Since they’d already said their vows, be it in front of an Elvis impersonator instead of the traditional preacher, Caleb saw no reason to argue. “No, ma’am. But I can take care of the ring part myself if you’ll point me in the direction of a good jeweler.”
“Nonsense,” she said, charging into the house. “I’ve got the perfect bauble.”
Was she suggesting he take a ring from her? That was out of the question. “Mrs. Silvester . . .”
“That’s Miss Hattie, and don’t worry, I’m not giving you anything for free,” she said, stepping up to a table in the foyer and dropping her hat and glasses on the marble surface. “The only kin I have is some distant cousin in Chattanooga who likely wouldn’t know an heirloom from his hairy bottom. I’d rather sell a piece to you than see it end up in a pawn shop.”
“But, ma’am . . .”
“Snow deserves the best, and what I’m offering is better than anything you’ll find for several hundred miles,” she said. “You want your wife to have the best, don’t you?”
Yes. Yes he did. But this still seemed wrong.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, knowing how closely his mother protected the jewelry that had been handed down through generations of McGraws, dating back to pre–Civil War days. “You don’t even know me.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The question took him off balance. “Um . . . Caleb,” he said. “Caleb McGraw.”
“Nice to meet you, Caleb,” Miss Hattie said with a hand extended. Manners made him accept the shake without thought. “Now we know each other. And we both care for Snow, am I correct?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation.
“Then it’s settled. Let’s get that sweet little thing a ring.”
Thirteen thousand dollars. Snow leaned back in her chair, staring open-mouthed at her computer screen. The only painting by William Norton that was close to the size of the one she’d bought had sold at auction the year before for thirteen thousand dollars. Her eyes cut over to the new treasure and all she could do was smile. This lucky find was going to change her life, and she had Caleb to thank for it.
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.”