by Sara Daniel
“Good, I’m so glad it’s settled. Trevor will be over the moon. His assistant tells me he’s heartsick for you to come home and marry him. We have a VIP table at the Help the Less Fortunate fund-raiser tomorrow. It’s the perfect place to announce your engagement.”
“I’m not coming home, Mother, and I’m not marrying Trevor.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and deliberately clicked it off. The only thing Trevor Tyler Cunningham IV was heartsick about was losing his chance to get his hands on her father’s company. He couldn’t have cared less about her being part of the package deal.
She rattled her way through town until she located the tiny strip of storefronts that she’d driven by when she’d followed Matt earlier. An elderly couple still sat in the exact same spot in front of the grocery store. They gaped at her as she stepped out of the car.
“Good afternoon,” she called, determined to do her part to promote small-town friendliness, as well as not let the call from her mother ruin her mood.
The man squinted at her. He had a thin white mustache and thinner white hair and was wearing red plaid pants with a green striped shirt. “You must be the prodigal granddaughter everyone’s talking about.”
Prodigal made it sound as if she’d run away and returned; it sounded accusatory. She couldn’t even imagine what interest they would have in someone they’d never met and had no connection to. “Must have been a short conversation. I haven’t been here long enough to give anyone anything to say.”
“That’s not what I hear,” he retorted.
The woman was wearing a dress printed with giant orange and fuchsia flowers, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. She elbowed him. “That’s enough, Wilbur. Give the girl time to get her bearings before you lay into her.”
“Give her time to destroy all our plans to improve this town, you mean. Well, I’m not giving up my dream of starting a food pantry and community closet.” He pushed his palms on his red plaid knees, stood shakily, and shuffled away.
“I’m not here to destroy anything, especially a food pantry,” Veronica told the woman, baffled and hurt by the accusations. “I love charity work. If there’s something I can do to help out, please tell me.”
The woman glanced at the man walking away, and then back to Veronica. “I’ll talk to him. He’s not going to roll over easily, but then again, neither should you.” She stood and followed the old man down the sidewalk.
Veronica swallowed her question of what she might have to fight for as the couple disappeared into the Laundromat. She already knew the answer was everything. She’d spent too much of her life giving other people what they wanted, and now she needed to do something for herself.
She stepped purposefully into the grocery store and loaded her cart with cleaning supplies, bypassing the food. There was no point in trying to stock her cabinets or refrigerator; anything inside them wasn’t making its way into her mouth. She wasn’t sure if the refrigerator was salvageable, regardless of how much she sanitized it.
She set her bottles and sponges on the checkout belt. The cashier, whose name tag said “Becca”, glared at her. “The credit card machine’s broken, and we don’t take out-of-town checks.”
“That’s all right. I have cash.” Veronica forced a smile. This woman knew exactly who she was. Her reputation was preceding her, and it definitely wasn’t a good thing.
Becca lifted the first item off the conveyor. “Mayor Wilbur and Agatha Hollister sit on that bench all day. Nobody’s ever driven them away before. Whatever you said must have been downright rude and awful.”
Good grief, the mayor was out to get her. Was it possible that Trevor’s connections extended this far across the state? “I certainly didn’t mean to be. If I gave them a bad impression, I’ll talk to them and try to correct it.”
Becca’s fingers paused over the register keys. “Do us all a favor—don’t. Leave our residents alone. Leave Ron’s plans alone. And for goodness sake, let Matt run his company without babysitting you while he’s doing it.”
Veronica clenched her purse strap as frustration coursed through her. Women had powerful careers across the country, including at her father’s company. Yet, wherever she attempted to start hers, she was patted on the head and shuffled to the corporate equivalent of the daycare room.
The cashier jabbed her finger on the register keypad. “You owe forty-two twenty-five.”
The final dollar amount took Veronica’s mind off her never-ending career battle. Cleaning supplies added up quickly. She was going to have to watch her budget. She took a fifty from her wallet and handed it to the clerk.
Becca gave her a long look before she took the bill. She turned it over in her hand and held it to the light. Then she picked up the intercom microphone next to the register. “Manager to the front to verify possible fraudulent currency.”
“Fraudulent?” Veronica glanced around for a fraudster lurking in the corner.
“It’s got goofy colors on it,” she drawled. “I can’t let you city people try to pass off your fake currency on us unsuspecting small-town folks.”
Veronica had never heard anything so ridiculous. She was a step away from being accused of a federal offense. Were her father and Trevor trying to frame her in order to convince her to come home, or was the town simply out to get her? “A bank employee handed it to me this morning. It’s been in my possession ever since.”
The manager walked over, glanced at the empty bench outside, and exchanged a meaningful look with Becca. Then he took the crisp bill and examined it more thoroughly. Veronica shifted her feet. More employees, along with customers, gathered around the register, each taking their turn to handle and inspect the money.
People filtered in through the front door to add to the crowd. She’d left fifty-dollar bills as tips before; now there was a line to look at one. A man in a sport coat and tie and another man in a police uniform worked their way to the front of the crowd. Veronica stared at the uniformed officer and then back at the store manager.
“You called the cops? This is absurd.” Her instinct was to open her cell phone and call her lawyer, but the lawyer was a friend of her father’s and therefore off-limits.
“It’s colorful. Money in this country’s supposed to be green,” Becca rationalized, her eyes round and innocent.
The cop smirked.
“We don’t get many fifties here.” The store manager managed to keep a straight face as he passed the bill to the balding man in the suit. “We want to be extra-cautious. We were fortunate that our bank president was available to stop in for a look.”
“You called the president of the bank?” Veronica couldn’t believe it. If the mayor or Matt had paid with a fifty, she bet no one would have batted an eye.
The banker took his spectacles out of the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and perched them on his nose as he inspected the bill. When he was done, he removed his glasses, folded them with agonizing slowness, and placed them back in his pocket. He smoothed his tie and handed the bill to the manager. “Unfortunately, it’s legitimate. It has all the security features embedded. Fifties are now made with multiple colors, just like the newer twenties, tens, and fives.”
All of which have been around for years now, Veronica resisted pointing out. She would accept their apology graciously. Perhaps someone in the crowd would become her first friend in town.
“Better safe than sorry,” the manager muttered. “Thanks for trying, Becca.”
There was a murmur of agreement as the gathering slowly dispersed. Veronica continued to stand at the register, her neck aching from holding her head so straight. As far as she could tell, her father and Trevor weren’t behind this. Which meant she was hated just because Ron had dared to invite her here.
Well, the witch hunt wasn’t going to drive her away. She had too much at stake to leave because of someone else’s opinion. Ron hadn’t exactly welcomed her into his house, but he’d shown his willingness to give her a chance by lining up a job for her.
Everyone else could at least give her the benefit of the doubt that her currency was genuine.
“You’re done,” Becca said. “You proved your point. You paid. You can go.”
“I have seven seventy-five in change coming.” She wouldn’t be humiliated into leaving without it—she’d done nothing wrong. She wouldn’t let these people treat her like a criminal. She definitely wasn’t that kind of person.
Dollar bills clutched in her hand, she marched back outside and settled into her ancient green tank. She turned the key, checked the mirrors to back up, and discovered the flashing lights of a squad car blocking her in.
Tears pressed against her eyelids. She blinked them back as she rolled down her window for the approaching officer with the name badge “Connor O’Malley,” the same man who’d been inside watching the checkout drama with amusement only minutes ago. “What is the problem, sir?”
“This vehicle has a broken taillight. License, registration, and insurance, please.”
“What?” She was sure when she’d bought it this morning all the lights and signals had been in working order.
“Yep. And since you were going to drive away and leave the broken pieces on the ground, I’ll have to write you up for littering, as well.” Officer O’Malley was practically gleeful.
“Are you saying someone smashed my taillight, and instead of trying to find the culprit and arrest him or her, you’re giving me a ticket?”
“I can also write you up for disturbing the peace and verbally abusing an officer.”
She resisted laying her head on the steering wheel; she had to work on creating some goodwill. She understood Matt’s distrust and resentment—he was her employer and hadn’t been consulted about her hiring. But the townspeople had taken up his cause without knowing the first thing about her.
Unless she wanted to crawl back under her parents’ thumbs and live a luxurious, empty life as Mrs. Trevor Tyler Cunningham IV, she had to prove to these people that she deserved a chance. Her dreams and career plans should matter as much as everyone else’s.
Her head felt like it was full of concrete. Veronica didn’t try to lift it off the pillow as she took in the sounds from outside. Birds chirped incessantly. A single car drove by, close enough she could hear the crunch of rocks under the tires and the slam of a door. Someone shouted, followed shortly by an answering bark from a dog. Light pricked her eyelids.
She’d just closed her eyes. It couldn’t possibly be morning already.
Considering how long it had taken her to make the bedroom and bathroom habitable enough to wash her face and go to sleep, she probably had closed her eyes only minutes ago. Despite the gaping hole in the screen, she’d left the window wide open last night. With all the cleaning chemicals she’d gone through, she was afraid of asphyxiating herself if she didn’t let the place air out. She started to fumble for her cell phone to check the time, but then voices across the street carried inside.
“Rich girl didn’t show up, huh?” a man asked, the same voice that had called for the dog a few minutes ago.
“Yeah, looks like that baseball field will get finished right on schedule after all.” That was Matt’s deep, rumbling tone. Funny how she could recognize it after only a couple short conversations.
She squinted against the blinding light. The trailer had no curtains or shades, and the sun shone straight across her pillow.
“You’re going to write her off because she’s a few minutes late?” a woman countered.
“If I can get my work done instead of participating in some Debutante Checking Out How the Other Ninety-Nine Percent Lives reality TV show, believe me, I’m going to jump on it,” Matt replied.
Veronica rolled off the bed that she’d carefully inspected and determined to be rodent-free, despite Matt’s dire warnings. She grabbed a new pair of jeans from her suitcase and pushed her legs into them. Her real life was at stake, not any reality show.
She had to prove herself as his equal and worthy of his respect. She wouldn’t let him brush her off like her father had, like Matt had yesterday when she’d tried to help with the convenience-store job. After today, she would only have twenty-nine more days before she took over the distribution center from her grandfather—a business she was well qualified to run.
“Give her a call on her cell phone, and leave it up to her to decide if she wants to come,” the woman said. “Then you’ll be off the hook with Ron when he finds out.”
Veronica kept her body below the window ledge as she changed her shirt, and then peeked out as she snapped her jeans. Barney was standing in the entrance to the convenience store, holding a big black dog by the collar. The woman from the bench yesterday—Agatha Hollister, dressed in lavender pants and an olive-green starched blouse that looked like it was cut from someone’s front curtains—was talking with Matt.
Veronica wasn’t sure if Agatha was defending her or making sure Matt didn’t get himself in trouble. The former would have been a nice thought, but the people in the grocery store had trampled on her rose-colored glasses, so she had to assume the latter.
“I know better than to call her type at seven in the morning,” Matt said. “That’s the equivalent of two or three in the morning to you and me.”
It was only seven a.m.? No wonder she was exhausted. Much too tired to take issue with the disdain Matt used when he talked about “her type.” Veronica’s boots zipped along the side, so they were easy to put on. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and slid on lipstick.
When she came out of the bathroom, Agatha was still lecturing Matt on the courtesy of giving someone a phone call. If she’d thought there was a chance anyone in town might have a soft spot for her, she would have guessed the elderly woman was purposely stalling to give Veronica time to get her act together.
“I don’t give wakeup calls to any of my employees,” Matt said. “They take responsibility for themselves, and they pull their weight around the job site.”
Veronica grabbed her denim blazer and her home-improvement manual, fumbled with the flimsy lock on the screen door, and slammed outside. “Give me a chance to prove myself before you decide whether or not I can pull my weight.”
She couldn’t tell whether Matt looked surprised or annoyed as she power walked across the road toward him. “It’s after seven. You’re late,” he said.
“A start time was never specified.” She didn’t expect him to drop his condescension immediately, but she wasn’t going to stop reminding him until he treated her as an equal. “Good morning, Barney. What a sweet pooch you have.” She let his dog sniff her hand and then scratched it behind the ears. “Do you need help covering the doughnuts this morning so they don’t get dusty?”
Barney turned his dog away from her and tramped inside the convenience store with it, letting the door slam shut behind them.
She tried again. “Good morning, Agatha. Do you have a pen and paper? I have a web address for you and your husband that has some great step-by-step information on starting a food pantry.”
“Wilbur would love that.” Agatha opened her purse and began shuffling through the contents.
Veronica turned her smile on Matt. At last, she was making progress. “I’m here. Are the drywall and nails in the back of your truck?” She was proud of figuring out the name of those gray-white slabs they’d been wrestling with yesterday.
He didn’t look impressed. “I’m not working here this morning. Barney’s still pretty ticked about me dusting up his fresh doughnuts yesterday. His sales were way down, and he had a lot of complaints.”
“Imagine that,” she murmured. Right now she was willing to blow her entire budget on a breakfast that would counteract the effect of too many cleaning chemicals, too little sleep, and an empty stomach. Too bad she’d run out of the trailer so fast she’d forgotten her purse. Barney’s complimentary welcome gifts weren’t exactly fit for consumption.
“I’m going to fix a gate,” Matt said. “Are you coming or going back to bed?”
Matt folded his arms over his chest, clearly not buying into the excitement she was attempting to generate. “You think reading a do-it-yourself article qualifies you to do construction work?”
“Not alone for my first job,” she backpedaled, trying not to get distracted by his biceps bulging out from under his T-shirt sleeves. Appearances weren’t everything, she reminded herself, and Matt hadn’t exactly done much to show he had a personality worthy of his hot body. “That’s why I’m working with you. My point was that you don’t have to worry about getting me up to speed or my slowing you down or bothering you with simple questions.”
“That’s a relief,” he said sarcastically.
All right. That was enough. “You don’t know enough about me to have any clue what kind of qualifications I have. But I’ll tell you what you should have figured out from the beginning. I am a human being with feelings, hopes, and dreams, just like you. Stop lobbing insults at me and treat me with respect.”
“Amen,” Agatha said, her severe gray bun bobbling with gusto. “I found a pen, so you can give me the name of that website.”
Veronica blinked. She’d gotten so wrapped up in Matt she’d completely forgotten they had an audience. She took the pen and paper from Agatha and wrote down the information.
Matt stalked to the driver’s side of his truck. “If you want to come, get in.”
“Go with him,” Agatha advised under her breath. “The more time you spend together, the more you’ll learn.”
Matt gunned the engine, and Veronica shot a grateful smile to Agatha before opening the passenger door. She needed space to pull herself together and become as impassive as he was. But she knew the old woman was right—she had to take every opportunity she could to learn about this business she was working for. Matt wasn’t going to freely offer it to her.