Close to You (6 page)

“Hi, Uncle Jackson!” Her blond corkscrew curls bounced as half her face appeared on and then went off the screen. The girl hadn't been able to stay still since the day she was born. He could still remember her angry red newborn face in the nursery, scrunched in protest as she attempted to free herself from a blanket.

Picking up his computer, he positioned the camera so his face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Lacey Gracey.” He looked at his watch and calculated the time difference. Just after five in the morning in Iowa. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Mommy said I could call you in the morning. And it's
morning!”

No doubt his sister and the rest of her family were still in bed, completely oblivious to their five-year-old's predawn escapades.

“Where are you?” Her pink pajamas shimmied across the screen and back again.

“I'm in New Zealand.”

“Is that near New York?”

He smiled. New York was the farthest from Iowa that Lacey could imagine. “A bit farther than that, I'm afraid.”

This was so astounding that she even stopped bouncing for a few seconds. “Wow.”

“I know. The plane that brought me here flew all night, and you know what else?”

“What?” She was leaning so close to the camera all he could see were her eyes and nose.

“When I left America, it was Tuesday, but when I got here it was Thursday!”

She laughed and shook her head. “Uh-uh, Uncle Jackson. You're just pickin' on me.”

Probably easier to roll with that than try and explain the international dateline to a five-year-old. Even a very smart one.

“Gramma and Granddad have some new kittens.”

He'd learned long ago not to try and understand the logic behind the flow of a conversation with his niece and nephew. “Really? How many?”

“Five.” Four little fingers got held up against the screen. “And Gramma's sick.”

Sick? How did he not know this? “Wh—”

“Lacey Elizabeth Sheldon, what are you doing up? Get right back into bed this instant!” His sister's floral nightgown appeared in the frame, followed by her half-asleep face. “Jack
son, is that you?”

He saluted her across the miles. “The one and only.”

“That girl is going to send me to an early grave.” Beth's consternation showed in her face.

“I'm pretty sure Mom said the same thing about you more than once.”

His sister shook her head, curls bouncing, and smiled. “Touché.”

“Speaking of which. Lacey said she's sick. What's up?”

Across the world, he couldn't tell if what flickered across his sister's face was a slight technical delay or something else. “You know Mom. Always putting everyone else first. I think she's just worn down. Got a cold she hasn't been able to shake.”

His shoulders sagged. Yet another reminder that if he'd done right when he had the chance, his parents could be taking it easy right now instead of working dawn to dusk trying to keep their heads above water. “That's all?”

His sister gave a small shrug. “As far as I know. I think the doctor was looking at whether it's turned to bronchitis, but Mom would probably be six feet under before she'd admit to anything more than a bad cold. How's the trip going?”

“It's . . . interesting, but I'll get there.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Any news from the bank?”

She shook her head. “Not since the last letter. That they've told me, anyway.”

“I'm going to fix this, Bette.” He wasn't sure why he reverted to her childhood nickname. “Whatever it takes.”

The big-sister finger-point was still effective across thousands of miles. “Jackson, this isn't on you.”

Except they both knew it was.

Six

J
ACKSON WANDERED INTO THE HOTEL'S
dining room and struggled not to yawn. Yesterday, he'd thought he'd done okay managing to get his body into a new time zone, but the morning had brought with it the feeling that a troop carrier had hit him and backed over him again.

Tipping his head from side to side, he attempted to roll out the kinks in his neck. Payback for falling asleep half-upright while trying to cram.

The room smelled like every other breakfast buffet he'd ever eaten at. The scent of over-brewed coffee mingled with those of frying bacon and mass-produced scrambled eggs. His stomach revolted at the hint of a big breakfast. Toast it would be.

Glancing around the room, he located his uncle-slash-boss sitting at a table for two by the window, a half-empty glass of orange juice in front of him. The day was blue and cloudless. Right across the road sat the national museum, Te Papa. A large sign in front advertised a T. rex exhibition.
Now
that
would be a fun way to spend the day. From behind the large gray and beige building, the harbor stretched out, dotted with sailing boats and what looked like a large cruise ship coming in.

Yet another thing he couldn't wrap his head around—­autumn in April. And a mild one at that. It felt wrong to be wearing shorts and a T-shirt when in Iowa his family was hunkered down in a never-ending winter.

Pulling out the chair opposite Louis, he sat and looked for a waiter. Coffee, he needed coffee. They had run out of time the evening before to cover whatever his uncle had wanted to discuss, so Louis had suggested they reconvene over breakfast, and right now Jackson was barely coherent enough to put one foot in front of another.

“Morning, Jack. Sleep well?” His uncle was wearing a navy-­blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt—thank goodness there was no costume today because the itinerary involved some gourmet food tour in the morning followed by a flight north to some place he couldn't pronounce this afternoon. However, with his white bushy hair and air of excitement, Louis reminded Jackson of the rabbit from
Alice in Wonderland
. And the way his exuberance seemed to be focused in on Jackson made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Morning. Not bad, thanks.” Jackson ordered some coffee and toast, then turned his attention back to the man who he hoped would be his financial savior. “You?”

Louis beamed. “Excellent. Most excellent. I thought I would have trouble, but I went down like a German U-boat in the Baltic.”

His great-uncle had never served in World War II, being
all of five years old when it broke out, but from the way he peppered his speech with military comparisons you would've thought he'd been on the front lines the entire time.

Silence settled as Louis took another sip of orange juice and gazed out the window, apparently in no hurry to make further conversation.

Was he waiting for Jackson to say something? He knew little about his great-uncle—his grandmother's brother on his mother's side. By the time he was born, it had been decades since Louis had fled Iowa and the small stifling community they both had been brought up in. Jackson always felt an intangible sense of kinship with him, though—the two black sheep of the family who didn't want to spend their lives working the land, slaves to the vagaries of weather and a million other things you couldn't control.

The family lore centered around Louis's uncanny ability to buy land in Texas that years later would become highly sought after by oil companies, making him a very rich man. Now Jackson wondered if he also had some sort of law enforcement background or whether he was just a natural at making people squirm.

Jackson tented his fingers in front of him, suddenly aware he had no idea what was expected of him on this trip. The whole bizarre situation had come together at the last minute and his uncle had been vague as to what Jackson's role would actually entail. The prolonged silence broke him. “So, um, I guess we should talk about what you would like me to do. As your assistant, I mean.”

His uncle picked up his knife and methodically buttered his toast. He then cut the bread into four precise pieces, popped
one into his mouth, and chewed at leisure. Almost as if Jackson wasn't even there, let alone asked a question.

After what felt like an eon, Louis lifted his napkin to his lips, brushed away a few crumbs, and spoke. “Oh, nothing too arduous. I'm pretty self-sufficient for an old codger. I'll let you know what I need and when I need it.”

A large cup of steaming coffee landed in front of Jackson and he busied himself adding sugar and milk, grateful for something to cover up his confusion. If the old man didn't need an assistant, then why had he paid all this money for Jackson to come with him? He'd assumed Louis was killing two birds with one stone, but now it appeared one of the birds was already dead, and they could have easily dealt with any questions he had about the business plan via phone or e-mail while he was away.

His uncle peered over the glasses balanced at the end of his pointy nose. “You're wondering why you're here.”

Jackson took a tentative sip of his coffee and nodded. “Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful for the opportunity, but yes, I guess I am.”

His uncle turned his full attention to him, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the tip of his finger. “After we met, I reviewed your business plan and my initial thoughts were favorable.”

Thank you, God.
Not that he still believed in one. But if he did, he would be grateful.

This was even better than he'd dared to hope. He had thought he'd be forced to suffer through much more of the tour before he got any sense of which way his uncle was leaning.

Framing his expression to be on the positive side of neu
tral, he waited for questions, confident he'd be able to answer to Louis's satisfaction. BabyZen was genius, the business plan solid, his connections impeccable. All he needed was the capital, which now dangled right in front of him.

Nodding his thanks to the waiter who placed a plate of five different types of toast in front of him, he surveyed the preserves selection. He didn't want his uncle to think he was too eager. Nothing scared investors off faster than appearing desperate to get your hands on their cash.

His uncle picked up his knife. “But you see, son, I believe in investing in people first and ideas second. I realize this is unusual, but it's worked well for me in the past. So while you have some good ideas, I don't know enough about you to make a decision yet.”

Jackson managed to keep his expression intact while, internally, his spirits sank. He should've known there was going to be a catch. He'd been taken to the bottom of the world to spend three weeks with a bunch of Tolkienites, after all.

Louis picked up a small jar of jam that sat in the center of the table and dipped his knife in. “Obviously we're family, but let's face it, we might as well be strangers. I loved my sister, but Iowa and Texas weren't exactly locations that lent themselves to popping in for a cup of coffee and watching each other's families grow up.”

It occurred to Jackson he didn't know anything about his uncle's family either. He had vague recollections from his youth of a mention of a wife at one point, maybe a couple of kids, but it was all a bit hazy. Louis certainly hadn't mentioned either.

“So you want to get to know me?” He wasn't sure whether to be concerned or not. He thought he was a pretty decent guy.
His parents had raised him right. Sure, there were a few decisions they might not have approved of, but he was okay with them. He certainly rated himself as a better person than the majority of those he'd crossed paths with during his near decade in California.

His uncle spread some jam from corner to corner on his toast. “Yes, but it's a little more complicated than that. You're asking for a lot of money and, at least initially, I would be your sole investor, which I've decided requires something a little out of the ordinary.”

Jackson's stomach clenched. This was not good, coming from a man who thought dressing up like a wizard for public outings was perfectly normal. “Oh?” Somehow he managed to keep his voice from reflecting that his heart pounded.

His uncle placed his knife down in perfect parallel to his toast and turned his focus back to Jackson. “That's the main reason I asked you to come with me. Being a fellow Tolkien fan was a most prodigious start and did more for your case than any fancy business plan could have. However, I'm a big believer that nothing brings out a man's true character better than being out of his comfort zone. So, over the next few weeks I'm going to be watching you so I can assess your character. At the end of the tour I'll make my final decision.”

Good thing Jackson hadn't started on breakfast because at that, he suddenly lost his appetite.

Across the table, his uncle's gnarly fingers plucked up the piece of toast and suspended it in midair. “To give you a heads-up, you've already got some ground to make up.”

“Oh?” How could that be when they'd barely been in the country for twenty-four hours?

“I'm going to leave you to dwell on that. Figure out what part of your behavior in the last day or so I may have found wanting. Self-reflection is an important part of personal growth.” His uncle finally popped the last meticulously compiled piece of toast into his mouth.

Jackson barely managed to keep his jaw from hanging. He couldn't believe he'd signed on to try and convince the geriatric version of Tony Robbins to be his only investor. But Louis was his last hope. He'd done everything he could to tap into his contacts back in L.A. for seed funding, but after Xavier went belly-up so spectacularly, it was never going to happen. Most of them hadn't even returned his calls.

If it hadn't been mere hours since he'd promised his sister he was going to succeed, he would've been on the next plane home. Something told him all the hard work he'd done in the past in an attempt to part investors from their money for his last venture had nothing on being under his uncle's scrutiny for the next few weeks.

* * *

A
llie scanned the lineup of her charges. Their overnight bags were all assembled by the hotel doors, awaiting a porter to take them to their waiting van. The flight to Rotorua, their gateway to Hobbiton, didn't leave for another hour, and it was only fifteen minutes to the airport so, for once, they were ahead of schedule.

The honeymooners were all snuggled up with arms wrapped around each other, flush from whatever had caused them to miss breakfast and show up for the morning's walking tour late and flustered.

On the other side of the coin, the spinsters hadn't stopped squawking complaints all morning. The walking was too much, then it wasn't enough. There had been too many stops but not enough. It was too hot, then too windy. Different gourmet treats they'd sampled had variously been too sweet, too sour, too bitter, too soft, too hard, too nutty, too spicy, too bland, too jammy, too chocolatey, too hot, too cold, too moist, and too dry. The one and
only
thing they hadn't been able to find fault with was the Leeds Street Bakery's famous salted caramel cookie. A bite of one of those babies and even their nitpicky little eyes had gotten round: they'd cleaned their plates faster than Gollum caught fish.

Lucky for them, because if they had complained at that point, she wasn't sure she would have been able to stop herself from banishing them from the rest of the food tour by putting them into a time-out befitting the petulant little children they were behaving like.

Legolas and Arwen, in full regalia again, now bordered on exuberant as they counted down the minutes until they arrived to their next destination. They had undertaken the gourmet tour in good grace, even though it was one of the few things in the itinerary that wasn't Tolkien related and so was automatically second-class in their world.

The only hiccup had been Esther being nabbed by an eagle-eyed shop assistant who claimed the girl had attempted to steal a
Lord of the Rings
memorabilia plate. The girl had sworn up, down, and sideways she had just forgotten to pay for it. Which might or might not have been true. Allie would need to keep a closer eye on her until she knew which it was.

Allie's gaze landed on Mr. Duff, who was chortling away to
himself as he poked around in the large bag of gourmet chocolates he had purchased. Now there was the perfect tourist. Polite, unfailingly enthusiastic about everything, not a single complaint even when one would have been valid. He'd even managed to coax smiles out of the Bluesome Twosome.

Finally, Allie let her eyes stray to Jackson, who was standing a couple of feet apart from the others, hands in pockets, staring into the distance. She had no idea what was up with him today. One minute he'd been being an overly obsequious assistant, fawning over Mr. Duff, and the next he'd been so distracted he'd almost walked into a power pole. Twice.

His usual sarcastic, rude streak had definitely been absent, which left her feeling weirdly disconcerted and threw her off-kilter. He hadn't even so much as passed comment on anywhere they'd been or the foods they'd sampled. It was as though only his physical shell had accompanied them for the morning. It was just strange. Must be jet lag. No doubt his usual obnoxious self would reappear soon enough and she'd be wishing this version back.

Either way, it didn't matter to her. Her job was to deliver the tour experience the clients had paid good money for and to keep them out of physical danger, not pander to their every mood swing. That was done on a purely voluntary basis. And when it came to Jackson Gregory, he would be getting exactly what his boss had paid for and not one cent more.