by Terri Osburn
Years of being dragged through endless flea markets with her grandmother had given Snow both an extensive knowledge of anything old, and a love of the stories the antique pieces could tell. Granny Cameron had worked in a fine old house when she was young, and she’d been responsible for polishing the furniture that had been built before the Civil War. Sometimes it seemed as if Granny were a walking history book, and she’d passed the knowledge, along with a desire to learn more, down to her granddaughter.
“Is there something in particular we’re looking for?” Caleb asked as they approached the crowd in the yard.
Snow kept her voice down so no one around them could hear the items she had her eye on. “Three things,” she said. “An old dresser I can make into a bathroom vanity. The old mantelpiece, if they put that up. I’m not sure they will.” She already had a buyer for the mantel, so hope sprang eternal. “And lace doilies.”
Caleb stopped walking. “Doilies?” he asked loud enough for all around to hear him.
She couldn’t stop the eye roll. Tugging Caleb away from the others, she scolded, “Keep your voice down or I’ll have a bidding war on my hands.”
Her husband looked clueless. “Bidding war? Over doilies?”
Nitzi Merchant, the high school secretary, smiled from across the lawn. Snow knew that Nitzi would be her biggest competitor for textiles. “Word has it a Brambleton ancestor was known for her handmade lace doilies. There might be kerchiefs, too. A textile like that, made over a hundred years ago, could bring in a nice profit.”
“There’s a market for doilies?” he asked, still incredulous.
“I knew it was a mistake to let you come.” The doors had been opened while Snow attempted to educate Caleb, and the crowd was already filing into the house. Snow hurried to catch up. “Just be quiet and stay out of my way,” she said.
Guilt set in the moment the words were out. Caleb had done nothing to deserve her temper, but she was already getting curious stares from the locals. Knowing the questions would come, and she would soon be the subject of town gossip, put Snow on edge. She’d worked so hard to blend into this town, which wasn’t easy for a woman with olive skin and a mass of dark, curly hair.
Auctions were always an adrenaline rush, but today felt heavier. As if there were more at stake than winning an item or two. The reason was obvious. Thanks to Caleb, the perfect little life she’d created in Ardent Springs was about to go out the window.
The need to deal with their impromptu marriage had loomed somewhere in her future, and Snow was realistic enough to know this day would come. But that didn’t make her any less resentful of his sudden return to her life.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered in her ear as they reached the front door. “I didn’t mean to mess anything up.”
Hesitating on the threshold, she gave her husband a weak smile. “I know. I’m sorry, too. But this is really important to me.” She offered the thin lie to cover how she really felt. Not that the auction wasn’t important, but her business wouldn’t fold if she left the Brambleton house empty-handed.
Her status in Ardent Springs was the real issue.
Something Snow hadn’t realized she cared so much about. What she had here she’d created on her own. Now, with Caleb’s arrival, her life could unravel like a sweater with a loose thread. One wrong move and . . .
Snow reined in that thought. This was a temporary blip in her plan. In a few weeks, Caleb would see they were a bad match.
“Where do you want to start?” Caleb asked, drawing Snow back to the moment. He was glancing at the flier in his hand, then up at the array of rooms jutting off the foyer. “The stairs are blocked, so if they’re bringing out a dresser, it must be down here somewhere.”
Caleb looked like a man on a mission, and Snow’s guilt increased. He was so determined to make this work. She almost wished it could.
Almost. But then she remembered their two months of awkward, uncomfortable marriage and regained her sanity. Not that every minute of their marriage had been bad. When they were alone, Snow could ignore the reality of her surroundings, and Caleb’s upper-crust status. She’d let her heart rule her head and all but convinced herself that he really was the one.
And then they would leave the sanctity of their room and the censure and snobbishness of his parents would all but suffocate her. The fancy dinners, always endured in private dining rooms, given the McGraws couldn’t possibly be expected to mix with the regular folk, made her food taste like cardboard as she struggled to choke it down and pretend she didn’t hate every passing moment.
Caleb had been blind to his parents’ true nature. Or he’d been ignoring it for so long that he didn’t see it anymore. Though he was miraculously down-to-earth and open-minded, there were moments she feared he would eventually grow to be more like them. Once he took over the family business, who was to say he wouldn’t become another version of Jackson, the ruthless company leader with little concern for anything other than his own pleasure and the bottom line.
Fears she would never speak aloud. Whether he ever turned ruthless or not, Caleb would someday be in charge of the vast family fortunes, and Snow would be expected to continue the tradition of influential yet obedient matriarch. A role she never could or would want to play. Especially not after seeing what the position had done to the mean-spirited woman who was Vivien McGraw.
Shaking herself back to the present, Snow examined her surroundings and picked a direction. “The ladies’ parlor is to our left,” she said, examining the layout on the bottom corner of the flier. “We’ll start there.”
Chapter 6
Passing through the open pocket doors, a sliver of excitement shot down Snow’s spine when she spotted the white mantelpiece leaning against the wall. The entire facing had been removed, and carefully from the looks of it. She couldn’t be sure of its age, but the house dated back to 1898. Snow checked the sheet of paper in her hand. The mantel had been installed in 1909.
Perfect.
“Hey,” Caleb said, pointing toward the object of her desire.
Snow slapped his hand down. “I see,” she said with a low growl. The man could not follow instructions to save his life. But the motion brought a problem to her attention. Keeping her voice down, she said, “You need to take off your ring.”
“What?” Caleb said.
“The ring.” Snow cut her eyes toward the offending appendage. “We’re keeping the married part secret, remember? You need to take off your ring.”
“So you know,” he mumbled while removing the thin band, “I’ve never taken this off.” Caleb shoved the ring into his pocket as he said, “I see the same can’t be said for you.”
Her guilt level shot to eleven with that direct hit. “I didn’t want to explain to people why a married woman was living among them with no husband.”
Rubbing the spot where his ring had been, he said, “I guess I should consider myself lucky you didn’t tell people I was dead.”
Even Snow wouldn’t go that far. “Could we keep moving, please? We have other items to find.”
They passed through the door in the far corner and stepped into the dining room. The lace doilies had been spread out along the right side of a buffet. Snow put on her best poker face as she examined the pieces—definitely old, some discolored, but others were in excellent shape.
Leaning close to her ear, Caleb whispered, “This is good, right?”
Snow nodded. “Not as good as I’d hoped.”
Then he elbowed her and said, “What about the painting?”
Following the direction of his less-than-subtle nod, Snow located the large painting of a ship. It looked like some paint-by-numbers thing.
“What about it?” she asked.
“We need to get that.”
By Snow’s estimation, the painting might bring in twenty dollars, and fifteen of that was for the frame.
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br /> “I don’t think so.”
Caleb remained undeterred. He leaned close, examining the signature. “I’m serious. This has to go on the list.”
“Uh, no. That would be a waste of money.”
If a grown man could have a conniption, Caleb had one in that moment. “It’s a William Norton.”
“A what?” Snow stepped around her husband and squinted at the unreadable signature. “I can’t make that out at all.”
“My father has a William Norton on the wall in his office. He paid ten thousand dollars for it, and it’s smaller than this one.”
Snow’s heart dropped. “Are you making that up?”
Caleb twitched. “Why would I make that up?”
The twitch became contagious, as it was now pulsing in Snow’s left eyelid. She looked around to make sure no one could hear their conversation. “You’re sure? That signature is really hard to read.”
“I am,” Caleb said with confidence. “My father loves to brag about his trophies. His Norton is the one he talks most about, and that is definitely Norton’s signature.”
Ten thousand dollars would allow Snow to make upgrades in the store that she’d been dreaming about. And she could set up Lorelei’s baking café in the back corner right away, instead of waiting until spring.
“Mr. McGraw, you may have just earned your keep for the week.”
“Happy to be of service,” Caleb said, “Mrs. McGraw.”
“I can’t believe the painting was that easy. Are you sure it’s authentic?” Snow asked, after winning the Norton with almost no competition.
None of the other attendees seemed to know what they were looking at, as Snow had won the bidding at a low three hundred dollars. Whoever was running the auction should have done their homework and known the history and value of every piece up for sale. Especially on such an old estate.
Caleb wasn’t an art expert, but the chances someone had faked a Norton that ended up in this old house seemed slim. He had no doubt the signature matched the piece on his father’s wall. “Here,” he said, pulling out his phone. “We’ll look it up and I’ll show you.”
“It seems too good to be true,” Snow whispered as Caleb tapped the Google app on his phone. He typed the artist’s name along with the words “seafaring painting” into the search field. Several images popped up in the results, none identical to the picture they’d purchased today, but at least three were similar. “These are all in museums,” he said, turning and lowering the phone so Snow could see the screen. “Here’s one that sold at auction last year for eight grand, and it’s at least half the size of ours.”
“Ours?” Snow said, her brows riding her hairline, but she couldn’t hide the grin.
Caleb tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “You wouldn’t have bid if I hadn’t been here to educate you on the hidden treasure hanging in front of your nose.”
With a gleam he hadn’t seen in more than a year, she said, “True. You did come in handy today. I guess I’ll keep you around a little longer.”
“It’s cute that you think you can get rid of me,” he replied with a wink.
Snow’s grin fell away. “And we’re back to reality,” she said, turning around to face the house.
His runaway bride may have been clueless about the painting, but Snow had knowledge to spare on almost everything else in the auction. She’d gotten the dresser she wanted, which wasn’t as old as most of the other items, but that made it perfect for the transformation she had in mind. As Snow pointed out, cutting up a true antique would be a shame, but the less-dated piece would find new life and new purpose when she was finished with it.
“The textiles aren’t as nice as I’d hoped,” Snow whispered. “Nitzi Merchant is probably going to put up a fight, so if the bidding goes above fifty dollars, I’ll let her have them.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “What about that mantelpiece?”
“I’m not willing to pay much over one hundred for it, since I won’t get more than two fifty on the resale. But I’d hate to see it sold for scrap and end up in someone’s wood heap.”
“You know of anyone else who would want it for the same reason you do?” Caleb eyed their fellow attendees. They all looked easy enough to haggle with. If necessary, he’d buy the mantel from whoever won the auction and surprise her with it.
The auctioneer’s voice boomed from the porch, announcing the final round was about to start. “We’re about to find out,” Snow said, holding her paddle tight and focusing on the man at the front.
The lace bits came and went. The price hit sixty in no time, and Snow dropped out. Three items later, the final target on her list came up as two large guys hauled the mantelpiece onto the block. The bidding started at fifty and went slow until a new bidder joined the fray at the eighty-dollar mark. Snow faced off with the determined contender until the asking price hit one fifty and she gave up. Caleb fought the urge to find the winning bidder and punch him in the nuts.
The asshole got the prize at one seventy-five, and Caleb leaned down to whisper in Snow’s ear, “You should have kept bidding.”
She shook her head. “By the time I cleaned it up and got it fit for sale, I’d have lost money.”
“So now it’s firewood?”
Snow shrugged. “Can’t win them all.”
This was a concept Caleb had never embraced. “I would have covered you.”
Snow shook her head but kept her eyes on the porch. “This isn’t your business, and I don’t want your money.”
“You are my business, and my money is your money.”
Snow spun fast enough to force Caleb to take a step back. “I said I don’t want your money. I mean it. That’s not why I married you.”
Caleb felt as if he’d landed in quicksand. “I told you, I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my wife, and what’s mine is yours.”
Cutting off the conversation, she snapped her mouth shut and turned her back on him.
“Our final item,” the auctioneer bellowed, “is a 1956 Ford F-100 pickup truck. Who’ll give me five hundred?”
Caleb hadn’t noticed a truck on the flier. He followed the auctioneer’s gesture to the left and spotted the neglected antique pull into view on the back of a flatbed hauler. Primer gray, with a busted back window and two missing wheels, the pickup was a thing of beauty.
A little paint, probably a new engine, and some TLC would bring this baby back to life.
Someone in the crowd offered up the five hundred, and Caleb swiped the paddle from Snow’s hand and indicated he’d go to six hundred.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m buying that truck,” he answered, as if his intention wasn’t clear.
The other bidder went up to eight hundred, and a rush of adrenaline shot through Caleb’s system. He took the bid to one thousand. Uncle Frazier would never forgive him if he didn’t bring this treasure home.
Caleb spotted his opponent fifteen yards to his right, standing inches over most of the crowd. He wore a ball cap turned backward, and some kind of tattoo circled the forearm waving the paddle. No doubt some country bumpkin who intended to strip the thing for parts. Over Caleb’s dead body.
He flashed the paddle to make the twelve-hundred-dollar bid.
“Caleb,” Snow snapped. “Knock it off.”
“That’s a 1956 Ford,” he said. “Even in the condition it’s in now it’s worth five grand.”
Snow tried to tug the paddle from his grasp, but Caleb held tight. “Let Cooper have the truck,” she said, still tugging.
“Why?”
With desperation in her eyes, she said, “Please. Don’t do this.”
Against his better judgment, he let her have the paddle. His opponent offered up fifteen hundred, and Caleb ignored the auctioneer’s call for sixteen.
“Sold!” echoed over the crowd, and Caleb’s jaw clenched. It killed him to let the truck go, but he couldn’t ignore Snow’s heartfelt plea.
“Who is this Cooper guy?” he asked. “What is he to you?”
“What?” she asked, amber eyes going wide. “Cooper Ridgeway is nothing more than a friend to me. He owns the garage in town and his entire life revolves around cars. He’s probably had his eye on that truck for years, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to swipe it out from under him just because you have more money.”
Hovering inches above her nose, Caleb said, “If I wanted to throw my money around, I would have raised the bid to five thousand right away. If your goal is to make me feel like a rich asshole, then congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”
She’d wanted her husband to hate her, and Snow was certainly succeeding. Too bad the victory felt more like she’d kicked a sack full of kittens than something worth celebrating.
He was so . . . Caleb. Confident. Pompous. Determined to have anything that caught his fancy. What would he have done with that truck, anyway? She didn’t have a garage to put it in, and her husband wasn’t exactly a workbench and power tools kind of guy.
A tense silence followed them to the cashier’s table, where Snow paid for her winnings. She’d feared Caleb would try to pay, but he’d maintained a distance while she settled her account.
Snow turned from the table and nearly plowed into Spencer Boyd.
“Whoa,” Spencer said, steadying Snow by her upper arms. “You okay?”
“She’s fine,” Caleb said, stepping close enough to brace her against him.
Heat shot up her cheeks as she felt her husband’s body tense against her back. Part of her appreciated the protective move, while another drowned in mortification. This was not the time to make a scene. Snow looked up to see the usual smile on Spencer’s face.