“Because you have a daughter,” Walter barked. “And responsibilities. And there comes a point in a man’s life when he has to do more than tear up the slopes and chase after women.”
“You were the one who taught me to tear up the slopes. You gave me the genes and the skis and you showed me what to do with them.”
Jackson wondered how the hell he was supposed to run this place when his “staff” had more baggage than an airport departure lounge.
“We need to stick to business.” His tone got him the attention he needed. “Tyler, you’re going to help Brenna run the winter activities program.” And that was another problem brewing, he thought. He had a feeling Brenna wasn’t too pleased to see Tyler back at Snow Crystal, and he was pretty sure he knew the reason.
He waited as his mother added a bowl of white icing to the table and handed his grandmother a knife.
With Alice occupied, Elizabeth O’Neil turned her attention to the broken china on the floor.
Jackson felt as if he were walking over the fragments in bare feet.
“I intend to make this business work but to do that I need to make changes.”
His grandfather glowered at him. “It worked just fine when I ran it and when your father ran it.”
No, it didn’t. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the truth about the state of the business but then he saw his mother’s fingers whiten on the broom. Did she know what a mess his father had left behind?
He should have told them straight-out, he thought, not tried to protect them. If he’d done that maybe they wouldn’t be fighting him now.
Jackson looked at his grandfather. “I came home to run the business.”
“No one asked you to.”
Elizabeth O’Neil straightened her shoulders. “I asked him to.”
“We don’t need him here.” Walter thumped his fist on the table. “He should have stayed where he was, running his fancy company and playing the big boss. I could have run this place.”
“You’re eighty years old, Walter. You should be slowing down, not taking on more. For once, swallow your pride and take the help that’s offered.” Elizabeth scooped up china fragments. “You should be grateful Jackson came home.”
“I’m not grateful! A business is supposed to make money. All he does is spend it.”
Jackson sat still, holding back the anger that simmered. “It’s called investment.”
“It’s called wasting money.”
“It’s my damn money.”
“No swearing in my kitchen, Jackson O’Neil.”
“Why the fuck not?” Tyler was as restless as a caged beast. Jackson knew his brother hated being trapped indoors only marginally less than he hated authority. All he’d ever wanted to do was ski as fast as was humanly possible, and since the injury that had curtailed his racing career, his mood had been
volatile.
“Don’t wind your grandfather up, Tyler.” His mother tipped broken china into a bag. “I’ll make tea.”
About to point out that what they needed wasn’t tea but teamwork, Jackson remembered his mother always made tea and baked when she was stressed. And she’d been stressed for the past eighteen months. “Tea would be great, Mom.”
“If you expect me to sit here I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than tea.” Tyler helped himself to another beer from the fridge and tossed one to his brother.
Jackson caught it one-handed. He knew that for all his outward impression of indifference, Tyler hated this situation as much as he did. Hated the fact they might lose this place. Hated the way his grandfather refused to let go of things.
He wondered if he’d been wrong to come home.
And then he saw his grandmother’s lined, anxious face and his mother focusing extra hard on icing gingerbread Santas and knew there was no way he could have stayed away.
His grandfather might not want him here, but there was no doubt he was needed.