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He held up both hands. “No, no, not at all. The bank has no such prejudices.”
I’ll just bet, Sunny thought.
“It’s simply that most of the young ladies who grow up here get married and...” Too late Mr. Smithie realized his faux pas. The deepening color in his cheeks did Sunny a world of good. Now she had him on the defensive. “What I mean to say is, it would make better sense if you applied for a loan at a bank in New Orleans.”
She had. She had applied at several banks and been turned down. The Latham Green National Bank was her last hope, but she didn’t want Mr. Smithie to know that. “I thought you would appreciate my business,” she said with a saucy smile.
“Oh, we do, we do, it’s just...” He foundered, shuffling papers on his desk while he searched for something to say. She almost felt sorry for him. He wanted to turn her down in a way that would spare her, him, and the bank any awkwardness. He probably wished she hadn’t been his first client on this Monday morning. Helluva way to launch the week.
Well, fine, she thought. Welcome to the club, Mr. Smithie.
Her week hadn’t started out so great, either. First, she’d had to return to a town she had thought she’d seen the last of. Then she’d fallen prey to that crocodile-cum -sheriff. At the stroke of midnight last night she’d found out just how dangerous an animal he was.
Thinking about him only fueled her determination to make this necessary trip to Latham Green pay off. She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper that intimated urgency. “Mr. Smithie, forget for a minute that you’ve known me since I was in diapers. Forget that I’m female and single and a woman on my own. Just listen to me.” She wet her lips. “I need that loan. I want to go into business for myself. Without this loan I c
an’t. My father’s credit was always good at this bank. Mine will be, too. You won’t be taking a risk.”
He pursed his pale banker’s lips. “You force me to be blunt, Sunny. The bank takes pride in lending money to energetic young people with ambition. But we are careful to make certain that they demonstrate sound judgment and a sense of responsibility. And frankly...to be honest...well...what you did...”
She flopped back in her chair and stared at him, aghast. “What I did three years ago demonstrates a lack of sound judgment and sense of responsibility. Is that it?”
By way of answer, he lowered his gaze to the polished surface of his desk.
Sunny raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed the center of it, where she was developing a splitting headache. She’d anticipated—feared, dreaded—being turned down, but not because of her aborted marriage to Don Jenkins.
Was that to haunt her for the rest of her life? Didn’t people realize that for her to have done it, she must have had an extremely good reason? Did everyone think it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, some flight of whimsy?
“Perhaps a smaller amount,” Mr. Smithie said in conciliation for having been so hurtfully blunt.
Sunny was adamantly shaking her head before he even finished. “I’ll be dealing with people who only go first class. I have to be top drawer, cream of the crop, elite. If I start cutting corners right off the bat, I’ll be dead before I even start.”
He pulled on his cheek. “Perhaps if we review your situation—”
“I haven’t got the luxury of time. I have to do it now.”
“But Mardi Gras is a long way off. Not until next spring.”
“They start making plans months in advance. I’ve got to start right away or wait another year.” She laid her hands flat on his desk. “I know what you and everybody else in town think of me because of what happened on my wedding day, but I’m damn good at what I do.” She slapped the surface of his desk for emphasis. His eyebrows shot up. At least she had his attention. “I’m going to make a lot of money in the next few years. I’d like to deposit some of it in this bank. Yes or no, Mr. Smithie? I need your answer. Otherwise you’re wasting my time.”
He was no longer looking at her as though she was the only tryout who hadn’t made the team. Instead, his implacable eyes sparked with a flicker of interest and respect.
“I’ll reconsider your application and speak with the other loan officers. Come back one week from today and I’ll let you know.”
“Not good enough. I’m leaving next Sunday morning. I need to know by Friday at the latest.”
He considered her a moment longer. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m making you no promises.” He stood up, indicating that her claim on his time had expired. When Sunny shook his hand, she was glad to note that his was just as damp as hers. He would probably turn down her application, but at least she had made an impression on him.
She slid on a pair of sunglasses as she walked through the bank’s austere lobby, telling herself that the glasses weren’t a means of avoiding the curious glances she intercepted.
Stepping outside was like walking into a sauna. The heat was humid and, today, oppressive. Even with sunglasses on it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the glaring light that only a partly cloudy day in the South in the summer could produce. When her eyes did acclimatize, she groaned at what she saw.
Ty Beaumont was leaning against the wall of the bank. One knee was bent, his booted foot resting flat against the bricks. A straw cowboy hat was pulled down low over his brows. His thumbs were hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. If it hadn’t been for the leather holster around his hips and the silver badge on the breast pocket of his white shirt, one would have thought he was a loafer instead of a law officer.
Since her car was parked in the next block, she had no choice but to walk past him or go completely around the city block. It was too hot for that long a hike. Getting past him unseen was out of the question, and since she didn’t want to be put on the defensive, she was the first to speak.
“Expecting a bank holdup?”
He grinned, splitting his face into a visage far too handsome for his own good. He should pose for one of those macho cigarette ads, Sunny thought. He was certainly the type, having just enough character lines to make his face ruggedly appealing.
