Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Madison
I pull open the heavy door of the Tipsy Daisy and enter.
The substantial booths and heavy tables are made of thick wood, reminding me of an English pub.
Even the tin ceiling is painted black, the subdued lighting giving off a relaxed atmosphere.
Wooden stools line the main bar with several open seats near two male patrons drinking beer.
They’re nibbling on pretzels from a bowl while they watch the Braves game on a mounted flat-screen TV.
A female bartender with rolled-up sleeves moves from one end of the bar to the other and greets me with friendliness. “Hey there. What can I get ya tonight?”
Her smile is familiar but lacks Jenny’s red flair. It’s hard to believe the two women are twins.
“You must be Janie,” I say.
“And you’re Madison.” She sticks her hand out over the bar, and we shake. “It’s nice to meet you. Jenny said you’re a VIP of the inn and that I must take good care of you tonight.”
I wave her off. “Naw. I’m not a VIP. I’m just a regular gal.”
Janie places a coaster and a bowl of pretzels in front of me with a small menu. “If you don’t see anything you like, I can grab Jenny’s menu and get you something from her kitchen next door. Take a look, and in the meantime, what can I get you to drink?”
“Hmmm. How about a nice glass of your house red?”
Janie grins. “You got it.”
I pluck a pretzel and snack from the bowl while I peruse the menu. The Tipsy Daisy offers your typical bar food: burgers, wings, fries, etc. I don’t want to make it hard on Janie, so I decide on a classic cheeseburger.
“Here you go.” Janie places a glass of red wine on the coaster and fills another cup with ice and water from a soda gun. She sets the glass next to the wine.
“Thank you.”
“Got any questions? Need a minute or Jenny’s menu?”
“Nope. I think I’ll have the classic cheeseburger with fries. Medium, please, with everything on it.”
She nods. “Good choice. I’ll have it out to you in no time.”
I watch Janie step over to a computer monitor and punch the keyboard.
The bar owner gives off a good vibe. She’s cool and relaxed, kind and efficient.
Unlike her sister, Jenny, Janie doesn’t wear any makeup.
Her face is dotted with a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her hair is pulled back into a frizzy knot.
To my surprise, her pushed-up sleeves reveal several colorful tattoos.
The middle-aged twins are total opposites.
I glance at the TV before I notice a guitar case and a guy in the corner setting up a small sound system.
I remember Jenny telling me there’s live music on the weekends.
But it’s still early, and the music and crowds don’t start until later.
Taking a sip of wine, I settle into my new surroundings.
I’m relaxed and ready to enjoy what the small town has to offer.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
I look over my shoulder and have to bend my neck to look up at the man asking. He’s tall, lean, and dressed in jeans and a navy blue polo shirt. His blond hair is combed back from his forehead, and his handsome face has me doing a double-take. He reminds me of actor Austin Butler.
“It’s open,” I say simply.
“Thank you kindly.” He sits and dips his hand into my bowl of pretzels, popping a few of them in his mouth.
I scowl and slowly scoot the bowl away from his hand, which makes him chuckle.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?” He offers me a smile worthy of a Disney prince as he chews.
Before I can respond, Janie comes to the rescue.
“Leave this poor girl alone.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he humorously whines.
I lean toward Janie. “He’s fine. But if you don’t mind, he needs his own pretzels.”
She laughs, fiddles behind the bar, and presents the man with a fresh bowl. “Here you go, Kip.”
I freeze. Did Janie just call him “Kip”?
“Now, what’ll it be tonight?”
“Gimme a draft beer and a whiskey chaser.”
Janie puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head as if waiting for more.
He grins at her full throttle, revealing his perfect teeth. “May I please have a draft beer and a whiskey chaser, Miss Janie?”
“That’s more like it.”
Janie moves toward the beer taps as Kip gets comfortable on his stool. His legs are spread wide, and his cowboy boots rest on the brass foot rails. Even though he’s handsome, the way he chews pretzels with his mouth open while staring at the TV makes my skin crawl.
“You a Braves fan?” he smacks.
For a moment, I seriously think about moving over to one of the more private booths along the wall.
If this is the same Kip George told me about, I want nothing to do with him.
But then I reconsider. Maybe I should get to know him after all?
Getting to know this guy may be useful during my stay in Heartsboro.
“Yes, I am a Braves fan,” I reply with a forced smile. “I’ve been to several games over the years. I’m from Atlanta.”
“Cool.”
Janie drops off his beer and a shot of whiskey.
“Thank you,” he singsongs with a wink. The guy is a regular flirt.
“You’re welcome.” She sets a rolled-up napkin with silverware in front of me. “Your burger should be out in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Janie.”
I continue sipping my wine, unsure what to say to my new neighbor. Leaning my arm on the bar top, I twist my body in the swivel chair and look him in the eye.
“So, Kip, is it?”
He looks right at me and offers a half grin mid-chew. “Yup. What’s your name, pretty lady?”
I bristle. Being called “pretty lady” by a complete stranger is inappropriate.
But being from the South and finding myself sitting next to George’s nemesis in a small-town bar makes me hold back from my own unbecoming response.
Instead, I offer another fake smile and lift my wine glass as if I’m enjoying our conversation.
“My name is Madison.”
“Madison? Cool. And what are you doing in town, because I’m sure I would’ve noticed if you lived around here.”
I keep my composure and buy some time by taking a long sip of merlot. “I’m visiting some friends. And what do you do, Kip?”
I bat my eyelashes for extra measure. This seems to pump him up, his muscular arms literally flexing with boastfulness.
“I’m the head foreman at Jamison Farm. Have you ever heard of it?”
Gosh, it’s so easy to get him to talk.
“Of course. Isn’t that the farm where they grow all the beautiful lavender and flowers?”
He harrumphs with pleasure and tips back a half-shot of his whiskey. “The one and only.” His lips glisten with the alcohol. “I’m the one who landed the Home Foods account. Quadrupled our bottom line within a year. The Jamison family owes me big time.”
I keep my composure, even though my blood boils. I know good and well Ralph and George don’t owe Kip a darn thing.
“Is that so? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
He postures like a peacock, his angular jawline sharp in the pub lighting. “It’s because of me their farm didn’t go under like so many others around here. It’s because of me they’re finally making some good money. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to them.”
I drain my wine glass and motion to Janie for another.
“You know anything about farming?” he asks.
“I know it’s probably grueling work. You must tell me, Kip. How do you grow such gorgeous lavender and flowers? What’s your secret?”
His brow furrows and a lock of his blond hair comes loose from his slicked-back look. “Well, I’ll have you know we grow more than flowers. I don’t grow them myself. I oversee the operation.”
“So you don’t have any idea what the growing process entails? The PH level of the soil? The amount of water each variety needs?”
He easily brushes off my comments with boastfulness. “I’m on the business side of things, darlin’. Somebody has to run the operation and oversee the day laborers.”
“Day laborers? Oh my.”
Janie comes back with a second glass, the growing bar crowd erupting in a resounding cheer as the Braves score a run. With Kip’s attention diverted, I hand Janie my credit card and ask her to box up my burger to go. I fib and tell her I have a business call I’d forgotten about.
“Whoo-hoo,” he hollers, lifting his beer mug into the air. “Way to go, Bravos!”
I clink my glass against his as he settles down. “So, Kip? Why don’t you start your own farm? I’m sure you’d be good at it.”
“Darn straight. But to tell you the truth, as far as I’m concerned, Jamison Farm is my farm.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He chugs the remnants of his beer and slams the mug on the bar top. “Mr. Jamison gave me full control of things. He trusts me. He knows I can handle the business and can turn a profit. All I need is for that nitwit grandson of his to sign over the deed once the old man passes, and it’s mine.”
I’m frozen on the stool, afraid to say anything incriminating. How dare this jerk assume the farm is his?
“Wow. You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Sure.” He grins again and moves closer to me, whispering, “That idiot will sign anything I put in front of him if I tell him it’s for the business. Last year, he cosigned the loan on my truck!” He falls back against his stool, slaps his thigh, and howls with laughter.
I fist my hands in my lap, tempted to punch Kip smack-dab in the middle of his pretty face.
“Yo, Janie! Another round… please!” He circles his index finger in front of him.
Janie appears with a brown sack and my tab. “Patience, young man,” she scolds.
“Wait? You’re leaving?” Kip whines. “The night is young, pretty lady.”
I furiously sign the tab, leaving a huge tip for Janie. I don’t know how that woman puts up with this guy’s antics. Taking one last slug from my wine glass, I pause and look at him with regret.
Everything George told me is true. Kip is a bully, pure and simple.
I know his type and his intentions. I’ve seen it time and time again during my career with some of my cohorts.
He’ll do anything to get his greedy hands on whatever he wants.
And I know he wants Jamison Farm for his own, even if it means tricking George into signing it over to him.
Over my dead body.
“Please stay,” he says, his expression contorting like a sad puppy.
“Sorry, Kip.” My tone is all business, devoid of any emotion.
“Men like you who take advantage of others aren’t my type.” I start to walk away, and he follows me.
“What? Why would you say such a thing?”
I stop and look him in the eye.
“Was it the truck comment? Because you have to know I was just kidding,” he laughs nervously. “I thought we were having a good time.”
“On the contrary, Kip. I don’t know you very well. But from our brief time together, I know all I need.”
He seems genuinely confused, his demeanor turning agitated. “Well, tell me. What is it you think you know about me, Miss… Miss High and Mighty?”
I laugh and forge ahead, my words coming out in a hot burst of fury.
“You have some kind of complex, Kip. You compensate for the lack of your own farm by being overly aggressive and domineering with those you work with. The Jamison farm will never be rightfully yours. But you’ll do almost anything to get it, won’t you? Well, you know what? Shame on you.”
The look on Kip’s face is priceless when he realizes he’s made a grave mistake confiding in me.
“You have grandiose plans and ambitions, which come at a remarkable cost to an innocent man. Frankly, you are despicable. You want your own farm? Go out and get one the right way. Leave the Jamison family alone!”
My loud voice causes a few heads to turn. Kip notices and plays it off like a douche, chuckling unconvincingly.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you should’ve told me you were friends with the Jamisons. You’re the despicable one.” He turns his back on me and bellies up to the bar, chugging half his full beer.
Gritting my teeth, I stomp out of the bar.
I have work to do.