are you?”
“Reve Sorrell.”
Jazzy looked at Caleb. “How do you know this woman?”
“I just met her outside a few minutes ago. She mentioned that Jamie had suggested she come to Cherokee Pointe and meet you. It would seem that Jamie found an almost perfect substitute for you in Chattanooga.”
While Caleb watched Jazzy speculatively, Reve picked up on a wild, angry tension smoldering inside him. God, what had she gotten herself into?
“Look,” Reve said, “the reason I’m here really has nothing to do with Jamie, it’s just that—”
“Why don’t you tell the lady that Jamie no longer needs a substitute,” Caleb said, “that as of last night, he’s got the original back in his bed?”
Jazzy glowered at Caleb. Her cheeks flushed. “What were you doing, standing outside my apartment, watching me in the middle of the night?”
Jazzy glanced around, apparently checking to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Since all eyes were focused on the three of them, it was obvious that anyone within hearing distance was privy to what was being said. Reve knew for sure and certain she had inadvertently walked into the middle of what seemed to be a lover’s triangle: Caleb McCord, Jazzy Talbot, and Jamie Upton.
“I just happened to notice Upton’s Mercedes at your place last night when I left work. I helped Lacy close up the place after you left,” Caleb replied. “I don’t give a shit who you screw, but from now on, don’t pretend you want him out of your life. You’ve wasted my time and energy by getting me to throw him out of Jazzy’s Joint time and again, when apparently all you were doing was titillating him, making him want you all the more. You know what that makes you in my book?”
Jazzy slapped Caleb McCord. Right there in the middle of the restaurant. Reve gasped, shocked by the woman’s actions. A lady never reacted in such a coarse, crude manner. Certainly never in public. But then, from all accounts, Jazzy Talbot was no lady.
Being involved, even as a bystander, to this sort of crude behavior was not what she’d bargained for when she decided to make this trip. Get the hell out of here now, she told herself. Go home to Chattanooga and forget there’s a woman here in Cherokee Pointe who might be your twin. You don’t want to be related to a woman like Jazzy Talbot.
While the attentive clientele absorbed the scene between Jazzy and Caleb, Reve picked up her purse from the booth, then turned and all but ran from the restaurant. Before she reached the door, she heard a man’s voice calling her name, but she didn’t slow down, didn’t look back to see who it was.
Just as she got outside and took a deep breath, a familiar hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Don’t run off,” Caleb said.
Reve swallowed, then turned to face him. “Please, leave me alone.”
“I apologize for what happened back there. Jazzy and I tend to ignite sparks off each other. And I did deserve that slap she gave me. Come on back and—”
“No, thank you. I’ve seen quite enough of Jasmine Talbot.”
“Don’t judge Jazzy by what happened in there. If you’d give yourself a chance to get to know her, you’d like her. She’s all right, you know. Her only problem is that she’s addicted to Jamie Upton. And I suspect you might have that same addiction.”
“I assure you, Mr. McCord, I do not.”
Caleb laced Reve’s arm through his. “If that’s true, then maybe I’ve been trying to score points with the wrong redhead.”
Chapter 3
The minute Jim Upton heard his grandson’s Mercedes zoom into the circular drive in front of the house, he stomped out onto the veranda to head the boy off. He had a few choice words to say to Jamie, and he didn’t want any of the ladies to overhear their conversation.
Reba had been so upset with their grandson’s outrageous disappearance from his own engagement party last night that she’d gone to bed with a migraine. When he’d checked in on his wife this morning, she’d still been sleeping. He and Reba hadn’t shared a bed in years. Her choice, not his.
Jim hadn’t seen anything of the Willis family—Laura, her mother and father and younger sister. He assumed they were all still in bed. Of course, he wouldn’t blame Cecil Willis if he insisted his daughter call off the wedding. Damn shame that such a sweet, fragile Southern belle had fallen in love with Jamie. The look on dear little Laura’s face last night when she realized Jamie had just up and left had been enough to break a man’s heart.
Jim stood on the veranda, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched his grandson meander up the steps, all the while whistling. When Jamie saw Jim, he threw up a hand and smiled broadly. Damned good-for-nothing scoundrel, Jim thought. What the boy lacked in every other aspect, he often made up for in charm. But charm was worthless in and of itself. Just about as worthless as Jamie. Why the Good Lord had seen fit to take away Jim’s son and daughter and leave him with nothing but Jim Jr.’s only child, he’d never know. If only Jamie was more like his father. But he wasn’t.
And to think that Jamie had been such a sweet, precocious child. Loving, beguiling, and seemingly as devoted to his grandparents as they were to him. But with each passing year, from twelve years old to the present, at twenty-nine, Jamie had become more and more of a disappointment.
If it hadn’t been for Reba’s pleading defense of the boy, Jim would have written him off as a lost cause a couple of years ago. But Jim realized that losing Jamie would break Reba’s heart, and even if he didn’t love his wife—had never really loved her the way a man should—he cared about her and believed she deserved what little happiness she derived from their grandson.
Reba had her heart set on Jamie’s marrying Laura. And by God, if it meant beating sense into the boy to get him to straighten up, at least until after the wedding, then Jim was ready to whip his grandson’s ass.
“We need to talk,” Jim said as Jamie approached him.
“Ah, now, Big Daddy, what good is talking going to do? You’ll chew me out, I’ll say I’m sorry, then—”
Jim grabbed Jamie’s arm, twisted it behind his back and said, “March your sorry ass around to the side of the house and into the gazebo. You and I are about to have a major come-to-Jesus-talk, boy.”
Grunting in pain, Jamie struggled. Fruitlessly. Despite being seventy-five, Jim had the advantage of not only superior strength, but superior size. He was half a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than his grandson. “Hellfire, Big Daddy, you’re going to break my arm.”
“I’d like to break your neck.” Jim tightened his hold on Jamie’s arm and marched him down the steps and onto the driveway.
Jamie stopped struggling, relaxed, and fell into step with Jim’s pace. As soon as they drew near the large, ornately decorated gazebo at the side of the house, Jim gave Jamie a shove inside and motioned for him to sit down. Jamie sat in one of the two huge wicker chairs. Jim paced back and forth in front of his grandson, then took a deep breath and sat down in the other chair.
“Look, it’s no big deal,” Jamie said. “I’ll apologize to Laura and to Big Mama and to Mr. and Mrs. Willis.”
Jim clenched his teeth. No big deal. I’ll apologize. “There comes a time when apologies just aren’t enough. How the hell are you going to explain to Laura why you left your engagement party before it ended? Are you going to tell her that you had to go see Jazzy Talbot, that your hunger for another woman was so powerful that—”
“I can’t give Jazzy up. Not entirely. Surely you, of all people, understand that.”
“Don’t compare the two of us, boy. I have never done anything that I knew would hurt your grandmother. I respect her too much, care about her too—”
“What about Erin?