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Rather than argue, Morgan changed the subject.
“I forgot to tell you I met the last of the Jameson siblings. Miles?”
“Did you have a meeting?” Audrey asked.
“No, he came into the bar Friday night. Late. Nursed a glass of Cab for about an hour while he sent and answered texts on his phone.”
“Workhorse,” Olivia stated. “Always has been.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Olivia shrugged at her daughter, then chose a bottle of white from the wine cooler. “Show horses look pretty, workhorses get things done.”
“He’s not pretty like his siblings—too much rugged in the face for pretty. But he’s a really good-looking workhorse.” Morgan got out glasses. “They’re all really good-looking.”
“They are. My aunt—on the Nash side—married a Jameson cousin. I was flower girl. I guess I was six or so, and I remember how beautiful it all was,” Olivia said.
“I didn’t know that.”
In her gray sweatshirt with its rainbow peace sign, Olivia looked back.
“Your great-great-aunt and uncle, they’d be. So you’ve got distant Jameson cousins scattered around. I wore a pink organdy dress and pink rosebuds in my hair.” Olivia took the wine Morgan offered. “I remember that, too. And dancing with my father, then with my brother, Will.”
William Nash, Morgan knew, who’d gone to Vietnam, and died there.
“Anyway, the families go back, and both had their share of show horses and workhorses.”
Audrey took her bread out of the bottom oven, gave a little shoulder wiggle of satisfaction as she put it on the cooling rack. “Wasn’t Miles engaged?”
“No. Came close, rumor has it, but didn’t get that far. And Lydia’s pretty closemouthed on personal family business, but I know she was glad it didn’t.”
“Drea never talked about her at yoga, now that I think about it. Who was she anyway? I can’t remember. Not a local, though.”
“Sugarhouse princess from down in Brattleboro.” To rest her feet, Olivia slid onto a stool. “All show horse. Edgar Wineman’s granddaughter. Society page darling. Do they still have society pages? I gave them up forRolling Stonemagazine way back in the day.”
“Probably.” Fascinated, Morgan sat beside her. “So what happened?”
“Couldn’t say. But I suspect a grandchild of Lydia and Mick Jameson has more good sense than to tie himself up for long with a show horse who likes to flaunt and prance around instead of getting anything done.”
“Okay. Give me an overview of the family, one by one. I’ve got Lydia Jameson, but the rest.”
“All right then. Mick, smart, has vision, and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He’d spend all his time outdoors if he could—and he and Steve spent plenty of that time together. Born athlete. I had a terrible crush on him when I was about thirteen.”
“Get out!”
“Lucky for you I got over it, or you wouldn’t be here drinking that wine. Rory, firstborn, went into law. He handles the family’s legal business. Got his own firm, and one of his sister’s daughters works with him. His sister, Jacie—she’s about your mom’s age—studied architecture, and met her husband in college. They’ve got their own business in New York, but you’ll see them at the resort a couple times a year. Second daughter there’s in interior design and works with them.”
“The families stick tight.”
“So they do. You should have a sense of Drea from your meeting. She’s a sharp one.”
“And kind,” Audrey added.
“She is, has Job’s own patience, and I imagine needs it with handling the events. If you’ve got something sticky to handle, Drea’s the one to ask for advice. Diplomats could take a lesson. Stir up those vegetables, Morgan.”
She rose to obey. “And the third generation?”
“We’ll start with the youngest. Liam’s not just a pretty face, though, jumping Jesus, he’s got one. Takes after his grandfather—athletic, outdoorsman, and they were smart enough to let him play to his strengths. More like his mother in that patience, I’d say. Cheerful sort of young man in my experiences with him.”
