Chapter 18
Lorelei had been after Snow for days to spill all her juicy details, pointing out that the insipid grin on her face was proof enough that she was no longer sleeping chastely beside her husband. At first Snow had put her off, certain that Lorelei would not approve of her leading Caleb on when she still intended to end the marriage. But more and more Snow was starting to believe that marrying Caleb had not been a mistake.
Marrying him so quickly had been the problem.
And, as her mother had pointed out on the phone earlier in the day, Snow and Caleb were rectifying that particular issue by returning to the dating stage. Not that she’d planned to tell her mother about the bizarre state of her life, but as soon as Snow had heard Mama’s voice on the other end, she’d spilled it all.
By the time they ended the call, Roberta Cameron was throwing around “I told you sos” and planning a big Christmas dinner to welcome home her prodigal daughter and unwavering son-in-law. Too bad Snow didn’t harbor the same happy ending certainty her mother did.
“If that isn’t the face of a woman satisfied with life, I don’t know what is,” Lorelei said, dropping into the booth across from Snow. They’d agreed to meet for dinner at the new Mexican restaurant two blocks down from Snow’s store.
Mamacita’s added a dose of sorely needed variety to their little metropolis—an alternative to greasy diner food, and deep-fried and gravy-covered options. Based on the tantalizing smells alone, Snow would give the place five stars. Her mouth was watering by the time her friends arrived.
Ignoring Lorelei’s comment, Snow said, “Where have you two been? I’ve been sitting here drooling over this menu for nearly ten minutes.”
Carrie sat down at the edge of the seat Lorelei had scooted across, and then she turned to face the table. Only her stomach didn’t fit.
“I’m sorry,” Snow said, pulling the table her way.
Carrie slid in with a grateful sigh. “Oh, man.”
“What?” Lorelei said, suddenly on high alert. “Is she coming? Do we need to call an ambulance?”
The expectant mother turned to scoot back out of the booth. “Get a grip, Lorelei. She isn’t due for another month. I have to pee.”
Snow camouflaged her laughter by taking a sip of her water. “If you keep this up, Carrie’s going to snap and sit on you,” she said. “And I hope I’m around to see it.”
“I can’t help it,” Lorelei said, sticking her nose in her menu. “Having a baby is dangerous. Anything could happen.”
“Right. Because women haven’t been spitting out babies since the dawn of time.”
Slapping the menu shut, Lorelei said, “This is different.” Glancing in the direction Carrie had disappeared, she added, “Carrie lost a baby before. ”
This was news to Snow. “What? When? Did Patch—”
“Not Patch,” Lorelei said. “The baby was Spencer’s. He was born with the umbilical cord around his neck and the doctors couldn’t save him.”
Snow’s heart dropped. “Oh, honey, that’s horrible. I had no idea.”
“Spencer doesn’t talk about it much, but I know he still thinks about the baby. They named him Jeremy.” Lorelei leaned forward. “I know this is a weird situation, but Spencer still cares a lot about Carrie, and I’ve come to like her, too. She’s like the little sister I never had.”
“Who married your husband while you were away being an actress.”
“Technically, I was being a waitress. And like I said—weird. But based on what I know of that woman’s life, this baby has the potential to be the best thing that ever happened to her. Carrie deserves some happiness.”
Warmth filled Snow’s chest at the knowledge that Lorelei was so determined to protect a woman she could have easily deemed an enemy. Whatever had brought Snow to this little corner of the world, she was grateful for the gift. Ardent Springs had good people.
“Carrie got lucky when her path crossed with yours,” Snow said, remembering how Lorelei had witnessed Carrie’s former husband smacking her around during the summer and charged to her rescue. The fact that Carrie was Spencer’s ex-wife hadn’t seemed to matter. Within days of that rescue, Patch Farmer had gotten himself killed in a bar fight, leaving Carrie with a baby on the way and nothing else. “Sometimes things happen for a reason.”
“You mean like when two people fly off to Vegas and find themselves unexpectedly hitched?” Lorelei asked, turning the conversation away from herself.
Snow huffed and went back to studying her menu, even though she knew what she planned to order. “You’re like a dog with a bone, woman.” To appease her friend, and hoping to kill the topic completely, she added, “Yes, we are having sex. Yes, the sex is incredible. And yes, I am disgustingly happy right now.”
With one manicured finger, Lorelei lowered Snow’s menu and caught her eye. “Just right now?”
“Yes,” Snow answered, her voice firm. “We’ve decided to focus on the present and not think about anything beyond that.” Which was a lie, since all Snow could think about was everything beyond that. She’d even had a dream the night before in which a little boy with dark curls and startling blue eyes raced up to her, Caleb close on his heels. Their smiles were so alike, Snow had jolted awake with a suffocating yearning in her chest.
Releasing the menu, her friend said, “You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve got ’til death do us part written all over you.”
“We’ve been together less than two weeks.”
“You married the man nearly two years ago,” Lorelei argued.
Before Snow could form a rebuttal, Carrie returned to the table, doing the same side maneuver she’d used before. “What did I miss?”
“Snow’s in denial,” Lorelei said.
“Lorelei’s being a pain in the ass,” Snow said.
Carrie’s eyes shifted between the two for several seconds before saying, “So I didn’t miss anything. Good. We need to order. I’m starving.”
The air had turned chilly by Friday, when Spencer had agreed to show Caleb around the Ruby during the lunch hour. Leaning against his Jeep, Caleb contemplated the bright red marquee of the theater looming in front of him as he waited for his tour guide to arrive, but his mind remained on his wife.
His beautiful, happy wife.
Snow had recommended he give the new Mexican restaurant a call about advertising, which had resulted in landing his first new client and finding the best Mexican food he’d tasted since a trip to Galveston a couple of years before. While greedily devouring his taco, Caleb considered all the ways he would thank his wife for her suggestion, most of which involved her naked and moaning his name.
“Are you eating that food, or making mad, passionate love to it?” Spencer asked as he stepped out of his truck.
After finishing his current bite, Caleb said, “Have you tried Mamacita’s yet? This is amazing.”
The man in the cowboy hat shook his head. “Not yet, but Lorelei is demanding I take her there tonight, so it must be good.”
“Worth every penny,” he assured Spencer. Caleb wrapped up the rest of his lunch and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Thanks for doing this on your lunch hour.”
“Not a problem.” Spencer pulled his jacket tighter as he led Caleb to the theater entrance. “As you heard at the meeting, we used the money raised in October to repair the roof, so at least we won’t go through another winter with Mother Nature wreaking more havoc on the interior.”
“That was all raised with a festival?”
Spencer slid a key into the lock. “You bet. Lorelei put the whole thing together, and we got lucky when Wes Tillman signed on as entertainment. He provided a lot of equipment for free and gave a sizable donation that helped us hit the goal.”
“Wes Tillman? The guy who’s won nearly every award Nashville gives out?”
“The one and only.” Spencer opened the door and stepped back to let Caleb enter first. “There’s no electricity,” he said, drawing a small flashlight from his back pocket. “But this is enough for you to see what we’re up against.”
“Does Tillman live here?” Caleb asked as he took in the busted concession counter in the center of the lobby. “I thought he was from Texas.”
“Wes lives outside of town. He’s married to a local disc jockey and holds little jam sessions over at the Second Chance Saloon.” Dust danced in the beam from the flashlight. “If you’re a fan, I think he’s got a show coming up on Wednesday.”
Snow said she didn’t sing anymore, but the train that had derailed her dream was their marriage. If they were going to work, he didn’t want her hating him in ten years for taking that away from her. A star like Wes Tillman would have connections. Connections that could put Snow’s singing dreams back on track. And if he heard Snow’s voice, Caleb had no doubt Wes would be a willing benefactor.
Making a mental note to put in some calls, Caleb said, “Thanks. I’ll look into it.”
As the tour continued, Caleb grew to understand the magnitude of this project. The screen, seats, and scarlet curtains draped along the walls were all a total loss.
“How does the balcony look?” he asked, tucking a piece of foam back inside a ripped seat.
“Better than this, actually. But you can see now the extent of the project.” Spencer pointed the flashlight at the ceiling. “You still want to get involved?”
Following the beam of light, Caleb nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Spencer must not have been expecting that answer. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, meeting his friend’s eye. “Did you think I’d see this and walk away?”
“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest,” Spencer replied. “I don’t mean to butt into your business, but are you planning to stick around here in Ardent Springs? I got the impression from Snow when you first showed up that your visit was temporary. This project isn’t going to be done in a couple of months.”
Was Caleb’s stay temporary? Or would he be living in Ardent Springs come this time next year? The questions kept coming up, and the more he ruminated on the subject, the more he landed on the same answer.
There would be no leaving Snow, that was a given, but the original plan had always been to move his wife back to Louisiana with him. At some point in the last couple of weeks, without Caleb realizing, his plans had changed.
“I can’t give any guarantees, but as of right now, I don’t see us leaving anytime soon.”
A friendly grin split Spencer’s face. “Our little burb is growing on you, huh?”
Caleb shared a smile of his own. “I admit, the place has a certain charm about it.”
“We do our best,” Spencer said, heading back toward the lobby.
“By the way, where did you guys have this big festival?” Recalling his conversation with Cooper about space in town, Caleb added, “The fairgrounds?”
“Nope,” Spencer answered, stepping into the November chill. “Right here in the parking lot.”
Glancing left and right as he stepped through the door, Caleb saw nothing but Margin Street, lined with brick buildings and no parking lots. “There’s a parking lot?”
Spencer nodded to his left. “Around the side and behind the building. Come on, I’ll show you.”
With hunched shoulders, the men rounded the corner and Caleb was shocked to see a wide alley that led down the length of the building and into a sizable parking lot. An idea instantly came to mind.
“This is perfect,” he said aloud.
Spencer shrugged. “It’s okay. As far as parking lots go.”
“No,” Caleb said. “It’s exactly what we need.”
Snow spent her Friday morning searching the Internet for ideas on what to get Caleb for his birthday coming up at the end of the month. The present carried more weight as possibly the last thing she would ever give him .
Other than a divorce. They’d made progress in the happiness department, but Vivien’s threat was never far from Snow’s thoughts.
Her husband wasn’t the new gadget type, didn’t care about clothes, and it wasn’t as if they had much room in the apartment for something like a big-screen TV or an extra dresser.
Not that she’d buy him a dresser. That would be weird. Still, she almost wished they had a bigger place so Caleb could stop living out of the box his mother had shipped his clothes in. The thought brought her up short. When had she forgotten that Caleb would be leaving in little over two weeks? Their one-month trial period would end, and she’d send him packing. Or would she?
Imagining her life the way it had been before Caleb found her, Snow tried to find relief in a return to normal. In the thought of getting her life back. But seeing herself alone again only made her feel empty.
“Whatcha doin’?” Lorelei asked as she placed a plastic container on the counter. Without answering, Snow pointed to the bowl with a questioning look. “Granny made dumplings last night,” her friend answered, setting a fork and napkin next to the bowl. “This is my way of apologizing for Wednesday. Your love life is your business, and I need to butt out.” Crossing her arms, she added, “I’m sorry.”
By the time they’d left dinner at Mamacita’s, Snow had gotten over her snit with Lorelei. They’d spent the entire meal talking about Carrie and the baby and how to decorate the nursery in the expectant mother’s new home. The one good thing to come out of the death of Carrie’s husband, other than an end to a violent marriage, had been the life insurance policy provided by Patch Farmer’s employer. It turned out all employees at the factory received policies equal to their annual salary, paid for by the company.
Carrie certainly wasn’t rolling in dough, but thanks to that policy, she’d been able to buy herself a nice little single-wide trailer not far from town. It had been used, but came with a yard, had been well-maintained, and best of all, provided a safe and comfortable home for the new little family.
“Lorelei, there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Look,” her friend said, “I’m not good at the girlfriend thing. I’m abrupt and bossy and any filter I might have had disappeared by the time I was ten. But I’m working on that, and a big thing is admitting when I’ve crossed a line.”
Snow couldn’t argue with Lorelei’s assessment of herself, but the woman also had a big heart, was funny as hell, and regardless of her tactics, always meant well.
However, Rosie Pratchett’s chicken and dumplings were really good.
“Well then,” she said, pulling the bowl her way, “if me eating these chicken and dumplings will make you feel better, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
Lorelei rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re the one who should move to Hollywood and give acting a try.”
“No thank you,” Snow said with a laugh. “I’m good where I am.” As she lifted the lid, a heavenly scent tickled her nose and made her mouth water. “This is going to be much better than my PB&J sandwich.”
But before Snow could dig in, the store phone rang. Having learned her lesson, she checked the ID to see the name of the appraiser who’d given her an estimate on the William Norton painting.
“Hello, Ms. Bolliver. How can I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Cameron. Is there any way you could have that William Norton painting down here in Nashville by nine tomorrow morning?”
Snow’s mind raced to find an answer. She’d need someone to run the store. And they’d need to take Caleb’s Jeep since the painting was too large and delicate to shove in her backseat.
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “Why? ”
“Premier is conducting a special auction that includes three other valuable artworks. That means the buyers will be there, and this is the perfect situation to maximize your profits while putting that piece into the hands of a dedicated collector.” Her passion for her trade coming through, the appraiser added, “A piece like that deserves to be in a collection where it will be admired and cared for.”
As Snow recalled, Virginia Bolliver had been appalled upon learning the previous location of the painting, and further astonished that no one involved with the Brambleton estate had a clue of the treasure in their midst.
“Doesn’t an auction like that require some sort of application and review process?” The Premier Auction House had a reputation for selling only the best items with authentication and full documentation of provenance.
“In most situations, yes,” Ms. Bolliver agreed, “but I’ve convinced them to bypass standard protocol for your piece. You have a rare find, Ms. Cameron. I highly recommend you take whatever measures necessary to be here in the morning.”
Well, when she put it that way ...
“I’ll have to find someone to run the store,” Snow said, catching Lorelei’s eye. “Saturday is a busy day here.”
Lorelei caught the hint and raised her hand. “I can do it.”
“But I’m sure I can work that out,” Snow said into the phone. “Could you e-mail the address and other details?”
“Consider it done.” The appraiser sounded pleased. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Cameron. Be prepared for an exciting day. If I’m right, and I usually am, your painting will be the star of the show.”
Without waiting for a reply, Ms. Bolliver hung up, and a second later Snow’s phone chimed, indicating she’d received a new e-mail.
“Wow,” Lorelei said, “that woman doesn’t mess around. Now, who is Ms. Bolliver? ”
Snow stared at Lorelei with what she could only guess was a goofy expression. “I believe she just became my fairy godmother.”
If the painting sold for anything near the appraisal amount, Snow could make serious upgrades to the store and still have enough to send money home to her parents. And maybe, even if only for a day, Snow would no longer be the poor nobody that Caleb had brought home to Mommy and Daddy Warbucks.