Our Now and Forever (Ardent Springs #2) (18 page)

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.

Chapter 19

“Yes,” Caleb said, staring at the Ruby parking lot with his hands on his hips. “This is the perfect spot.”

Spencer rubbed his chin as he squinted at the empty lot. “Perfect for what?”

“A cruise-in.”

“You mean one of those old car things?”

Caleb gave his new friend a dubious look. “They aren’t old cars, they’re classics, and the people who own them like to show them off. We’re going to give them that opportunity.”

“Now you sound like Coop,” Spencer said. “I can appreciate an old car”—Caleb increased his glare, and Spencer corrected—“a classic car as much as the next fella, but anything that happens in this parking lot needs to go toward the restoration project. That’s not my rule, that’s according to the owners.”

“It’ll all go toward the restoration project.”

That announcement caught Spencer’s attention. “You’re talking about a cruise-in to raise money?”

“I am,” Caleb said. “We can hold them all summer long. This lot is large enough for three sections.” He pointed to the row directly adjacent to the back wall of the theater. “Cruisers over there.” Shifting to the middle section, he added, “Muscle cars in the center, and over on the far side will be the sale lot. We’ll charge a higher fee for those spots, of course.”

“Let me get this straight,” Spencer said, stepping forward and surveying the lot as if trying to picture what Caleb described. “People will pay to park their cars here?”

“They will.” He could see it clear as day, as if the cars were already filling the space. “Once the first event is a success, word of mouth will spread, and by the third time around, we’ll have to turn people away.”

Catching Caleb’s enthusiasm, Spencer said, “What about vendors? People will need to eat, right?”

Liking the idea, Caleb nodded. “People will definitely need to eat. It’s the perfect fundraiser because it’s almost no overhead. Provide a couple generators for the vendors, if they don’t supply their own, and maybe set a little of the entry fees aside as prize money. Award a ‘best in show’ or something. The owners love that, and we can let the attendees decide the winners.”

“Buford would cough up the generators with no problem,” Spencer said, referring to the local hardware store owner and official Ruby Restoration committee chair. “I can’t believe we didn’t see this before. Especially after utilizing the space for the festival.”

“The idea came from Cooper. He told me that the mayor wouldn’t let him use the fairgrounds for something like this.” With a conspiratorial smile, Caleb added, “I bet if we team up, we can coax our mechanic friend into coordinating the whole thing.”

“Are you sure folks will come?” Spencer asked as he looked out over the parking lot. “Not the owners, but other people?”

Recognizing how his position at the paper could benefit the cause, Caleb said, “If we advertise it right.”

That elicited a chuckle from Spencer. “We’ll need to get an advertising budget approved by the committee, but something tells me you won’t have any problem selling them on the idea.”

“Me?” Caleb asked. “You’re the one they all listen to.”

“Oh no,” he said, tipping his hat back. “This one is your baby, and you’re the salesman. I doubt you’ll have any trouble making them listen.”

He appreciated the man’s faith in him. “Fair enough.”

With a check of his watch, Spencer said, “Time to go.” The pair hustled back to the front of the building as Spencer explained, “Carrie’s appointment is in less than thirty minutes, and I still need to pick her up out at the construction office.”

“You’re taking Carrie to an appointment?” Caleb asked, confused once again by the connection between Boyd and the expectant mother.

“Sure,” Spencer answered, pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock his truck. “She can’t fit behind the wheel of Patch’s old truck anymore.”

Caleb hadn’t heard the name before. “Patch?”

“Her good-for-nothing dead husband.” Pausing at his open door, Spencer said, “We’ll wait until we talk to Coop before presenting this idea to the board. You good with putting something together for next Friday?”

“Not a problem,” Caleb answered.

As the gray Dodge drove off down the street, Caleb wondered if Lorelei knew how her fiancé felt about Carrie Farmer’s former husband. Or more importantly, how he felt about the tiny brunette about to be a single mother.

Snow moaned for the third time as she gripped her headboard tighter. “Oh, yes. Right there,” she said, her voice breathy and desperate.

“Right here?” Caleb asked, his voice syrupy as he circled the same delicate spot over and over.

“Uh-huh.” Snow’s entire body melted in pure pleasure. “How did I go without this for so long?” she asked.

Caleb dropped a kiss on her big toe. “I don’t know, darling. How did you?”

She opened one eye and shot her husband a warning look. “Don’t get smug down there, Mr. McGraw. But it’s nice to know that if your job at the paper ever falls through, you have a lucrative career in foot massage to fall back on.”

Increasing the pressure on her arch, Caleb ignored her comment. “What do you know about Spencer Boyd and Carrie Farmer?” he asked.

Snow’s eyes popped open. What was that question about?

“I know Carrie is Spencer’s ex-wife,” she said. “And that they’re good friends.”

The foot massage stopped. “She was his wife?”

“Hey,” Snow said, shaking her foot. “Are we talking or massaging?”

“Relax,” he said, returning to his task. “I can do both. So Lorelei knows about them?”

Snuggling deeper into her pillow, Snow answered, “Sure, she knows.”

“Huh,” Caleb said. “And she’s fine with her fiancé being in love with someone else?”

Snow jerked her foot out of Caleb’s grasp as she sat up. “Her fiancé what?”

“I can’t be the only one who sees it,” Caleb said. “He hovers over her. Drives her to her appointments. If Lorelei is fine with it, then good for them, but I couldn’t handle that.”

Though she appreciated knowing her husband was against either of them falling in love with someone else, she needed to disabuse Caleb of his highly erroneous assumption.

“Spencer Boyd is not in love with his ex-wife. He loves Lorelei, and he always has.”

“But you said he was married to Carrie.”

“He was,” she explained, “but that was while Lorelei was in LA trying to be an actress and he thought she wasn’t coming back.”

Caleb’s head tilted. “So he married Carrie, even though he loved Lorelei?”

Why did she have to land the only man on the planet who possessed a feminine view on love?

“Of course he didn’t.” Snow struggled for a way to explain her friends’ situation. Though to be honest, she never totally understood the whole story herself. “After Lorelei broke his heart, Spencer moved on with his life. He married Carrie, whom he loved and thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, but life happens, you know? Their marriage ended, she married someone else, and eventually Lorelei came back to him. Happy endings all around.”

“Except for Carrie,” Caleb pointed out. “Her husband died, remember?”

“Yes,” Snow agreed. “But her husband was a wife beater who got himself killed at a bar. So, really, she’s better off without him.” She slid her foot back under his nose and wiggled her toes. “Now, please tell me you haven’t shared your cockamamie theory with anyone else.”

Massaging the back of her heel, Caleb asked, “Who says
cockamamie
anymore?”

“Tell me you haven’t spread some rumor about Spencer cheating on Lorelei.”

“Of course not,” he said, sounding offended. “I’m not an idiot. But are you sure I’m wrong?”

Snow nodded, closing her eyes and letting the tension leave her shoulders. How Caleb found the exact right spots she did not know. But oh, was she thankful he did.

“I’m positive. The other night, Lorelei referred to Carrie as the little sister she never had. I admit, it appears to be a weird situation from the outside, which Lorelei readily admits, but there’s nothing salacious going on.”

“That’s good,” Caleb said, sliding his hands up her calf. “Because I like Spencer, and I’d hate to lose respect for him.”

She opened her eyes to watch him drop a kiss on her knee. The zing nearly shot out her ears as Snow’s body started to melt. “You really don’t like infidelity, do you?” Snow asked.

Caleb looked up after kissing the inside of her thigh. “No, I don’t. I’ve seen up close what it can do to people.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, struggling to concentrate as he worked his way up her body. With every touch, the need pitched higher.

Shaking his head, Caleb dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “Not tonight,” he said. “It’s time for a different kind of massage.”

She didn’t want to let the question go, especially when she saw the demons the subject let loose in his eyes. Her always lighthearted husband was hiding a wound she knew nothing about. But before she could push the issue, Caleb slid the straps of her tank top off her shoulders and took one pink nipple between his teeth. Her gasp of pleasure echoed around them as her questions drowned in a pool of desire.

Caleb had never seen Snow this nervous. After weeks of watching her step on stages in Nashville, he’d expect selling a painting at auction to be the less daunting task. But his wife had become a frantic ball of energy in the passenger seat. He’d asked her twice if she needed him to stop for a potty break, and the second time she nearly ripped his head off and told him to drive and keep quiet.

Being the rational man that he was, Caleb followed the directive and clamped his piehole shut.

“This is it,” Snow informed him, as he pulled the Jeep into the auction
house parking lot. He didn’t bother to tell her he knew where they were going, seeing as he was the one who had mapped the place out. Today
was
not the day to correct his better half.

“There aren’t a lot of cars here. That’s a bad sign, isn’t it?”

“Not when the show doesn’t start for ninety minutes.” The e-mail she’d showed him said to arrive by nine, but Snow had demanded they leave the house at seven. He’d talked her into leaving at seven thirty, and that still put them here a half hour early. With only two cars in the lot, Caleb wondered if they were the first to arrive.

Snow reached his side of the Jeep before his feet hit the pavement. “Be careful with the painting,” she said, for the tenth time that morning. “Don’t hurt it.”

“I’m not going to hurt it, darling,” he said, looking forward to this sale being over so he could have his mild-mannered wife back. “You’ve wrapped it well enough to survive the
Titanic
.”

“I wanted to make sure it didn’t get damaged on the way down here,” Snow defended, hovering around him as he drew the delicate cargo from the backseat. “Don’t put it on the ground,” she ordered, seconds before the painting touched the pavement.

“Honey, it’s wrapped in four layers of brown paper. A little asphalt isn’t going to hurt it.”

“Still,” she said, taking her new obsession out of his hands. The thing was nearly as big as she was, making her look like a giant brown rectangle with feet. “I’ll feel better once we’re inside.”

I’ll feel better once this is over,
he thought. Not that he’d say as much aloud. Caleb had learned a lot about being a husband in the last couple of weeks. Determination to keep a woman happy and his own hide out of a sling made a man a fast learner.

“I’ll carry it,” he said as she started hobbling toward the large building with the Premier Auctions sign over the door. “You’re going to break your neck and the painting—now give it here.”

For the first time all day, Snow didn’t argue. She let Caleb take the painting without a fuss and didn’t even remind him to be careful. Maybe she was starting to relax. And then they reached the entrance.

“Be careful,” she murmured, holding the door open for him.

Caleb rolled his eyes, but only because she couldn’t see his face. To his relief, an auction coordinator met them at the small counter not far from the entrance. She introduced herself with a welcoming smile, thanked them for bringing the painting on such short notice, and then explained that she would hand it over to the staff to tag and place with the other items up for bid.