She glanced at the clock on her phone as she hurried out the door. It was time for lunch. Shoving down the unease seeing Mark had caused, she swallowed hard and hit the sidewalk, making her way past a salon and an abandoned shop on the corner. At least seeing Mark for the first time was over. Done. They had run into each other and acted civil. He had his shop and a daughter. She had her career.
She wiped her damp palms on her slacks and took a deep breath of floral summer air. It filled her with hope. Her favorite diner was still open on the square, and she hoped they still sold her favorite burgers.
* * *
Just before closing for the day, Mark shook hands with Mrs. Bake, relieved she’d taken the 1950s buffet off his hands. Midcentury antiques were becoming popular, and he’d had the piece for over a year. He’d bet it’d look fantastic in her home, not that he’d been inside, but he knew she ran the classiest floral shop in the county.
With the store quiet again and the lunch crowd rush gone, he strolled back to the office, his mind whirling over Callie Hargrove. Seeing her again had taken his breath away the moment she’d looked over at him. Her wavy, mahogany-colored hair had a copper shine to it, and those eyes of hers were still a spectacular brown that gleamed like brass.
He’d never forgotten her. Although he’d heard she might be back in Ragland, it had taken him by surprise when she strode in, so much so that he could only stare and robotically tell her that the spoons weren’t for sale. He never dreamed she’d come into his shop.
Mark blinked to keep his feelings in check as memories assaulted him. The last time they were together, they’d been standing on the baseball practice field, arguing about their plans for the future. He’d decided to join the Coast Guard no matter what she—or his parents or the town—thought. She couldn’t convince him to accept the offer from Nashville’s minor league baseball team. He knew she had dreams of going to design school there, but he didn’t want to play baseball. Their lives were going in different directions.
She still looked gorgeous, and her interest in the spoons was charming. People asked about them often, but he couldn’t let go of his family’s beloved heirlooms passed down through many happy marriages, even though he suspected that finding a “love of his life” might not be in the stars for him. Callie was the only girl who’d ever come close. Regardless, some kind of odd hope—or maybe it was faith—compelled him to hang on to them and keep them in a place where he could see them every day.
The old rotary phone in the office rang, and he headed toward it and scooped up the receiver.
“Antique Market.”
“Hey, Mark, this is Robby from Community Trust Bank.”
Mark’s stomach roiled. He forced words to come out of his mouth. “Afternoon, Robby, what can I do for you?”
“Hate to bother you, Mark, but we had our quarterly meeting today, and the top brass is asking about your note.”
Mark swallowed. “Did they now.” Robby’s boss, Matt McIntyre, operated a tiny county bank, but he fought the urge to say so. “What’d you tell him?”
“Oh, just that we talked last month, and you need another few weeks to catch up.”
“That’s right,” Mark agreed. “I put something in the mail this morning, but I’m still short for May. April’s caught up, though, right?”
The sound of keyboard clicks came through the phone. Mark let out a slow breath to calm his thumping heart. Frustrated with his grandparents for not buying the place outright, he twisted the phone cord in his hand.
“Yes, we’re good for April,” came Robby’s response. “If May is coming, then I’ll let him know we’re just a couple weeks behind. Should be caught up by next quarter, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good deal then, Chatham.” Robby dropped the business act and flipped to neighborly. “Are you going to the game on Saturday?”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Mark assured him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“See you there, player.”
Robby hung up, and Mark put the phone down with a shake of his head. He walked around the desk and folded himself into the old swivel chair. He’d brought a microwave burrito for lunch, but he wasn’t in the mood to warm it up. Grabbing a can of honey-roasted peanuts from his stash he tossed some into his mouth. Then he propped his legs up on the desk.
The rent on the building was almost caught up for May and then he had this month to deal with. July lurked just around the corner. It was the first time he’d ever fallen behind like this; there’d always been extra acreage from the family farm to sell off the last time business was slow. But he’d reached the limits of what he was comfortable parting with.
Home was safety and peace. Plus, it was paid for. The store was... Well, it was the Chatham legacy, and he would pass it on to his daughter, Hadley. Hopefully. If he didn’t lose it. He just had to find a way to hold off the bank and increase the shop’s sales. He was confident he’d pull through.
Speaking of confidence, Callie Hargrove had no shortage of that. She’d known exactly what she was doing, grinning at him like that and offering him good money for the spoons—but it wasn’t enough.
The phone rang again, and he glanced at his watch. It would be time to pick up Hadley from pre-K soon. He leaned over to answer the phone. Regrets or not, that was the only girl he’d ever let charm him again.
* * *
Callie stopped at the diner on Ragland’s town square where she’d eaten while growing up. It still had a dreadful name, Grub ’n’ Go, but the food was delicious.
She ordered a Reuben sandwich and splurged on a bowl of triple chocolate ice cream. With Mark haunting her mind, she studied the spoon in her hand. It was nowhere near as beautiful as the spoons on his shop’s wall.
She hated being broke, but the passion for turning old things into new was an expensive hobby. Someday, it’d be a career, and she’d have her own boutique, but first she had to come up with a way to get out of debt and save up more money.
She’d failed to open up her own place in Nashville because she found herself living paycheck to paycheck and running up credit card debts, but she wasn’t ready to give up on her dream yet. This summer in Ragland was her last chance. With the job staging furniture, she could work on finding a way to open her own boutique in town. If that didn’t work she’d head back to Nashville and find another job with an interior design company like she’d done for years, but at least her family couldn’t say she hadn’t given Ragland a second chance. Her sister, Amanda, had been begging her to move home for years. She worked for the real estate company as an agent, and had helped Callie get the staging job.
She gave Gabby a small wave as she slipped out the front door. The Grub ’n’ Go cashier was the daughter of one of her old friends. She’d welcomed her back with a hug and said nothing about Mark. Nobody had. Callie had told her about her new job while waiting on the burger.
She was working for Martin Hometown Realty, located inside an old restored train station around the corner. It felt odd to drive just a couple short blocks to get everywhere she needed to go, but Ragland was that small. Even the grocery store was just a mile from her little cottage summer rental, which was a fast bike ride if she could fit everything into a basket. She added Buy a bicycle to her mental shopping list as she drove over to the realty office.
Callie skipped inside with excitement. The owner, Brett Martin, stood in the lobby in nice slacks and a flashy watch.
“Callie,” he called. He beamed at her and held his palm out for a handshake.
“Hi, boss.” She shook his hand happily.
“You’re going to do great here.” He shook her hand and motioned toward the small office he’d promised her that she’d already set up. “The computer is in, and you’re ready to go.”
“That’s amazing.” All Callie had at home was a cheap laptop. Having the office provide
a real computer and fast Wi-Fi would be a relief. “I stopped at the antiques store on the square,” she added. “I didn’t pick anything up, but we’re just getting started.”
He pointed across the room. “After what you did with that bench over there, I can’t wait to see what you do next. We have a whole shed of furniture that needs help.”
“I’ll have a look this weekend,” Callie said. “I’m not sure what I can do with 1980s hotel furniture by the end of the summer, but a few nips and tucks will be a start.”
“I’m glad that you can do upholstery, too,” Mr. Martin said. “I was so impressed with the bench, I had it put in the lobby.”
“That’s great. I don’t have room for it at home, and I don’t have a listing that’s ready for it yet, either.” She grinned up at him. “Thanks for the office. I’ve never had my own before, just a cubicle.”
“Well, get to work, Picasso, because I have two new houses ready to go on the market, and they need help.”
Callie laughed and saluted him, then hurried to the back. Amanda and her husband had helped move in some books, folder files, framed pictures and whiteboards the day before.
This job had been Amanda’s idea. The office needed a temporary home stager, so Callie had moved back and would take the opportunity to see if she could open her dream boutique here.
Grateful Mr. Martin had welcomed her help for the summer, Callie sighed with happiness as she pushed open the door to her office. Once she hung up a few decorations and calendars, the fern-colored walls would calm her nerves, and the enormous window would let in sunlight, even if it only provided a view of the parking lot.
She’d hit the flea markets this weekend. Maybe she’d find some nice candlestick holders or colorful vases.
She thought of the spoons in Mark’s shop and frowned. She needed them. The question was, how could she convince the handsome proprietor to let them go?
Copyright © 2020 by Danielle Thorne
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ISBN-13: 9781488060298
The Cowboy’s Missing Memory
Copyright © 2020 by Shannon Taylor Vannatter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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The Cowboy's Missing Memory Page 21
