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“I am. And I’m also full now.” He pushed his plate dotted with a few piecrust crumbs into the middle of the table and then reached for his wallet. “But since I’m such a lovable guy, I’ll cover lunch. I have a meeting in a few with the brewmaster from the soon-to-be-shuttered Sweet Salvation Brewery.”
“One of the Sweet triplets?”
Logan shook his head. “She and her sisters are long gone. I’m meeting with someone named Carl.”
“What does he want?”
“Probably a loan, which they are not going to get.” Logan fished out a five and dropped the tip on the table. “That rundown brewery is all that stands in the way of the Martin Industrial Park becoming a reality.”
The Sweet Salvation Brewery plot of land stood directly between the interstate and the site for the industrial park. He needed the land to connect the two and lure potential investors. Negotiations with Julian had been fruitless, but now that the Sweet triplets owned the place, he had the second chance he so desperately needed. There was no way any of those three were going to come back to Salvation, especially not the one who still had an occasional role in his fantasies.
“Fine. You can buy lunch, but it still doesn’t make up for the pie,” Hud grumbled as he got up and walked toward Ruby Sue, who was sitting at her usual spot behind the cash register.
“What can I say?” He followed Hud to the register. “Losing isn’t the worst, but it’s awful damn close.”
Chapter Two
Miranda stared at the three-story Martin Bank and Trust, which stood at the corner of Main Street and First Avenue, right on the invisible border between the social castes of Salvation society. Homes on the avenues started small, but by Tenth Avenue, they became grander visions of what old money and modern commerce combined to create. The Sweets rarely set foot on the avenues. They’d always lived on the street-side of town, where Duct tape held everything together and WD-40 stopped the squeaks.
Miranda turned off her Lexus’s engine but didn’t get off the heated leather seat immediately. October’s chilly winds blew a trio of russet leaves down the sidewalk past the Heaven Sent Bakery. Back in high school, she’d worked there every day before and after school to save enough for college tuition. Larry Martin had stopped in each morning for a glazed cruller and a large coffee on his way into the bank the Martin family had owned since the dawn of time. His red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes had showed just how much he needed the caffeine. He’d never made small talk—no Martin ever did with a Sweet—and he’d never left a tip in the jar.
Maybe he’d had a change of heart about her family since then.
And maybe lime green bikinis would become all the rage in Antarctica.
For the fifth time that morning, she checked to be sure all of her paperwork was in order, including the detailed plan for the brewery’s turnaround. Just like every other time, she had everything she needed…except the money.
And the only way to get the money was to get off her duff and into that bank.
She shoved the papers into her charcoal-colored briefcase and dropped the keys into her purse before stepping out onto Main Street. The wind whipped her long, light brown hair around her head as she hurried through the bank’s glass double doors. A loose strand blew across her mouth and stuck to the pink lip gloss on her bottom lip. Without losing a step, she tucked the errant hair behind her ear. So much for the extra time she’d spent this morning taming the wavy mass into submission.
The bank looked almost exactly as it had the last time she’d stepped foot inside the walnut-paneled lobby. The front counter had three windows attended by conservatively dressed women. Behind the counter, the floor-to-ceiling metal bank vault door leading to the safety deposit boxes stayed shut tight. Off to the right was the bank president’s office. The closed door was marked with a brass nameplate reading “L. Martin”. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was grateful nothing in this small town ever changed.
Miranda’s heels clacked across the marble floor, the sound echoing up to the high ceiling even after she’d come to a stop in front of Larry’s secretary. “Good morning. Is Mr. Martin in?”
In a small operation like the Martin Bank and Trust that employed maybe ten people, the president also served as the chief loan officer.
The petite blonde glanced up from her computer screen. “He is. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes. The Sweet Salvation Brewery’s brewmaster, Carl, was originally scheduled to meet with Mr. Martin, but I’m here in his place.” Miranda tightened her grip on her briefcase so the leather handle wouldn’t slip from her clammy grasp.
“Give me a sec.” The secretary pushed back from the desk and sashayed to the door, which she gave three quick taps before walking in and closing the door behind her.
Miranda felt the bank clerks’ eyes on her, as curious as rubbernecking drivers passing a fender bender on the highway. No doubt they didn’t recognize her as the girl with the double-patched jeans, thick glasses, and freckles she’d been before she left town. The designer suit— secondhand though it was—did a lot to hide her origins, but she still felt the same nervous energy that had eaten her gut every time she was around the Martins, the royal family of Salvation.
“You’re in luck.” The secretary’s cheerful voice interrupted Miranda’s train of thought. “Mr. Martin can see you now.”
“Thank you.” She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders, determined to project a successful image.
“Do you ha
ppen to have a business card?”
“Of course.” Miranda fished a card out of her briefcase and handed it over.
The secretary glanced down and her eyebrows arched so severely she looked like an example of plastic surgery gone wrong. Her slight gasp boomed in the bank’s library-like environment.
Figuring she’d better make a break for it before the secretary regained her senses, Miranda strutted her way through the open doorway.
