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“Hell,” Carson grumbled. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”
“Those performances will bring lots of visitors to town,” Marlee said.
“No wonder old man Barrett was always trotting those kids of his from place to place to perform,” Carson said.
“It will mean a great deal of business for our merchants,” Marlee said.
Carson shook his head. “Look, Miss Carrington, I—”
“It’s for Christmas,” she implored.
A moment passed, and finally Carson said, “I can’t help you.”
“But—”
“I make money. I don’t give it away.” Carson gestured to her market basket. “Did you think some cookies would convince me to donate that kind of money?”
Yes, she did think that it would at least help, but now she felt the gesture had made her look naive and silly. Still, she wasn’t going to tell him that.
Marlee pushed her chin up. “It’s accepted tradition to offer refreshments during a business discussion,” she told him.
“A business discussion involves two people each getting something out of the deal,” Carson told her. “What are you offering—besides cookies?”
Wild notions flew into Marlee’s head, things she’d only heard whispered about among the girls at the Claremont School for Young Ladies. And now she was actually thinking about them—and doing them—with Carson.
The room seemed to grow warmer as Carson leaned his elbow on his desk and edged closer.
“Well, Miss Carrington?” he asked.
His voice sounded deeper, richer. His eyes looked darker. The heat he gave off pulled her closer, as if she were bound to him, unable to break away.
“What else are you offering?” he asked.
A spark of heat forced its way through her muddled thoughts.
Had he just made an indecent proposal?
Marlee replayed his words in her mind. Good gracious, he had.
Of all the nerve. How dare he? Anger, outrage—something—raced through her. She should slap his face and stomp out of his office, and never speak to him again.
But what about the money for the musical group? The festival? The town of Harmony that was counting on her?
Well, she would have to give him a piece of her mind later—which she certainly would do.
Marlee tamped down her feelings and looked at Carson across the desk.
“If you weren’t aware, Mr. Tate,” she told him, “I’m currently in the employ of Mrs. Lillian Montgomery of Philadelphia, where I perform social and business duties with the utmost efficiency and competence, having been trained at the Claremont School for Young Ladies.”
“The Claremont School for Young Ladies, huh?” Carson reared back in his chair.
“It’s a very prestigious institution,” Marlee assured him.
“I’m sure it is.” He shook his head. “But I’ve got Drew to handle my business, and I don’t have a need for social help, whatever that is.”
“Oh, but you do,” Marlee assured him. “Your home isn’t decorated for Christmas. I could do that for you—and in good taste.”
“I don’t need my house decorated,” Carson said.
“I could purchase gifts for everyone on your Christmas list,” she said.
Carson shook his head. “I don’t give Christmas gifts.”
“You don’t give gifts?” Marlee blurted the words out.
He sat forward. “How about cooking? Are you good at it?”
Cooking? Who said anything about cooking? Why would he mention it?
“How about scrubbing and washing?” he asked.
She kept her belongings neat and organized, but Mrs. Montgomery employed servants who did the heavy cleaning.
Marlee’s spirits dipped considerably. If her cooking and cleaning skills were what it took to convince Carson to give her the money she needed, the Christmas festival was doomed.
“My request for a donation is made in the spirit of Christmas, and for the betterment of Harmony,” Marlee said. “I think you’re missing the point.”
“No, I believe you’re the one missing the point,” Carson told her.
Not a hint of a smile showed on Carson’s face. His expression hardened. He exuded a toughness, a strength that she hadn’t seen before. Marlee knew she was gazing at a man who knew how to drive a hard bargain, to force a deal to go his way, to get the upper hand and keep it. She imagined other, less hardy men cowing down, giving him his way.
Yet something inside Marlee seemed to rise up, anxious to take him on.
“I run a business, not a charity,” Carson told her. “The gifts I give folks in Harmony are jobs so they’ll have money in their pockets, food on their tables. I bring new business to this town so it will grow, so more families can have better lives. I work hard at that. Very hard. And I’m not about to give away a hundred dollars so that a bunch of people can come here and sing songs.”
Marlee’s anger boiled over. She shot to her feet. “How can you claim to care about the citizens of Harmony when you have no real idea what’s at stake?”
“I assure you, Miss Carrington, I know exactly what’s at stake,” he told her. “One hundred of my hard-earned bucks.”
“This isn’t about you, Mr. Tate, or what you want,” Marlee said, glaring down at him.
Carson lurched from his chair and circled the desk in three quick strides to stand next to her. The force of his presence mere inches from Marlee nearly overwhelmed her, but she stood firm, refusing to give him the upper hand by backing away.
“I always get what I want,” he told her.
He was close, so close. The scent of him as strong, luring her nearer with its familiarity—a familiarity she wouldn’t give in to this time.
Marlee gazed up at him. “Don’t even think about kissing me again.”
Carson’s expression shifted, as if the hunger that had come over him now threatened to consume him—and suddenly all Marlee could think was that if he didn’t kiss her again, she couldn’t stand it.
Goodness, what was she thinking?
Forcing aside her feelings, Marlee narrowed her eyes at him in what she hoped was a threatening glare.
“I want my gun back,” she told him.
“When you’re all riled up like this?” he asked, and uttered a little laugh. “I don’t feel like getting shot right now.”
“You’re despicable,” she told him.
Marlee reached for her market basket. Carson snatched the cookies from inside.
“I never said I didn’t want the cookies,” he told her.
“Oh!”
Marlee stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Eight
She’d failed. Completely and miserably.
Marlee hurried along the boardwalk, Carson’s words still ringing in her head. He’d refused to donate to the Christmas festival, and nothing she’d said had changed his mind—she hadn’t even instilled a moment’s hesitation in him.
Except when she’d mentioned kissing her again.
“Oh, dear …” Marlee fretted as she continued on her way to—well, she didn’t know where she was going. Nowhere, really. She just needed to walk, to keep moving, to somehow deal with her encounter with Carson.
And put off the inevitable.
She’d have to go to Mrs. Tuttle’s home and confess that she’d failed at getting Carson to donate the money to bring the Laughlin Singers to Harmony. Marlee cringed at the thought. The mayor’s wife, her cousins, the women at the meeting, the town merchants had put their faith in her, and she’d let them down.
Marlee’s steps slowed, recalling how the mayor’s wife had cautioned her that Carson would be difficult to convince. Everyone in town knew he was focused heavily on his business. Surely they would understand why she hadn’t been able to elicit the funds from him.
And there was perhaps still time, Marlee told herself, to find another musical group who might come to Harmony on a few days’ notice and perform for free. If not, then surely the church choir would sing. It wouldn’t be as grand a performance, of course, and the visitors from neighboring towns who’d come in response to the newspaper advertisements and flyers would be disappointed, but Mrs. Tuttle could make an announcement before each concert explaining the situation and everyone would understand. Wouldn’t they?
Marlee’s anger rose again. This was all Carson’s fault. He’d put her in this difficult position. He flew into her thoughts and she was so annoyed with him at that moment that she wanted to kiss him.
Kiss him?
Marlee stopped dead in her tracks. Why on earth had that notion sprung into her mind?
“Oh, dear …” she mumbled again, shaking her head. She forced her thoughts back to the task at hand.
No sense waiting, she decided. She’d go to Mrs. Tuttle’s house now and break the news, and face the disappointing look she’d surely get in response.
Marlee spotted Audrey walking toward her. She could see the worry that had been etched in Audrey’s face since Chord left Harmony with his family.
“I’ve just spoken with Mrs. Tuttle,” Audrey said, stopping next to her outside Goodwin’s Dry Goods store. “Everything is arranged.”
An odd, uncomfortable feeling swept over Marlee. “Arranged?”
Audrey nodded. “She’s heard back from the Laughlins. They’re on their way to Harmony and ready to perform all the concerts we asked for.”
Marlee’s heart lurched and panic swept through her. “Mrs. Tuttle already hired them?”
“Of course.” Audrey’s expression relaxed a little. “You’ve done the town such a huge favor, taking on the task of arranging Carson’s donation. I don’t think anyone else would have attempted it, knowing him like we do.”
“But—”
Audrey’s brows drew together. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, actually,” Marlee said, “I thought Mrs. Tuttle would wait until I brought the money to her before she hired the Laughlins.”
“She didn’t want them to go elsewhere,” Audrey explained. “And everyone knew that, with your experience in fundraising, you could get the money, even from tight-fisted Carson Tate. So, everything is settled.”
Marlee opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“I’ve got to get back to the store,” Audrey called as she hurried away.
Marlee staggered into the alley beside the dry goods store and fell against the wall, fearful that she might faint. The singing group was coming. Everyone thought she’d saved the festival. And, really, she’d failed completely.
What would happen when the singers arrived? Mrs. Tuttle, humiliated beyond belief, would have to inform them that, not only were they not going to perform at the festival, but there were no funds to pay for their train tickets or a night’s lodging and meals.
The entire town would find out. Even folks in the neighboring towns would hear of it. The festival would be a failure. Merchants would lose their businesses. Families could be devastated. The whole of Harmony would turn against her.
She would have to return to that tiny little room in Mrs. Montgomery’s mansion, with only the other servants to count as friends. Years—decades—would pass before she saw Audrey and Becky, her aunt and uncle again. This small glimpse of living among family here in Harmony would be but a memory.
Tears burned in Marlee’s eyes. She’d thought she could make Harmony her home. She’d thought she’d finally found a place where she felt wanted and accepted. Now all those hopes were gone.
Pain stabbed her heart and twisted inside her. She’d actually pictured her mother coming to Harmony to live, so that at long last they could be together.
Marlee burst into tears. She hurried deeper into the alley and cried. The anguish of birthdays, Christmases, special moments spent without her mother or any close family tore from her in relentless sobs.
Carson pushed himself out of his chair and stalked across the room. How the hell was he supposed to get any work done when all he could think about was Marlee?
His office still smelled of her. The vision of her seated across the desk loomed in his head. Her dainty hands. Her pink lips. Those blue eyes of hers. Wisps of her hair curling against her cheeks, cheeks flushed bright with anger.
She’d actually had the nerve to raise her voice at him. Few people did that. Marlee had held back, as she’d surely been trained to do at that school she was so proud of and at that job she had back in Philadelphia, but finally she couldn’t contain her feelings any longer. Where had all that emotion come from?
Where could it lead?
A familiar, pleasurable ache filled Carson as he gazed out the window.
What would it be like to have her in his bed? What would it feel like if—
“Damn it,” Carson muttered, pushing the image from his mind. If he didn’t get Marlee out of his head he’d never get any work done.
