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But that didn’t mean Maribeth had to be overly friendly to the guy.
As it was, though, she wasn’t even being nice. Not very Christian, in the whole scheme of things.
Help me, God. This is my weakness, guys like him, and for some reason, You’re putting me face-to-face with it, with him. And Ryan Brooks? He’d be number one on the list of way too handsome and way too rich for his own good. Definitely for my own good. Are you trying to teach me to be strong, Lord?
Maribeth remembered the Bible verse from First Corinthians that Brother Henry had discussed in yesterday’s sermon. The one that said God will not let you be tempted more than you can bear.
Okay, God. I can be nice.
She forced a tiny smile. “I think I do remember meeting you at the wedding.” When she saw the curve of a grin tease the edge of his beautiful mouth, she added, “I believe you wore a navy suit.” Maribeth knew for certain that he’d worn a gray Brioni Vanquish valued at the same price as a modest Claremont home. She actually had a photo of Ryan Brooks wearing a similar suit on the wall at her store, and she chastised herself for the lie. She’d just promised God she’d be nice!
Forgive me, Lord.
What made her want to goad this guy?
Any impression of a smile disappeared. “I don’t think so,” he said, studying her as though he knew she remembered the exact color of suit he wore to the event. And the fact that it fit him perfectly, the same way she tried to fit her customers when they visited her consignment store.
“Oh, Maribeth,” Dana said, still smiling from her laugh, “his suit was gray. I asked Ryan to wear gray, since that’s what color John and Landon wore. Remember? You helped me pick out all of the colors for the wedding.”
Maribeth nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I do remember now.” She picked at a loose string at the end of her sleeve to keep from looking at the guy. Then she heard the blessed sound of crunching gravel and turned her attention to the driveway, where an older-model silver BMW made its way toward the barn. “Oh, there’s Jessica Martin. She said she’d be bringing Nathan and Lainey a little early. I’ll go make sure all of their paperwork is done.” She turned and started walking away from Dana and her way-too-attractive brother.
“Good to see you again, Maribeth.”
She could keep walking and pretend she didn’t hear him, but she was less than six feet away. So she pivoted, forced another smile and then, unfortunately, emitted another lie. “You, too.”
Please, God, forgive me again. And if it be Your will, send him back to his home...and away from mine.
* * *
By Thursday, Maribeth had successfully avoided any additional contact with Ryan Brooks, aka her ultimate temptation and undeniable reminder of her biggest mistake. The feat wasn’t that difficult, thanks to his rehab sessions in the morning and her quick departure from the ranch every afternoon to run her store on the square. For the most part, she hardly remembered he was in town.
She paired a woven bracelet with an orange sundress and sandals similar to the outfit Hayden Panettiere had worn to a premiere last month and wondered whether Ryan had attended the same premiere. Then she shook her head and silently chastised herself for allowing the gorgeous man to invade her thoughts again. And to make matters worse, her customers seemed equally intrigued with the good-looking rich guy.
“Oh, wow. Look, Nadia. There he is.” Jasmine Waddell, a nineteen-year-old blonde beauty, pointed to one of the photos on Maribeth’s celebrity fashion wall. “Can you believe he’s here? In Claremont?” she continued, and Maribeth knew before looking that her finger had landed on a photo of Ryan. Since Consigning Women focused on ladies’ clothes, most of the photos were of women; however, Maribeth often used pictures from red carpet galas, and naturally, several of the women had a nice-looking man at their side. Ryan Brooks happened to be that guy in no fewer than three of her displayed photos.
“I’ve seen those pictures before,” Nadia Berry said. “But I’ve seen him in person at the Cutters’ ranch.”
Jasmine’s blond hair formed a silky cape as she jerked around to face Nadia. Her blue eyes bristled with excitement. “Shut up. You saw him? I’ve been looking all over town just hoping to get a glimpse, and you’ve actually seen him? I knew I should’ve signed up to help with that camp. Is it too late to volunteer, Maribeth?”
Maribeth swallowed. She could use the help, especially since two more kids were joining the group tomorrow, but there were only two days left in this week’s camp, and her own past experience kept her from wanting to put Jasmine anywhere near Ryan. “I believe we’ve got this week handled,” she said.
But when Jasmine’s face fell, Maribeth added, “You can volunteer for next week, if you want.” She couldn’t turn down a teen’s offer to volunteer at a church camp, especially when she could use her assistance next week. “However, I’m not certain you would see Ryan Brooks that much. He goes to the hospital for his rehab each morning, and we’re pretty busy the rest of the day.”
“That’s right,” Nadia said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times.”
“Oh, okay,” Jasmine said, her disappointment evident in her tone. “It’s probably best anyway that I can’t help out this week, since I’m already scheduled to work tomorrow and Saturday at the Sweet Stop.” She shrugged. “But I’ll see if I can adjust my hours for next week so that I work later in the day. Then I could volunteer with the camp...and maybe I’ll see him at the ranch, too.” Her switch from hopeless to hopeful in the span of two sentences reminded Maribeth of how she’d been at that age, seeing every glass as half-full.
Not anymore.
Maribeth felt certain she could keep Jasmine busy enough that she wouldn’t have time to seek Ryan out, so she gave her a smile and said, “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll put you down to help.” She’d protect Jasmine from her infatuation. She had to. She couldn’t bear to see her own history repeated with this sweet girl.
“Okay if I help again, too?” Nadia asked. “I really enjoy spending time with the kids and the Bible studies.”
“Sure. We’ve got sixteen kids coming to the next camp, so I could use the extra help.” Maribeth didn’t mind the chance to spend more time with Nadia. Since she’d first moved to Claremont seven years ago, Maribeth had grown very close to the preacher’s granddaughter. Brother Henry had been instrumental in bringing Maribeth back to God when she was certain He’d turned His back on her, and after she’d confided in the preacher about her mistakes, the kindhearted man had recommended that Maribeth work with the youth at the church and help them to stay away from the pitfalls she’d found herself in as a teen.
Maribeth had grown close to all of the kids, but Nadia and her friends, with their love of fashion and their love of God, held a special place in her heart. Often, the teen girls would visit Maribeth’s store to shop, like Nadia and Jasmine were doing now, and they’d chat about God, life and boys. Not always in that order.
Today, though, Jasmine chose to skip talking about boys in lieu of talking about men. One man in particular.
“It’s just that he’s so gorgeous. And he’s here, in Claremont. Things like that don’t happen every day. I mean, can you imagine dating someone like Ryan Brooks? Or, wow, marrying him? I mean, guys marry younger girls all the time, especially, you know, guys who are stars and everything. He’s not a star like an actor, I don’t guess, but you don’t look like that and not be considered a star. And money. He’s probably got more money than all of the star actors combined, don’t you think? He is a Brooks, after all.”
Maribeth cringed, remembering a time when she’d said something very similar and thought the whole world would be hers if she could date one particular man. But before she could spout some words of wisdom, Nadia beat her to the punch.
“Love isn’t about money. It’s about trust and faith, and about having your priorities right before anything else. You both need to love God, first and foremost.” She gave Jasmine a silly smile. “And he’s like, what, ten years older than you?”
Jasmine giggled. “Eleven. He’s thirty, according to what it says under this photo. And it isn’t like I’ve even talked to the guy, so I’m just saying that it’d be cool to marry him, not that I have any chance of it.” Her smile crept into her cheeks and she lifted a blond brow. “But hey, if I did run into him, and if he happened to be smitten by me...”
Nadia playfully shoved her friend. “Come on. You’ve got to get to the Sweet Stop for work, and I’ve gotta go place another order for beads at Scraps and Crafts.” She nudged Jasmine, still grinning, toward the door. “I’ll see you at the ranch tomorrow, Maribeth.”
“And you might see Ryan there, too,” Jasmine said.
Nadia shook her head and waved goodbye to Maribeth, and then the two girls headed out the door while Maribeth turned the volume up on the sound system piping out Christian music and allowed the lyrics to fill her head instead of the memory of the rich guy who dominated her past...and the reality of the one currently dominating her present.
* * *
Ryan shifted his hip in the passenger seat and prepared for more walking than he’d done in the past two weeks. Rehab was one thing; taking on the Claremont town square was something else entirely. But if he planned to get into full swing so he could get back to Chicago as soon as possible, he might as well get started.
Would a broken leg have kept his father away from the business this long? Probably not. Lawrence Brooks had only missed two days of work when Ryan and Dana’s mother passed away. He hadn’t even taken the time to mourn his wife; a broken leg and rehab certainly wouldn’t have slowed the business magnate down. Then again, Ryan hadn’t stopped running Brooks International. He’d held two conference calls today and seemingly kept to business as usual in spite of the distance.
Ryan grimaced. Why did he always compare himself to his father and find himself coming up short? Maybe because the media found the task so easy? They were quick to point out that the newest Brooks CEO merely followed his father’s proven path for success. The statement that’d been penned by a reporter at the Chicago Tribune had been picked up by practically every business magazine and summed up the public’s interpretation:
“Though the company continues to hold its own, Ryan Brooks has brought nothing original to the stellar real estate empire founded by his father, the late Lawrence Brooks.”
“Did you even hear what I said?” Dana asked, and Ryan realized he hadn’t heard anything she’d said since they’d passed the tiny city-limit sign.
“Sorry, had my mind on something else,” he said. “Repeat the question?”
She sighed. “It wasn’t a question. I said that I can’t believe we’ve never taken you to the square before.” Dana pulled into a parking spot behind a row of brick buildings. Judging from the store names hand painted above each door, this was the back side of one section of the square. “But usually you come and go so quickly that we don’t have time.”
“Yeah, getting thrown from a horse extends a visit. Go figure.” He wondered how big this town square was and how long it’d take them to deliver camp materials to Maribeth, his sister’s purpose for the impromptu outing.
Dana laughed. “I do want longer visits from you, but I’ll try to find another way to make that happen. And John warned you that Onyx might not be ready to ride.” She grabbed her purse and the craft supplies from the backseat. “Then again, telling you that you can’t do something is about the same as waving a red cape in front of a bull, isn’t it? You’ve never been able to back down from a challenge.”
“A challenge is merely another chance to prove something that someone else thought impossible simply hadn’t been done yet,” he said.
Dana had her hand on the car handle but stopped her exit. “You sound just like him, you know.”
Ryan didn’t have to ask whom she referred to. He could almost hear their father’s voice echoing each word as he’d spoken. “He gave us a lot of good advice.”
“And before he died, he realized that his priorities were out of whack,” she said. “I’ve told you before, he changed in those last days. I think if he could’ve talked to you one more time, he’d have probably pulled a one-eighty on a lot of that advice you’re still following.”
Ryan didn’t want to hear about Lawrence Brooks’s final days again when, according to Dana, he’d changed his mind about life, business and faith. Basically, he’d wished he’d done everything the opposite of the way he had. But Lawrence Brooks had single-handedly built a Fortune 500 company, and while Dana had stayed with their dad during his last days, Ryan had kept that company running. Still kept it running, in fact. So their father had done something right, and Ryan would keep that something going.
He opened his mouth to tell her that he suspected their father’s change of heart had to do with the fact that he was heavily medicated at the time, but she shook her head.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. One day you’ll understand. But for now, forget I said anything.” She climbed out of the car and hurried around to Ryan’s side to help him exit, but he’d already opened the door, slowly maneuvered his straight leg out and then pushed his way up to the crutches.
“I’ve got it,” he said, “but thanks.”
Her mouth slid to the side, and she stepped a little closer, blue eyes that mirrored his own examining him as he balanced on the crutches. “I’ve missed you, Ryan. And there’s so much more I want to show you, talk to you about, help you to see.”
“We’ve got the whole afternoon. I promised not to work any more today, remember?” He knew she was ready to start preaching to him again, but he didn’t want an intense conversation about life and faith. Not today. Maybe not ever.
Her eyes dimmed and her smile slipped a little. “Yeah, I remember.”
Ryan knew she wanted him to stay here at least until his rehab ended in four weeks. But Lawrence Brooks wouldn’t have stayed away from his business this long, and Ryan wouldn’t, either. He wanted to make a name for himself the way his father had instead of piggybacking on his father’s success, and he couldn’t make a name for himself staying in Claremont. “I want to make a difference,” he said, more to himself than to Dana.
Her gasp should’ve warned him that the hug would follow. She wrapped both arms around him. “Oh, Ryan, that’s what I’ve been praying for, and that’s what Daddy figured out in the end. There’s more to life than money and things. More to life than business.”
She’d misunderstood, and Ryan had to set the record straight.
“No, Dana, I mean that I want to make a difference in business. Let my name be known. Achieve success for myself, instead of because I’m my father’s son.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “I should get back to Chicago. I can finish my rehab therapy there.”
She released him from the hug and pressed a hand to her forehead, spread her fingers and massaged her temples. Then she slid her hand to her throat and said, “Thanks to technology, anything you can do in Chicago can be done here. Didn’t you say that today’s board meeting ran even smoother with the teleconferencing system?”
“It did,” he said, “but...”
An elderly gentleman stepped out of the rear entrance of a store labeled Tiny Tots Treasure Box carrying a bulging white trash bag. He nodded toward them as he dropped it into a nearby Dumpster and then grinned when he recognized Ryan’s sister. “Dana! Good to see you. Are you coming to the toy store?”
She blinked a couple of times, dropped her hand from her throat and appeared to gain her composure before answering, “Not today, Mr. Feazell. But I’ll visit you in a few weeks to get Abi’s birthday present.”
“You do that,” he said. “And I’ll help you pick out something nice.” He then turned his attention to Ryan. “I heard you were in town again, Mr. Brooks. I met you at the wedding, of course, but you met a lot of folks that day. I’ve been praying for you while you recover. I reckon you know Dana put you on the prayer list at church. Looks like you’re doing better,” he said with another grin. “Prayers are working.”
“I guess they are,” Ryan said, and hoped this wouldn’t start a religious discussion. Dana was already all geared up for preaching, but Ryan wasn’t in the mood for a sermon.
Thankfully, the older man simply nodded his agreement and then returned to the marked door. “I’ll see you at church Sunday, Dana,” he said, and then to Ryan, “We’d love to see you there, too.”
Ryan smiled but didn’t commit to anything, then turned to his sister to see her smirking. “What?” he asked.
“Just thinking how cool it is to watch God work,” she said.
“Aren’t we supposed to be delivering some camp materials?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut, which told Ryan that he probably didn’t want to hear whatever she’d been about to say. Then she turned, pointed toward the alley leading to the square and said, “Come on, I’ll show you the way to Maribeth’s store.”
And just like that, his attention turned from their difference of opinion over their father’s change of heart to the intriguing woman who’d been hovering in his thoughts for days—equally unsettling. Ryan couldn’t put his finger on the reason Maribeth Walton had such an effect on him. Yes, she was beautiful, but he was often around beautiful women and had dated some of the most striking ladies in the world. Maybe her coolness toward him, her apparent apathy toward his status, piqued his interest.
But for whatever reason, Ryan had a serious attraction toward the woman they were going to meet, the kind of magnetism he’d only experienced once before, when Nannette securely captured his heart and then shattered it while the whole world read about the escapade in the tabloids.
Ryan refused to let that happen again. He’d maintain emotional distance when he and Dana saw Maribeth in a few minutes, and soon, he’d secure permanent distance between himself and the intriguing woman by going back to Chicago. Out of sight, out of mind, and all of that.
He needed to get back to his world, begin working on how to make his name stand out in the Brooks International empire and control the urge to lose his wits over another woman.
“Well, what do you think?” Dana asked when they exited the alley to find themselves in the midst of the box of buildings that comprised the Claremont town square.
Ryan scanned the unusual surroundings. “It’s nice,” he said. He had expected the square to take him back in time, but he hadn’t anticipated how far, as though the entire town had been plucked from the 1950s and dropped in the middle of north Alabama. Very Mayberry.
A three-tiered fountain bordered by two mature oak trees centered the square, with children surrounding its edge tossing pennies into the sparkling water. Park benches dotted the grassy area around the fountain and held several elderly couples feeding squawking geese from bags of bread.
Elaborate eaves and fabric awnings decorated brick storefronts, and the majority of the shops had sidewalk displays to appeal to passing shoppers. There was a candy store, Mr. Feazell’s toy store, a craft store, a barber shop complete with an old-fashioned striped pole, a five-and-dime, an art gallery, a bookstore, a sporting goods store and a shop titled Consigning Women. And that happened to be the place where his sister stopped, opened the door and waited for him to go inside.
This was where Maribeth worked?
A cool breeze met them upon entering, as did the scent of apples and cinnamon, reminding Ryan of the woman who carried the same sweet scent.
Music filled the air. He didn’t recognize the song, but the lyrics quickly told him it was a Christian tune. Then a clear soprano joined in from the back of the store as they made their way through the circular clothing displays.
Ryan took care not to knock anything down with his crutches while also studying the distinctive layout of the place. The clothes weren’t merely hung on racks; they were arranged in ready-to-be-worn ensembles. Tops were paired with skirts and jewelry and shoes, everything a woman would need to match perfectly from head to toe.
While Dana paused to look at a red pantsuit, Ryan took a moment to examine the other original attributes of every outfit. Each one had a ribbon hanging nearby with an attached photo. Flipping over a photograph, Ryan saw a picture of Jennifer Aniston with a caption: “In February 2012, Jennifer Aniston chose a black-and-white chevron-print dress with leather accents for her movie’s premiere. Paired with a black leather clutch, gold jewelry and black pointed-toe heels, her ensemble can be yours for $42.50.”
“This is like Jennifer Aniston’s outfit,” he said to Dana.
His sister grinned. “And this one is like Kristen Stewart’s. And that one is like Gwyneth Paltrow’s.” She pointed to a hot pink dress and strappy heels.
Ryan scanned the store and realized that there was only a small area noted as being for separates in the very back. All other space in the shop was filled with complete outfits. And beside the cash register, a huge wall collage featured countless photos of celebrities wearing clothes that were apparently available in this store.
“Maribeth has talent, doesn’t she? To take an idea—for all women to be able to dress like celebrities—and then create a store to implement that idea?” Dana grinned at Ryan.
“She owns this place?” he asked, awestruck with the exceptional concept—a consignment store that recreated red-carpet looks.
Dana nodded as she moved to a bright yellow sundress and read the ribbon-embellished note. “Scarlett Johansson. I think I remember seeing her wear this.” She scanned the pictures on the celebrity wall. “Yes, there she is. Do you think John would like this on me?” She checked the tag. “The size is right.”
“Ingenious,” Ryan said, marveling at the brilliant idea.
His sister held the dress against herself and viewed herself in a nearby elongated mirror. “I know. It’s like having a personal stylist, but without the effort, or the price tag. Maribeth does all of the work, and it’s a win-win. The folks bringing in items for consignment are happy because they sell more, and the ones buying the outfits are happy, too, because they can dress like the stars for a price that fits their budget. And her place is so popular that women drive all the way from Birmingham to get the look of a star for a price they can afford.” She draped the yellow dress over her arm and grabbed the accompanying red jewelry. “Pretty incredible idea, don’t you think?”
Ryan nodded and wondered if the woman realized the potential of her idea. She was sitting on a gold mine.
“We should probably go tell her we’re here,” Dana said, pointing toward Maribeth, who swayed as she held coral jewelry against a royal blue dress. She’d tacked a photo to the wall nearby and checked the dress against the picture, a photograph from the newest issue of People magazine that featured Pippa Middleton wearing a similar dress and jewels.
Maribeth wore a sleeveless black dress with a thin red belt and sky-high red heels. An assembly of gold bangles traveled up and down her delicate arms as she attached the necklace to the blue dress and then reached for the earrings. Her voice blended with the music, this song about blessings, and when Dana tapped her shoulder, she jumped, let out a high-pitched yelp and tossed one of the earrings in the air.
“Oh, my,” she said, gasping. Red-tipped fingers fluttered beneath her slender throat. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She laughed, leaned down and scooped up the discarded earring, then seemed to notice Dana wasn’t alone. “Oh, hello.”
Ryan didn’t miss the change in her tone, as though she weren’t quite happy with his arrival in her store. Then again, this wasn’t a store for guys. “Hello,” Ryan said. He’d decided to maintain his distance from the woman, but her fascinating concept captivated him. He wanted to know more. “You put all of these outfits together, based on what celebrities wear?”
She’d seemed cool at first, but her face lit up with the question. “And based on what customers turn in for consignment, of course. Do you...” She paused. “Well, what do you think of the store?”
