Jay
Jay glared at his alarm clock. Six a.m. The hours between supper and now had done little to unclench his stomach. And he only had one woman to blame. Penelope Ramos. Firebug. Busybody. Practically a thief to his way of thinking. Honestly. How else could she have sold his sculpture except by sneaking in to steal it? He was damn sure he never gave her permission to post his artwork online, even if it had resulted in that outrageous offer.
He rolled over, leg hanging off the bed, and rubbed the small of his back. The mattress in his old room offered no lumbar support and now his lower back ached. Penelope’s fault, too. Why the hell hadn’t she gone home instead of sleeping on the couch? Probably Gramps’s idea. The same Gramps who’d come into his room and called him a stubborn fool before the man went to bed.
He put on his work uniform and walked out to the kitchen and flipped on the light. Where the hell had the coffee maker gone? He clicked off the light, then turned it on again as if that would make the appliance magically appear. His mood darkened in direct proportion to his growing need for caffeine as he hunted through cabinets, the pantry, and the buffet hutch.
“You’re making enough racket to wake your grandmother, God rest her soul.” Gramps stood in the doorway, bathrobe open, chest and feet bare and tighty-whities in place, thank heavens. “What in the Sam Hill are you looking for?”
“Coffee.”
Gramps closed his robe and stomped to the cabinet, slung the door open, and pulled out a jar of instant decaf. “You made me promise to give my coffee maker away, remember?”
Jay recalled the time he’d lectured his grandfather after reading the article about the correlation between excessive caffeine consumption and rising blood pressure. But no way would the old man give in that easy. He crossed his arms and stared at his grandfather. “Where’s the leaded stuff?”
Gramps scowled, narrowed eyes and a slight twist to his mouth, but stomped over to the buffet and pulled out an old vase—might’ve been an urn since it had a lid—and handed it to Jay. “I bought it at the flea market. Used to hide money in it ’til I had to find a place to keep my Folgers.”
Jay opened the lid and took a desperate sniff like a junkie hitting his low.
“Percolator is in the laundry room at the bottom of the clothes hamper. I always put it there when I know you’re coming.”
Jay barked out a laugh in spite of his raging need for caffeine. “You are one sneaky old man.” When he returned from the laundry room, Penelope sat at the table, adorably mussed and disheveled.
As soon as Jay stepped into the room, she stood and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought you left already. I’m sorry. I’ll just get my bag and—”
“Sit yourself down, young lady. We do not do the walk of shame out of this house. Especially when we haven’t gotten around to earning the shame.” Gramps cleared his throat. “Well, you haven’t anyway.”
“Gramps.”
“Don’t you ‘Gramps’ me, boy. This young lady brought you a gift and you were less than gracious.”
He didn’t have to defend himself. Penelope had gone behind his back. Not the other way around. Invaded his privacy. But the way she glanced around the kitchen, the paleness of her skin tone, made his chest constrict.
She’d also been helpful, gracious, charming, kind, and so sexy it made him forget how to breathe. He had been falling for her, but what she did, going behind his back to take photos of his private life, then posting them, betrayed his trust. He hadn’t let anyone in, hadn’t shown anyone he’d been hurting. And now God only knew how many people saw it. People he didn’t even know. Or worse, people he did know.
She looked up at him from beneath lashes wet with tears. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt or offend you.”
He took a step closer to her but left enough distance as to not invade her space. “I know.”
“When the bids came in and they started outdoing each other, I thought I’d found a way to make the safety program work. My own pictures came nowhere close.” She rubbed her hands down her pant legs, pupils dilated. “I guess I didn’t realize how attached you were to your work.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. God, all he wanted to do was hold her and smooth her hair. Instead, he stood cradling the coffee maker. “I overreacted.”
Gramps scoffed. “Piss-poor apology, if you ask me.”
Because the man had raised him, taken care of him when no one else would, and showed him how to be a man—not to mention the murderous expression plastered on his grandfather’s face—Jay didn’t respond. Instead, he dipped his chin toward his chest, allowing his gaze to fall to the ground. “I’m sorry, Penelope.”
“You should tell her why you’re sorry. Carries more weight that way.”
Jay’s head jerked up and he leveled a glare at his grandfather. “Aren’t you just full of advice for a guy who hides his coffee in an urn and his percolator in a laundry hamper?” But Gramps was right. “Penelope, I’m sorry for overreacting to your gift.”
“And I’m sorry for not checking with you before I posted the sculpture. I honestly didn’t know it was a sculpture of Zip.” Penelope grabbed her purse and keys from the table. “I need to get going. Havoc had a sleepover with Charlie last night, and he probably misses me.”
Jay set the percolator on the counter and followed her out. There were a hundred better things to say than asking her to take the picture down, but he couldn’t think of any. Not after the wounds that were ripped open last night. “I’d like you to take the picture down.”
“Okay.” She continued to walk straight for her SUV without turning around. She climbed in and shut the door without so much as a goodbye.
Jay caught up and knocked on the window, which she lowered as she pulled her seat belt across her body. He leaned his forearms against the car. “I’ll see you at the office?”
She nodded and drove away, leaving him to stand in the driveway until her taillights disappeared.
An hour later, after a good bit of cursing and slamming cupboard doors and stomping out to his truck, Jay drove into the office to find her already there with her hair curled, makeup on and an outfit—jeans and a plain white T-shirt—that no woman on earth could wear as well or make look so good. And she had nothing to say to him.
But damned if she didn’t use that sugar-and-honey voice on the phone and with Nick and with the hunters who’d come in and try to by their seasonal license from her. He couldn’t blame them. What guy wouldn’t want to talk to her? He sure as hell did. Even as mad as he was.
And that pissed him off even more.
He really needed to get his emotions in order, damnit all.
After lunch, he walked to her desk, where she studiously ignored him as he leaned down to pet Havoc. What should he say? Did you have a good lunch? What kind of idiot was he?
He stood abruptly to return to his desk, but then his cell rang. He checked the screen. Not a number he recognized, but since it could have been one of the donors he’d given his personal number to, he answered. “Hello.”
“I need to speak to Jay Gosling. This is Dr. Morgan from Maple Falls Memorial.”
His hand gripped his phone tighter as his throat began to constrict. “This is Jay.”
“Your grandfather was admitted this morning. Someone found him walking along the highway in his bathrobe with a head injury.”
The air rushed from Jay’s lungs with Dr. Morgan’s news. When he saw Penelope staring at him, concern etched in her features, he marched out the door for privacy. “Is he okay?”
“He’s resting now, but he’s been asking for you. He says he remembers falling because his legs gave out. He must have hit his head pretty hard on the way down. We see this a lot in Parkinson’s patients, unfortunately. You should probably consider a nursing home, or at the very least, assisted living or in-home care for him at this stage. He’s not safe at home alone anymore.”
“I’m on my way.” He clicked the phone off knowing he should have at least found out who brought Gramps in and if he’d sustained any lasting brain injury, but he couldn’t think in terms of more than getting to his grandfather. He started the truck and gunned the engine.
Nursing home. Jay couldn’t quite digest the concept. When he tried to say it, his breath caught in his throat. There had to be another way. Still, though. He’d already lost his grandmother and Zip. He couldn’t bear to lose his last family member—or at least the last family member who cared enough not to abandon him—to a disease that was making it dangerous for him to keep living in his own home.
“Parkinson’s is a progressive disease. I’m sorry, but he’s just not going to get any better,” Dr. Morgan continued. “Things will only continue to deteriorate. Including his mind.”
Jay clenched and unclenched his fists. Gramps had been on medicine for a while now, hoping to slow down the degeneration, but it wasn’t working. A nursing home? God damnit. He should’ve been researching this more instead of refusing to admit his grandfather was getting worse. “Are there any other options?”
“His insurance along with a bit of government assistance would pay almost completely for a skilled nursing facility. But if you can afford the out-of-pocket costs, we have an in-home program that I can refer you to. Assisted living might be a good option, too, if he passes their requirements.”
Dr. Morgan had come to town only a couple years ago when Doc Farley retired, so she had no idea how adamantly Gramps had refused help in the past. “What if I move back in with him?”
“Can you stay with him all the time? He’s going to need constant supervision.”
Jay groaned and rubbed his palms down the side of his thighs. Not working wasn’t an option. “Ballpark, what’s the in-home care cost?”
“Round-the-clock care is about fifteen hundred a week. But if you only need someone during the day while you work, at least until he’s in need of more skilled care, you could probably count on it being about five hundred a week. Give or take. There might be some wiggle room if you check with his insurance.”
Five hundred extra a week? Jay clenched his jaw. Maybe if he sold his place, he could make enough to pay off the mortgage and give himself enough for a year of home care. Jay pulled out his phone and dialed the one person who might just be able to help him.
After Jay had said goodbye, since Gramps had to remain in the hospital another day before being released, he headed home to meet the Realtor. Betsy Privu had always been optimistic. And upbeat. A cheerleader in their high school days, she’d gone from a perky pep squad captain to a peppy mother of five who sold real estate when she wasn’t baking for the PTA, chaperoning class trips, and being the eye candy at her husband’s—Mayor Donald Privu—golf outings and election rallies. She also had a foot in every gossip pot in town. Gramps wouldn’t like Betsy knowing his business and spreading it for everyone else to know, but there wasn’t much Jay could do about it. He needed money, and Betsy had a proven track record for sales.
She held a clipboard in one hand and a digital camera in the other. Occasionally, she snapped pictures or made notes, sometimes nodding, sometimes widening her eyes, and smiling sideways at him like she’d shared some secret. But she didn’t really say much until she’d photographed every room from two or three angles.
“Good news. Real estate in this area is up.” He expected nothing less from her, but then she frowned. “Bad news. You need to throw some fresh paint up and fix that squeaking front door. Also, there’s a tick to the furnace and you have a water stain on the ceiling in the downstairs bathroom. So you’ll need to get a plumber to sign off on the pipes.”
Nothing too drastic so far. “Okay.”
“Aesthetically, you could use some landscaping in front. Those old bushes are a relic these days. People want some nice lava rock, maybe some stonework and flowers.” She pointed to the front porch. “And for goodness’ sake, take down that rusty porch swing and put some hanging plants up. Otherwise, I’d say we can get your money back and maybe a little left over.”
“Sounds good.” It sounded like work he didn’t have time for and no money to hire someone else to complete.
It took another hour and a half of her taking notes on the property and gossiping before she pulled a contract from her bag for him to sign. “This gives me the permission to come and go while you’re gone and show the place to buyers.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to sell?” Not that he wanted to be pushy, but the sooner, the better.
“I have a couple who might be interested. They’re looking for something with a nice big yard away from town. Let me give them a call, but like I said, if you want top dollar, you need to fix a few things up.”
He led her to the door. “Thanks, Betsy.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “And so sorry to hear about Gramps. I always liked him.”
Well, he wasn’t dead yet, for God’s sake. “Thanks.”
“And if you need anything, please, don’t hesitate to give me or Donnie a call.”
Well, now that she mentioned it. Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you heard about the GPS safety program for the park?”
“Oh, sure. After those kids got lost a couple years ago in Donnie’s town, we were so glad you came up with that idea.”
“We are still in need of donations. If you and Donnie could help at all, I’d appreciate it.” Nothing like dropping a reminder the mayor didn’t follow through on his campaign promise to help start up the program. The man hadn’t even donated a dollar to the cause yet.
Betsy clutched the diamond-and-pearl necklace she wore and twirled it around her finger until Jay thought she might actually choke herself. “Of course we will help.”
After he secured a donation from Betsy, he got to work fixing the house until he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d oiled all the hinges, painted most of the trim on the second floor, called Paul Perkins to check the plumbing, and taken down the porch swing, although the front of the house looked naked without it. And now, anyone who pulled up could see into the living room through the picture window. After work tomorrow—correction, today—he would stop and get some plants and landscape rocks. And he supposed he would have to arrange for the in-home counselor to meet Gramps. Then he’d have to find time to paint the living room a shade of white with just a tinge of gray, then clean and polish the downstairs trim, the stair rail, and every door in the house.
Jay stared at his feet, chin tucked to his chest. He didn’t want to sell his house. Nor move in with Gramps, and not because he didn’t love the man, but moving back into his childhood home felt like he failed. A lump formed in the back of his throat the more he thought about it, his hand rubbing the center of his chest as he tried to chase the pain away. If only he’d never married his ex, Karen wouldn’t have buried him in a mountain of debt. Hell, if only he’d chosen a career that paid him more.
Jay gritted his teeth as he fought back the tears forming in his eyes, shame washing over him. Now, more than ever, the safety program was a necessity, not only for hunters and hikers, but also for situations like this morning. Gramps had been wandering aimlessly. Lost. He didn’t have dementia yet, but how many others did? How many other families worried about their loved ones leaving the house unattended?
And Gramps would get there if he lived long enough. Dr. Morgan said dementia was just another devolution of a person with Parkinson’s.
Not that he could force a GPS sensor on Gramps, but if he explained it was this or a nursing home, Gramps would comply. Jay was sure of it.