Page 62 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
“What’s she think of me?”
“The real Gran or the Gran in my head?”
“Both.”
“Real Gran remembers you from when you were a kid and wishesyou well.” He didn’t want to bring up Gran’s pity for Jesse’s dead wife againif he could avoid it, and he definitely didn’t want to bring up the fact thatGran thought he was a better catch than a doctor, so he fudged the truth alittle. “As for the Gran in my head? She says you like my honey.”
Jesse threw back his head and laughed. “Does she now?”
“Yep. She says you’re pretty fond of it. And you’d likemore.”
“Damn straight.” Jesse’s eyes raked over him and his smilecurved and narrowed as his expression turned lustful. “I’d like to taste someof that honey now if I could.”
“But the kids…”
“Right.” Jesse tilted his head and considered Christopher amoment. “Would you like to see something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s upstairs. Come on.”
Christopher trailed after Jesse, his eyes scanning over thephotos lining the wall on the side of the stairway. Brigid as a baby, atoddler, as little girl holding a baby, and then Brigid in dance costumes, and Willin a little suit, and then later in baseball uniforms. Then, at the very top ofthe stairs, right across from where Jesse turned left into the hallway, was abeautiful, large photo of a gorgeous, blond woman with crisp brown eyes andlight freckles dancing over her nose, rolling in the autumn leaves and grasswith the kids, all three of them laughing.
Christopher didn’t mean to stop. He didn’t really want thenight to have anything more to do with Jesse’s dead wife. And yet…there shewas. Gorgeous, vivid, colorful, and with a smile that made his heart twist. Shejust looked soalive.
“Chris?” Jesse was halfway down the hallway. “Oh…yeah. Thatwas taken the autumn before the accident. So, Will’s four and Brigid’s eightthere. Marcy was twenty-seven.” He tilted his head, looking at the photo with acritical expression. “I’ve been meaning to move it somewhere not so…prominent.But Brigid likes it there. And, well, it’s a nice photograph of a good day.”
“It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. They all are.”
Jesse’s lips twisted with sadness, and he shrugged. “Timestrips that away from all of us. She was good inside and that mattered a lotmore.” He started down the hallway again. “Come on, it’s in the attic.”
The home was different from so many cabins in that the wallsweren’t hewn wood, but had been dry walled and painted. There as a wooden doorat the end of the hall that opened to another door that was locked and had asecurity pad next to it. Jesse keyed in a code and then led the way upstairs.
“This is my home studio. Hence the lock.”
The room was different from the rest of the house. Almostfeminine with white walls, cream overstuffed chairs, a wide, recessed windowseat with yellow and cream pillows, and white lace curtains. Along one side wasa white table with white boxes full of small drawers and silver, gold, andother metal tools lined neatly along the back where it touched the wall.
It was only when Christopher looked at Jesse again that hesaw how his shoulders and back had relaxed. Even his face looked less tense.
“This is my space. I know it doesn’t really fit the rest ofthe house. That’s because everything else was a compromise. Marcy wanted starklines and I wanted comfort, and we came together in what you see everywhereelse. But this is my little beach house in the mountains. Years ago in France Istayed in the most beautiful white house on the sea for three amazing months. Istudied with Bernard Boucher and he made jewels come alive for me.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s white and fluffy. Like a cloud. I know…ridiculous. Butit clears my mind and I can work on making something beautiful.” He crossedover to the table, pulling open several drawers. “Want to see a drawer full ofamethysts?”
Christopher drew near and peered into the white drawer fullof purple stones, some round, some square, some heart-shaped, and othersunpolished and rugged.
“It’s a quartz,” Jesse said. “Fun fact: the Romans madedrinking vessels out of it because they believed the stone could magicallyprevent intoxication.”
“Beautiful.”
“They aren’t as valuable as they once were, but Brigid lovesthem, and look…” he opened another drawer and pulled out a small ring. “I madethis for her for Christmas.”
It was a small thing, barely big enough to fit over the tipof Christopher’s index finger.
“She’ll like it,” Jesse said. “With any luck, it’s what she’swishing for with those cranes.”
Christopher handed the small ring back to him. Jesse’s facewas soft and his dark eyes glowed with affection for his daughter as heexamined the ring again. “She likes purple.”
