still feel guilty as all get out.”
“Me too,” Susannah agreed.
“Let’s see where things go,” J.P. said. “We need to keep talking. If and when we learn anything more, we’ll discuss it and come to a decision. Is that all right, Shelby? Sadie?”
Her younger sister nodded immediately, but Shelby took her time to think it through. When you gave your word to J.P., it was binding. What would happen if they didn’t all agree about the best course to take with Mama? She suddenly had greater appreciation for why Vander had insisted that both she and Sadie sign his service agreement.
J.P. was looking at her with that patient gaze of his, and she finally nodded. “I promise.”
“Let’s head on back to the house to eat then,” J.P. said. “The others will be wondering where we’ve gone off to.”
When they returned for Sunday dinner, for which Amelia Ann and Clayton had finally shown up, they discovered J.P. was right.
Mama didn’t ask them anything, but she watched them all night.
Chapter 5
Whenever Gail Hardcrew invited him to her mammoth of a mansion in Nashville’s tony Belle Meade neighborhood, Vander considered it a summons. He’d agreed to meet her, even though it was a Monday, a day he tried to stack with meetings that would start his week off right. With Gail, he never knew if a summons would cement or derail his week.
He’d done a lot of work for Gail over the years, everything from cleaning up her daddy’s unfortunate death in the arms of his very young, gold-digging girlfriend to discovering the slutty blonde her recent ex-husband—that prissy asshole Calvin Henderson—was doing on the side. Beyond that, his firm conducted background checks and such for her business.
Vander liked having permanent clients, and Gail undoubtedly had connections, but he also simply enjoyed her company. She was like a one-person Southern theatre on crack.
The grounds of her ten-thousand-square-foot home were carefully manicured and tended like usual when he arrived, and the cherubs in the over-the-top Italian stone fountain in the center of her circular driveway looked like they were frolicking. Few people could display frolicking cherubs in their home without losing respect. Gail pulled it off with aplomb.
Gail’s old-school English butler answered the door, and Vander gave him a nod of acknowledgement when he was allowed inside the mansion. Jeffries took his job seriously, to the tune of wearing old-school tails, and Vander did his best to indulge the older man.
“Ms. Hardcrew is in the informal parlor, Mr. Montgomery,” Jeffries said in his lyrical English accent. “Please follow me.”
Vander could find the informal parlor with a blindfold on—informal because it boasted a carved mahogany fireplace rather than a Carrera marble one like the formal parlor—and they both knew it. But that wasn’t the point. Gail believed in maintaining appearances—until she had to fight dirty. He liked her best when she decided to go below the belt.
Not too many Southern women would stoop to the kind of measures Gail did, but that’s what made her one of Nashville’s leading female entrepreneurs. If Vander were back in Boston, he would have put it more bluntly: Gail didn’t put up with anyone’s shit.
“Vander, dahling,” Gail said, rising in a low-cut pink dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a contestant for the Miss Garden Rose beauty competition.
Her black curly hair bounced as she wrapped a white boa around her. She was dripping in jewels pretty much everywhere a woman could put them, and Vander had to bite his lip to hide his smile as he stepped forward to kiss the cheek she’d turned to the side so dramatically.
“Hello, Gail, it’s good to see you,” he said.
She swatted his chest and looked him straight in the eye, waggling her painted-in eyebrows. “But not good enough to take me up on my proposition.”
She propositioned him every time they met.
“Me too,” Susannah agreed.
“Let’s see where things go,” J.P. said. “We need to keep talking. If and when we learn anything more, we’ll discuss it and come to a decision. Is that all right, Shelby? Sadie?”
Her younger sister nodded immediately, but Shelby took her time to think it through. When you gave your word to J.P., it was binding. What would happen if they didn’t all agree about the best course to take with Mama? She suddenly had greater appreciation for why Vander had insisted that both she and Sadie sign his service agreement.
J.P. was looking at her with that patient gaze of his, and she finally nodded. “I promise.”
“Let’s head on back to the house to eat then,” J.P. said. “The others will be wondering where we’ve gone off to.”
When they returned for Sunday dinner, for which Amelia Ann and Clayton had finally shown up, they discovered J.P. was right.
Mama didn’t ask them anything, but she watched them all night.
Chapter 5
Whenever Gail Hardcrew invited him to her mammoth of a mansion in Nashville’s tony Belle Meade neighborhood, Vander considered it a summons. He’d agreed to meet her, even though it was a Monday, a day he tried to stack with meetings that would start his week off right. With Gail, he never knew if a summons would cement or derail his week.
He’d done a lot of work for Gail over the years, everything from cleaning up her daddy’s unfortunate death in the arms of his very young, gold-digging girlfriend to discovering the slutty blonde her recent ex-husband—that prissy asshole Calvin Henderson—was doing on the side. Beyond that, his firm conducted background checks and such for her business.
Vander liked having permanent clients, and Gail undoubtedly had connections, but he also simply enjoyed her company. She was like a one-person Southern theatre on crack.
The grounds of her ten-thousand-square-foot home were carefully manicured and tended like usual when he arrived, and the cherubs in the over-the-top Italian stone fountain in the center of her circular driveway looked like they were frolicking. Few people could display frolicking cherubs in their home without losing respect. Gail pulled it off with aplomb.
Gail’s old-school English butler answered the door, and Vander gave him a nod of acknowledgement when he was allowed inside the mansion. Jeffries took his job seriously, to the tune of wearing old-school tails, and Vander did his best to indulge the older man.
“Ms. Hardcrew is in the informal parlor, Mr. Montgomery,” Jeffries said in his lyrical English accent. “Please follow me.”
Vander could find the informal parlor with a blindfold on—informal because it boasted a carved mahogany fireplace rather than a Carrera marble one like the formal parlor—and they both knew it. But that wasn’t the point. Gail believed in maintaining appearances—until she had to fight dirty. He liked her best when she decided to go below the belt.
Not too many Southern women would stoop to the kind of measures Gail did, but that’s what made her one of Nashville’s leading female entrepreneurs. If Vander were back in Boston, he would have put it more bluntly: Gail didn’t put up with anyone’s shit.
“Vander, dahling,” Gail said, rising in a low-cut pink dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a contestant for the Miss Garden Rose beauty competition.
Her black curly hair bounced as she wrapped a white boa around her. She was dripping in jewels pretty much everywhere a woman could put them, and Vander had to bite his lip to hide his smile as he stepped forward to kiss the cheek she’d turned to the side so dramatically.
“Hello, Gail, it’s good to see you,” he said.
She swatted his chest and looked him straight in the eye, waggling her painted-in eyebrows. “But not good enough to take me up on my proposition.”
She propositioned him every time they met.
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