Five Golden Rings (Main Street Merchants Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Oh, no. No, not at all.” Cara’s cheeks began to warm. “I was just throwing a minor tantrum. Nothing about the food—it’s delicious.”

  “How’s yours?” Sloane asked Brennan.

  “It’s great,” he replied.

  “Okay. Well, you give a holler if you think of anything else you need. You’ve just proven that you know how to holler.” Sloane grinned to take any possible sting out of her words and returned to placing pies in the glass display case.

  “So, Harpstrings. You going to do it?”

  Cara poked at her Caesar salad with her fork. “Yes, I’m going to do it. Max went through the trouble of setting it up, so I guess I can return the favor and be there. Will you come?”

  “Are you kidding? Since I heard that recording, I’m your biggest fan. I’ll definitely be there.”

  “Just don’t heckle me, all right?”

  “Fans don’t heckle.” Brennan speared the last noodle from his lasagna. “Want any dessert?”

  Cara thought about that. She wanted some, sure. But was it worth the extra time at the gym? “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

  Brennan held up a finger and asked Sloane for a slice of chocolate silk pie. Then he turned back to Cara and studied her. “So is that why you’re really irritated with Max? You think he’s moving too fast?”

  Cara ran her tongue along the insides of her teeth. Brennan was a little too intuitive for his own good sometimes. Or her own good. Or someone’s own good. Whoever—it was annoying. “I’m irritated with Max because he’s making things actually happen. See, as long as I was in charge of what happened, nothing ever did, so there was nothing to be scared of. And now he’s dragging me from scare to scare, and it’s real and it’s exciting and it’s frightening. And I didn’t even know this guy a month ago, and now he’s changing my entire life. I know it’s for the better, but still.”

  “So you’d rather your dreams be pretend rather than real?”

  Cara ducked her head. “I know that’s silly. There’s just so much less risk involved.”

  Brennan reached across the table and caught her fingers. “I tell you what. Take the plunge. You might find that the water is warmer and more comfortable than you ever imagined.”

  “Or there could be riptides. Or sharks.”

  “Or serial killers on surfboards.”

  Cara grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that one.”

  “Then you’re not doing a good-enough job of talking yourself out of it. You should always think of serial killers on surfboards.”

  “And I’m just being silly. At what point am I going to stop playing these silly mind games with myself?”

  “I don’t know. But they are rather entertaining.” Brennan picked up his fork and stuck it in his pie. “Oh, and don’t forget leeches.”

  “Leeches?”

  “Yeah. They live in water too.”

  * * *

  Cara’s three roommates had come together to help her get ready for her debut at open mike night. Laurie had lent her a beautiful blue peasant blouse, Regan let her borrow a full broomstick skirt, and Morgan chipped in with some great strappy sandals. A pair of her own large silver hoop earrings completed the look. Laurie had suggested a necklace, but Cara didn’t like the way necklaces could get tangled with her guitar strap, so she never wore them while she was playing.

  Then, before she knew it, she was in the auditorium at the back of the music store, taking her guitar out of the case and preparing to sing. She didn’t even remember the drive over. It was almost like it hadn’t happened at all—like she’d somehow magically teleported here.

  “Well, as I live and breathe. It’s true.”

  Cara froze at the voice behind her. No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. But it was. She turned slowly and greeted her mother. “Hi! What a surprise to see you here.”

  “I imagine it’s a surprise, considering you didn’t invite me.” Maureen stood there with her arms folded, an expression of pure disapproval on her face.

  “I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Interested? Of course I’m interested. I want to know everything my daughter’s doing. Especially if it involves the public. I just didn’t think I’d have to hear about it from a friend of a friend.” Maureen cast an eye up and down Cara’s body. “You’re keeping the weight off, I see. I have to say, I was a little nervous at Christmas, but you’ve done well since then.”

  Cara inhaled and then exhaled slowly. Shake it off. Just shake it off. “Thanks, Mom. Hey, listen, I need to get ready. Have you found a seat?”

  “Yes. It’s over there.” Maureen indicated with her head.

  “Great. I’ll talk to you more after the show, all right?”

  Maureen got herself settled, looking just a bit overdressed, and Cara fussed over her guitar strings. When Max walked up a minute later and asked if she was ready, she told him yes, but that’s not how she felt on the inside.

  Max led off with one of his solo pieces, and then he asked Cara to play a song she enjoyed by a popular artist. That was a lot of fun—until she caught a look at her mother’s face. Maureen was barely holding still in her seat—her desire to get out of there was written on every cell of her body.

  Next it was time for the song Max and Cara had recorded together. Cara led off, and as she hit the second measure, her finger slipped and her whole hand jagged off the strings. She shook her head and found her place again, but that second of failure was enough to throw her off for the rest of the song. She forgot the words, she hit some sour notes, and she messed up the fingering again in the chorus. She wished she could go back to the beginning and start over, but that wasn’t an option. The audience’s response was much more subdued than it had been for the previous songs, and rightfully so. She glanced at Brennan, who sat on the second row, and saw how worried he looked.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Max at the close of the song. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I do,” he whispered back. “Just pretend like she’s not here.”

  That was a really great idea in theory, but not so much in practical application. She turned a little bit so her mother was no longer in her line of sight, but just knowing she was there was enough to rattle Cara for her next performance as well. Her fingers felt like sausages, and her voice kept cracking. It was awful.

  “You take the next one solo,” she said softly, lifting the guitar strap over her head and stepping off the stage. Max covered up her departure by introducing his next song, and by the time he’d reached the chorus, Cara was out in the main area of the store, taking deep breaths and trying to compose herself. She hadn’t performed this badly since she was a junior in high school. That had been a night she’d rather not remember—her choir director had decided to expand the annual Christmas concert and instead of just singing, he’d invited any choir student who also played an instrument to perform. She’d seen her mother out in the audience and choked. Badly. Even her father’s more calming influence hadn’t done anything to offset the negative effect of her mother’s disapproval.

  She’d go back in there and join Max in a minute. Right now, she needed another few deep breaths. A few seconds to get her head on straight.

  “I suppose you’ll learn your lesson after tonight,” Maureen said, coming up behind Cara. Why did she keeping doing that? Wasn’t she capable of walking up and facing her daughter directly while making her sarcastic speeches?

  “What do you mean?” Cara asked, turning to see her mother looking around the store as though she’d gotten off an airplane in a foreign land.

  “Sweetheart, this is obviously not where your talents lie. Isn’t it about time that you gave it up and concentrated on something else?”

  “What would you suggest I do instead?”

  Maureen missed the rancor in Cara’s voice and considered the question seriously. “I’ve always thought you’ve make a wonderful nurse or paralegal.”

  Cara raised an eyebrow. “Why would either of th
ose professions suit me?”

  “People seem to like you, and with the hardships you’ve had in your life, you could relate to other people who’ve gone through hard things.”

  “Hmm.” Cara pretended to think about that. “As tempting as that is, I think I’ll stick with music.”

  “But there’s no future in music. You’re still young—there’s plenty of time to correct this mistake and retrain for something else.”

  “I don’t consider music to be a mistake.” Cara held out her arms. “This is what I love. Look—over there is the piano sheet music. Behind me is music for the guitar. Against that wall are clarinets you can purchase and learn to play here in the store. This is an amazing world, Mom, and I get to be part of it.”

  “I knew I should have brought your father with me. He always had the ability to get through to you when I couldn’t.”

  At the mention of her father, Cara had a sudden memory of sitting next to her father while he plucked out a song on an old, beat-up guitar. She couldn’t have been more than three. “What happened to Dad’s guitar?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I haven’t thought about that thing for years. I think we sold it in a yard sale.”

  “Why?”

  “He was spending so much of his free time playing silly songs that I couldn’t help but step in. He felt much more productive after he gave it up.”

  Cara blinked a few times. “You asked Dad to give it up?”

  “I did. He’ll tell you himself—he was a better man for it.”

  That didn’t make sense. He’d seemed so happy in Cara’s flashback. What was wrong with music? Cara felt as though she had stepped into an alternate reality of the book A Girl of the Limberlost, where instead of fighting for her right to play the violin, she was fighting for her guitar.

  Fighting.

  That was exactly it.

  That was what she had to do.

  Enough with this constant, interminable self-doubt. Enough with wondering if she was good enough or smart enough or skinny enough. This was what she wanted. And because she wanted it, she would fight for it.

  She surprised her mother, and herself, by stepping forward and giving Maureen a quick hug. “Thanks for coming, Mom. You’ve been a big help.”

  Maureen blinked. “I have?”

  “Yes. And now I know for sure what I want to do. You’re more than welcome to come and watch if you like.”

  Cara walked back into the auditorium. Max had sung two songs in her absence, and as she picked up her guitar, he threw her a questioning look. She stepped forward and spoke into the microphone.

  “Have you ever had one of those days where you wished for a do-over?”

  Many of the people in the small audience nodded. Her roommates were grinning like hyenas—happy hyenas, if such a thing existed. They must have recognized that she was getting ready to rally.

  “Well, I’d like a do-over, and you good folks are going to help me get it right now.” She began the first few notes of her duet with Max, and this time, it went flawlessly. In fact, it was even better than that because she felt like it was her battle cry. She was standing up and showing the world who she was, what she was made of, and what she wanted.

  Her mother came in and listened to the song, but disappeared before the last lines. Cara glanced around several times to see if she could spot her, but Maureen must have left the building entirely.

  When Max and Cara were done with their show, Brennan came up and wrapped Cara in a huge hug. “That was amazing,” he said. “I don’t know what happened when you took that little break, but you came back in here and owned it. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Let’s just say that I got an anti-pep talk from my mom, and her reverse psychology worked,” Cara said. “I’ll explain it more later.”

  Better than half the audience came up afterward to congratulate them, including her giggling roommates, and Cara couldn’t have felt any more like a rock star if she’d just performed in front of ten thousand screaming fans. This was her moment, her emergence from the chrysalis. She was ready for the next phase of transformation, whatever that next step might be.

  Chapter Six

  Cara stepped through the doors of the old antique store and was amazed by how much work had already been done. Two walls had been taken out and were replaced by supporting pillars, and the old, stained carpet had been ripped out and replaced with rich wood flooring. The sign on the door warned that the art gallery was under construction and wouldn’t be open to the public for another month, but Cara brought gifts—warm cookies from D’Angelo’s. Cookies were like a key that could get her in anywhere.

  “Hey there,” one of the brothers greeted, walking around some boxes in the center of the floor. “It was Cara, right?”

  “Right. I wish my memory was as good as yours. It’s . . .”

  “I’m Alex,” he said. “And Bryce is in the back somewhere. I’m actually not sure what he’s doing. What brings you by? As you can see, we’re not really set up for company or I’d offer you a chair.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m probably trespassing, coming here before you’re open. I just brought you a little housewarming gift—or business warming gift. You choose—they both work.” She handed him the pink bakery box.

  “Do I smell chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Only the best ones in town.”

  “How did you know?” He lifted the flap and visibly swooned. “These are my favorite things in the world. Do I have to share them with Bryce?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she replied with a small grin.

  Alex took a bite and closed his eyes as he chewed. “Oh, wow. So good.” He ate the rest of the cookie in two bites and looked like a dog having his tummy rubbed. “So, listen. We’re having a reception for the artists and their agents and families the night before we open to the public. It’s a pretty big deal, black tie and all that. It’s invitation only, and I’d love to invite you and your roommates to come.”

  “Oh, that would be great,” Cara replied. “Two of them are engaged—can they bring their fiancés?”

  “Tell you what. Let’s do a ticket each and a plus one. That way, your other roommate can bring a date as well.” Alex paused. “I wondered if you’d allow me to escort you personally.”

  Cara blinked at that unexpected invitation. “Is this because I brought you cookies?”

  “It’s absolutely because you brought me cookies. Otherwise, you’d be sitting home that night, watching reruns.”

  Cara laughed. “You’re probably right. Okay, you have a date.”

  Alex smiled, and she noticed a small dimple in the corner of his smile. He was really nice-looking, but more than that, he seemed genuine, and she liked that. “I’ll be in touch to remind you,” he said.

  “Yeah, reminders are good.”

  “I know where you live, obviously, but where do you work?”

  “Marchbanks and Sons. It’s the jewelry store on Main Street.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ve noticed it a time or two as I’ve driven past. All right, plan on an amazing evening. At least, I hope it will be amazing. Bryce and I have been working on this idea nonstop for a year, and we’ve got all our fingers and toes crossed that it will pan out the way we’ve envisioned it.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Cara glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta run, but good luck with everything.”

  “Thanks, Cara. For the encouragement and the cookies.”

  Cara chuckled as she left the soon-to-be art gallery and headed to work. She really hadn’t gone in there trolling for a date, but she’d gotten one, and with a mighty fine-looking guy, too.

  * * *

  Cindy was dusting when Cara arrived at work. She missed Brennan immediately—he always did the tops of the picture frames, and Cindy was standing on a chair to reach them. But Brennan was off on his camping adventure with Jesse. He’d earned the vacation, so Cara tried not to begrudge it. However, that was hard when he was no longer around to do the
tasks that required being very tall or very strong.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket to see if she had any new texts. She had set the volume to high and she’d been carrying it ever since her performance at the music store on Saturday night, so the odds that she’d received a text without knowing it were pretty slim, but it could have happened. Or maybe her battery had gone dead. But no, all systems looked like a go. And no text.

  She sighed and decided to try again. Hi, Mom – just checking to see how things are today. She thought for a second. What could she add to that? There really wasn’t anything else. If she apologized, her mother would think that she’d decided to give up her music after all. She’d already made her stand and didn’t want to detract from that. At the same time, she hated the idea that her mother wasn’t speaking to her, and she wanted to reach some sort of closure.

  After she sent the text, she decided to try something a little different. Her father wasn’t much of a texter, but he did own a cell phone. Making personal calls wasn’t allowed at work, but Mr. Marchbanks had never seemed to mind a quick text.

  Hey, Dad. Can you call me tonight after seven?

  Maybe she could get some support from her quieter parent.

  * * *

  When Cara was ready to leave for the evening, she stuck her head inside Mr. Marchbanks’ office to tell him good night. He was rarely on the premises this late, choosing instead to be home with his wife and spoiled little dog, but tonight he’d come in around four and had been holed up behind his desk. Some of that time had been spent on the phone—Cara and Cindy had been able to hear his raised voice in the main portion of the store. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any customers at the time. That would have been really hard to explain.

  “Mr. Marchbanks, I’m leaving now. The shop’s closed and the sign’s been turned. Night.”

  “Wait.”

  Cara had taken a step away from the door, but she came back. “Yes?”

  “Have a seat, Cara.” Mr. Marchbanks took off his glasses and laid them on the desk. Cara didn’t think she’d ever seen him without them before. His eyes looked smaller than they did through the lenses, and she could see how tired he was.