“That’s a hell of a move you’ve got there.” He nodded at the splintered wood. “If I’d known you could chop like that, I would have been more polite the other night. You mad at someone?”
“No, not mad.” She brought the ax down again and then toed the log she’d chopped with a rush of pride. “Maybe a little, with myself.”
Walter picked up the pieces and tossed them on the pile. “For falling in love when you didn’t want to?”
Kayla froze. “I can absolutely assure you that—”
“Don’t blame yourself. First time Elizabeth set eyes on Snow Crystal, she was gone. Same for my mother.”
He meant the place, Kayla thought, not the person. Snow Crystal, not Jackson. “It’s certainly special.”
“Glad you think so—” The deep male voice came from behind her, and when she turned, Jackson was standing there, arms folded, broad shoulders resting against the tree as he watched her with the same blue eyes that had seen her lose control the night before. “I’ve been looking for you. Didn’t realize you had a date with another man.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE LOOKED GOOD for a woman who’d had less than four hours sleep, but nowhere near as good as she’d looked lying naked on the rug in the firelight. He wished she were back there now. This was the last place he would have picked for a morning-after encounter. He’d come looking for her, but now he had more immediate concerns.
Jackson eyed the ax and the pile of logs. “I thought we agreed you were going to leave the wood chopping to me, Gramps.”
Walter glared at him. “You’re already running my business. Got to leave a man something to do.”
“There’s plenty to do.” He was treading a delicate path between ensuring his grandfather felt involved and not giving him anything too strenuous.
“Then go and do it and leave me to talk to Kayla about Snow Crystal.”
Lack of sleep added weight to the responsibilities already pressing down on his shoulders.
“I need to talk to you about the restaurant, Gramps.”
“If you’re here to tell me Darren has gone, I already know.”
Jackson cursed himself for not speaking to his grandfather immediately. “He came to you?” Anger flared at the thought of Darren bringing an eighty-year-old man in on the problem.
“Two minutes after he walked out. Came straight over here, ranting about that ‘French bitch.’ Excuse me.” Walter sent a look of apology to Kayla, who tightened her grip on the ax as if she was contemplating bringing it down on someone’s head.
“Don’t worry. But I might just need to chop another log soon.”
“Me, too. I’m steaming mad. Some folks don’t know when they’re well off—that’s the problem.” He glared at Jackson, who prepared to do something he never did. Explain his decision.
“I know you took him on, Gramps—”
“Yes, I did. And I reminded him of that when I sent him on his way.”
“You—” Braced for a different conversation, Jackson stopped in midsentence. “You did what?”
“I sent him on his way, of course.” Walter took the ax from Kayla. “I told him to grow a backbone, get himself right back in the kitchen and do the job we employed him to do.” He took a swing. The ax landed with a thud, leaving another two logs to add to the growing pile.
Kayla nodded approval. “Nice one, Walter.”
Jackson wasn’t sure whether she was referring to Darren or the split log. “I’m assuming he refused.”
“He did. Said he already had a better job lined up. Need a turn, Kayla?”
“Yes.” She took the ax back while Jackson watched the two of them, noticing the way his grandfather gently adjusted Kayla’s grip and then positioned the next log for her.
She hit him with her smile and Walter stepped back, dazzled.
Having been on the receiving end of that smile, Jackson felt sympathy for his grandfather.
He watched as she lifted the ax. Watched as that blond hair swung and a look of determination spread across her face.
Apart from that first glance, she hadn’t looked at him.
“I’m going to find a way to chop logs in my office. That way every time a client with no story whatsoever tells me he wants to be on the front page of the New York Times, I can chop a log instead of banging my head against a wall.” She split the log and her eyes sparkled. “You do this whenever you’re stressed?”
“Every damn day.” Walter glanced at his grandson. “Never any shortage of firewood around here. Isn’t that right, Jackson?”