Mark knocked on the heavy door and waited for McIntyre’s voice to call, “Come in.” He sounded serious. Of course he would.
Mark strode in pretending like he was relaxed and not like his heart was thumping in heavy, jerky beats. McIntyre didn’t stand up. Mark didn’t wait to be invited to sit down. He held his gaze until he reached the chairs sitting on either side of the desk and dropped into one, then he crossed an ankle over his thigh like they were just going to have a casual conversation.
McIntyre spoke first. “You’re early.”
“I figured you’d be here.”
The banker looked down at the keyboard in front of him and pushed it out of the way. He leaned back in his black, high-backed chair. “What’d you bring me?”
Mark didn’t mention the final notice, not the one the deputy dropped off or the certified copy he had to sign for on his front porch. “Less than two weeks is not a lot of time to gather thousands of dollars together.”
The man across the desk shrugged. “There’s loans, credit cards, liquidations. I’m certain anyone of reasonable intelligence could find a way.”
Mark ignored the IQ insult. He’d heard it a lot growing up as a jock.
“You know how I operate,” Mark said. “I’m honest.” He gave him a cold stare, then flipped open the leather bank book that had been his father’s. “You’ve given me no choice, but I’m only selling an acre.”
“That’s all I need if it appraises for the right price.”
Mark blinked. “Cut the act. I know you’re in with the developers, and I know you want my land—all of it.”
McIntyre looked surprised, but he smiled. “Then you understand it’s just business. The real problem is you can’t keep up the rent on the Antique Market. So we have two orders of business to discuss.”
“No, just one.” Mark cut him off. He tossed the survey map onto the wide desk. “You can have an acre on the north end. It runs from the barbed wire fence to the hayfield that sits next door to my house.”
The banker picked up the piece of paper by the corner and glanced at it. “I’m actually interested in a little more than that.”
Mark shook his head. “I’m not selling the land across the road. I don’t want a subdivision in front of my house.”
McIntyre made a noise that sounded like a strangled but amused chuckle. “You don’t really have a choice, Chatham.”
Mark inclined his head like the man made no sense. “I don’t owe you anything but cash, McIntyre, and you want a piece of land, so take it. That’s all I’m offering.”
McIntyre pushed the survey back across the desk toward him. “That’s not going to work for me. I don’t have to buy anything, you understand.” He lowered his head and looked at Mark almost through his eyebrows. “I won’t buy any land from you unless it’s all of it.”
Mark sat motionless in the uncomfortable chair, his mind spinning.
“Let me tell you how it’s going to be,” McIntyre said. “You will sell me everything, the land, the house and the lot across the street, and I will forgive your default on the shop payments. Completely.” He set his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “I’ll even reduce the Market’s rent back to the amount you paid last year.”
Mark’s ears rang. It felt like hot lava roared through his skull. The room fell silent.
“Do you understand?”
Mark could hardly get the words out. “You want me to sell my family home so you can build yourself a flashy neighborhood?”
“If you want to keep the Antique Market open. You’ll be well compensated for the land.” McIntyre flicked his wrist like money was no object. “You’ll be out of debt and then some. Look, Chatham, you could pay cash for a brand-new house in the subdivision. You could have the first build.”
Mark stood up, his mind racing. He had to get out of there before he jumped over the desk. “You must be out of your mind,” he whispered in a low tone.
McIntyre had the good sense to look intimidated. He glanced toward the door like he was thinking about screaming for security. “It’s all or nothing,” he responded. “I don’t want your measly acre, and you have ten days from now to come up with seven thousand dollars or you’re out. You will never sell another decrepit old rocking chair in this town. We don’t want the Market there anyway. You’re slowing down progress with that dump.”
Mark drew in a sharp breath. “You can’t do this.”
“I can and I will.” McIntyre smiled like a snake. “There’s no time to sell your land through other channels. This bank is not going to do business with you, and I’ll make sure no one else does, either. Sell me the land, buy yourself a trailer on the other side of the county, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you keep the store space.”
Mark got up and started walking for the door. He needed to think. There had to be a way to get a cash advance from somewhere, somehow. The only credit card company he hardly ever used had agreed to three thousand. He needed to come up with the rest.
He imagined the sound of evil cackling behind him as he stumbled out the bank doors into the bright sunshine. Squinting, he clutched the account book to his chest like a pillow. He should have just put the store space rent on a credit card and taken the hit on interest. Now what would he do? The only answer was...the spoons.
He slammed the door to the truck and sped out of the parking lot. It was all he could do not to mash the gas pedal. The truck bounced across the train tracks and turned into the depot parking lot. Callie’s car was there.
Heart pounding, he pulled up beside it to sit a few minutes and try to calm down. Maybe she’d come out and talk to him. Maybe she’d forgive him for yesterday and hear him out. He glanced at her car.
To his surprise, she was sitting inside it with the windows rolled up. She looked over through the window, obviously shocked to see the truck idling beside her. Her face looked red and tearstained.
* * *
Callie couldn’t believe it when Mark pulled up beside her. She wiped her face with her palms and sniffed. Somehow, he must have known. She’d been crushed, feeling sorry for herself, and like a beacon, he’d picked up on it and showed up. She watched him get out of the truck, his face filled with concern.
She didn’t even argue when he came around to the passenger side and looked in with a questioning look. She gave a swift nod, and he opened the door and climbed in.
“Are you okay?”
She wiped her face again and nodded. The wadded-up tissue in her fist felt wet and gross.
“Callie,” he whispered. He put a hand on her arm. “I am so sorry. If I would have known the store space on the square meant so much to you, I would have said something.”
Her eyes spilled over with tears. “Everyone’s taking your side,” she squeaked, and forced a dry laugh and sniffled. It was true. Todd and Amanda had defended him after Callie told them everything. She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning.
“I promise you,” he repeated in a quiet tone. “I want you here more than you could ever imagine.”
Callie wanted to believe it was true. “How is Hadley?”
“She’s fine. There doesn’t seem to be any harm done. She wasn’t even coughing this morning.”
“Did you make her go to preschool?”
“No. Lois is watching her. I had to go to the bank for an appointment, but I wanted to talk to you more.”
She wanted to believe him. “I just don’t know what to think,” she said and swallowed again to keep from choking on another round of tears. “Every time I try to take a step forward—” she motioned toward the depot “—stuff happens.”
He slid his hand down her arm and took her damp fingers in his. “I’ll help you find a place. We’ll figure something out.”
He took her chin in his other hand and made her look at him. It melted her heart, but he didn’t know
yet. There were more things. More problems that she couldn’t even deal with right now.
“I got let go.”
His eyes widened. “You what?”
“Mr. Martin just told me to move my things out of my office for a new Realtor. I can only stay on part time.” Her eyes flooded. The early-morning confrontation had been humiliating.
Callie wiped her cheeks. “It’s just like always,” she muttered. “I do the best I can, give it a hundred percent, and things still fall apart.”
“Honey, that’s just life. It’s not your fault,” he reassured her. “You had every right to stand up for yourself. You never agreed to get a real estate license here.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you. You fight for what you deserve. Not many people do that.”
It was true, but look where it had got her. Callie peered through the windshield at the giant window that had been her first office. “With the pay cut, I won’t even be able to make rent on the cottage now. I’m back to square one.” She stopped for a pause. “I’ve got to find something else to do.” She sighed. “You were right. I should just give up on it forever.”
Mark leaned back in the passenger seat. The cool air from a vent blew on his face, making short tendrils of hair flutter across his forehead. He looked tired. When he opened his eyes, he turned his head to look at her. “Don’t you do that, because I’m going to have to sell the spoons.”
“What?” Callie wasn’t expecting that. He’d been so determined, so committed and so loyal to his family heirloom, she couldn’t believe her ears. “Why?”
The sadness on his face grew deeper. “The bank won’t take the acre I offered. They want it all.”
She felt the air whoosh out of her chest. It made no sense. “Who would do such a thing?”
“That subdivision is going in whether I like it or not, and I don’t have the money to fight it,” Mark explained.
“But why the spoons? What are you going to do?”
He sat up, and she felt childish for crying over a job when the man beside her could lose everything.
“I always knew it’d come down to the Antique Market or the land someday. And I know I really don’t need to have it, not on paper, but it’s my—”
“It’s your home,” she said in a quiet voice. “Your life. The house and the land, too. All of it. You enjoyed going to Florida and all that, but this is home.”
Ragland was home. His home. And hers. Did she even care about living in Nashville anymore? Opening a boutique?
Life was so unfair. Callie tightened her fists. “You can’t do it. You can’t sell, and you can’t give up the spoons. There has to be another way.”
“That’s what I thought, but it’s the only answer.” Mark sounded beaten. “I have to choose between land or silverware.” He gave a forced chuckle. “My home and the Market, or a hundred-fifty-year-old set of flatware.”
Callie felt sick for him. She loved the spoons, and she loved how much he loved them.
He sighed. “I know a guy in Atlanta who’ll take the spoons in a heartbeat. He’s a collector and auctioneer—has ties with auction houses in New York. He’ll get me top dollar even if I have to ask for an advance for them.”
Callie sat back in her seat. The morning sun hung higher in the sky now. It was still early, though. “Mark, I’m so sorry. I really am.” She squeezed his hand. “I have a little. It’s yours if you want it.”
He shook his head. “I can’t take money from you. You’ll need it for your move back to Nashville...but I don’t want you to go, Callie. I don’t want to live here without you again.”
Callie’s heart leaped in her chest. His words meant everything. He wanted to stay, and he wanted her to stay, too. Deep down in her heart, she did want to stay. Home.
She put a hand on his. “You know what? I don’t think I am going back to Nashville. I need a job, yes, but I’m sure I can find something else around here, even if it’s the Grub ’n’ Go.”
Mark’s mouth broke open in surprise. “Say you’ll stay, Callie,” he whispered. “Stay in Ragland. Here. With me.”
Callie’s throat knotted up and a little squeak escaped. Was he asking her to be with him for good? She nodded as fresh tears cascaded over her eyes, and leaned into him. He took her in his arms and kissed her. It was comforting and warm all at the same time. Her heart sang.
“I’ll stay,” she laughed hoarsely, pulling back. “What do I have to lose? Besides,” she reminded him, “I promised Hadley I’d take her canoeing again sometime.”
“I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten. Can I come with you?”
Callie looked up at him. “Always.”
He tried to smile, but it came out more a grimace. “Callie, would you come to the shop and help me pack up the spoons?”
She started to answer, but the earth began to rattle and shake. They sat back with clasped hands and watched a giant locomotive roll by, pulling a line of train cars behind it. The sound drowned out her answer, but she knew he knew.
* * *
It was a gloomy weekend for the Antique Market. Callie wrapped up the spoons for Mark while he went back to his office to make the phone call. When she finished packing the spoons, she started cleaning out the front of the store beneath the windows by going through the boxes and baskets of toys. She discarded some and saved others to suggest he sell online or donate.
Moving what she felt was worth keeping to the back wall for later, she started dusting and polishing the flooring as she moved chairs around. He had several nice ones, including a little gossip bench and its attached side table. The seat needed to be upholstered. She made a mental note to ask him about it, and when he came out glumly to the counter, she gave him a long hug and asked him to call her later.
She headed home at lunchtime, not sure of what she should be doing. Mr. Martin had said he’d call her when he needed her. She’d be paid on a per-project basis. She groaned under her breath as she pulled into the driveway of the cottage.
Amanda sat on the front porch in a skirt and heels. Her minivan was parked on the street, and Callie hadn’t even noticed. She took a deep breath and climbed out of the car. Amanda stood up on the front steps before Callie even reached the porch.
“It’s not right.” Amanda shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “I’m so mad I could quit.”
“Don’t do that,” Callie warned, “or neither one of us will have a job.” They embraced, and Amanda gave her a tight squeeze. It was just what she needed.
“I’m sorry, sis. I feel like it’s all my fault.” Amanda’s voice cracked.
“Don’t cry,” Callie laughed as her eyes filled up with tears. “I’m going to be okay. I’m always okay, right?”
Amanda frowned. “So I guess you’re going back to Nashville? I feel like I let you down. I wanted you back here so bad and got you into this.”
Callie hugged her again, then looked around for her house key. “It’s okay,” she reassured her. “I’ll figure something out. I always do. Meanwhile, I need to get my laptop and stuff set up in there and clean up.”
“Let me help,” Amanda insisted.
“You’re supposed to be at work.”
Callie walked into the house. There were boxes all over the living room with paintbrushes and knickknacks everywhere. She’d been too upset to do the dishes the night before. “You can wash the dishes,” she called, “if you’re going to stay.”
“I am going to stay,” Amanda declared. She didn’t balk at being asked to wash dishes, either. “But you really need a dishwasher.”
They cleaned the house up together, even scrubbing the bathroom and gathering the laundry. Callie told Amanda about how Mr. Martin delivered his bombshell when she walked into the office, and then she told her everything that Mark had told her about the bank.
She felt justified when Amanda acted appalled, too. “What is w
rong with people?” she cried, shoving towels into the ancient washing machine. “Everybody’s so greedy these days!”
“Poor Mark,” Callie said with some bitterness. “He’s worked so hard, but they’ve set him up to fail.”
“All in the name of progress,” Amanda finished. She walked into the living room and plopped onto the couch where Callie was folding bedsheets. “How are things between you? Okay? Did you talk about yesterday?”
Callie nodded. “He asked me to stay. In Ragland.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. “You’re not going back to Nashville?”
Callie grinned and shook her head. Her sister squealed, and they rolled across the couch laughing.
“Y’all are good then?” Amanda sat up, her mind a one-track locomotive.
Callie felt her cheeks flush and realized she was happy. Really happy. “We haven’t talked about anything long-term, but yes, he asked me to stay. Pleaded, in fact.”
“Knew it.” Amanda sniffed. “He should have never left the first time, and it’s time for you to come home now.”
* * *
Callie hung around the house Monday, waiting for Mark to drop off Hadley. She had begged not to go to school while her daddy went out of town, so Callie insisted that she keep the little girl while Mark drove to Atlanta to sell the spoons.
Packing up his spoons had been heartbreaking. She thought about how sad it would be if the story of the spoons became lost forever. It was really important, she told Mark in their late-night phone call, that he write the story down.
When he finally arrived, she sent a curious Hadley around the house on a scavenger hunt that she’d set up with treats, then spoke to Mark in the kitchen. He’d been resolved, and her heart ached for him, but she promised him Hadley was in good hands. They’d play games and eat snacks, she promised.
He thanked her again and kissed her softly on the mouth, but it was too brief, because Hadley came bounding down the hall with a question. She stopped short and stared at her father, and he’d told her a joke and quickly left the house.
His Daughter's Prayer Page 17
