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“Is that so?” He crossed his arms and waited, amazed at her new air of self-confidence. “And how does that meet the requirements of a ‘profitable enterprise that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas’?” He quoted from the will.
“A lot of consumers stay away from antiques either because they think they can’t afford them, or they don’t know anything about them.”
Tara’s eyes flashed a spark of excitement in the dark room. “If you know where and what to search for, Southern collectibles are quite valuable.”
He couldn’t resist squashing her idea like a bug. “Before you wear your arm out patting yourself on the back, you might want to consider selling something besides old furniture in an old town. Not exactly a commodity that’s in short supply.”
The slight droop in her shoulders said he’d driven home the supply-and-demand theory he’d taught hundreds of college freshmen.
“I hope the second floor works for whatever you sell. Just don’t get any ideas about keeping your inventory down here. I have a business plan of my own.”
“But I’m sure I’ll need this space, too,” she insisted.
“Now listen.” He fixed her with a narrow stare. “You just called this place a dungeon and said yourself the real potential is upstairs.” He had her there. “I’m willing to take the ground floor and approve of whatever you want to do with your half of the building, as long as you afford me the same courtesy. The old lady’s will says we have to cooperate. If you don’t plan to comply, right out of the gate, you might as well pack up and head back to New York.”
He admired the determined curve of her jaw, tensed as she clenched her teeth at his intentional rudeness.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Reckon I would.” He smiled. “I didn’t ask for this opportunity, but I’m going to make the most of it. Nobody’s ever given me anything in my life. I’ve worked hard for what I have. If you’re not willing to do the same, I’ll be happy to take your inheritance, princess.”
Even in the darkened building he could see Tara’s face begin to color. She closed her eyes and started that deep-breathing business again.
“So, what do you say?” He rushed her out of the moment of concentration. Her eyes flew wide in the middle of an openmouthed exhale. She resembled the flame hawkfish in his salt-water aquarium.
“For your information, I know quite a lot about hard work myself. Since I moved to New York, I haven’t accepted a dime from my grandmother.”
“Why start now and spoil your independence?” he challenged. “It’s not too late to get out of Smallsville and back to your real life in the big apple.”
“However twisted her logic may be, she had some purpose for what she’s done and I intend to respect her wishes.”
“Respect her money, you mean.” He stroked his chin, pretending to consider something. “Speaking of money, why don’t we sell both places, split the profits and be done with it.”
“I don’t plan to sell anything,” Tara insisted. “That house is the only home I’ve ever known and I couldn’t bear to part with it.”
His slow applause echoed in the empty space. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for melodrama. You almost had me feelin’ sorry for you.”
“I’m trying to tell you that whatever I figure out to do here I’ll do it with all my heart. I’ll put what money I have saved and all my time and energy into making it a success.”
“Good, then we don’t have a problem.” He moved away from her to walk the first floor’s perimeter, checking for any obvious plumbing or electrical-repair needs. He heard Tara’s hesitant footsteps as she climbed the wide stairs leading to the second story.
“Hold on a minute and I’ll get you some light.” He returned with a halogen flashlight that illuminated a wide arch on the wooden staircase. “Do you want me to go up with you?”
Her gaze followed the steps upward to another heavy security door. She held out her hand for the cluster of keys. “No, thanks. I’m fine on my own,” she insisted, swiping at a spiderweb dangling over her head.
“Oh, come on.” He stomped ahead of her. She followed without argument.
As she’d predicted, the rooms on the second floor were in fair shape. With paint, elbow grease and some luck, Tara could make a go at whatever she came up with.
Watching her pace off the dimensions of the rooms, he became conscious of the traitorous way his mind found her spicy scent tempting. She, however, seemed unaware of his presence, making notes on the small pad she pulled from her purse.
Engrossed in decorating ideas, she penciled on the walls indicating possible paint colors and several wallpaper styles. Light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side of the building. Once those windows were cleaned, the old shutters replaced by modern wooden blinds, the place would be warm and inviting during the day.
At night, any lighted activity inside would beckon to citizens crossing the square. But what would attract college students? Hardly antiques. As much as she hated to agree, Sam was right.
There was a shuffling sound behind her. He’d been waiting quietly while she made her notes. She turned to find him still standing in the wide doorway, watching her.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to wait on me.”
“I can take a hint.” His hand on the knob, he turned away.
“No, wait. I wasn’t trying to run you off.” She groaned inwardly at the poor choice of words.
Sam chuckled without humor and shook his head at the irony. “We both know you don’t have to try at all when that’s what you have in mind.”
The past hung between them, as obvious as the dust motes that floated through the shaft of light from the dirty windows. The need to tell Sam what had happened all those years ago pounded like a migraine in Tara’s head. They’d never make peace until it was done and he understood this bizarre arrangement was Miriam’s way of putting things right.
She crossed the empty space separating them.
“Listen, Sam, we need to talk—”
He stopped her by holding up both hands, palms outward, his face unreadable.
“I don’t want to hear it. It’s been too many years and there’s nothing you can say now that will make a difference in my life. So don’t try to soothe your guilty conscience at my expense.” Sam pushed his way through the metal door and let it fall shut behind him with a loud clang.
She stared at the cold metal surface, suddenly understanding. He blames me. He thinks being forced out of Beardsly was all my doing.
With nine years of bitterness built up, she’d never convince him otherwise.
Tara leaned against the oak griffin dining-room table, her notes and figures spread across the polished surface. Her one faithful friend, Lacey, sat with a leg folded beneath her, raising her short torso enough to reach the bag of chips in the middle of the table.
“Sam thinks what happened was entirely my fault,” Tara blurted out.
Lacey’s curls tossed as her head popped up. “And you didn’t tell him the truth?”
Tara shook her head hard enough to rattle her senses.
“Listen,” Lacey placed her hand over Tara’s, “you owe Sam the truth, and then you two can begin to put all the hard feelings behind you. Maybe even start over. Together.” Her smile was full of hope.
“Even if he did believe it, he’d only transfer his anger from me to Grandmother. I won’t give him the ammunition to do or say anything to soil her reputation.”
“After the second chance she’s given him, he’ll forgive her anything, don’t you think?” Lacey insisted.
Forgive anything? Tara hadn’t mastered that herself.
No matter how distant, she would never forget the angry words that still resonated in her grandmother’s elegant dining room.
“How could you hurt him that way? How could you do this to me, Grandmother?”
“Listen to reason, child. You have your whole life ahead of you and I won’t have you waste it on the son of my housekeeper.”
“That’s so unfair! He’s respected in his position at the college. The kids love him and I love him, too. But you’ve ruined everything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve simply steered you both in different directions. If, as you insist, it’s God’s will for you to be with Sam, you’ll find one another again one day. But you’ll both spend time growing up first.”
“I’ll never forgive you for this!” Tara had swept her arm across the oak sideboard, sending silver and porcelain crashing to the hardwood below. She’d stared through hot tears at the shattered treasure, turned and run up the stairway.
Now Tara’s gaze sought the gouged floor where the hand-sculpted Asian vase had met its demise. “How can I expect Sam to forgive her when I spent the last nine years punishing her myself?”
“You have to find it in your heart, Tara. I watched Miss Miriam volunteering so much of her time, giving away so much to charity, trying to atone. And I was the one person in town who understood why she did it. Don’t let regrets steal your joy, too. Promise me you’ll pray about it, okay?” Lacey asked.
“I’ll put that on my prayer list along with the funds for the books I have to order.” Tara changed the subject.
“Is that what you decided to add to the antiques? Books?” She narrowed her eyes as she thought it over. “I like it.” Her head bobbed agreeably.
“Thanks.” Tara smiled, grateful for some encouragement. “I stopped at Shoppers’ Mart to get some magazines this afternoon. Standing in that dark little aisle it suddenly occurred to me it was the only place in town to buy something to read.”
“There’s the campus bookstore,” Lacey reminded.
“And as long as I want a textbook or a paperback those two places are fine. But to thumb through a special-event cookbook or a gardening guide or a biography of a musician I’d have to drive to Dallas,” Tara pointed out.
“What do you think Frieda Walker will have to say about you taking business from the college?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare compete with the textbooks and classics she sells on campus. I’ll carry contemporary genres, popular magazines and international newspapers. Maybe even a computer or two for research and online chatting.
“And here’s something else I’m considering.” She clasped her palms together beneath her chin in nervous anticipation of her only friend’s reaction. “What if I set up a coffeehouse in one corner of the store to give the students someplace new and trendy to hang out?”
“That’s perfect! They’ll love it.”
Tara’s heart lifted at the thought of something that would bring the younger crowd into her business. “We’ll serve all those great flavored coffees and they can visit with their friends like the kids do in the big chain stores. I’ll use the antiques as display background for the books and collectibles and everything will be for sale.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, girl, you’ve thought of something for everybody,” Lacey enthused.
“Now I’ve just got to think of a way to make up the difference between my savings account and the cost of inventory.”
“You ought to consider selling some of the antiques Miss Miriam left you.” Lacey surveyed the room. “Your own auction house could find you a buyer, Rusty.”
“First, promise you won’t call me that anymore?” Tara pleaded. “That name belongs to another lifetime, agreed?”
Lacey nodded.
“And second,” Tara continued, “I’m not interested in selling anything in this house.”
“This stuff is the only solid collateral you have.”
Tara leaned elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Lacey,” she mumbled through her fingers. “If my grandmother thought for a minute I’d sell her things, she’d have donated them to charity herself.”
Lacey shook her blond head in disagreement and thumbed through the will. “She didn’t have any problem placing restrictions on your ownership of the Elliott Building or Sycamore House. If she hadn’t meant for you to sell the antiques she’d have done the same with them. It says right here ‘to dispose of as she chooses,’ and that means she gave you her permission and her blessing to do whatever you have to do.”
“What if I borrow against some of the most rare pieces? If I fail I can always sell them. But if my idea is a success, I’ll still have my grandmother’s things.”
Lacey munched a potato chip and wiped the barbecue residue on her jeans. “Makes sense. Okay, let’s make a few calls and see who’s offering the best line of credit against collateral. By the time your inventory starts to arrive you’ll have the money to pay for it.”
Tara felt a smile of relief curve her mouth for the first time since learning of her grandmother’s death. Already organized, she reached for her folder marked Stock and thumbed through the publishing printouts. Tomorrow she’d order books, place ads in surrounding counties for antique consignment pieces and begin the marketing research on coffee houses. Remodeling and advertising came next if she intended to meet the self-imposed grand opening in four weeks.
“What’s going in on the first floor?” Lacey asked.
Tara froze. She’d been so wrapped up in her own plans that she had no idea what Sam had in mind for the ground floor of the Elliott Building. She tried to recall their conversation. He had said he was going to make the most of this opportunity, but she’d never asked him how he intended to do it. He’d agreed to anything she wanted to do and now she was committed to doing the same for him.
“Tara?” Lacey nudged her. “I said, what are Sam’s plans?”
“He didn’t tell me.” A chill ran up Tara’s spine at her vulnerable position. “But Sam knows this town and we’re right on the square, so it’s bound to be something conservative.” She hurried on, trying to sound convincing. “He may appear rough around the edges, but he comes from a respectable background. Surely he won’t do anything foolish and risk this chance to make something of himself….” Her speech faltered as she caught sight of her friend’s eyes rolling upward. “Would he?”
Lacey took a short break from popping chips into her mouth. “Better hang on to your fancy pants, city girl. I think you’re in for a wild ride.”
Chapter Three
“Motorcycles!”
“Not just any motorcycles. The best American-made bikes ever.” Sam glanced up from the makeshift drafting table, savoring the moment and the site of Tara’s lovely face contorted in disgust.
“It doesn’t make any difference what kind they are. They’re all foul-smelling and noisy. You might as well sell kerosene and chain saws down here.” Tara swept an arm toward the empty first floor, soon to be occupied by Sam’s Cycles. “Come on Sam, you can’t be serious about this.”
“I’m quite serious.”
“Then you’re doing it to spite me.”
He rolled his eyes and snorted. “You need to get over yourself, Rusty. Not everything’s about you. Did you consider consulting with me about any of your plans?”
She drew a breath to speak, but he ignored it and continued.
“No, because you want to do what interests you. Well, bikes are what interest me. Since it’s a subject I know a little something about, I intend to make a living selling them right here in the Elliott Building. By the way,” he paused, considering a new subject, “I’d like to talk to you about changing the name to the Kennesaw Building.”
“How dare you.” Her azure eyes bulged.
“I dare because it’s time to bring this town into the new millennium. Modernize. Move with the times, don’t you reckon?”
“Are you quite finished?”
“Honey, I’m just gettin’ started.” Sam smiled and looked her up and down. Instead of shrinking from his gaze, she stood taller and squared her shoulders beneath the solid black ensemble. He expected a battle and it seemed she wouldn’t disappoint.
“Grandmother wanted us to come back here and do something to help the community. I can think of a hundred reasons why you’re wasting your time trying to sell motorcycles.”
“Name three,” he challenged.
“Well, first of all, nobody around here rides those things.”
“Yet,” he countered. “And that’s because they don’t have a local dealer or service center. Once that objection is eliminated, you’re gonna see bikers everywhere.”
