I knew how disappointed Mason was about everything I’d been keeping from him—not to mention the whole Lady in Black secret, which he still didn’t know . . . and hopefully never would—so I wanted to be on the up-and-up with him. But now I was worried about what he’d think of our mission to find Dolly Parton.
“Neely Kate’s cousin is missing.” His eyes widened in alarm, but before he could say anything, I added, “It’s not the first time. According to Joe, this is apparently a common thing with her. She takes off for a few days, her momma files a missing persons report, and then she turns up again. Neely Kate’s aunt called to file the latest report last night, but the sheriff’s office isn’t going to follow up on it just yet.”
Mason nodded. “It makes sense, but I take it Neely Kate’s not content to sit and wait for her to come back?”
“No. She wants to go ask Dolly Parton’s best friend if she knows anything.”
Surprise washed over his face. “Did you say, ‘Dolly Parton’? As in the singer?”
“It’s a family thing.” I waved my hand in dismissal. “Her brothers are Alan Jackson and Tommy Lee.”
Mason watched me for a second, as though deciding what to say. He gave a little shake of his head. “Does Neely Kate have any idea where she is?”
“She had me drive her to see Dolly’s boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, I guess. He said they had a fight, and Dolly drove off with a bartender from where she works.”
“Sounds like maybe she’s pissed at her boyfriend and took off.”
“I think that’s what Joe thinks.”
“Talk to her friend, but just be careful, okay?”
I gave him a smile. “Okay.”
We decided to ride home together and loaded a sleepy Ashley into my truck. After we dropped her off and I picked up the paperwork from Violet, I confessed to Mason how guilty I felt about only giving my sister ten percent of the business.
“You’re well within your rights, Rose. She’s put nothing down.”
“But it was her dream, Mason. I feel like I’m stealing it from her.”
“It may have been her dream in the beginning, but she wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if you hadn’t financed it. And she nearly lost the business for both of you after making decisions she had no right to make without you.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “I think it’s more than generous of you to give her anything at all.”
“I gave Bruce Wayne fifty percent ownership of RBW, and he didn’t put anything down.”
“Sweetheart, if it’ll make you feel better to give her more control of the shop, then do it. But just remember, Joe already owns thirty-five percent. How much more of your fifty-five percent are you willing to give up?” He paused. “I know you didn’t ask, but I’m going to give you my opinion anyway. Keep at least fifty-one percent. That way you’ll still control the business, no matter what happens.”
I hadn’t considered that. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Who knows?” He gave me a grin. “Maybe Joe will sell his shares to Violet one day.”
At this point, I wasn’t sure what to hope for.
Chapter Nine
The next morning Mason and I sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast before he left for the courthouse.
“There’s less than two weeks until Christmas,” Mason said while buttering a piece of toast. “When do you want to put up a Christmas tree?”
I took a sip of my coffee. “I guess we need to get a tree first.”
“Lucky for you, you’ve still got a bunch outside the store.” Mason winked.
“Those Christmas trees were so much trouble, I’m not sure I want one in my house,” I grumbled.
“Do you have an artificial tree you put up with your mother?” he asked, then stopped with his fork mid-air, his smile falling. “I’m sure your memories of Christmas with your mother weren’t all that pleasant. I’m sorry, Rose. I wasn’t thinking.”
I grabbed his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a perfectly normal question. It’s not your fault that my family was dysfunctional.”
He squeezed my hand and grinned. “Everybody’s family is dysfunctional to some degree. Yours was just a touch more so.”
“A touch more so.” I laughed. “That’s like calling the pope a little Catholic.” I leaned forward. “I want to wipe the slate clean of all my past Christmases. Are there any traditions you have that you’d like to do? Like put up stockings or bake cookies?”
He lifted his eyebrows mischievously. “I can assure you that you do not want me baking you cookies.”
“We could make them together.”
“Do you want to bake cookies?” he asked, sounding surprised.
I released a wistful sigh. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always dreamed of decorating sugar cookies with my family. I’m not sure why. It just feels homey.” I shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “What about you? What do you like to do for Christmas?”
“My father used to read The Night Before Christmas to Savannah and me on Christmas Eve before we hung our stockings and left cookies and milk out for Santa. I’d like to do that with my own kids someday.”