“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.
He watched as his mother bustled around taking comfort in the ritual of caring for people. She placed a plate of freshly baked cinnamon stars in the center of the scrubbed pine table and checked the bread she had baking in the oven.
The smell evoked memories of childhood. The large friendly kitchen had been part of his life forever. Now it was the closest he had to a boardroom and his infuriating, exasperating, interfering, lovable family were his management team. Two octogenarians, a grieving widow, his daredevil brother and an overexcited puppy with training issues.
Beam me up.
His mother placed a steaming mug of tea next to his beer and he felt a twinge of guilt for wishing he were back in his old office with his experienced team around him and only work to take up his attention. That time seemed so long ago. His life had changed. Right now, he wasn’t sure it was for the better.
“The changes we’ve made will make a difference, but we need to tell people about those changes. I’m employing a public relations firm and I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.” Given the state of the Snow Crystal finances, he didn’t have much choice about that. “If I’m wasting money then it will be my money.”
His grandfather gave a snort of disapproval. “If you’re willing to throw away your own money you’re even more foolish than I thought.”
“I’m employing an expert.”
“You mean an outsider.” Walter sniffed. “And maybe you should be talking to your other brother before you make decisions about the family business.”
“Sean isn’t here.”
“Because he has the good sense to leave the running of it to others. I’m just saying he should know what’s going on, that’s all.”
“He’ll be home for Christmas. I’ll talk to him then.” Jackson leaned forward. “I need someone who can get Snow Crystal the attention it deserves. We need to increase occupancy. We need heads on beds.”
“Is it about proving yourself? Because you’ve already done that with your big-shot ways, your fancy company and your fancy cars.”
Change, Jackson thought. They hated change.
All his grandfather understood was blunt, so he gave him blunt.
“If we leave things the way they are, we’ll lose the business.”
His grandmother spilled a puddle of icing on the table, his mother turned a shade paler and his grandfather’s eyes burned a fierce blue in his tanned, craggy face.
“This place has been in our family for four generations.”
“And I’m trying to keep it in the family for the next four.”
“By spending a fortune on a fancy New York company that can’t even find Vermont on a map? What do they know about our business?”
“Plenty. They have a division that specializes in Travel and Hospitality, and the woman heading it up knows what she’s doing. Have you heard of Adventure Travel?” Jackson leaned forward in his chair. “They were going under until Kayla Green took on the account. She had their business mentioned in every key media target.”
“Jargon,” Walter muttered. “So what is she? A magician?”
“She is a PR specialist. Right at the top of her game. She has media contacts that the rest of us can only dream about.”
“She’s not the only one with media contacts.” Walter O’Neil sniffed to show exactly what he thought of Kayla Green’s abilities. “I’ve been bowling with Max Rogers, editor of the Snow Crystal Post, for the past twenty years. If I want a piece in the paper, I ask.”
The Snow Crystal Post.
Jackson didn’t know whether to laugh or punch a hole through the table.
Wrenching the running of Snow Crystal away from his grandfather was like trying to pull fresh meat from the jaws of a starving lion.
“Local press is great, but what we really need is attention from the national media and international media—” He opened his mouth to add social media but decided not to get started on that one. “PR is more than talking to the press and we need to think bigger than the Snow Crystal Post.”
“Bigger isn’t always better.”
“No, but small can mean bust. We need to expand.”
“You make us sound like a factory!”
“Not a factory, a business. A business, Gramps.” Jackson rubbed his fingers over his forehead to ease the throb of his tension headache. He was used to walking in and getting the job done. Not anymore. Not with his own family because there were feelings to consider.
He decided that the only thing they’d respond to was hard facts. “It’s important you know how things stand at the moment—”
His mother pushed a plate toward him. “Have a gingerbread Santa.”
On the verge of revealing just how black the future looked, Jackson found himself staring at a plate of smiling Santas. They wouldn’t look so damned cheerful if they knew how precarious their future was.
“Mom—”
“You’ll sort it out, Jackson.