleaming red hair. "I still love you, Ms. Windom," he whispered.

  She wrapped her arm around his waist. "I love you, too. It's like a dream come true. First marrying you, and then being able to own half of a bed and breakfast. I still can't believe we talked my Aunt Elizavon into selling half her interest in this plantation. The only thing left is to find Justine and Sadie, the old housekeepers. Their presence would make everything perfect. Justine would lend an air of grace and Sadie would be perfect as the resident Voodoo priestess."

  "We'll find them; it's just going to take time."

  "I know. Thanks for hanging the sign."

  Steel fingers tightened their grip on her shoulder. "Before you say anything, I'm warning you that I'm not going to move that damn sign again. Ever."

  Her lips curved into a smile and she nestled closer. "It looks fine, Jack."

  "Good. And don't try batting those green eyes at me, either. That sign's staying right where it is. Permanently. Don't even think about moving it."

  She slipped out of his arm and stepped away from the porch. Shielding her eyes, she surveyed the wooden sign, embellished with a blue moon hovering above a white plantation. "It does look good. That carpenter shop did a terrific job on the carving."

  "Not bad. Not bad at all."

  As she watched Jack pack his tools into a small metal chest, desire rushed through her veins. Tall, muscular, and handsome, he embodied everything she'd ever wanted in a man. She loved everything about him—the way his gray eyes twinkled whenever he was amused, to the errant lock of hair that kept falling into his eyes.

  He glanced up and she felt her cheeks burn, embarrassed to have been caught gawking like a lovesick schoolgirl.

  "Something wrong?"

  "Nope. Just watching you pack your stuff," she mumbled. Trying to channel her thoughts to something other than sex, she turned to gaze at the beautiful oak trees standing like silent wooden sentries along either side of the house. Thick limbs embellished with lush green leaves stretched out in every direction like open arms, beckoning weary travelers to stop and rest in their cool shade. Under the trees, green grass, intertwined with small patches of sweet-smelling clover, covered the ground in an endless emerald carpet.

  She turned back to Jack. "I can't wait until our guests start coming in. They're going to love this place."

  "Yeah, it's been a long time coming, but we're almost there." He paused for a moment, then asked, “Is Elizavon coming down for the grand opening?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. I know she makes you crazy, but please be nice to her. Promise me you won't let her goad you into an argument."

  He snorted in disgust. “I just wish we could've afforded to buy her out. I hate having that woman as a partner. Maybe if I start doing some estate appraisal jobs on the side we can save enough money to pay her off."

  "We already travel way too much. How many weekends have you been home in the last two months? Three, four? My schedule's just as bad. I've done so many out-of-town estate jobs I feel like my butt is beginning to take on the shape of an airplane seat. Any more side jobs and the only time I'll get to see you is when we pass each other in an airport." She patted his shoulder. "We'll figure something out, but in the meantime, please be nice. And for goodness sake, don't call her Elizadragon. She'd have a stroke if she knew that's what you've nicknamed her."

  Jack's frown curved into a malicious grin. "Well, if the forked tongue fits..."

  "Jack! That's a terrible thing to say."

  "Well, she does remind me of a Komodo dragon, devouring everybody and everything in her way. And, she's just as vicious."

  With a fleeting expression of annoyance, Mary held up a warning hand. "Enough, Jack. You've made your point. Come on. We've still got two rooms to paint. I want every detail finished before Aunt Elizavon gets here. She'll have a fit if everything isn't spit shined and polished to death."

  "When's the unlucky day?"

  "The day after tomorrow. According to our last conversation, her plane is scheduled to land around six o'clock."

  Damn! Two days o
f freedom left. He'd met Mary's aunt twice; both meetings had been nothing short of disastrous. He recalled china-doll blue eyes colder than Mt. Everest and a razor-sharp glance that cut straight to the bone. No surgeon's blade could have sliced through skin quicker or neater than Elizavon's piercing gaze. She'd sized him up in their first meeting, and he'd been left with the uncharitable feeling that he'd been found wanting.

  After their introduction, he'd heard the old woman’s snort of derision, and when her pencil-thin lips stretched into a malicious smirk, he knew she'd intended him to hear it. The worst part about it was that she’d managed to make him feel worthless without uttering a single word.

  Well, that shriveled up old prune could look down her nose at him all she liked. He was proud of everything he’d achieved both in his personal and professional life. Too bad Elizavon’s presence was bound to spoil what would otherwise be a huge celebration for him and Mary. Restoring a broken-down plantation home to a premiere bed and breakfast in a few short months was an accomplishment few could manage.

  It dawned on him that an out-of-town assignment would be a godsend right now. Maybe he ought to give his boss a call.... Nah, Mary would kill him if he left before the grand opening. He’d just have to grit his teeth and ignore the old bat’s verbal jabs—painful as that would be…

  2

  Jack jerked to an upright position in the bed, his heart pounding. Sweat poured from every orifice body, and his nightshirt was soaked.

  "Jack, what's wrong?" Mary struggled to a sitting position, switched on the bedside lamp. "Are you sick? You're as pale as a ghost." She reached across and rested the palm of her hand against his forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever..."

  "It's nothing; just a bad dream." He shrugged free and slipped off the bed. "Go back to sleep. I'm going downstairs to get a drink of water."

  Perplexed by his attitude, she remained in bed. This was the third night in a row he'd woken from a sound sleep, drenched in sweat. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was having nightmares.

  Memories of forgotten terrors surfaced from her subconscious. Jack knew about the terrible dreams she'd had prior to their marriage. Had her disclosure of the gory details triggered similar dreams for him? Icy fingers of panic tightened around her heart, sending blood rushing through her veins. Please, God, no. Please don't let that be happening. Hadn't she suffered enough? Shuddering, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, grabbed her robe, and bounded down the stairs.

  Jack stood in the drawing room, sipping a glass of whiskey. She placed a hand on his arm. "Jack, something's bothering you. I can tell. Won't you please tell me what's going on? Whatever it is, we can work it out together."

  "It's nothing, Mary. Just pre-opening jitters. We've sunk a lot of money into this place, and I'm just a little nervous about the grand opening. That's all."

  Disappointed with his answer, she swallowed the lump in her throat and decided to press the issue. He couldn't go on like this. "Jack, you're not having nightmares about this house, are you? Like...like I used to have?"

  He draped an arm around her shoulders, squeezed her close. "I'm not having nightmares about this house. That's the truth." Releasing her, he walked over to the doorway. "I'm ready to go back to bed. Are you coming?"

  Uncertain, she hovered in the middle of the room. He sounded sincere enough, but...

  "Well?" He glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. "It's almost three and we have a delivery van coming at eight. That doesn't leave much time for sleep."

  She pasted a smile on her face and joined him in the hallway. It was obvious he wasn't ready to talk about whatever was bothering him, and she knew better than to force the issue further. "Okay. Will you get the light?"

  He nodded and waited until she reached the top of the stairs before switching off the light. He hated lying to her, but the truth was bound to make her a nervous wreck. Besides, he hadn't been lying when he said his nightmares weren't about the house. A sigh escaped his lips. If only they had been.

  * * * * *

  Some things never change, Mary thought as she watched her aunt deplane from the private jet. Elizavon was still as thin as a rail, and her gray hair framed a face devoid of makeup. Dressed in a purple silk traveling suit, she reminded Mary of a dried up old prune that had been left out in the sun too long. Had the old woman ever resembled a plump, juicy plum, full of promise?

  "What on earth were you doing, waiting for a gilded invitation to come and pick me up?" Elizavon complained.

  "Hello, Aunt Elizavon. It's good to see you. How was your flight?"

  The old woman sniffed and adjusted her glasses. "Terrible, thanks to that useless pilot of mine. Worst flight I've ever been on." She shook a slender finger at the baggage man. "Make sure you don't damage any of those bags when you take them out. That's expensive luggage, made from the finest leather money can buy. If anything gets damaged, you're going to pay for it. You understand me, boy?"

  How could Elizavon be so rude? Mary mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to the porter as he placed the bags into the trunk, and he patted her shoulder in sympathy. When he finished, she handed him a ten-dollar tip. At least that would make up for the awful things Elizavon had said.

  "You didn't give him a tip, did you?" Elizavon asked as Mary closed the driver's door. "Because if you did, it's coming out of your money, not mine."

  "There's no problem, Aunt Elizavon. I didn't mind giving him a tip. He was very careful with your luggage."

  The old woman grunted and adjusted her seatbelt. "Where's that man--what's his name?"

  "Jack's back at the plantation, taking care of some last minute jobs."

  "You going to marry him?"

  "We were married eight months ago. Didn't you get my letter?"

  "Wasn't that kind of sudden? Didn't his wife die not too long ago? Are you sure he didn't speed her trip to the grave?"

  Enough already! Mary gritted her teeth, pulled the car over to the side of the road, and turned to face her aunt. "Look, Aunt Elizavon. Let's get something straight right now. I don't give a damn what you say about me, but you are not going to make snide remarks about either Jack or his late wife, Audrey. We didn't get married until ten months after she died, which is more than a decent interval. Besides, if she hadn't gotten sick, Audrey told me she and Jack would have gotten a divorce. The fact that he stayed with her once she got sick, instead of leaving her to cope with a terminal illness alone, makes him pretty special in my book. I don't want you saying anything mean or hateful to or about him. Is that clear? Because if you have a problem with that, you can just go back to Boston right now. I love Jack with all my heart, and I won't tolerate you or anybody else making snide remarks about him."

  Elizavon's face was a study in shocked surprise. When she remained quiet, Mary pressed for an answer. "It's up to you, Aunt Elizavon. Do we go on to the plantation, or do I drive you back to the airport?"

  Elizavon's eyes widened for a moment, then her glance shifted to the window. "You watch your tongue, young lady. Don't get uppity with me. You just remember that if it hadn't been for me, you'd never have had your chance to run that plantation as a bed and breakfast."

  Mary figured that was about the closest thing to an apology she was going to get, so she patted the old woman's bony hand and pulled the car back onto the road. As they neared the house, her excitement grew. "I can't wait for you to see the house. It's gorgeous. The workers did a fabulous restoration job."

  "Humph. I'll make my own decision about the workmanship after I've seen the house, thank you. How much over budget did the restoration go? Seems to me that you must've forgotten to send some of the bills to the accountant. What were you planning to do, spring them on me when I got here and say you got them late?"

  Ahhhhhh, now we come to the real point of her aunt's visit. Mary felt her lips curve into a smirk and tried to school them back into a frown. She'd been waiting for Elizavon to bring up the subject of money. "The restoration didn't cost a
s much as we thought. We were able to salvage a lot of the original wood, including the banister and a lot of the interior pieces, so it wasn't as expensive as it could have been. I even managed to convince some of the vendors to give us a big discount on the stuff we bought locally. This job was finished on time and under budget. What do you think about that?"

  A ghost of a smile hovered around the old woman's reed-thin lips, then disappeared. "We'll see how much of a bargain you got, young lady, once I inspect everything."

  The image of the plantation loomed in the distance and Mary's heart raced in anticipation. "Close your eyes, Aunt Elizavon. Please. I don't want you to see the house until we get there. That way it'll be a wonderful surprise."

  "I'll keep my eyes open, thank you."

  "Very well, have it your own way. But wait until you see how beautiful it is. I still can't believe it's the same house!" She heard Elizavon's swift intake of breath as they turned onto the drive and the front of the house came into view. The car slowed to a crawl as they entered the circular driveway and stopped in front of the entry doors.

  The look on Elizavon's face was all the reward Mary needed. The old woman's mouth hung slightly open and her eyes remained fixed on the front of the house. Moments later she blinked, and her customary frown slipped back into place.

  "Well, are you going to unlatch the seatbelt for me, or do I have to sit here all day, waiting to be let out of this car?"

  Mary grinned, then reached over and pressed the release button. "There you go, Aunt Elizavon. You're free at last."

  Jack stepped onto the porch, arms extended in a wide welcome. "Welcome to the Blue Moon Inn, Ms. Phelps. How was your trip?"

  "Fine," Elizavon answered, eyeing the front of the house. She shook her arm free of his grasp. "I want to see the rest of the house. Now."

  "Well, it certainly looks different from the last time you were here." Behind her back he gave Mary the 'thumbs up' sign and tucked Elizavon's gnarled fingers around his forearm. "I'll be honored to give you the grand tour."