Chapter 8
Caleb wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d considered checking out his temporary new town, but driving around alone held no attraction for him. He’d rather explore the area with Snow. Let her show him around and share whatever it was that drew her to this place. As far as he could tell, Ardent Springs was a sleepy little metropolis with a bustling downtown and not much else. The proximity to Nashville kept the town from being remote, but without a business or family in the area, he didn’t see much of a reason to stick around.
As he parked the Jeep outside Snow’s apartment—or rather their apartment for now—he was surprised to see one of the garage doors open. The walls were lined with shelves, most holding neatly organized paint cans, canvases, a few easels, but there was no vehicle. Seemed a waste of space. This garage was made for cars, not paintbrushes and dirty rags .
“You got a reason to be nosing around my property?” Caleb spun to find an elderly woman nearly his own height staring at him through the biggest pair of sunglasses he’d ever seen. She wore a ball cap, an oversized blue robe-looking thing that buttoned up the front, and a pair of regular glasses dangling from a string of beads around her neck.
Caleb didn’t make a habit of checking out older women, but it was impossible not to notice that this one desperately needed to put on a bra. Everything was sitting around waist level.
“I’m Snow’s hus—” he started, then corrected himself. “Fiancé. Snow’s fiancé. Are you Mrs. Silvester?”
“Since when does Snow have a fiancé?” she asked, dragging out the last word into several syllables.
That was a good question. They hadn’t discussed a time line for this bogus engagement, so Caleb decided to wing it. “Since two weeks ago.”
His interrogator looked him up and down. “How long have you been in town?”
He was tempted to tell the busybody it was none of her business, but the impression she was digging for answers in protection of Snow kept him polite. “I got here yesterday,” he said.
“But you asked her to marry you two weeks ago.” The words were more statement than question. Her top lip curled as if she’d tasted something bitter. “What’d you do? Ask over e-mail or something? What kind of a boy asks for a girl’s hand like that?”
She had a point. Caleb cursed his quick answer and resented Snow for making him lie like this. “Not exactly,” he said, stalling to come up with a better story. “We talked about it over the phone and then agreed that I should come stay for a while to see how things go.” What a load of bull. He only hoped he’d remember all of this to get the story straight with Snow later on. “I haven’t actually gotten down on one knee and made an official proposal yet.”
“What the hell you waitin’ on? ”
Caleb went with the first thought that entered his head. “I don’t have a ring.”
That put a hold on the rapid-fire questions. The woman slid her sunglasses to the end of her nose. “You’re certainly pretty enough for my girl. What do you do for a living?”
Refusing to throw another lie on the metaphorical pile, Caleb said, “I’m between jobs at the moment.”
Gray brows shot up. “At least you’re honest.” With a tilt of her head, she added, “Louisiana boy, aren’t you?”
Impressive. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re lucky,” she said, sliding the glasses back up. “I have a soft spot for Louisiana boys.” Turning on her heels, she said, “Follow me.” Caleb was so surprised, he didn’t move for several seconds, until she turned and barked, “Don’t be dillydallying now. We’ve got work to do.”
Too stunned to argue, Caleb shuffled across the driveway, following Her Geriatric Highness through the garden gate and toward the side of the big house. “You are Mrs. Silvester, right?” he asked as he caught up to her.
“I am not and never have been Mrs. anything. Call me Miss Hattie.” She floated up the six steps to reach the porch without touching the hand rail. “First, we’ll take care of the ring situation.” Resting her hand on the screen door handle, she removed the sunglasses, sliding one stem into the top of her robe thing—Caleb wasn’t sure what to call the outfit other than shapeless. “I assume you’re staying in the apartment with my tenant. You young folk might take this sort of thing lightly, but in my day, a woman didn’t live with a man without first getting the ring as well as the vows spoken in front of the preacher.” Opening the door and waiting for Caleb to hold it, she said, “I’ll let the second part slide, but insist on the first. You have a problem with that?”
Since they’d already said their vows, be it in front of an Elvis impersonator instead of the traditional preacher, Caleb saw no reason to argue. “No, ma’am. But I can take care of the ring part myself if you’ll point me in the direction of a good jeweler.”
“Nonsense,” she said, charging into the house. “I’ve got the perfect bauble.”
Was she suggesting he take a ring from her? That was out of the question. “Mrs. Silvester ...”
“That’s Miss Hattie, and don’t worry, I’m not giving you anything for free,” she said, stepping up to a table in the foyer and dropping her hat and glasses on the marble surface. “The only kin I have is some distant cousin in Chattanooga who likely wouldn’t know an heirloom from his hairy bottom. I’d rather sell a piece to you than see it end up in a pawn shop.”
“But, ma’am . . .”
“Snow deserves the best, and what I’m offering is better than anything you’ll find for several hundred miles,” she said. “You want your wife to have the best, don’t you?”
Yes. Yes he did. But this still seemed wrong.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, knowing how closely his mother protected the jewelry that had been handed down through generations of McGraws, dating back to pre–Civil War days. “You don’t even know me.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The question took him off balance. “Um ... Caleb,” he said. “Caleb McGraw.”
“Nice to meet you, Caleb,” Miss Hattie said with a hand extended. Manners made him accept the shake without thought. “Now we know each other. And we both care for Snow, am I correct?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation.
“Then it’s settled. Let’s get that sweet little thing a ring.”
Thirteen thousand dollars. Snow leaned back in her chair, staring open-mouthed at her computer screen. The only painting by William Norton that was close to the size of the one she’d bought had sold at auction the year before for thirteen thousand dollars. Her eyes cut over to the new treasure and all she could do was smile. This lucky find was going to change her life, and she had Caleb to thank for it.
They’d need to find the right auction. And have it checked for authenticity, of course, but Snow believed she was looking at the real thing. The temptation to keep it danced along her brain. She, Snow Cameron, the lowly peasant with the tainted blood who wasn’t good enough for his son, owned a painting more valuable than Jackson McGraw’s. What would the blowhard say to that?
Not that she was bitter or anything. She already had Jackson’s most valuable possession—his son. Too bad the old man couldn’t see past his bank account to recognize that Caleb was the real prize.
That thought straightened her spine. Caleb was a prize. And he deserved a woman of equal value. Snow was smart enough to know she wasn’t worthless, but she wasn’t on her husband’s level either. Since she had every intention of letting him go, Snow opted not to think about her marriage.
For today, she would wallow in her William Norton victory and plot out exactly how she’d use her future profits to improve the store.
Snow opened a new document in her computer and typed SHOP IMPROVEMENTS across the top at the same time the store phone sitting next to her keyboard began to chirp. Without checking the caller ID, she answered, “Snow’s Curiosity Shop, how can I help you?”
“Is my son with you?” demanded the chilly voice on the other end.
“Hello, Vivien,” Snow said, refusing to hop to attention like a trained puppy.
“Answer the question,” the Southern diva snapped. “Is he there?”
“Not at the moment, no. But yes,” Snow confessed, “Caleb is here in Ardent Springs.”
“How could you let this happen? ”
“Me?” Snow exclaimed, then glanced around the store and lowered her voice. “You were the one in charge of the smoke signals. Why didn’t you warn me he was coming?”
“Because I didn’t know,” she muttered. “He sent me a text yesterday morning that he’d found a lead and was leaving Nashville, but there were no further details. He refused to answer my messages.”
Maybe Mama McGraw didn’t have her boy on as tight a leash as Snow had thought.
“There wasn’t much I could do,” Snow said. “He walked into the store out of nowhere. Other than feigning amnesia, I was out of options.”
“I should have known this would happen,” Vivien said, more to herself than to Snow. “I’m assuming you both agreed the marriage is over. When is he coming home? I’ll set up a meeting with our lawyer. The divorce papers were drawn up months ago, so the process shouldn’t take long.”
A cold, stabbing pain hit Snow in the gut. The papers were ready to go? Was that Caleb’s doing?
“I don’t know when he’s going home,” she said, ignoring the ribbons of doubt clawing to take hold. “According to my husband, this marriage is salvageable.” Apparently, like a car or an old building. Maybe Snow should hit up Buford at the hardware store for a tub of spackle.
“What are you talking about? You left him. He didn’t hear from you for nearly two years.” Her mother-in-law’s voice dripped with icy incredulity as she reiterated every one of Snow’s sins. “How could he possibly want to stay married to you?” she finished.
Snow asked herself the same thing, but she wasn’t about to share that fact with Vivien McGraw. “Maybe for the same reason he married me in the first place,” Snow said, prepared to lie to save her own pride.
“Oh, please,” Vivien huffed, impatience clear in her tone. “Once he stops thinking with his libido, Caleb will see reason. ”
It was a wonder Caleb carried any kindness at all after being raised by this heartless woman. Of course, Vivien was smart enough never to reveal her true self to the men in her life. From their first encounter, Snow had marveled at how tightly Vivien spun her wicked web of fake Southern charm and empty maternal preening. The moment she’d caught Snow sneaking out of the house, the mask had dropped and Vivien had held no compunction about letting her son’s fleeing wife know exactly what she thought of her.
The fact that Caleb’s mother had been willing to pass messages on to Snow’s family with complete anonymity was her only saving grace. But then, the longer Snow’s whereabouts stayed secret, the closer Vivien came to wiping Snow out of her family for good.
“Your son doesn’t see it that way.” Snow couldn’t help herself. As much as she knew Vivien was right, she couldn’t stand to admit as much. Not to this horrible woman.
Silence prickled through the line, raising goose bumps along Snow’s arms. Her mother-in-law was a formidable opponent. A woman unaccustomed to being crossed.
“How do you think my son will feel when he learns that you used his own mother against him?” Vivien asked, the threat unmistakable.
“I didn’t use anyone,” Snow answered, struggling to keep the panic from her voice. The guilt was harder to ignore. “Everything you’ve done was of your own choosing.”
“That’s your word against mine, now, isn’t it?”
The betrayal would kill him. Even if he gave Snow a chance to explain, the truth was still ugly and hurtful.
Her position achingly clear, Snow said, “Your son will be home before Christmas. You can start your proceedings then.”
Vivien’s voice lost a bit of its edge. “This is the best for all involved. I assume you’ll no longer need my assistance in contacting your parents?”
“No,” Snow said. “I’ll contact them directly from now on. ”
As she spoke the words, all feeling left her body. This was what she wanted—Caleb out of her life for good. So why did she feel as if she was losing something all over again?
“Snow?” Vivien said, sounding once again like the dictator she was. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Good-bye,” Snow said, ending the call without waiting for the other woman to respond.
Closing her eyes, Snow took several deep breaths, willing the tears away. Once she regained control, she opened the phone line and entered a number she hadn’t dialed in eighteen months.
“Are you sure this is the one?” Caleb asked, turning the tiny ring between two fingers to catch the light. Hattie had put him in a small ladies’ parlor before disappearing up the stairs and returning moments later with a cream-colored jewelry box.
“I’m sure,” Hattie said, balancing the box on her lap. “That ring has Snow written all over it.”
The round diamond, held in place by four prongs and accented by six smaller stones on each side, was dainty, understated, and beautiful. Just like his wife.
“The band is platinum,” Hattie explained. “Aunt Edith gave it to me when I turned sixteen. Her first husband had been killed in World War II, and when she remarried, her second husband gave her a new ring.” The older woman’s voice turned wistful. “I think seeing this in her jewelry box every day reminded her of Uncle Harry and what she’d lost. They’d been so in love, those two.”
Caleb had no doubt he could afford whatever price Hattie asked, but now he knew there was sentimental value involved. “I don’t want to take something so personal,” he said. “I’ll make a trip down to Nashville tomorrow. ”
Hattie waved his words away. “I’ll hear nothing of the sort. That ring is meant to be worn, not sit in a box forever. Besides,” she added, “I can’t take it with me.”
From what little time he’d spent with Hattie Silvester, Caleb surmised she was as healthy as he was. But not all ailments were obvious. “Are you planning on meeting your maker sometime soon?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she said, “My luck, I’ll still be kicking around this old place twenty years from now. That doesn’t change the fact that Snow deserves this ring.”
The delicate piece continued to sparkle as he held it closer to the window. “What do you want for it?”
“It’s worth about five thousand,” Hattie said, shrugging as she answered. “Give me whatever you can afford.”
Caleb could afford twice that much. “How do you feel about monthly payments?” He’d simply pay the small amount for the first month or two, then hand over a large check before he and Snow left for home.
“Like I said, pay me what you can afford.” The older woman placed several small satchels back in the long jewelry box and latched the intricately decorated lid in place. “Say, do you know anything about the newspaper business?”
Considering his father owned three of them and he’d interned at each, the answer was obvious. But again, he didn’t know what story Snow wanted him to tell. This lying business was more trouble than it was worth. Which was why he’d never made a habit of it.
“I know a little, I guess,” Caleb said, deciding that understatement was better than a lie.
“Good.” Hattie set the jewelry box on the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Be at this address at nine tomorrow morning.”
Caleb took the note and read 121 Second Avenue North. “What is this?” he asked.
“You want a job or not?” she asked .
He’d told Snow he’d get a job, and working for a newspaper was better than slinging a hammer, but Caleb didn’t know what Hattie expected him to do. Journalism was not his arena, but the paper could be hiring a delivery boy for all he knew.
“I appreciate your help, but I don’t know what you’re offering. And you don’t even know if I’m qualified.”
She once again waved his words away. “You’ll be fine. Now we have more work to do,” she said, charging out of the small sitting room.
“Excuse me?” Caleb said, following after her.
“It isn’t often I have a little muscle around here,” she said over her shoulder. “Keep up and we’ll earn you the first installment on that ring before the day is out.”