Five Golden Rings (Main Street Merchants Book 3)

  Main Street Merchants

  Book 3: Five Golden Rings

  by Paige Timothy

  Cover design copyright © 2014 by Jenni James

  This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2014 by Paige Timothy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  Cara strummed the final chord in the song she and Max had been practicing in his music room, allowing the notes to fade out for a moment before stilling them. When her cell phone chimed, she almost didn’t recognize what it was, thinking her guitar was making some weird new noise—that’s how sucked in to the music she’d been. Max’s compositions had that effect on her. Then she realized that she’d just received a text, and she set down her guitar so she could pull her phone from her pocket.

  “Oh, good. Morgan’s on her way home from South Dakota, and she says she’s feeling pretty good.” Her roommate had given everyone a scare with an attack of appendicitis a few days before. Laurie, the self-proclaimed mother hen of their apartment, had gone nuts, wishing she could be there to nurse Morgan back to health, but Morgan had been watched over by her new friends and everything had gone as well as could be expected.

  “That’s great.” Max hiked his guitar strap a little higher on his shoulder. “Was that all she said?”

  Cara glanced at the message one more time, even though she was pretty sure there was nothing else to see. “That’s it.”

  “I was hoping she’d say something about how things went with Rory.”

  Cara grinned. “You’re worse than one of us girls.”

  Max shrugged, not seeming to mind the comparison even though he was anything but girly. “I can’t help it. I have a personal investment in the success of that relationship. It’s not every day that a guy gets to play fairy godmother.”

  Cara shook her head as she slid her phone back in her pocket. “You’d look pretty terrible in wings. Can we get back to work?”

  “If you’re ready.”

  She picked up her guitar, tucked her light auburn hair behind her ear, and strummed a few notes. “You said we need to work on the chorus, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m not happy with the chording here on the second line.” Max ran through that part twice, then frowned. “It’s bothered me since I first wrote it, but I’ve never been able to figure out how to fix it.”

  Cara studied the sheet music in front of her. It was complex, not at all what she’d first expected when she met Max. With his Ashton-Kutcher-meets-Tom-Cruise good looks and his easy charm, she’d unfairly decided that he lived life on the surface. After hearing his music, though, she was forced to take it all back. “Well, what if you went down a note here instead of up?” She played the line for him, and his eyes brightened.

  “That’s so much better. Thanks.” He grabbed his pencil and made the change. “Morgan told me you write music,” he said, trying a little too hard to sound casual.

  Cara ducked her head. Why did Morgan have to open her big mouth? And why were all her roommates so insistent that she come out of her shell? She liked her shell. Her shell was nice and safe and cozy. “Yeah, I do. A little.”

  “She also said you’re really good.” This time he looked up and met her eyes. There was a challenge in his gaze, a demand that she speak up and tell him who she was at the very core. He’d done that with his music, but she wasn’t there yet. She didn’t have his courage.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said after a long pause. “I mean, I like what I do, but I don’t know if anyone else would.”

  Max set his pencil down and blew on the page to flick away the residue from the eraser. “Why don’t you let me take a look at it sometime? I’m not an expert, but I have a pretty good handle on what works and what doesn’t.”

  Cara was shaking her head before he even finished his sentence. “No, definitely not. Let’s just get back to practicing what you wrote, okay? This demo isn’t going to record itself.”

  Max lowered his guitar and looked at her seriously. “Why not? What have you got to lose?”

  She returned his look with an incredulous one of her own. “Um, how about my self-respect? Come on, Max, back to work.” She nodded at the sheet music.

  He shook his head. “Fine, fine. But you can’t keep hiding your talent from the world. One day, it will just erupt and spew all over the place like a volcano.”

  “Or like motion sickness. Let’s start from the top.” Cara flexed her fingers, hoping that by refusing to meet his gaze this time, he’d let it go and they could move on with what they were really here for—rehearsing to record his demo. His demo, not hers.

  Max began the introduction, and Cara joined in with her guitar. He sang the first verse, she blended in on the chorus, and the second verse was all hers. She really loved this song—Max had written it shortly after his last relationship ended, and she thought it perfectly summed up all the feelings of loss and loneliness that went into a breakup. Her favorite part, though, was the line that talked about choosing to stay open for the next time love came again. There was something so optimistic about that, a choice not to become bitter and angry because of a broken heart. It was one of the many things that had shown her the deeper side of Max, something more than the charming comedian he showed the rest of the world. She couldn’t wait for this album to be released so everyone could see this part of him.

  “I think that’s great,” Max said as they finished. “Thanks for your help with that note.”

  “No problem.” She blew it off. He looked like he was in a praising mood, and she wasn’t in the mood to accept praise.

  “You’re a born songwriter.”

  Cara sighed. He was like a cricket sitting outside her bedroom window, chirping and chirping and never shutting up. “You’re just not going to let go of it, are you?”

  “No, not likely. In fact, not at all.” He winked, like that would make the pestering okay.

  Cara put her guitar back in its case. “I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave now. Someone’s already covering for me, in fact.”

  “But we’re good for tomorrow, right?” Max asked, a crease of worry appearing between his eyes.

  “Yes, I officially have the entire day off. I wouldn’t miss this, Max. I know how much it means to you.” They’d be leaving at eight to head to the studio in Denver to record Max’s demo album. Cara didn’t want to admit how terrified she was about the whole thing. She was only performing on one song, but even that was enough to make her feel like she was breaking out in hives. She scratched her arm, sure she was getting them just at the thought, even though she couldn’t see anything there.

  “Great. And Cara? Thanks again. You’re really going to add some dimension to this album. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have met you.” Max flashed her one of his million-watt smiles—his parents must have spent a fortu
ne on orthodontia when he was younger. He couldn’t have been born with those teeth—fate wouldn’t be so unfair.

  “I’m going to need hours and hours of extensive therapy after this, but you’re welcome. See you in the morning.”

  Cara left Max’s ritzy mountainside apartment and put her guitar case in the trunk of her car, then drove to Main Street and parked at Marchbanks and Sons, the jewelry store where she worked. It was ten o’clock and the store had opened at nine—she hoped Brennan and Cindy hadn’t been overrun with customers. But she had to practice or she and Max would never be ready—thankfully, Brennan understood that. He understood a lot of things without her having to say them—it was one of the things that made him a great friend and coworker.

  She glanced at the sky as she climbed out of her car. It was going to be another hot one, and she decided to bring her guitar into the shop. She didn’t like the idea of leaving it outside to bake all day—that would really not be the kindest way to treat the thing that some days felt like her best friend.

  Brennan looked up from flipping through a ring catalog and smiled as she came in. “Hey there. How’d it go?”

  “Really well. Max is kind of a pill, though.” Cara walked toward the back room through the aisle between the jewelry display cases as she spoke, eager to put down everything she was carrying. She had no idea why her purse was so heavy today—probably time to clean it out. She put her guitar in the corner of the back room and plunked her purse down next to it.

  Brennan followed up on their conversation. “Max is a pill? How so?”

  “He wants me to play some of my own songs for him. That I wrote. As if I would ever do that.”

  Brennan leaned up against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because it’s humiliating, that’s why. My songs are like my personal diary. Would you just hand your personal diary over to a bunch of complete strangers so they could read it and maybe laugh over it?”

  “I don’t keep a diary, so I wouldn’t know.”

  She rolled her eyes, knowing that would drive him nuts. “Could you use your imagination for a second on my behalf?”

  Brennan looked up at the ceiling and pursed his lips. Cara supposed that was his attempt at being thoughtful. The twerp. “Yes, I can imagine that would be humiliating. But stuff like that might be liberating, too—look at Taylor Swift. Her songs are pretty much a diary.”

  Was he serious? “I’m not Taylor Swift.”

  He shrugged. “Neither was she, at first. Well, okay, she was always Taylor Swift, but she wasn’t always famous.”

  Cara patted Brennan’s arm as she walked past. He was a lot taller than she was and she felt like she had to stand on tiptoe just to talk to him. “I appreciate your attempt to make me feel better, but the answer is still no. It just is.”

  The front of the store had been dusted, polished, and vacuumed, and it stood ready for customers. However, they could never predict when those customers would come in. The Aspen Ridge Lodge just up the mountain was famous for hosting weddings, and many of their patrons came into the town of Aspen Ridge for all their wedding needs. Millicent’s Bridal, managed by Cara’s roommate Laurie, was just two buildings up Main Street, and between them was the floral shop, which created really gorgeous bouquets. The photographer’s studio was just on the other side of Millicent’s, with a beauty shop on the other side of that. Regan, another of Cara’s roommates, jokingly called this stretch of Main Street “the wedding district,” and it was true—countless brides even had their cakes done at D’Angelo’s Bakery right across the street.

  But all that notwithstanding, some days business was just slow. Fine jewelry wasn’t something you bought on a whim, and they could go for hours without seeing one single customer.

  “Quiet morning?”

  “Totally dead. But that’s all right—it gave me the chance to catch up on my display case polishing. I was running behind.” Brennan took a seat on one of the stools behind the wedding ring case. “All that dust, just one of me—it was a mess.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it was.” Cara glanced around. “Watered the plants?”

  “Yep. I was tempted to do it twice, but I talked myself out of it.”

  “Where’s Cindy?” Cara had just realized that their part-time employee was nowhere to be seen.

  “She didn’t show up.” Brennan lowered his voice. “Mr. Marchbanks is furious. He’s here, in his office.”

  Whoa. That was unusual. Their boss usually only came in on special occasions, like inventory days, mostly to be grumpy at them.

  “Listen, Brennan, thanks again for covering for me this morning. I really appreciate it.”

  “It was only an hour. Not a big deal.”

  “But it could have been. What if . . .” She leaned forward and whispered. “What if Mr. Marchbanks had actually needed to do something?”

  Brennan looked appropriately shocked. “That would have been a disaster.”

  Not ten seconds later, Mr. Marchbanks appeared from his office in the back of the store and strode to the front. Brennan and Cara glanced at each other, and Cara wondered if she looked as guilty as Brennan did. Nothing like getting caught bad-mouthing your boss. But Mr. Marchbanks didn’t seem to have overheard anything. Instead, he asked them both to have a seat. They pulled up the stools behind the jewelry display cases, the only real seating in the place if they didn’t count the overstuffed office chair reserved exclusively for Mr. Marchbanks.

  “Cara, I’m glad you’re here. Now I can leave—I’m sure you remember our rule about never leaving an employee on their own in the store. Cindy decided not to grace us with her presence today.”

  Cara nodded. “I appreciate your help this morning, sir.” She’d have to call Cindy and see what on earth was going on—if the girl was going to bail the next day too, it would seriously mess up her trip to Denver with Max, and he’d made this appointment with the studio weeks ago. It wouldn’t be fair.

  “While I was here, I spent some time looking over the books,” Mr. Marchbanks said. “Our sales for this quarter . . .”

  As he droned on about the rise and fall of the economy versus how much people were spending on their special-occasion gifts, Cara’s mind wandered. If she squinted her left eye a little, Mr. Marchbanks looked quite a bit like Rich Uncle Pennybags from Monopoly. But their personalities were totally different. Uncle Pennybags seemed happy to share the wealth, while Mr. Marchbanks was anything but.

  She glanced down and noticed that the front of her shirt had billowed up a little when she sat. She smoothed it self-consciously.

  “And what’s more, I believe some sales goals are in order.”

  What? Cara jerked her attention back to the moment. Sales goals? How could they set sales goals when they couldn’t even control from day to day how many people came in through their doors? She supposed she could dress Brennan up like a giant engagement ring and send him to dance around on the sidewalk, but even such brilliant marketing strategies came with no guarantees.

  “I’m giving you goals to reach by the end of the month.” Mr. Marchbanks handed them each a sheet of paper with their month-to-date sales and their goal. Cara tried not to gasp. It looked like in order for her to hit her target, she’d have to sell the equivalent of five engagement rings. With three weeks left in the month, she had time to do it, but she’d sometimes go an entire week without moving a diamond.

  “Um, what happens if we don’t sell this amount?” Bless Brennan’s heart—he was asking the very question she didn’t have the courage to voice.

  Mr. Marchbanks seemed a bit put out that they would question him on this. “Well, I suppose we’ll visit that if it happens. You’re both excellent salespeople, however, and I don’t think this will prove too great a challenge for you.”

  Now it was time for another difficult question. Cara cleared her throat. “Are you firing Cindy?”

  Her boss’s mustache twitched. “Thinking about your day off tomor
row, are you?”

  “Yes, I admit I was.”

  He nodded. “If she chooses to show up, you may have your day off. However, if we can’t locate her and she doesn’t come in, you’ll need to cover the shift after all. I have a family funeral tomorrow and I can’t come in or my wife would have my head.”

  Cara stifled a smile at the thought of someone bossing around their boss. She wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  “Now, I leave the shop in your more-than-capable hands.” He paused, seeming to consider. “If, at the end of the month, we decide that this sales goal was impossible to reach, we can reevaluate. But I’d like you to try. The success of the shop depends on cash flow, you know.”

  As the door eased shut behind him, Cara turned to Brennan. “Wow. I mean, just, wow. This can’t be good.”

  Brennan shook his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off, but we have to try.” He slid his paper across the top of the jewelry display case where they sat. “Check it out.”

  Her eyes scanned the numbers. He had to sell even more than she did. A sick feeling began to work its way up in her gut. What if Mr. Marchbanks decided they weren’t working hard enough and let them go? He could hire two new salespeople and pay them less to start—she and Brennan had both received raises in the last six months, and it would be cheaper to start fresh with new employees.

  “You just turned a little green around the gills. Are you okay?” Brennan asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  “Um, I’m fine. This is just a little stressful, that’s all.” Cara forced a smile. “I’m not really trained to do anything else. What if I don’t meet my quota and I end up losing my job?”

  Brennan glanced at her goal sheet. “You’ll hit this, no problem. One look at that cute face of yours and people just plunk down their money. I have to work extra hard because I’m not so blessed.”

  Cara rolled her eyes. Not only was Brennan really good-looking, but she was hardly cute. Maybe he’d been sniffing the glass cleaner.