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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lena
Ilocked the door to the room and sank to the floor. My face fell into my hands, and I couldn’t help the tears that flowed beneath them. My only relief—I managed to hold them back while talking to Jackson. I didn’t want him to know I’d been affected so much. What Brodie said had hurt, but I really couldn’t blame him. This was Brodie’s house, and I had to admit, he didn’t have the same bond with me that I had with Jackson. A connection I worried over. A connection I would have welcomed a couple of years ago.
I appreciated everything Jackson was doing for me. I only wished I could return the affection that he seemed to have for me. He wanted more, more than I could—or was ready to—give. I knew by the way his green eyes, so full of compassion and concern, drank in my every movement, by the way he spent all of his free time with me, and by the way he always managed to stand so close to me whenever he had the opportunity.
I knew by the way he’d sometimes let his hand brush against mine when he thought I might not notice. I noticed.
I glanced around the small room. The dark mahogany dresser with a feminine lace doily and white lace curtains in the window suggested that Brodie and Jack hadn’t redecorated this room since they moved in, and instead had left it pretty much the way their aunt must have had it. The bedspread, or I guess it was more of a quilt made up of delicate little squares of assorted pastels flowing together in a sort of ocean wave pattern, gave the room an old-fashioned flavor. It was a nice room, but it wasn’t mine.
The more I studied the room, the more I wanted to move back upstairs and start doing some of my own decorating. I stood, went to the window and looked up at the cottage. Excitement grew inside me with the prospect of decorating a home without Troy giving me grief about every little item. He was always so opinionated about those things. You’d think he’d possessed some sense of design, but I’m sure he didn’t want me to have anything pretty. He would only allow pictures and other decorations he’d picked out. The only thing in our house that had any hint of me in it was that damn picture of the two of us that had been hanging on the wall by the stairs. I’d learned early on in the marriage not to bother buying anything. Troy would only take it back to the store, or if it wasn’t too expensive, smash it in a fit of anger. He once threw a heart-shaped paperweight at me. It hit me in the shoulder and made a bruise that lasted two weeks. I hope the frame he knocked off the wall by the stairs shattered into a million pieces and that the glass tore the picture to shreds.
* * *
The next day,I packed up the few clothes I’d accumulated over the past week and carried them up the steps to the cottage. Jackson, Rufus, and Rosie followed close on my heels. I had to smile, a trio of new best friends.
Jackson stepped in and placed a full bag of groceries on the counter in the kitchen, insisting that I’d need everything in there and that they were only some essential items to get me started, like coffee, butter, and bread. “You should probably make a list of things you want or need, and when I go to the store, I’ll pick them up for you.”
“That’s kind of you, but you know, I can do my own shopping. Besides, now that I’m not covered with bruises, I’d like to investigate this little town of yours. Maybe do some sightseeing.”
“Well, here you go.” Jackson handed me the key and stuck his hands in his pockets, taking a couple of steps backward, almost as if he were shy. “It’s all yours. You can pay me once a month, starting on the first of the month.”
“But today is only the eighteenth. What about this month?”
“I know. Look, Lena. We don’t need the money. So, just stay here, make it your home, and start paying on the first.”
I swallowed, not sure how to respond to his generosity. I needed a place to stay. I didn’t have much money, certainly not enough for a hotel or some other place where the rent would most likely be way over what this place should be. He was already giving me a break on the rent, but to let me stay here for the next couple of weeks for free seemed like too much. But one thing I’d learned over the past few days about Jackson Beaumont was that he didn’t take no for an answer when it came to offering his help.
“Thanks, Jack. I’ll find a way to repay you.”
“We’ll see.” He glanced up at the dark clouds forming. “Get in there before it starts pouring. I’ll bring up some firewood for you. The heater works, but I heard from past tenants that the fireplace works better.”
I smiled and headed into the room. It seemed colder inside than it was out. I thought I’d try the heater to take the chill off while waiting for the firewood. When I turned to ask Jackson how to turn on the heater, he’d already gone, so I closed the door.
I found the thermostat for the heater on the wall next to the bathroom. It seemed fairly simple to figure out with all the controls labeled. I set the temperature to seventy degrees as warm air flowed out of the vent on the floor, and the swirling sound of the fan permeated throughout the room. After a few minutes, I had to turn it off. The loud noise from the fan became so annoying I could barely think, and I understood why he went to get the firewood.
