For Love Or Money (Main Street Merchants Book 2)
Main Street Merchants
Book 2: For Love or Money
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
Links
Chapter One
Morgan tucked the deposit slip into the holder on the counter and thanked her customer for coming in. It had been another slow Tuesday—just a check to cash here and there, someone needing to get something from their safe deposit box—nothing very exciting. Of course, in the banking industry, excitement wasn’t really the name of the game unless there was a robbery or something, which they’d never had aside from a parking lot mugging the summer before, but there were days that moved a little bit faster instead of dragging on endlessly.
Her next customer was an elderly lady who wanted to trade in some crumpled-up ten-dollar bills for crisp new ones. “They’re for my grandchildren’s birthdays,” she explained as she put the money on the counter. “Birthday money should look nice, don’t you think?”
“It should,” Morgan agreed, though she wasn’t sure. Whenever she got birthday money as a kid, she’d never paid attention to see if it was wrinkled or not—she was more concerned about how much she got. She admitted that she’d been kind of ungrateful back then. Ungrateful, probably, because she’d never been taught any better. But she was touched that this little grandma was going through the trouble of making sure that her gift to her grandchildren was just right. That showed a lot of caring.
Morgan counted out the new money and slid it into an envelope. Then she flicked her eyes over to the security guard who stood at the entrance, and he nodded. It was a system the tellers had worked out with him after that mugging. Now whenever someone was leaving the bank with cash, the guard would watch them until they were safely in their cars. It was a simple fix to a frustrating problem, and it had been Rory’s idea.
She glanced over at Rory, the teller in the next window. He was laughing and joking with one of his customers, putting them at ease like he always did. That’s why he was one of her best friends here in Aspen Ridge—he knew people, he knew how to treat them, and he cared about their feelings. Customers sometimes waited in his line even when Morgan was free. She didn’t take that personally—given a choice, she’d rather deal with Rory too.
When his customer walked away from the window, she said, “Lunch?”
“Yup. After you’re finished.”
Morgan hadn’t heard anyone come up to her window, but when she turned her head, there he was. Wow. Tom Cruise meets Ashton Kutcher—and she was probably staring.
“Hi. Welcome to Aspen Ridge Central Bank. How may I help you?” she asked.
He smiled. Oh, dang. That was some smile. “My name is Max Grayson. I just moved to town, and I’d like to set up a checking account.”
“I’d be more than happy to help you with that. Please be seated at the new accounts desk across the lobby, and I’ll be with you in a moment.” She held out her hand to show him where to go, and then she turned to Rory.
“You okay on windows and the drive-through while I help a new customer with a checking account?”
“I’m fine. It’s not like we’re having a mad rush right now. You might want to wipe the drool off your face, though,” Rory said.
Morgan reached up and touched her face before she realized he was teasing her. “Stop it,” she said in an undertone.
“But why? It’s so much fun.”
Morgan pushed down her irritation as she walked across the lobby and took a seat at the desk. It would not do to let her customer see how badly she wanted to deck Rory just then. “So, Max, where did you move here from?”
“Utah. I was a ski instructor there, but I just took a job up at Aspen Ridge Lodge. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, as they say.”
She smiled. That was a plenty cushy deal—he’d get to interact with all the people who came in from around the world to ski their slopes, and the lodge paid well. But she shouldn’t be speculating about his income. That was rude. Handling money was part of her job, so it was a little hard not to speculate, but still, it was rude. “Here’s a form to fill out. Will we be transferring money over from your old bank?”
“No, I closed out the account and got a traveler’s check for the balance. I’ll be using that to start up here.”
“Sounds great.”
Morgan sat back and waited for him to fill out the form. Max Grayson. That was a perfect name for a ski instructor. It might actually be a little too perfect—almost like a made-up movie star name. Maybe he was born Eugene Bumpkin and changed his name to fit his profession. Weirder things had happened.
She tried not to check him out—er, study him—while he filled in the second half of the form, but it was sure hard. It would help if she had something else to do, but playing Angry Birds on her phone during business hours was frowned upon where she worked.
When Max slid the form back to her, she picked it up and scanned it, looking for more clues about him. “So, this isn’t a joint account—not married?”
“Nope, it’s just me.”
Good to know. Very good to know indeed. “Okay, I’ll get the information put into the computer.” Her fingers flew over the keys, taking note of where he lived (nice area on the northern outskirts of town), his annual income and how much he expected to be depositing (which was more than enough to be considered comfortable), and once again, the fact that this wasn’t a joint account. Of course, she’d be obligated to forget all his personal information as soon as she was done typing it in, but she really should do a better job of getting to know the residents of the community. After all, she was there to serve them, and she could serve them even better if she knew more about them. And if they happened to be gorgeous, well, that was just a nice perk.
She finished getting the account set up, accepted the cashier’s check, and gave Max some counter checks he could use until his personalized ones arrived in the mail. He chose a beach design, which made her smile. They had several with snowy mountain themes to choose from, and in fact, most of her customers went that route, but as a ski instructor, he must get tired of seeing nothing but white all the time.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Max?” she asked as she handed him the folder with all his new account information.
“Yes, actually. I never caught your name, and I don’t think I can leave here without it.”
Whoa. That was pretty . . . smooth? Forward? She wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, she didn’t mind. It was kind of flattering, actually, and she hadn’t felt flattered in a long time. “Morgan.”
“Just Morgan? Your parents weren’t the kind who believed in last names?”
She knew she was blushing now, and she never blushed. Blu
shing was for idiot girls who didn’t know how to act around hot guys . . . okay, kind of like her right now. “Morgan Russell,” she said.
“Thank you for your help, Morgan Russell,” he said, and then walked through the door like he’d just been given the key to the city.
Morgan stood there and watched him until Rory appeared at her side and cleared his throat. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“What? Oh, sure. Yeah, let’s go.”
Kelsey, the loan officer, would watch things for them while they were gone, and if she had a rush, Mr. Santos, the branch manager, would give her a hand. On a Tuesday, though, Kelsey could usually handle it by herself. The other days of the week, the employees staggered out their breaks.
Morgan and Rory walked up Main Street to the diner. As they went, they passed the jewelry store where her roommate Cara worked, and then the bridal shop where her roommate Laurie worked, and then across the street was the bookstore where her roommate Regan worked. She gave them each a little wave as she passed, not that they could really see her out there on the sidewalk unless they were near the fronts of their respective businesses, but just because it was fun.
Sloane greeted them when they walked in to the diner. She was by far their favorite waitress—she made bringing their food seem like a pleasure and not just a job. “Hey, you two. How are things at the bank?”
“Pretty slow,” Rory answered, loosening his tie as he sat in their usual booth. “Do you have any cherry pie today?”
“We don’t, I’m sorry to say. A bus tour came through here a little while ago and cleaned us out. But we’ve got apple, blueberry, and chocolate silk.”
“I’ll take your spaghetti and meatballs and a piece of blueberry pie.” Rory didn’t even have to look at the menu—they came here often enough that they were more than familiar with the offerings.
“And I’ll have the baked chicken with rice pilaf and broccoli. And I’d better have a piece of apple pie,” Morgan said.
“You got it.” Sloane made a note on her pad, even though she never forgot anything. “Drinks?”
“Just water,” they both replied.
“I’ll be right back.”
Morgan’s phone buzzed almost as soon as Sloane left the table, and she pulled it out of her pocket. It was a text from her mother. What? Her mother never texted her. Well, to be more precise, she never texted, never called, never wrote—never anything, actually. Morgan hesitated before pushing the button. What did Gloria want out of the clear blue sky like this?
“Are you okay?” Rory asked. “You look like you’re expecting your phone to bite you.”
“I don’t know. It just might.” Morgan sighed and set her phone on the table. “It’s my mom.”
“Whoa. That’s pretty wild.” Rory raised an eyebrow. He knew the story—mother in and out of rehab, pretty much leaving Morgan to raise herself throughout her teenage years. A brother who took off, a dad who’d done the same thing. “Are you going to read it?”
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Rory chuckled. “Well, I guess you could just delete it. But you don’t have to decide right now, do you? Let’s talk about something else.” He grinned. “So. New customer. Tell me about him.”
Morgan was more than willing to shelve the decision about her mother for a while—and she should have known Rory would give her the third degree. “Well, his name is Max Grayson.”
“That sounds like a made-up name.”
“That’s what I thought too. But it’s on his driver’s license and everything.”
“You can put made-up names on your driver’s license,” Rory said complacently. “Well, you have to change it legally first and there are fees and paperwork and whatnot, but yeah. It can be done. So, what else about him?”
“He’s a new ski instructor up at the lodge, and he just moved here.”
Rory looked outside through the window over their table. “Um, it’s summer. Why is he moving here in the summer to take a job at the ski lodge? No snow.”
Morgan opened her mouth to reply, but had to close it again. She really had no idea. “Maybe he’s taking a break before starting the job,” she said at last. “That’s not something I could really ask him, and it’s not on the new account form.”
Sloane returned with their waters, and then a moment later, with their food. Morgan began pulling the skin off her chicken, and Rory automatically handed her the salt.
“They should put questions like that on the forms, though,” she said as she poured a trail of salt across her plate. “What if some teller someday needed this information for a very important reason?”
“What kinds of reasons might those be, except for to sate the curiosity of those bank tellers?” Rory asked.
Morgan pulled a strip of meat from her chicken and dipped it in her salt. “It could be a matter of life and death.” She chewed and swallowed. “Or evidence in some kind of crime—we could help the FBI catch a killer.”
“So Max Grayson is a killer?”
Morgan shook her head. “No, silly. He’d be the victim.”
“Oh, I see. My bad.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Morgan continuing to pull her chicken apart and dipping it in salt as she ate. “I bet it was a divorce,” she said after thinking it over. “He didn’t want a joint account and he almost said it firmly, like, no way did he want a joint account. He’s probably been there, done that, and came here to recover from his wounds.”
“Or maybe he was so firm about it because he wanted you to know that he’s single,” Rory said.
“Really?” Her heart gave a little thump. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“I think you’re reading way too much into this.” He glanced at the shaker sitting on the table. “Hey, Sloane? Morgan’s almost out of salt.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sloane bustled over and gave them a new shaker. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Morgan reloaded her plate. “Okay, enough about me. What’s up with you these days? How’d your date go with that girl . . . What was her name?”
“Allison,” Rory said. He stuck his fork into his noodles and spun it around until he had a nice big mouthful ready to go. “It was awful.”
“Why?” Morgan had to wait while he chewed before she got her answer. While she waited, she worked on her rice. It was nice and fluffy—Eddie had outdone himself this time.
“She seemed to think that I’m rich because I work at the bank. I tried and tried to explain it to her, but she just didn’t get it. I tell you, I’m losing my faith in my sister’s matchmaking abilities.”
“Did you ever have faith in Alana’s matchmaking abilities?”
“Um, point taken.”
Morgan contemplated Rory while he worked on his next forkful of spaghetti. He had dark hair, a little darker than Max’s. He was pretty average in height and build, and he was the nicest guy ever. Who would she set him up with if she was in charge of his love life? He needed a sweet girl, someone as nice as he was. No one came to mind right off the bat, and she scowled.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m trying to decide who I’d set you up with, and I can’t think of anyone.”
“Wow. That’s a pretty harsh thing to say.”
“No, it’s because none of the girls in town are good enough for you. My roommates are awesome, but that would probably be like dating your sister. Let’s face it. You might not find the One here in Aspen Ridge. Have you ever considered online dating? Girls from overseas, maybe? Mail-order brides?” She enjoyed the look on his face in response to her teasing.
Rory played with his last meatball, pushing it back and forth across his plate. “Do you remember my telling you about Leah?”
Morgan sat up a little bit straighter. “Leah? As in, you dated her all during high school and then she dumped you for another guy during your freshman year at college and broke your heart into smithereens and you didn’t recover forever? That Leah?”
&n
bsp; “Yeah.”
Morgan scowled again. “What about her?”
“She contacted me on Facebook last week.” He almost seemed hesitant to say it.
Morgan clutched her fork a little tighter. “She did what? The nerve. The absolute nerve. And did you shoot her down in a glorious blaze of fire, humiliation, and shame?”
“Um, no. We messaged back and forth for a little while. It was good to talk to her, actually.”
Morgan stabbed her chicken with her fork. “Facebook is not the kind of online dating I meant. And how can it be good to talk to someone who used you like a tissue and then threw you on the ground and stomped on you?”
Rory looked at her in surprise. “I think you’re taking my breakup a lot harder than I did.”
“Yeah, well, it takes time to get over things.”
“It happened five years ago.”
“But I only heard about it a year ago, so I need more time to process it.”
Sloane showed up with their pie just then, and it was a welcome interruption. “Sloane, tell me. If someone dumped you back in high school and really hurt you, should you reconnect with them on Facebook five years later?” Morgan threw a pointed look at Rory. He needed to understand that this was not normal behavior.
Sloane looked thoughtful. “I think a lot would depend,” she said at last.
“On what?” Rory asked.
“On whether he was really sorry. People do dumb stuff in high school all the time. It’s not like they’re even real humans yet—they’re just mixed-up balls of skin and bones and stupid. Maybe he had time to think about it and wants to make amends.”
Rory turned to Morgan with a triumphant smile. “See?”
Morgan folded her arms. “But what if he wasn’t really sorry? Huh? What if he was messing with you? Playing with your mind?”
“Well, in a case like that, I’d tell him to get out of my way ’cause my shotgun’s loaded in my closet and I know how to use it.” Sloane gave Morgan a considering look. “Is someone bothering you, hon?”
“No, it’s Rory. A girl from his past.”