by Lily Cahill
“Do you need money, June? I could—”
“No. Please. You’ve already been so kind. And my father. He’d just die if he thought anyone knew about this. And now she wants to throw this ridiculous party and spend even more money on God knows what. I just … I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Just say the word and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“No. I’m sorry,” she said, drying her eyes. “I shouldn’t even be burdening you with all this. Can you imagine what my mother would say if she heard me airing our dirty laundry to you?”
“Even the Briggs aren’t without their secrets.” And he didn’t just have one big secret. He had two.
“I bet,” she laughed. “What deep, dark mystery are you hiding, Clay? Have you accidentally mismatched your socks this morning? The horror.”
Clayton’s expression clouded, wondering what she’d do if she’d seen him kill that poor, defenseless animal. And what would she say if she knew what he’d been doing—who he’d been with—last night?
June tilted her head, stared at him. “You sneak. You do have a secret.”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something all right. Look at you. Your eyes are practically screaming it.”
“Am I really that transparent?”
“Spill,” she commanded.
Clayton hesitated. He trusted June more than most people. But telling her about Cora? That might be too much for even her to accept.
“Come on, Clay. It’s only fair. I just told you the most humiliating possible details about my life.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
June glared at him, then studied him, then her eyes grew wide. “Tell me it’s not true.”
“What?”
June’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Cora Murphy? Everyone’s been talking about it but I’ve been saying it couldn’t be true. I’ve been sticking up for you.”
“June—”
“It is true, isn’t it? Goodness, Clay. You couldn’t be—you’re not still seeing her, are you?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not. I mean I won’t, but … do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Clayton grinned. “It’s maybe the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
June shook her head. “And here I had my money on you and Violet getting back together.”
“Oh, come on. That was over years ago.”
“I don’t think she sees it that way.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Maybe that was true. But something’s different since you’ve been home. Haven’t you noticed all the attention she’s been paying you?”
“Vi’s always been a shameless flirt.”
“Don’t fool yourself. That girl’s got her heart set on you.”
“She told you this?”
“Not in so many words. Just … just promise you’ll be careful around Violet, okay? If you’re really not interested, then let her down easy?”
“I can’t let her down if we’re not even dating.”
“I know. Just be kind, will you?”
“I will.”
“Good. Now tell me what it is about that Murphy girl that’s got you so smitten? Because sometime between now and the last time I checked, you seem to have gone absolutely crazy, and I’d like to know why.”
Clayton smiled. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. She’s, well … different. Like no one I’ve ever met.”
“I’ll say,” June said.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs and they both went quiet. June dashed to her teller window and Clayton opened the file cabinet, trying to remember what it was he’d come down there for in the first place.
“Clayton, there you are,” his father boomed. “Could I speak with you in my office for a moment?”
“I’m glad you have a moment to talk, Pop,” Clayton said as he shut the door to his father’s lavish office. He was carrying a stack of files that he’d stopped in his own office to pick up on the way. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
The room was practically as large as the bank lobby, and decorated even more opulently. A broad desk dominated the space, complemented by overstuffed leather chairs and ornate side tables. Like the lobby, it was paneled in dark cherry with rich red drapes and carpeting accented with green and gold. Unlike the lobby, there were mementos from his father’s travels scattered throughout—an intricately carved teak cabinet from India, a snuff box originally made by the House of Fabergé in Russia, a marble bust from Greece, a boar’s head from Africa, a Georges Braque painting from Paris. It was like his version of the scrapbook Clayton’s mother kept of the same adventures. They’d had an exciting life before settling down in Independence Falls.
“Oh? What is it that you’d like to discuss?” his father asked.
“I’ve had something of an inspiration,” he said. “A business idea.” It had come to him last night when he’d been driving home, thinking about Cora. About everything she’d said to him.
His father’s face turned from static to wary. “Let’s have it, then.”
“I think we should start a new department.”
“What kind of department?”
“One that pursued … a more robust sort of investment strategy. High risk, high yield.”
“That’s never been the focus of our business.”
“It’s how our business began. The first Lowell Briggs was an adventurer. He staked his claim here without knowing if the mines would produce anything. But they did.”
“It was a different time. And the mines were a considered risk.”
“These investments would be too.” Clayton handed a thick binder to his father. “Look. Here’s the research I did on just one company before choosing to invest.”
His father leafed through the binder, his eyebrows raised.
“And this here,” Clayton said, removing a smaller folder, “is a part of my senior thesis. We had to select investments at the beginning of the year, pretending we had a hundred thousand to invest, and track them to see how well they performed. Even my least successful choice out-performed the market by nearly fifteen percent.”
“This is very impressive, son. Truly. But I guess I just don’t see the point. We’re stable now. And it’s taken some time to get here after the Depression years. Why rock the boat?”
“Because of what we could do with it.”
Clayton’s father tilted his head. “Oh? And what is that?”
“Set up a larger fund for community investing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Local businesses. Mom and pop shops. Right here in Independence Falls. We could look for local opportunities and help support them.”
“As a charitable endeavor?”
“No. At least not at first. We’d still expect a fair return on our investment. Fair but reasonable.”
“Then how would this differ from the business loan service we already offer?”
“It would provide a larger pool to draw from, which would mean we could assist more people. Right now, only those who have proven themselves in the business world have the resources to get a loan approved. I’m suggesting we take on bolder investments—investments in people with potential. Seek them out, even, for the benefit of the town as a whole.”
His father furrowed his brow, yet his face seemed more open than it had moments ago.
Clayton continued. “Take one of our tenants. Miss Lavigne at the beauty parlor, for instance. In Chicago, ladies go to the beauty parlor for more than just getting their hair done. They paint their nails, pluck their eyebrows, do skin treatments. You know, the average torture chamber.” Clayton shared a grin with his father, but pressed on before the older man could comment. “And they pay for all those services. If we were to suggest an expansion, Miss Lavigne could hire more employees. Maybe even expand into the larger shop space next door and pay us higher rent. It’s a win-win for the t
own and for us.”
“Your mother would bleed me dry for something like that,” his father chuckled.
“Exactly. And so would many of the other ladies in town. It throws more money into circulation at the local level, which leads people right back to our doors.”
“Interesting.”
Clayton watched as his father stared above his head, calculating, considering.
“Tell me, what inspired this idea?”
Cora, Clayton wanted to say. But he censored himself just in time.
“Let’s call it my contribution to our fresh start.”
“I like it,” his father said, beaming.
He liked it? Clayton almost laughed. The first idea his father had approved of in years, and it was practically handed to him by Cora Murphy. What would he say if he knew that?
“I’m not sure it has the kind of stability I’d be comfortable with, but I’m willing to consider it. As long as we’re lending to the right kind of people, of course. We don’t want to risk the reputation of this establishment by doing business with those who don’t deserve the favor.”
Clayton hesitated. He knew exactly what his father meant—he meant not lending to a Murphy.
“The loans wouldn’t be given to anyone without merit,” Clayton said, though he was certain that his definition of merit and his father’s might differ greatly.
“Why don’t you put the details together and get back to me?”
Clayton beamed. Bless her, Cora had been right.
“I will,” he said, getting up. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and Clayton?”
Clayton stopped at the door. In his excitement, he had almost forgotten that his father had been the one who wanted to talk to him first.
“Your mother asked me to remind you about the Briggs Foundation Gala.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“How about taking that Powell girl downstairs? Her mother’s an abomination, but she seems nice enough. And pretty.”
“Maybe,” Clayton said. He didn’t want to commit to a choice for the ball. He didn’t even want to think about it. He’d have fun with June, of course. He was sure she’d be willing to go as friends. But the very idea of wasting an entire evening on anyone but Cora seemed completely unappealing at the moment.
“I don’t mean to meddle,” his father said. “It’s your choice, of course. Just pick someone soon, will you? I know it would make your mother very happy.”
“I will.”
Clayton looked at his father. The pride he had seen in the old man’s face had been replaced by a hint of worry around the eyes. But he was proud of Clayton, wasn’t he? He had changed his mind when Clayton presented a new idea in a compelling light. Maybe he would do the same with Cora. Clayton just needed more time to figure out how to convince his family that she was different from the rest of the Murphys. He needed more time with her.
He met his father’s eyes. “I will, Dad. Thanks.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cora
Cora scrubbed the window in the front room, wishing for the millionth time that she wasn’t the only adult in her household who cared about cleanliness. The scrubbing would be easier if she used her power, of course. She’d been practicing every chance she got, but that wasn’t possible today. Bethany was out back with Ella, and the two girls could walk in on her at any moment, so she scrubbed by hand.
The old windows were set inside old wood casings. Old wood casings in an old wood house that had seen many filthy occupants before her. The first culprits were the miners that had emptied the mountains beyond, tracking dirt and ore through the house nearly seventy-five years ago. The stain of them was still there, layered over by the marks and grime from her own family. Sometimes it seemed like the house wanted to look dirty, and so held on to its history with an unbreakable grip.
As she washed—digging into the corners to pry out the dirt—she thought about Clayton. Or rather, the impossibility of Clayton. Last night had been one of the most beautiful in her life. And Clayton had been so much more than she ever expected.
If someone had asked her a week ago, she would have told them that Clayton Briggs was just another spoiled rich boy. And, well, part of that was true. But he was more. He was so much more. He was charming and bold and thoughtful, too. She had been honest with him—perhaps too honest—but he hadn’t gotten angry. He had listened to her, considered what she had to say. Cora hadn’t realized until that moment how long it had been since someone actually listened to her. It was as surprising as it was intriguing.
Part of her almost wished he hadn’t listened. Part of her wanted him to tell her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t need to think about their dilemma—that being together was worth any price. Her skin prickled at the realization that he might be considering things right now—weighing the pros and cons of her.
She doubted very much that the equation would work out in her favor. It made no practical sense, for either of them. There were so many risks involved: his family, hers. Not to mention their hearts.
She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that no matter what he decided, she would have the memory of last night. His kiss had given her hope again. If kisses like that existed, what other magic was out there in the world?
That kiss.
His kiss.
Her lips felt stained by him—branded with his. It felt like all someone had to do was look at her to know that his lips had been on hers. Those perfect, perfect lips. A soft smile bloomed on her face.
“What’ve you got to be so happy about?” her father asked from the doorway.
“Nothing,” she said, settling a more neutral expression onto her face.
Cora wasn’t quite sure if he had just come in or was just going out. It was ten in the morning, but that didn’t make much of a difference where he was concerned. It was just as likely he’d slept off his drink in Butch’s old truck as it was that he’d passed out in his bed. Usually, she could keep track of his comings and goings, but she’d been out late last night.
“Knock that off and come over here,” he said, sitting on an old sofa that was so worn in places the springs popped through. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Worry shot through her. Confusion too. He rarely asked to talk to her. Their interactions were normally at mealtimes and normally short. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real conversation with him. She wished she could refuse it—nothing good had ever come from speaking to Huck—but it was safer to at least see what this was all about. She sat down in an old rocker across from him.
“I hear you caught the eye of the Briggs boy,” he said with pride in his eyes.
Cora’s heart quickened. How had he found out? She was certain he hadn’t been home when Clayton had picked her up last night. But it was such a small town. Word traveled fast. Had someone else seen them? Why did she let him pick her up? They should have been more careful.
“You always were a pretty one. Just like your mother.”
Now Cora was really worried. He was complimenting her. And that could only mean one thing: he wanted something.
“Thank you,” she said warily.
“So what kind of a game you running?”
“Excuse me?”
“With the Briggs brat. What are you lining him up for?”
“I’m not running a game, Dad.”
He sighed in annoyance and leaned back. “Then why the hell’d you snag the sap?”
“I didn’t,” she said.
“Don’t you lie to me, girl. I won’t stand for any more of you squirreling away money. We’re a family. We stick together.”
Funny how they always seemed to be a family when it was her resources to be shared, but never his.
“So you’re going to tell me what you’re trying to pull on the Briggs kid, and I’m going to help you.”
“It was just a date.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. Then he broke out i
nto a laugh. “You’re even dumber than I thought, girl. Jesus,” he said, slapping a hand on his knee. “That kid don’t want to date you. He wants something, but it sure ain’t a date.”
Cora squirmed, and the rocker teetered underneath her. She had wondered the same thing, but now that she had been with Clayton she was certain he didn’t want to use her. She had been the one to kiss him first last night, after all. He didn’t want anything that she didn’t want in return.
Huck kept laughing, “And you just gave it to him for free?”
Cora sat up straighter. “I did no such thing.” They’d done a lot of things last night, but not that. Nothing that could get her in trouble.
“Well, that’s good at least. You can still salvage this.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, gesturing with his hands. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna string it out. Make him wait.”
Cora’s hand shook. Was her father suggesting—actually suggesting—what she thought he was?
“The next time you’re together, you’re gonna ask him to buy you something. Nothin’ too big. Not at first. Just something small. All you want is to get him used to saying yes.”
“Dad—” Cora said, fuming. But he wasn’t listening. He bowled right over her.
“Then you make him feel real good about it. Tell him thank you, give him a little smoochie, act like he’s the greatest guy you’ve ever met. You know, just treat him real good—but not too good. Not yet.”
“Dad, stop.”
“Maybe not ever, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s about floating the idea of it. You give him a little reward. Then next time, you ask for something bigger. See? You play this right, we could eat for a year. Or buy a new car, maybe.”
There was a rattle next to her. The water pail—vibrating on the floor, threatening to douse her father. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it.
Cora had to get herself under control.
She had to put a stop to this.
She stood to her full height. Her face was flushed and her hands were still shaking, but she couldn’t listen to this anymore. “I’m not going to run a con on him. And that’s final.”