A Sparkle of Silver

by Liz Johnson

  “So, you’re definitely not a Devereaux.” There was an implied question in Ben’s words, and Millie mulled it over, letting the truth fully form before she responded.

  “No. I’m not. And I’m good with that. I’m . . . I’m actually really happy about it.” Which was true but made no sense considering that she was crying again. Not loud sobs or uncontrollable tears. But her eyes kept filling and leaking with every rapid blink.

  Ben reached over and brushed her cheeks dry. Then he leaned in and kissed away one tear that he’d missed. She nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.

  Who did that kind of thing? Who was so tender and kind even when she was falling apart for no identifiable reason?

  Sir Robert? Probably.

  Ben Thornton? Apparently so.

  And she’d rather have Ben any day of the week.

  But that didn’t change the truth. She wasn’t a Devereaux, so there would be no money from them. She and Ben had no claim on the treasure—even if it had been found on Ruth and George’s property. And Grandma Joy was still about to be kicked out of her room at the home.

  All this time. All this effort. All this energy she’d put into finding the diaries and the treasure. It was all a waste. She was no closer to being able to care for Grandma Joy.

  But at least you don’t have to do it alone.

  For once she didn’t want to argue with the voice in her head. Instead she leaned against Ben’s side, thankful. Maybe everything they’d been through over the summer was for that only—for the certainty that she had a partner. In treasure hunting. And in real life.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with Grandma Joy.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped out in faith. “Maybe we can figure it out together?”

  He squeezed her, and it was better than all the century-old stock certificates in the world. “As it turns out, Joy happens to be a very wealthy landowner.”

  “No. She sold her house, and the money . . .”

  Ben picked up the deed to the property. “She’s the sole heir to George Whitman’s estate, which happens to include almost half an acre of beachfront property on St. Simons Island. Do you know what that’s worth?”

  Millie shook her head and tried to ignore the bells ringing in her head.

  “Only about a million and a half or so.”

  “Dollars?” What a stupid question. Yes, of course, dollars. American dollars. More than a million of them.

  Something inside her chest filled to bursting and then exploded with joy and hope and pure relief. She flung her arms around Ben’s neck and let all those pesky tears make a pool right on the front of his shirt.

  “Unless you want to keep the land. You know, for sentimental purposes.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip for a long moment. “I guess property is nice. I’ve never owned any before. But how could a patch of land compare to knowing that Grandma Joy is safe and cared for? With that kind of money, I could get her a spot in a home right on the beach. Can you imagine?”

  He chuckled. “She could have any room she wanted. She’s a millionaire now.”

  Millie shook her head, her face still pressed against his chest. “Not quite. Half of it is yours.”

  He stiffened, his lean body turning immobile. She couldn’t manage to look into his face.

  “I can’t take that money,” he said.

  “Can’t take the treasure?” Carl’s voice boomed. “What kind of idiocy is that?” He shook his head and strolled toward the door, mumbling something about being as silly as some woman.

  It seemed to shock Ben from his stupor. “Oh, I almost forgot. Sam, Sam Williams. The woman that bought your grandma’s house. She’s the one who was looking for the treasure and told that crazy website. She’s the reason all those treasure hunters visited the Chateau.”

  Millie nearly had whiplash from the change in topic, and she scrambled to catch up. “How do you know?”

  “She showed up here at the library. She was looking for information on the Chateau’s history, and when I asked her one question, she folded. Confessed the whole thing. She overheard us talking about it when we went to the farmhouse, and then when she contacted that treasure-hunting website for help, they published the rumors.”

  Her laugh was little more than a dry cough. “Some people will do anything for a treasure. But you don’t seem to want the half I promised you.”

  His heartbeat picked up speed beneath her ear. “I turned in the treasure to the authorities. All of it. Your land isn’t part of that. It’s not what we agreed on. Besides, if it hadn’t been for me and my mother, you never would have needed it in the first place.”

  “Um . . . technically that’s true. But here’s the thing.” She risked a quick peek at his lips, which were pursed to the side, his jaw tight. “I think Grandma Joy likes having you around. She’s asked about you—at least, I think ‘that handsome fellow’ is referring to you.”

  His laughter reverberated in his chest, and it echoed inside her too.

  “I think she’d like to have you around some more. I think I’d like that too. And maybe if I could get a good home for her and you could repay the money your mom stole—well, we might only have to work one job apiece. Maybe then we would get to spend some time together.”

  “And maybe we could see where this thing leads?”

  Those bubbles were back in her chest, better than sweet tea on a sunny day. She felt strange and new all over. And she was pretty sure it was almost entirely Ben’s fault.

  She didn’t really need the money. Maybe she never had. She just needed him.

  He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted it up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is that something you’d be open to?”

  “Seeing where this thing”—she thumped his chest and then her own—“goes?” She pretended to think about it, but there was no thinking required.

  He squeezed her until she squealed with laughter.

  “Yes. I think I’d rather enjoy that.”

  “Good. Because otherwise I was going to have to study every one of your books to figure out how the guy woos the girl so I could win your heart.”

  “You’d be willing to read a romance novel to do that?”

  He shrugged, whispering against the corner of her mouth. “Whatever it takes.”

  “You don’t have to try too hard. You already did.”

  Then he kissed her again, full and strong, a road of possibilities they had yet to explore.

  This was so much better than the happily ever afters in her books. Because it was real. And it was only the beginning.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  “Ben! Are you here?” Millie burst into his home without an invitation. They’d pretty much given up on those after about a month. Millie wasn’t great with waiting to be let in, and Ben didn’t much care, as long as she kept coming back. Which she did with appealing regularity.

  After all, they both had a lot more time on their hands since Juliet had fired them when the truth came out that they’d taken two antique books from the Chateau. That the diaries belonged to Millie’s great-grandmother didn’t sway the historical preservation society. When local reporters caught wind that a ninety-year-old treasure had been unearthed, it didn’t take long for the hows to quickly follow.

  The head of the historical preservation society had made a few threats. The sheriff, on the other hand, was so impressed that Ben and Millie had turned over such a lucrative treasure that he persuaded the society to let the missing diaries pass with nothing more than a pink slip for each of them.

  In all honesty, Ben was relieved that the truth had been laid bare. Insurance companies with long memories had quickly claimed the jewelry from the box, and the stocks had been returned to Howard Dawkins’s family. With half the earnings from the sale of Joy’s property—which Millie insisted he keep—he’d paid back all twenty-three people on the list. And he’d begun searching for the others who hadn’t been named.

  Ben fi
nally had nothing to hide and plenty of time to spend with Millie. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

  “Ben! Get down here.” She raised her voice to make sure it reached to every corner of his two-story craftsman home, a gift for himself when every debt had been repaid and Grandma Joy had been secured in a room with an ocean view, safe and cared for.

  Ben patted his pocket as he loped down the wooden stairs, an odd knot forming in his stomach. He hadn’t expected to be nervous. He was pretty sure they were on the same page. They had been since that day at the library. Every step, every task, they’d tackled together. The only thing they’d argued about was that hideous rug she’d wanted to put in his living room. And now he kind of liked it there.

  But still. She was clearly more than a little excitable today, so maybe he should wait.

  This could be good news or terrible news. Either way, they’d figure it out together. Which was absolutely the best thing about being with Millie Sullivan. He’d never thought he minded being alone. Until he wasn’t. And he didn’t plan on doing that again.

  When he reached the turn in the stairs, he caught Millie’s gaze and held it. Her cheeks were flushed, and she waved an envelope in her hand.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a letter.”

  Hustling down the last eight steps, he stopped in front of her, only then seeing the shimmer in her eyes. “Who’s it from?” He reached for her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  With a trembling lower lip, she sucked in a quick breath. “It’s a message from the Dawkins family. They . . . they’re so thankful we returned the stocks, they decided to give us a finder’s fee.”

  He laughed. “You always did say that’s all we could claim. So, what is it?”

  Her lip trembled again, and he bent his knees to look directly into her eyes. “Millie? What does the letter say?”

  “They want to give us ten percent.”

  His insides did a swift barrel roll, and he blinked twice. “Ten percent of how much?”

  She swallowed. “Seventy-three million.”

  “They’re going to give us seven million dollars?”

  “Seven point three.” She pulled a slip of paper from the envelope and held it out to him. “And they already gave it to us.”

  The multicolored background of the certified check danced in the light, but the zeroes could not be denied. He let out a breathless laugh, scooped her up in his arms, and spun around the entryway.

  “You can buy a whole library of books with that. You can go back to school. Or just never have to work again. Or you could give it all away.”

  When he finally stopped spinning her, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you going to do with your half?”

  Well, he wasn’t going to get a better lead-in than that. Taking a deep breath, he looked her square in the face. “I think I’d like to take a vacation.”

  She smiled. “That sounds wonderful. You should take a break. You’ve earned it. You work so hard.”

  “I was thinking we should go together.”

  She nodded quickly. “Where would you like to go?”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled everything inside of him. “I was thinking more about when I’d like to go.”

  “Okay, when do you want to go?”

  “After we get married.”

  “Okay—wait. What? You want to . . .” Her eyes grew big and round and as blue as the ocean, and he wanted to set her down, but he never wanted to let go of her again in his life. “You want to marry me?”

  He nodded very slowly, holding her gaze as he set her back on the floor. “I do.”

  “You know you can have the money. I already promised it to you.” Her voice kept dropping, each word softer than the one before, and he couldn’t tell if she was trying to talk herself into believing this was happening or talk him out of proposing.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box, then dropped to one knee. “I don’t need money or treasure or Coca-Cola stocks. I just need you, Millie Sullivan. Forever.”

  “You and me forever?” Her smile eclipsed her face before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “That’s the greatest treasure I could ever imagine.”

  one

  Anne Norris knew two things for certain. Some things could be forgiven. Some things most certainly could not.

  While she knew a whole lot about the latter, at the moment she prayed her current offense might fall under the former.

  “You’re late.” Lydia. She’d been paying her rent at this coffee counter for more than a year, and more often than not Lydia’s scowl made the bright yellow walls seem three shades darker and about as welcoming as a shark at the shore.

  “I know.” Anne dug into her floppy bag, her fingers searching out the sharp corners of the check she’d written just minutes before. She tried to give Lydia a smile, but even the effort faltered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Forget Southern hospitality. Lydia had skipped the serving of sweet peach pie in favor of a double portion of sour apples. She leaned her forearms on the counter next to the cash register and held out her hand. Slowly she dropped it as her eyes grew wide, roaming the scene before her. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  Anne dropped her gaze to the floor and the black boots that reached just to her knees. They nearly met her purple skirt below the silk sash that she’d tied around her waist. Her white blouse was loose enough to let the breeze cool her down, even beneath the summer sun. She reached for her hat, brushing her fingers through her hair before remembering that she’d left the hat in her car.

  Good thing too. The sweeping red feather in the black felt probably wouldn’t have helped her case.

  Anne tried again, her lips straining to provide at least a hint of kindness. “I’m Anne. Anne Norris. I run—it’s my job.”

  “I know who you are, and you’re late.” Putting her hands on her slender hips, Lydia narrowed her gaze.

  Anne sighed. Something deep inside her warred at the correct response to Lydia’s attitude. She should apologize again. She should find the check, which was playing a pretty convincing game of hide-and-seek in the depths of her purse while she jabbed her hand into the darkness. And she should bow out of the just-closed coffee shop as quickly as she could.

  But she’d spent five years and seven months cowing to bitter women who took advantage of their positions. And she’d moved three thousand miles to try to forget it all.

  Taking a deep breath, Anne tossed her bag onto the midlevel counter between them. Something inside cracked against the wooden slab, and Lydia clucked her disapproval. Anne gave her a tart smile before diving into her handbag/luggage. Her dad always said she’d throw her back out carrying around something this big, but if she’d learned one thing over the last seven years, it was to keep the important stuff close by. At all times.

  This bag was pretty much her whole life.

  Business license? Check.

  ID? Check.

  Rental agreement for the apartment above the coffee shop that said her payment was three days past due? Check.

  “Rent is due on the first of the month.”

  Anne didn’t have to pull her head clear of her bag to sense Lydia’s frown. “I know.” She pushed a red scarf and clean white shirt out of the way and caught sight of a pale blue slip of paper. “Got it!”

  She yanked it free, waving it like it was a golden ticket and Lydia was Willy Wonka.

  In a decidedly un-Willy-Wonka-like move, Lydia snatched the check. With one glance, she handed it back. “I can’t accept it without the late fee.”

  “But I’m . . .” Anne scrambled for the words. “It’s only three days.”

  “And our policy is that each late day incurs an additional one percent fee. You owe an additional three percent.”

  Anne wanted to pull her hair out. There was no way Lydia would understand that she’d had a more important bill to pay—for a little girl waiting for
the check that would pay for her groceries and keep the roof over her head.

  Why had she signed a lease with this angry landlord? Because she’d had to check a specific box on the application. And everyone else had used that as an excuse to turn her down.

  Having her own apartment was supposed to feel like freedom. And it did. To an extent.

  She’d started her own business. She gave tours six days a week. And she had a key to the door. Definitely an improvement over her previous living situation.

  But in moments like this, she wasn’t entirely sure she was free. She owed an extra twenty-one dollars. Once upon a time it would have been the difference between a nice dinner out or ramen noodles in her dorm microwave. Now it was noodles for dinner every night and the difference between eating three meals a day or two so the peanut butter didn’t disappear too fast.

  Anne sighed, the choice like a rock on her shoulders.

  Lydia pursed her too-pink lips, put one hand on her hip, and held the other out expectantly. “It’s twenty-one bucks. I can’t accept your payment without it.”

  Which meant that the late fee would just keep growing. And her checking account would keep dwindling.

  She forced a smile back into place, putting every effort into making her voice match. “Please. Could you make an exception? I can pay you the fee next week.” She had two full tours scheduled for the weekend, and the tourists this time of year were usually good tippers. That is, if they showed up. They’d missed their cancelation window, but it didn’t mean they’d risk sticking around for whatever show Hurricane Lorenzo had in store.

  “No.”

  Okay. So basic courtesy was out.

  She bit back the scowl that threatened to fall into place. Only God could help her if she ticked off her landlord and landed out on the street. Especially with the hurricane scheduled to make landfall within hours.

  Sucking in a staggered breath, she jabbed her hand back into her bag. “All right. Let me get you a new check then.”

  Lydia didn’t even smile at that. She just held out her hand as Anne scribbled the new amount on the check, ripped it free, and passed it over.