by Terri Osburn
They’d need to find the right auction. And have it checked for authenticity, of course, but Snow believed she was looking at the real thing. The temptation to keep it danced along her brain. She, Snow Cameron, the lowly peasant with the tainted blood who wasn’t good enough for his son, owned a painting more valuable than Jackson McGraw’s. What would the blowhard say to that?
Not that she was bitter or anything. She already had Jackson’s most valuable possession—his son. Too bad the old man couldn’t see past his bank account to recognize that Caleb was the real prize.
That thought straightened her spine. Caleb was a prize. And he deserved a woman of equal value. Snow was smart enough to know she wasn’t worthless, but she wasn’t on her husband’s level either. Since she had every intention of letting him go, Snow opted not to think about her marriage.
For today, she would wallow in her William Norton victory and plot out exactly how she’d use her future profits to improve the store.
Snow opened a new document in her computer and typed SHOP IMPROVEMENTS across the top at the same time the store phone sitting next to her keyboard began to chirp. Without checking the caller ID, she answered, “Snow’s Curiosity Shop, how can I help you?”
“Is my son with you?” demanded the chilly voice on the other end.
“Hello, Vivien,” Snow said, refusing to hop to attention like a trained puppy.
“Answer the question,” the Southern diva snapped. “Is he there?”
“Not at the moment, no. But yes,” Snow confessed, “Caleb is here in Ardent Springs.”
“How could you let this happen?”
“Me?” Snow exclaimed, then glanced around the store and lowered her voice. “You were the one in charge of the smoke signals. Why didn’t you warn me he was coming?”
“Because I didn’t know,” she muttered. “He sent me a text yesterday morning that he’d found a lead and was leaving Nashville, but there were no further details. He refused to answer my messages.”
Maybe Mama McGraw didn’t have her boy on as tight a leash as Snow had thought.
“There wasn’t much I could do,” Snow said. “He walked into the store out of nowhere. Other than feigning amnesia, I was out of options.”
“I should have known this would happen,” Vivien said, more to herself than to Snow. “I’m assuming you both agreed the marriage is over. When is he coming home? I’ll set up a meeting with our lawyer. The divorce papers were drawn up months ago, so the process shouldn’t take long.”
A cold, stabbing pain hit Snow in the gut. The papers were ready to go? Was that Caleb’s doing?
“I don’t know when he’s going home,” she said, ignoring the ribbons of doubt clawing to take hold. “According to my husband, this marriage is salvageable.” Apparently, like a car or an old building. Maybe Snow should hit up Buford at the hardware store for a tub of spackle.
“What are you talking about? You left him. He didn’t hear from you for nearly two years.” Her mother-in-law’s voice dripped with icy incredulity as she reiterated every one of Snow’s sins. “How could he possibly want to stay married to you?” she finished.
Snow asked herself the same thing, but she wasn’t about to share that fact with Vivien McGraw. “Maybe for the same reason he married me in the first place,” Snow said, prepared to lie to save her own pride.
“Oh, please,” Vivien huffed, impatience clear in her tone. “Once he stops thinking with his libido, Caleb will see reason.”
It was a wonder Caleb carried any kindness at all after being raised by this heartless woman. Of course, Vivien was smart enough never to reveal her true self to the men in her life. From their first encounter, Snow had marveled at how tightly Vivien spun her wicked web of fake Southern charm and empty maternal preening. The moment she’d caught Snow sneaking out of the house, the mask had dropped and Vivien had held no compunction about letting her son’s fleeing wife know exactly what she thought of her.
The fact that Caleb’s mother had been willing to pass messages on to Snow’s family with complete anonymity was her only saving grace. But then, the longer Snow’s whereabouts stayed secret, the closer Vivien came to wiping Snow out of her family for good.
“Your son doesn’t see it that way.” Snow couldn’t help herself. As much as she knew Vivien was right, she couldn’t stand to admit as much. Not to this horrible woman.
Silence prickled through the line, raising goose bumps along Snow’s arms. Her mother-in-law was a formidable opponent. A woman unaccustomed to being crossed.
“How do you think my son will feel when he learns that you used his own mother against him?” Vivien asked, the threat unmistakable.
“I didn’t use anyone,” Snow answered, struggling to keep the panic from her voice. The guilt was harder to ignore. “Everything you’ve done was of your own choosing.”
“That’s your word against mine, now, isn’t it?”
The betrayal would kill him. Even if he gave Snow a chance to explain, the truth was still ugly and hurtful.
Her position achingly clear, Snow said, “Your son will be home before Christmas. You can start your proceedings then.”
Vivien’s voice lost a bit of its edge. “This is the best for all involved. I assume you’ll no longer need my assistance in contacting your parents?”
“No,” Snow said. “I’ll contact them directly from now on.”
As she spoke the words, all feeling left her body. This was what she wanted—Caleb out of her life for good. So why did she feel as if she was losing something all over again?
“Snow?” Vivien said, sounding once again like the dictator she was. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Good-bye,” Snow said, ending the call without waiting for the other woman to respond.
Closing her eyes, Snow took several deep breaths, willing the tears away. Once she regained control, she opened the phone line and entered a number she hadn’t dialed in eighteen months.
“Are you sure this is the one?” Caleb asked, turning the tiny ring between two fingers to catch the light. Hattie had put him in a small ladies’ parlor before disappearing up the stairs and returning moments later with a cream-colored jewelry box.
“I’m sure,” Hattie said, balancing the box on her lap. “That ring has Snow written all over it.”
The round diamond, held in place by four prongs and accented by six smaller stones on each side, was dainty, understated, and beautiful. Just like his wife.
“The band is platinum,” Hattie explained. “Aunt Edith gave it to me when I turned sixteen. Her first husband had been killed in World War II, and when she remarried, her second husband gave her a new ring.” The older woman’s voice turned wistful. “I think seeing this in her jewelry box every day reminded her of Uncle Harry and what she’d lost. They’d been so in love, those two.”
Caleb had no doubt he could afford whatever price Hattie asked, but now he knew there was sentimental value involved. “I don’t want to take something so personal,” he said. “I’ll make a trip down to Nashville tomorrow.”
Hattie waved his words away. “I’ll hear nothing of the sort. That ring is meant to be worn, not sit in a box forever. Besides,” she added, “I can’t take it with me.”
From what little time he’d spent with Hattie Silvester, Caleb surmised she was as healthy as he was. But not all ailments were obvious. “Are you planning on meeting your maker sometime soon?” he asked.
Shaking her head, she said, “My luck, I’ll still be kicking around this old place twenty years from now. That doesn’t change the fact that Snow deserves this ring.”
The delicate piece continued to sparkle as he held it closer to the window. “What do you want for it?”
“It’s worth about five thousand,” Hattie said, shrugging as she answered. “Give me whatever you can afford.”
Caleb could aff
ord twice that much. “How do you feel about monthly payments?” He’d simply pay the small amount for the first month or two, then hand over a large check before he and Snow left for home.
“Like I said, pay me what you can afford.” The older woman placed several small satchels back in the long jewelry box and latched the intricately decorated lid in place. “Say, do you know anything about the newspaper business?”
Considering his father owned three of them and he’d interned at each, the answer was obvious. But again, he didn’t know what story Snow wanted him to tell. This lying business was more trouble than it was worth. Which was why he’d never made a habit of it.
“I know a little, I guess,” Caleb said, deciding that understatement was better than a lie.
“Good.” Hattie set the jewelry box on the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Be at this address at nine tomorrow morning.”
Caleb took the note and read 121 Second Avenue North. “What is this?” he asked.
“You want a job or not?” she asked.
He’d told Snow he’d get a job, and working for a newspaper was better than slinging a hammer, but Caleb didn’t know what Hattie expected him to do. Journalism was not his arena, but the paper could be hiring a delivery boy for all he knew.
“I appreciate your help, but I don’t know what you’re offering. And you don’t even know if I’m qualified.”
She once again waved his words away. “You’ll be fine. Now we have more work to do,” she said, charging out of the small sitting room.
“Excuse me?” Caleb said, following after her.
“It isn’t often I have a little muscle around here,” she said over her shoulder. “Keep up and we’ll earn you the first installment on that ring before the day is out.”
Chapter 9
“Mama, if you’ll just listen—”
“Don’t you Mama me, young lady. Do you know what you put your family through? We were worried sick.” Snow had hoped that after eighteen months Roberta Cameron would be too happy to hear from her to launch into a full-on scolding.
Snow had hoped wrong.
“Running away from a good man like that. Leaving us behind to look like fools, trying to make excuses for our daughter’s rash behavior. I know I taught you better than that. I have never been so humiliated in my life.”
No concern over what had driven Snow to her “rash behavior,” as Mama called it. No sympathy or compassion for the daughter who’d been distraught enough to stay in hiding for more than a year. None of that maternal stuff for Snow’s mother.
“I shouldn’t have taken off like that,” Snow said, “but I had a good reason. Aren’t you at all interested in why I left?”
“Do you know that boy has called me every month like clockwork?” Roberta asked. “I could mark it on my calendar and know exactly when I’d hear from him. But I never knew if or when I’d hear from my daughter.”
Pounding her head on the wall behind her, Snow said, “I sent messages, Mama. I even sent presents on holidays and birthdays. You knew I was okay the whole time.”
“As if a pretty teacup would make up for not having you here.” That teacup was Wedgwood, for Pete’s sake. “If you wanted to leave that boy, though heaven only knows what woman in her right mind would, you could have come here.”
“I needed to go somewhere that Caleb couldn’t find me,” she said. “We aren’t right for each other, Mama. Getting married was a mistake, and I couldn’t spend one more minute in that house.”
Snow had hit her limit of toxic hatred from her in-laws, both back at the time and now.
“Marriage isn’t an easy thing, Snow. You had to know that.”
If anyone knew that, it was Snow. A child didn’t grow up in the Cameron household, with the screaming and fighting, empty cupboards and an emptier house, without learning that lesson. Somewhere around the age of ten, she’d started questioning why her mother stayed.
Her parents may have been in love at some point, but they sure didn’t like each other. Zeke Cameron was a man with too much pride who couldn’t keep a job long enough to fill out his first time card, and he had little patience for a wife who pointed out his faults on a daily basis.
“I don’t have any illusions about marriage,” Snow said. She hadn’t been given enough time to even think about marriage before she and Caleb had tied the knot. “But I refuse to stay in a situation that isn’t right.”
Her mother’s voice sharpened. “How could you know if it was right or not? Did you even give it a chance? Two months? You think two months is time enough to know anything?”
“Fine,” Snow said. “I screwed up. I can’t go back and change it now. I’m sorry that you were worried. I’m sorry that you were left to explain my actions. I never meant for anyone to have to speak for me.”
“That’s why you stick around and speak for yourself.” The voice on the other end finally softened. “Are you really okay, honey?”
This was the mother Snow needed.
“I am. Well, I’m working on it. Caleb found me yesterday.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “Now you kids can straighten this mess out.”
“There’s nothing to straighten out, Mama.” Snow kept her voice low as she smiled at a customer passing the counter. “He’s old Baton Rouge money, and I’m no Birmingham money. He’s upstairs, I’m downstairs.”
“Don’t you ever talk like that. I may have cleaned houses a time or two, but this isn’t the nineteenth century. You’re just as good as those McGraws.” Her mother huffed. “Better if you ask me. I like that husband of yours, but his parents are another story.”
And therein lay Snow’s problem. Caleb and his parents were a package deal. She couldn’t have one without the other two, and she couldn’t bear life with the other two.
“Caleb seems to agree with you,” Snow said. “He thinks we can make this work, but he’s wrong. He’ll realize that before Christmas, and when he agrees to end this marriage once and for all, I’ll let you know.”
“Give it a chance, baby. That boy cares about you.”
If only things were that easy.
Shifting the subject away from her tattered marriage, Snow said, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to come see you for a while. I run a store here in Ardent Springs, and it’s impossible to get away during the holiday shopping season.”
“You run a store? As in manage it?”
“No, I own it,” she said. “It’s called Snow’s Curiosity Shop, and Grandma would love it. Everything from art deco jewelry to antique furniture and fabrics. A lot of it is on consignment, but I keep an eye on auctions and estate sales to fill in the rest.”
“You did all this on your own?” her mother asked, the wonder in her voice heightening Snow’s pride.
“I did. It’s something special, Mama. Maybe you all can come up and see it sometime.”
“We’ll see,” she said, though her tone gave a clear answer. “Your father’s health isn’t that good, and money’s tight.”
“What’s wrong with Daddy?” Snow asked, fear jerking her upright. “Is he okay?” The man may not have been a great breadwinner, or all that touchy-feely, but he was still her father.
“Don’t get yourself worked up. His lungs just aren’t as strong as they used to be. Doc thinks the fumes from his years of house painting are to blame.”
Sometime during Snow’s high school years, her father had started his own house painting business, and thanks to being his own boss, stuck with it. He never made much money, but being his own man had made him easier to live with.
“Maybe I can come down between Christmas and New Year’s,” Snow said.
“You and Caleb are always welcome.”
“Mama . . .”
“Like I said, just give him a chance. The fact that he’s there should tell you something, baby. That
boy’s a keeper.”
That boy needed to go home. Alone. And by Christmas, Snow would make sure he did.
Several hours later, Snow parked her red Nissan next to Caleb’s Jeep in front of Miss Hattie’s garage, but she didn’t bother getting out. Instead, she stared unseeing through the windshield, contemplating how to handle the next few minutes. She’d agreed to Caleb’s terms. He had a month to change her mind. Only no matter how he tried, Snow would have to let him go. Which had been her intention all along, but when she was with him, her determination wavered.
And this had been the reason she’d run away in the first place. Snow knew, with every ounce of her being, that she and Caleb were not meant to be, but then he’d smile or say the right thing and her misgivings went right out the window. If she’d told him she was unhappy, he’d have convinced her things would get better. If she’d asked for a divorce, Caleb’s easy charm would have had her begging to stay before she’d known what she was saying. She couldn’t reason with him, and she couldn’t keep her heart out of the equation when he was around.
But in the end, she couldn’t hurt him. Not the kind of hurt that would come with learning his own mother had kept her secret. When Snow had been certain that notice of the end of their marriage would come in the mail at any time, she didn’t have to think about the mess she’d created. Regardless of what some Louisiana law said, she’d had no intention of taking a dime from Caleb. She only wanted to give him his life back and let him move on to find the right girl.
The society princess who would give him perfect babies, throw perfect dinner parties, and please his persnickety parents.
Vivien McGraw likely had a batch of Southern debutantes ready and willing to fill Snow’s shoes. Picturing her husband showing off his new bride—tall and slender with the body of an underwear model, waves of blonde hair dancing around her shoulders, and proof of pedigree in her dainty clutch—made her nearly toss what little salad she’d managed to swallow for lunch.